#and FEEL FREE TO ASK QUESTIONS EVEN WITHOUT VOTING

[theminecraftbee]

for anyone wondering where i've been: i got... distracted... by a potential huge project. I was considering running a mcrp project/smp project, inspired by stuff like fan life series servers, with the rest of the sexyman team! but... a different one. a very specific one, even.

now, I'm aware there are probably outstanding questions, so if you're uncertain, please read more event/server details below the cut and see if it interests you!

I don't know anything about Survivor–what would this show even be like?

so if you know nothing about survivor, it's easy to think it's a show about surviving on a deserted island. it is that, but it's not mainly that. survivor, at its heart, is a social deception game, about making close alliances, betraying people, and social dynamics under pressure–hence why i suspect it would be a great fit for mcrp.

the way the show would be structured is this: a certain number of contestants would be placed on a (slightly modified) survival server, set up to be difficult to survive on. they are placed into two "tribes", the teams for the first half of the show. every episode, they would spend time with their tribes bonding, surviving, searching for secrets, and base building. then, they would compete in challenges. the tribe that loses the immunity challenge must go to tribal council, where they vote on which member to send home. this continues with the tribes eventually merging together into one tribe and immunity becoming individual before there are only two contestants left. at that time, they go in front a jury of their former fellow contestants, who will determine who the sole survivor is.

while challenge performance is one key to winning (as it prevents you from being a target in the first place), the other, bigger key, as you can likely see, is forming alliances and voting blocks strategically to get your opponents voted out and yourself kept in. this makes a great vehicle for social emergent storytelling, where narratives emerge about who is honest, who is a liar, who is good at the social game, who is bad at it, and what people will do in order to become sole survivor.

in other words: it's kind of like what current-day mcrp is ALREADY about. except its a gameshow also, and the very construction of the thing is designed to cause tensions by its very nature.

it's great! and you wouldn't be required to know anything about survivor–our host would explain to the audience all of the mechanics as they came up, as would production staff to the players.

You keep calling it "a show"–what do you mean by that?

the result of this project would be an edited youtube series, like survivor, of likely around twelve episodes. each episode would show footage from the game, as well as a lot of "confessionals" shots of the players explaining their opinions, before ending in tribal council! unlike most mcrp series, this would not be a multiple pov affair. it would be one tightly edited project. (this editing, for the record, is the largest overhead; we expect the amount of footage to go through to end up being in the hundreds of hours combined between all the players.)

it's possible that after the show's finale releases we'll release the players to make their own highlights from any footage they take. but the product we're hoping to make is just a single TV show's worth!

what exactly does applying to be a contestant require?

if we get enough interest, once we have enough of the required plugins and builds created and have a better sense of gameplay, we will put out a casting call form. while this will ask a number of questions to help us get to know you as a potential player, you're going to be REQUIRED to have the following things: a tumblr blog that you can link us to, the ability to record an audition tape in minecraft to send to us (so that we can get an idea of what audio we'd be working with, mostly), enough free time for us to be able to schedule recording sessions into, and a willingness to agree to some rules about keeping things secret until the finale airs and about rp etiquette. that's it! there are no other requirements–you don't have to know survivor, you don't have to already do mcyt or stream, you don't have to have friends, none of it, and while we'll ask you for those details, we're going to be looking for a large blend of people from across mcyt! anyone (who can send us mostly clean audio) can be considered!

EDIT: we would ALSO REQUIRE YOU BE AT LEAST 18. sorry i forgot this before! this is for a number of reasons i don't want to get into, but will be prominent on the actual applications.

what exactly would being a production staff member entail?

we're mainly looking for two things in production staff: a willingness to run replaymod for us and act as cameramen by following contestants around getting footage on the actual recording days, and a willingness to work with us on what's likely to be a fairly intense editing and "scripting" period during and after recording, during which we're going to have to scrub through massive amounts of footage and form it into a coherent narrative. we may, depending on how bad we realize we've bitten off more than we can chew, also end up looking for build team members for the production crew. if these things sound fun to you (they sound fun to me god help me), then go ahead and select this option! just know it's mutually exclusive with playing; no one in the production staff will be considered for the contestants. this includes my friends and myself who've already agreed to help me.

these applications would come out before the casting call, since even before casting call we're going to need to do playtests and dry runs and have things mostly ready. so keep an eye out!

will this be run on your blog?

nope we're going to make a new blog (and youtube channel) (and branding!) for this eventually, just want to interest check before we go through all the branding steps. (also, i've even gotten us a specific gmail for this that we will likely end up using for certain communications.)

for now that's all the FAQ i think that is required. let me know if you have more! and i hope you all are interested in this baby of a project that's taken over my mind for the past few weeks!

[yallemagne]

Luthur (Lucy/Arthur) Propaganda

I'm writing this with all the pent-up rage of an entire year of seeing "Lucy's so dumb, she should have picked my favourite suitor" posts and "who should Lucy have chosen?" polls that always result in practically no votes for Arthur.

This is not an anti-Jack or anti-Quincey post by any means, though it may come across as defensive. It is just a pro-let-Lucy-choose-for-herself post. And yes, letting her choose for herself even includes letting her be monogamous when she has made the conscious decision to remain monogamous.

So, to the proposal descriptions--

Seward tries to hide his anxiety by putting up a front of sternness. From how Lucy describes it, it sounds like he's negotiating a contract:

He spoke to me, Mina, very straightforwardly. He told me how dear I was to him, though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with me to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said that he was a brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he broke off and asked if I could love him in time; and when I shook my head his hands trembled, and then with some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one else. He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring my confidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman's heart was free a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there was some one. I only told him that much, and then he stood up, and he looked very strong and very grave as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that if I ever wanted a friend I must count him one of my best.

Sounds like he hardly popped the question so much as stated: "I would be honoured to have you (I need you I need you I need you I need you) as my wife. If you don't love me back, I will die."

This proposal comes across as very neurodivergent to me. He goes into it thinking mostly about what he wants from Lucy and how good the marriage would be for his mental health, not stopping to consider if she's already seeing someone (literally the man who introduced them) or just maybe... that he's putting too much of a burden on her with this style of proposal. This approach would work better with another no-nonsense B, but Lucy is overwhelmed. He didn't think of her feelings in the matter because he was too busy schooling his own emotions so he wouldn't screw it all up. It comes across as very scripted until he sees that he's upset Lucy-- that is when we get a glimpse of his care for her. But then he's back to his bullet points of "but could you love me one day? do you love another now? on a scale from one to ten, how would you rate this interaction?"

Lucy gets through Seward's entire proposal without getting carried away and writing about Arthur instead, but with Quincey--

I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know now what I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I don't, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never told any, and yet—— My dear, I am somewhat previous.

She certainly finds Quincey charming, but she cuts herself off to talk about Arthur. While she momentarily thinks that telling adventurous tales would win a woman's heart, she says that it didn't win her own. There's a sort of peacocking going on with Quincey prefacing his proposal with tales of his adventures. It's very much like Seward's stoic attempt but with far more confidence and pizzazz.

Mr. Quincey P. Morris found me alone. It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he doesn't, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him all I could; I am not ashamed to say it now. 

Quincey "found [her] alone". Now, before, she said "Mr. Morris was telling us his stories"-- who is us? I am guessing that perhaps Lucy's mother or someone else was sitting in as a chaperone? And then Quincey found an opportunity to talk to her in private?

Again, she drifts off talking about Arthur while she's trying to explain Quincey. "Arthur tried twice to make a chance"-- my best guess for what this means is that Arthur has tried to have un-chaperoned time with Lucy twice before in order to propose to her, but he never succeeded despite her attempts to aid him.

Which makes this all so much funnier? Some joke that the Suitors probably arranged it all, but this hints that Arthur has been trying his damndest to propose, but the one day he actually gets a chance to, he finds out his two friends proposed to her first! Those dogs!!

I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang; I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any as yet.

Lucy interrupts her "haha the silly American talks silly American gibberish" with "would Arthur like it if I spoke this way?" Gah, she's so in love with him. It's funny that she says she's never heard him use slang considering she's already mentioned "Dress is a bore." which she even called slang.

Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it didn't seem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward; so I said, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of hitching, and that I wasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he said that he had spoken in a light manner, and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, an occasion for him, I would forgive him. [...] And then, my dear, before I could say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest over it that I shall never again think that a man must be playful always, and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I suppose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he suddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I could have loved him for if I had been free...

She remarks that Quincey's more light-hearted nature makes him easier to refuse than Seward. However, she finds it harder to reject him when he drops the act and starts behaving more earnestly. She finds it easier to imagine loving him when he's being sincere. She doesn't have this same thought with Seward because, unfortunately, even when he snapped out of his legal negotiation of the potential marriage, he still kept himself emotionally guarded through the rest of the interaction.

Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not say it.

I must say... Lucy here is not saying "I want a harem of men.". Stop. Just stop saying that she is. That interpretation has led to every single adaptation that brands her an insincere cheater who strings along men and deserves to be punished by the narrative. Just stop. What she is expressing here is guilt at not having an option that would please all parties involved. She's been raised as a people-pleaser, but in this scenario, there is no choice she could make that wouldn't lead to someone being hurt. So, she makes the decision to follow her heart rather than her guilty conscience.

And think, just earlier, Jack planted this seed of insecurity by saying that he'll be upset if she does not love him. And then goes even further to imply her loving another robs him of his hope. It makes it so that, even when Quincey is more gracious in accepting her refusal, she can't help but beat herself up for practically destroying these men's lives (hyperbole, of course) all for her own happiness!!

Lucy clearly displays polyamorous traits. She laments that, if she did not love Arthur so much, she could love Quincey (rip Seward). But she has chosen not to explore those feelings. Part of her cutting herself off while writing about Quincey to talk about Arthur could be subconsciously reminding herself: "nope, there is no chance with him, I want Arthur". She compares the two constantly as if to remind herself she made the right choice. There's also her love for Mina, but she has plausible deniability in this era and can claim that as just classic girl love.

But when she considers a woman marrying "as many men as want her" it is not reflective of her being polyamorous because she doesn't have this thought out of "I love these three men enough to marry them" but "I feel guilty about being loved by three men at once, and I have to repay the favour somehow, but I can't". She does not say "as many men as she wants" because it's not about the woman's feelings but about the feelings of the men that surround her. But you know what? She showed agency when she picked the man she wanted and didn't bow and pick the man who would be the most devastated upon being rejected, and I'm proud of her.

Lucy is incredibly brief when describing Arthur's proposal, but let's. just. think about this. Previously, she has tried to hold back her overwhelming love for Arthur in her writing to Mina (she failed, lol). Other than wanting to be discreet, she explains:

My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it; and I don't wish to tell of the number three until it can be all happy.

She doesn't want to taint her happy feelings with bitterness about how "oh, I'm so horrible and selfish for picking the man I love! I don't deserve to be loved by anyone!" And even then, she goes into a bit more detail in her post-script:

P.S.—Oh, about number Three—I needn't tell you of number Three, need I? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only a moment from his coming into the room till both his arms were round me, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend.

Such a friend. Before this, Seward and Quincey were not friends of Lucy's. They were acquaintances that knew her through Arthur (though she does not explicitly state this about Quincey, so she could have met him somewhere else?), and upon being rejected romantically, they swore friendship to her. Before then, they saw her as a potential bride.

But Arthur was already a friend to Lucy. They have been close for longer than she's known either of her other suitors, and while they'd never said the L-word (love) to each other before, I think what wins Lucy's heart is that Arthur is genuine with her. We don't get to see it (she teases us!! how dare!!), but that feels like the most plausible thing that would set him apart from Seward and Quincey. Now, the other two are honest men (we see it when they comfort her), but they both initially put up a front to impress/entertain Lucy. Meanwhile, Arthur doesn't bother with that. He comes into the room, and she's practically already in his arms! It's so effortless with him. She doesn't have to imagine herself being happy and in love with him because she already is.

[utilitycaster]

Introducing: A new Critical Role Wiki

As you may be aware, I’ve been involved with the Critical Role wiki on Fandom since last summer. This therefore may seem surprising, but: several dedicated former editors of the Fandom wiki, myself included, have made a new, ad-free wiki at https://criticalrole.miraheze.org. It contains much of the same material of the Fandom wiki (as is legal per the CC-BY-SA license, with full attribution), with a number of improvements made over the past month.

You may consider this our vote of no confidence in Fandom as a platform, and in the administration of the Fandom-hosted wiki.

We are doing this because the administrators of the Fandom wiki have repeatedly ignored the wishes of the community, shutting even experienced editors out from nearly all decisions, resisting even minor changes, and ignoring simple requests and basic admin tasks for months on end. They are also knowingly using fan art without artist permission* despite the strong and repeated urging of at least six experienced editors to remove it.

A recent formalization of the path to administrator roles explicitly limits new admins to people the current administration - all of whom were appointed by the wiki founder, with no input from the community - chooses. The leadership position on the wiki is now held by the person who started edit wars, protected pages, and blocked users to support presumptive and ultimately false narratives in favor of a particular ship, and who has shut down or deleted any criticism of these actions as being “bad faith.” The wiki administration has openly condoned plagiarism as a valid means of updating pages, and have consistently refused to take feedback seriously.

We are also dissatisfied with Fandom as a hosting site. In January, Fandom attempted to require an extensive and poorly handled rebranding of the wiki to promote TLOVM on behalf of Amazon (which was, to the credit of both the administrators and the editorship, unanimously resisted). I and others have additionally made repeated complaints about the administration to Fandom, none of which we believe have been taken seriously.

Despite the efforts of a passionate community, I believe the current administration will forever oppose most efforts to change or improve the wiki, and that Fandom is only interested in getting eyes on ads. We intend to provide a better option on an ad-free, open-source platform. If you share any of these frustrations or concerns, I invite you to join us.

Finally, I would be remiss if I did not thank multiple collaborators, including Ellis (not on Tumblr) for their tireless efforts. This would not have been possible without them.

Social media handles for the wiki will be forthcoming over the next few weeks. In the meantime feel free to ask me any questions you might have.

*If you are a fan artist concerned about stolen art: it’s primarily from early in Campaign 1, and can as of this time be found under the category “Images lacking permission”. If you wish to ask that your art be removed from the wiki, I recommend responding to the tweet or similar in which you were asked permission. You can also go to the Fandom wiki discord, to to https://criticalrole.fandom.com/wiki/User:CRAdmin (requires login), or submit a DMCA notice to Fandom (does not require login).

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 18.2 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

TW: Sex. SO MUCH ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose. Dub con (sort of?). References to medical trauma, miscarriage, infertility. Blood. Cussing. Infidelity.��Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 16.3k (LOLOLOLOLOL)

A/N: Y'ALL, I'M SO SORRY, it's a monstrosity. I couldn't help it. There was just so much to be said while still in E's POV, so that's how we ended up here, over 16k. But we finally learn Elvis' BIG SECRET and experience the mighty fallout from that in his eyes, so hopefully it's worth it. This is my Thanksgiving gift to all of you, but you may want to pace yourselves. I feel like I had to rip my heart out a little bit to really get in E's headspace. Prepare yourselves emotionally. That's all I will say.

A quick note about the pictures...the first is actually from when he bought Graceland in March 1957 and it just works PERFECTLY for the beginning. I couldn't resist the pics from Red West's wedding in 1961, even though I know the timeline and the people don't match but the VIBES, the VIBES my friends, are oh so Jack and Reader's wedding so I just had to include them. The one for 1960 was taken the night of the Rollerdome. *sob*

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

Speaking of Thanksgiving, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY which is always evident but especially so when someone tried to steal PS last week and y'all went 'ride or die' for me instantly, without question, getting it taken down in record time. I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

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

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

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

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)

March 1957

Elvis parks in front of your house, his mind whirling with noise. He’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but as soon as he’d gotten off that train, he knew he needed something that he couldn’t get from any of the guys or even his mama. So, he finds himself unexpectedly here.

Turning off the car, he seeks any sort of relief from the heartache he feels. He’s been holding it all in since the train stop in New Orleans, the one that sent the world crumbling under his feet, destroying the pretty picture he’d had for the future. But all that is gone now and here he sits, hands tapping on the steering wheel with nervous energy.

He nods to himself, finally leaping out of the car, and then he saunters down the walkway to the front door. The chime of the doorbell can be heard through the door, and he listens carefully, grateful to hear light footsteps from beyond.

When you open the door, it’s like he can breathe again for the first time since the train pulled away in New Orleans. You look surprised to see him, those big eyes of yours widening the slightest before you speak.

“Elvis, you’re home?” you ask with a hint of confusion, but overall, you seem pleased at finding him on your doorstep.

“Just got in, baby,” he says, that boyish smile curving up. He gathers you up into a big bear hug and instantly feels better as he breathes in the unique scent of your shampoo and lingering perfume. A scent that feels like home.

“And you came right here?” you ask, brow furrowing when he pulls away. He notices that you look a bit worn around the edges, darker circles rimming your eyes as if you haven’t been sleeping well.

You’re right to be confused. Of course, he hadn’t planned to see you right away. He’d planned to sweep June off her feet in New Orleans, wanting to show her Graceland immediately, the home he’d thought they’d share together for the rest of their lives. But all that had been dashed as soon as she’d blurted out that she was engaged to another man. Engaged. His June.

“I want to show ya something,” he blurts out instead of saying any of this. “It’s a surprise! Will ya come?” Oh, god, you have to come, he thinks. His heart might shatter if you don’t, though he’s not exactly sure why. You’re not his—you and Jack have been dating for nearly a year—so it’s not as though if you don’t come that it really means anything. Yet, still he hopes. He needs this. He needs to share this moment with someone he cares about.

Despite the fatigue in your eyes, you nod quickly, and then as if you can’t leave the house fast enough, you grab your purse and coat and shut the door behind you without a word.

He smiles gratefully, and relieved, he grabs your hand and practically skips to the car. Once he has you tucked in safely, he runs around the front of the Cadillac, jumps in, and peels away. It’s not too far of a drive, and he yammers on about the last few months he’s been away, the words flying out of him. You nod and ask all the right questions, but he notices that you are pensive, quieter than usual.

His verbal diarrhea halts for long enough for his brain to take into account that you don’t seem your usual self, and he asks, “Are you okay?”

You look down at your hands and then out the window, as if contemplating if and how much to share, which makes him a little nervous. Your fingers twist in your lap.

“Honestly? It’s been a hard few weeks, E,” you finally say, still unable to meet his eyes. “My nana passed last Tuesday.”

He’s mortified that he’d just been going on and on about himself and here you were dealing with such a loss. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know. I know how close you two were,” he says remorsefully, reaching his hand over to clasp one of yours.

You shake your head, sniffling back tears. “It’s okay, you’ve been away. There was no way for you to know. And I keep telling myself that she’s in a better place now, but that doesn’t really help all that much. I guess it still doesn’t seem real.”

He nods, because he can’t seem to think of anything to say that will make any of this better for you. “We can do this another time, baby, if you’re not feeling up to it,” he finally gets out.

“No, no. I need something to do instead of moping around the house. I’m worn from being sad and worrying about the rest of it. No, I’m glad you showed up, E. I can’t wait to see your surprise,” you add quickly, trying for a smile.

“The rest of it? What’re you so worried about, baby?” It’s obvious you don’t expect him to pick up on that because he sees the quick look of panic that flashes over your face at the question, so he’s quick to add, “I mean, you don’t hafta talk ‘bout it if ya don’t wanna, but I can tell somethin’ else is weighin’ on ya.”

“You could say that,” you sigh, raising your eyes to the roof and back down again. The twisting fingers are back. “God knows I haven’t been sleeping, and it’s giving me these terrible headaches.” You pinch the bridge of your nose for respite. “I…well, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell you, Elvis, because it’s about Jack, and I really don’t want him to think I’m running around telling everyone our business.”

A warning rush rolls over him at this because he suddenly and very desperately wants to know what has happened with Jack, and that is a dangerous game for all kinds of reasons, many of which he’s not ready to admit to himself.

“I swear and cross my heart I won’t say a word, if you wanna tell me,” he says instead, a little too eagerly, so he quickly adds, “If it’ll help ya feel better and all.”

He forces himself to watch the road and not you, but he can practically hear your mind whirring.

“Oh, fine, but not a word out of you to anyone, Elvis Presley, I mean it. I know how bad you are with secrets,” you glare at him.

“I promise, I promise!” he concedes, crossing his heart. “I swear on my mama!”

“Well, in the midst of all this with Nana, I found out that Jack was dating other women a while back while we were going together. Apparently, I thought we were exclusive, but he didn’t, and well…” you trail off bitterly.

Elvis has to bite his tongue and bite it hard because somehow this wasn’t what he expected, and oh, lord, he knows too much for comfort.

Thankfully, you take this as him listening intently, because you continue, “I know I shouldn’t be too mad at him. I suppose it’s an honest mistake, seeing as maybe we didn’t communicate clearly enough about where we stood with each other. But it was so obvious to me, and I don’t understand how it wasn’t obvious to him. It’s not like I was going around with other guys all the time! I know it was months ago, but damn if it doesn’t really sting. Part of me feels like such an idiot, you know? What else don’t I know about him and what he’s doing? It just makes it hard to trust him, even though he was truthful about it when I asked.” He can sense the conflict in you, as your voice fills and shakes with the emotion of your held-back tears.

His heart is beating fast now, and all he is seemingly able to do is nod furiously, as if agreeing vehemently with all you are saying. The problem is that Elvis is complicit in all this and you have no idea. You have no idea that he was the one who pushed the showgirls onto Jack when he came to visit him in Vegas in November. You have no idea that “dating” didn’t have much to do with it at all. And now he feels altogether shitty for being the one to put Jack in that position in the first place. He’d managed to spread his own unfaithfulness and debauchery right on over to Jack, and now you are the one paying for it.

Shit.

Although, knowing Jack, it’s also possible that there was other dating happening, too. Either way, Elvis knows he’s got to tread real careful here and needs to keep his trap shut.

But Elvis can’t stand that hurt look in your eyes when he dares to take his eyes off the road to glance at you. He hates how angry and sad you look, the blue-black circles under your eyes conveying your distress.

And his emotions feel complicated, too complicated for comfort. He suddenly wonders if he didn’t present Jack with those temptations on purpose because there is a very deep and selfish part of him that desperately wants you to kick Jack to the curb for this, and that terrible, selfish part of him wants you to finally see Elvis in the same way he sees you.

Maybe there’s a reason that things didn’t work out with June, that voice pokes at him hopefully.

Stop that shit right now.

All this is playing through his head and leaving him outwardly silent. He realizes he has to say something, anything, because you are waiting for him to do so.

“I-I’m sorry that happened, ‘specially finding out at the same time as all this with your Nana. W-What are you gonna do about Jack?” he says, trying not to gulp.

He watches your eyes narrow and then he quickly looks back at the road. He can feel you shift in your seat.

“I…well, right now, I wanna pummel his brains out, so I told him I need some space to figure out what I want to do. I just—I thought we…” you trail off dismally. “I don’t want to go through this again,” you add quietly.

Elvis knows you are talking about Ted. Stupid Teddy who stepped out and got Judy Cole knocked up and then left you brokenhearted in his wake. It still pisses him off, even though he knows he’s got no right to judge Ted, not now, not after all the foolin’ around he’s done.

But when it comes to you, he can’t help but be protective. It’s in his bones, the way he wants to take care of you. In fact, he wouldn’t mind punching Jack in the face right about now for hurting you like this. And he’s even more pissed at himself for his part in it all.

Elvis just wants you to be happy and to be with a man who deserves you, and deep down, he doesn’t know if that man is Jack, even though he loves Jack like a brother. But the real problem is he’s not sure if he thinks any man will ever be good enough for you.

But his brain is wary to dwell on the meaning of that, wanting to avoid anything else that feels uncomfortable, so instead, he lets the excitement of showing you his new home overshadow any other unwanted feelings he might be experiencing.

“Okay, baby, we’re almost there, so close your eyes,” he says excitedly, changing the subject abruptly, before pulling up the long drive.

“Alright, Elvis, this better be a big surprise with how hyped up you are,” you chuckle, letting the mood turn by doing as you are told.

“The biggest,” he breathes, sliding to a stop in front of the Colonial mansion. “Don’t open your eyes yet! I’ll come around!”

You wait until you hear the car door open and feel his hand take yours. He gently brings you out of the car to standing, an excited energy vibrating through him.

“Okay, darlin’, open!” he drawls dramatically.

You do, blinking out the early Spring sunlight. He watches your face light up as you take in the architecture.

“Oh my god, Elvis, it’s beautiful,” you say in awe. “Is it yours?”

“Yes, baby, it’ll be all mine very soon. And for Mama and Daddy, of course,” he adds hastily, as if you’d thought he’d abandon his parents.

“Of course,” you smile, looking at him with those pretty, though tired, eyes of yours. “Can we go inside?” you ask.

All he can do is nod excitedly. Elvis takes your hand, pulling you up the steps and past the huge white columns on either side. He can’t unlock the door fast enough, the keys rattling and shaking in his hands. Once inside, he pulls you through the house, mouth running a mile a minute about what he wants to do in each room, how he wants it to look.

Finally, you make it to the top level, the last room. “This is gonna be my bedroom,” he rambles on. “I’m gonna get the biggest bed you’ve ever seen in your life, made special.”

You gently pull your hand out of his, and he watches as you take a small pill bottle out of your purse and pop two of the pills before downing them dry. Aspirin, probably, for the headache you were talking about in the car.

“E, stop a minute,” you say. “This is all amazingly wonderful and beautiful, and I am so excited for you, but…well, what exactly am I doing here?” You look at him with curious and concerned eyes.

“I…uh…I…,” he stammers, unsure of what to say or how to say it, as it’s all been spinning inside for hours and hours. He looks away, unable to meet your eyes. He certainly doesn’t want to put any of his stuff onto you, not now, not after what you told him earlier. His hands fall to his sides, and he shakes them, wiggling his fingers like he does to come down after a show. It doesn’t help. There’s just too much emotion rolling through him all the sudden.

You step to him, first putting your hands on his shoulders, then you run them gently down his arms before grabbing his flailing hands, absorbing some of that wild energy. The feeling still manages to send little electric shocks through him, even after all this time. Only then does he finally still and dare to look at you.

“E, what’s wrong? You let me talk earlier, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?” you ask, your eyes searching his, open and concerned. He should’ve known you’d see right through him. Maybe that’s why you’re here, because he knew you’d understand, that you’d be able to tell he wasn’t okay when no one else cared to.

It takes a moment for him to gather his words as his emotions get in the way. Emotions he stoically hid from the guys the rest of the way to Memphis. Emotions he pushed down when he saw his mama because he just couldn’t bear to break her heart yet with the news. God, he’s spent so much time recently learning how to hide everything real about himself in order to become the man everyone wants him to be. But here, now, with you, it all begins to overflow.

“I-I-I told June to meet me in New Orleans. I-I w-w-was gonna bring her back here, to show her w-what I-I wanted to buy…for us,” he says, bouncing on his toes, tears welling and clouding his vision. He hates how it’s tearing him in two to say this.

You squeeze his hands, urging him to continue, and for you, he does.

“But when I-I got there, she was acting so strange. There w-wasn’t much time and, uh, she told me she’s engaged to someone else.” He blinks and the tears run over, finally spilling down his cheeks. Saying it out loud suddenly makes it feel all too real. His chest aches with betrayal, with loss.

You look at him with such care, though you do not look shocked at this news.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, E. I know you how much you loved her,” you say, squeezing his hands again gently.

‘Loved.’ As in past tense.

“Did you know?” he asks suddenly, stepping back, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

You take a conscious deep breath. “No, I didn’t. But she did call me a few times wondering where you were, if you were okay. She said she hadn’t heard from you in months…” you say awkwardly, petering off.

“Aw, shit,” he curses, running a hand through his greased hair. A wave of anger rolls through him, burning him from the inside, but as much as he wants to put it on June and her spiteful engagement, he knows the anger is mostly towards himself. He fucked up. He fucked around. And he’d expected June to just sit back and wait for him while he did it. He didn’t even make the time to call her.

And you know what he’s done. He can see it on your face. He looks down, unable to meet your eyes.

You don’t speak. You don’t lay into him or tell him he’s an asshole, although it might be better if you did. God knows he’s already thinking it. You just look at him with sadness and understanding and forgiveness, even though he doesn’t deserve it.

With that ache in his heart, he finally realizes that he couldn’t have loved June the way he said he did and then leave her hanging like that. But he did love her…at least, he had. They’d had such a beautiful summer together and he was sure he wanted to marry her, once his fame was settled. Three years, he’d told her.

Shit, I didn’t even make it six months, he thinks absently.

And then everything changed almost overnight. His fame exploded. There was Hollywood, then Vegas. And the girls, good god, there were so many beautiful girls who wanted him, needed him, who threw themselves at him. He’d been weak. He hated being alone. He couldn’t help it. It was just sex, he’d told himself, just a way to blow off steam as his world became smaller and smaller and nearly suffocated him. A thousand excuses run through his head, but in the end, it was his choice not to pick up the phone. It was his choice to screw around, to live this life.

It’s no wonder that June moved on, he thinks. I’m a first-rate asshole.

“Y/n, I messed it all up,” Elvis finally chokes out. The sob fully breaks the dam holding him together, the pressures of his fame and the realization hitting him like a truck: he is never going to be able to have that normal life with a wife and kids he’d once dreamed of. His knees buckle under the weight of all of it—his decisions, both good and bad, the fame he doesn’t know what to do with, the unexpected consequences of this privileged but isolating life he’s chosen.

He sinks to his knees, defeated, on the carpet of his future bedroom, the one he’ll probably never share with someone who loves him for who he truly is. Because he isn’t just Elvis Aron Presley anymore—he is “Elvis Presley,” the celebrity, the commodity, the fantasy.

While he relishes in the luxuries of it all, in being able to provide the life his family deserves, a small part of him cannot help but feel like he’s made a deal with the devil. That this talent he has been blessed with will also be the thing that damns him. He is overcome by the feeling that he’ll never know ever again if he is loved for who he really is, or if it is his fame and his image they love. And there is something about that that crushes his soul.

But he can’t say all this to you because it sounds dramatic and indulgent, and he knows there are very few people in this world who’d actually understand.  This is his cross to bear.

And yet you still comfort him. You are still here. “Oh, hon, I know. It’s okay, I know,” you say, kneeling down with him.

In the midst of all he’s achieved and gained these past few years, June is the representation of all that he stands to lose, all that he’s already lost. “She was my last chance, y/n. I’m never gonna be able to trust that a woman loves me for me and not for my fame after this. And I screwed it all up,” he says quietly, tears running freely. “I just feel so fucking alone.”

“Oh, that’s not true, Elvis, it’s not,” you say, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You’ll find her, I know you will. And you have so many people who love you for just being you, not for the fancy cars or the mansion or the fame. You’ve got your family, you’ve got Jack and your true friends. And you’ve got me.”

The way you say it, so softly, yet so matter-of-fact hits him hard, so hard that his heart stops beating for a moment. If he wasn’t already kneeling, the honest way your tired yet beautiful eyes search his face might knock him right off his feet.

It’s you, it’s you, it’s always been you, he thinks suddenly. This is the feeling he was avoiding in the car. The feeling he’s been avoiding since he watched Jack kiss your cheek in the diner a year ago.

It takes his breath away. You take his breath away, you always have. He’s been enamored with you since you plowed into him all those years ago in the hallway at Humes High.

Suddenly, June is all but forgotten because you reach up, cupping his face in your cold little hands and wipe a tear off his cheek. He cannot help the way his eyelids flutter closed at the sensation of the pad of your thumb dragging softly across his face. His breathing, rapid from his cries is now labored for another reason entirely.

Opening his eyes slowly, he shouldn’t be shocked to see tears in yours, your grief and sorrow, not only for yourself, but for him, too, welling there, as if you are connected to him. In fact, Elvis feels like his brain is short-circuiting because you are too damn close and the tension in the room is suddenly so thick, he feels like he might suffocate.  

Every cell in his body feels on fire as you lean in closer and closer until your lips press against his forehead. You’ve never kissed him, not once in all these years, and this alone sends heat rushing through his young body. Then when you kiss his nose, and then one tear-stained cheek, he holds his breath, feeling like he might die from this chaste sensation.

Warning bells explode in his brain because suddenly he wants you more than anything in this world, always has. And now you are so close. This is Jack’s girl, he thinks, and she’s my dear friend. Don’t be an idiot.

But when you lean in to kiss his other cheek, you place your lips alarmingly close to his, his tears wet underneath your soft lips, and his body is on high alert as only a twenty-two-year-old’s could be. His heart flutters as you pull back just enough to look deeply into his eyes, tears shining in your own, and then you lean in once more.

This can’t be happening. This should not be happening, his mind screams, but then your lips are grazing his and all rational thought ceases to exist.

You taste so sweet.

Heat blooms through the ache in his chest, and in his disbelief, he freezes. Part of him wants to devour you whole, but he is terrified that if he moves, he might spook you and he cannot bear that.

His confusion is overridden when your hands, shaking but demanding, pull him closer. Your lips are soft and sure, and he cannot help but be swept away by them. He’s kissed so many girls, too many to count, all over the country, but not one has ever made him feel like this, like his heart is going to leap out of his damn chest.

But this is a betrayal of a monumental kind, for both of you. While he is no stranger to betrayal, he does not want this for you. As much as he wants you with every fiber of his being, he does not want to be the source of your regret or heartache. He’s already done enough in that regard already, though you don’t know it. Mustering up every ounce of his self-control, Elvis pulls out of your kiss.

“Y/n, baby, you don’t want this. I’m no good for you this way,” Elvis says in a hushed tone, his forehead resting against yours. “I-I can’t have you regretting me, I-I-I couldn’t bear it.”

You lean back the slightest bit, and he thinks you might be listening, reconsidering, making him feel mostly dismay but also a little relief. What he does not expect is for you to press your little pointer finger up against his lips, hushing him, as you stare into his eyes. It’s as though your soul is as weary and needy as his and it feels as though you see him, truly see him, which is a new feeling for him. This sends a welcoming shiver down his spine, and he knows that despite every scrap of logic and propriety he is trying to lean on, with you he is powerless.

When your finger drags down his lips, catching on the bottom one, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight to his groin. Yet still he resists (even though he wants more than anything to see where this is going), thinking you might realize your mistake, and this will all be over in an embarrassed, yet still salvageable, flash.

Instead, you very deliberately scoot closer, your knees bumping his on the carpet. You lean in again, your lips grazing his again with a yearning he cannot help but return in kind. It’s barely a kiss, but the intent is there and when you pull up, effectively opening your mouth to him, the way he can feel your warm breath mingling with his own has him struggling to control himself.

You are testing him, testing the waters, hesitant but somehow insistent at the same time. His long lashes flutter closed when your fingers brush his jaw then rake into his perfectly styled hair. But it’s when the tip of your tongue touches his, sending a hot shockwave through him, that he can stand it no longer and closes the gap between your mouths with a longing sigh.

Pressing his pliant lips to your yielding ones, he rolls his tongue softly but firmly against yours, earning him a quiet moan from you. This is like fuel on the fire, finally spurring him into action, and his hands fly to the back of your head, pulling you closer.

If there is one thing besides music that Elvis excels at and loves to do, it’s kissing. He plays with it the same way he plays a crowd, listening to you and adjusting his performance as necessary. The buzzy way it makes him feel, like every nerve is magnetic, is one of the only things in this world that is anything like how it feels for him to perform for an audience. He loves the way it makes him feel.

But kissing you is unlike anything Elvis has experienced before. It’s as though you are tuned to the exact same frequency, finding his rhythm immediately, adapting easily. The usual fumbling of people getting acquainted in this way does not seem to apply to the two of you, the ebb and flow so natural it’s as though you had done this with each other many times before.

But the passion of it stokes a fire that has been denied a long time. Intense heat crashes over him, sending tendrils of warmth through his limbs and deep into his belly. He drinks you in as deep as he can without being desperate, and oh how close he is to being desperate for you. His grief over June melts away the more he tastes you, and he wonders how he ever lived before having the taste of your lips on his.

It's all very dramatic and romantic, which he is both at heart. From just a few kisses, he suddenly knows that if he could kiss you and only you for the rest of his life, he would be a happy man indeed. This surprises him.

But what truly shocks him is when you lean so far into him that it pushes him over, his knees screaming a little, and he falls back into the wall with a thump. He scrambles backwards, maneuvering his long legs into a more comfortable seated position while you don’t even miss a beat or attempt to come up for air. And when you crawl into his lap, hoisting the flowing fabric of your dress up just enough so your warm, bare thighs are straddling his, his heart actually flies right out of his goddamned chest.

Speaking of which, you are currently running your hands down his, pulling his silky shirt up enough to dance your fingertips over his stomach. His breath hitches then hisses at that, his arms involuntarily encompassing you, large hands splaying across your back to draw you ever nearer.

And you go willingly, inching up his lap until you are straddling his hips. When you grind down into his lap, he thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven, his blue eyes rolling back into his head with a low moan.

He'll admit he’s dreamed of this, fantasized about this, but nothing could truly prepare him for the reality of the way you are making him feel. A trickle of attraction that began six years ago is now a roaring river, and is so, so much more than anything he’s felt before with anyone else.

He doesn’t understand it. He loves women. He always falls in love too fast, enjoying the rapid descent into the madness of it all. There have only been a few that he feels were true, though every girl he’s with, he loves in his own way.

But you are not like any of them, not at all. With you, it has been slow, so gradual sometimes that he didn’t even realize it. A teenage crush turned into friendship, and within that has blossomed a love that he didn’t know he was capable of. It is not until this very instant that he realizes it truly for what it has become. He doesn’t just care for you. He loves you.

He is in love with you.

Fuck.

Realizing this as your hips begin to rock steadily over his crotch is not the best timing. He’s as hard as a rock, fighting both the swell of his physical need for you while wrestling with the emotional needs he’s quickly realizing at the same time.

If he didn’t love you, he might not care if this is just a quick fuck between friends, but he does care. And he’s worried about where this is coming from, likely your overall grief and your anger at Jack. No, he doesn’t like the messiness of that at all.

But another grind of your pelvis into his, coupled with your tongue down his throat has the physical quickly taking over any and all rational thought. He wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. And he desperately wants to give you what you need, which based on the mewls escaping your lips, is a physical release, a connection.

God, he can feel the wet heat of your cunt now through your panties and his pants as you slide over his length, back and forth, again and again. He clings to you as your hands wind through his hair, burying his head in your neck, his lips taking in as much of your skin as he can. He revels in the scent of you, your perfume and your irresistible musk that is permeating the room. He is positively dizzy with it.

You are frantic in his lap now, chasing something he’s not entirely sure you’ve ever had. He knows about Ted, but he highly doubts Ted knew what to do with you. And with Jack, well, he’s not sure how far the two of you have gone, but he can only guess based on Jack’s recent actions and your desperation for no one to know that Ted had popped your cherry that you’ve been trying to be good and pure and wait.

But as you reach for his belt, pawing at him, for the first time in this whole event, he gets the distinct impression that you’re not sure what to do next, only that you are needy for something. And goddamn him, he is willing to give you what you need, but only if you really understand what it is you’re asking for.

“Wait, baby, just…wait,” Elvis pants, stilling your hips with one hand while grabbing the hand at his belt with the other. You whimper a little at the interruption, rolling your hips for emphasis, but despite the groan he can’t help, he’s having none of that.

“Baby, I need to know that you really want this,” he says, brushing your hair off your deliciously pink cheeks, your lips swollen from his kisses. He looks into your eyes, almost getting lost in them and forgetting what he set out to do. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and then add, “Elvis, please,” in a begging tone that sets him completely aflame.

“Oh, damn, okay, baby, okay,” he breathes, barely able to contain himself with that. He’s only human, after all. He races to help you with his pants, pulling them over his hips and down his legs in record time, his erection springing free, precum already glistening the tip. You lift up on your knees, you move your panties aside, and touching the silky soft skin of his cock, you help him line up with your entrance. He can’t help but gasp at the feeling of your cool little fingers circling his shaft, losing it a little more when he feels how incredibly soaked you already are.

He can’t believe this is happening. It shouldn’t be happening. But all logic is gone from him, replaced by the sweetness of your mouth and the wetness of your pussy and his desperate need for whatever love you have to give him.

He watches as you bite your lip in concentration, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you try to take him in. You are incredibly tight around the sensitive tip of his cock, and he moans a little at the constriction. That’s when he knows for sure that no one else has touched you like this for a long time. You aren’t ready for him, not yet.

Reaching under your skirt, he deftly finds the delicate little bundle of nerves there and begins to work it ever so gently. He shifts his hips down, his cock regretfully released from your hold on it. Sliding his fingers through your folds (oh, god), he gently slips one finger into your tight heat, then two, allowing you to adjust around him before pumping them in and out. Your eyes go wide and you gasp with the intrusion, but then they flutter closed with a sigh, and then another, and another before your hips begin to rock again.

He watches you in your ecstasy, taking in every delectable reaction he can and committing it to memory. The way your brow scrunches and your mouth falls open into a little O. The feel of your thighs clenching around his hand as he massages and fingers your dripping pussy. Those alluring little breathy moans escaping your lips. Every part of you has him completely mesmerized and he knows it. He knows his mouth is agape and he is moaning softly right along with you. He is so aroused just by watching you, he feels like he could come without you even touching him.

“E, I need more…I need you,” you breathe with your eyes closed and brow concentrated, and oh sweet lord, those might be the best words in the English language with the way they come out of your mouth.

He is utterly unable to deny you this. He can’t even speak, he just pulls his fingers out of you, lifts your hips, and maneuvers his cock back to the place it wants to be most. And you are more ready for him now, your tightness yielding much more easily around the sensitive tip of him.

It’s in that moment, as you sink down ever-so-slowly onto him and he is enveloped by your wet heat, that Elvis realizes he is utterly ruined for any other woman, ever. They cannot and will not ever hold a candle to you. He should’ve known before. He should’ve stopped this while he still could. But as you finally settle in his lap, taking him in completely, your fingers relaxing and your eyes bright and glassy, he knows he is well and truly fucked in every way.

He kisses you deeply again and again, memorizing your mouth, as you begin to raise and lower yourself on his cock. You feel so good, so completely perfect, it’s as if you were made just for him. He is drunk on you, hands wandering your body, finding what makes you keen, and he’s unable to get enough of you.

But you are so needy and ready that unfortunately it doesn’t take very long of you riding him and him playing with your clit for you to begin falling apart at the seams. Based on your surprised gasps, he’s not sure you’ve ever come before, so he does his best to help you get there while holding on to his own release for dear life. You begin to shudder around him, clenching his length, and with a strangled moan you hit your peak. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the way you are coming undone on top of him, around him, your eyelashes fluttering closed and then popping open, all wild-eyed and rosy cheeked as the hushed sound of his name falls out of your perfect mouth.

He's so fucking enraptured that his orgasm hits harder and faster than expected, chasing yours almost immediately, not giving him time to pull out like he should have. But he can’t bring himself to care because it’s all you. All he’s ever wanted or needed—it’s you.

Oh, sweet Christ, I love you, I love you, I love you, he chants in his mind as he follows you over the edge.

He clings to you, head pressed into your breasts as he pulses hard into your warmth with a grunt, then stays there as he comes down from the high. And then you are both gasping in the silence, and there is an air of disbelief that fills the room that the two of you just did that, together.

This is making love, he realizes suddenly. It must be, considering the incredibly overwhelming feelings he has for you that are pouring through him in unreasonable amounts. He never wants to let you go, not ever.

He pulls back enough to kiss you tenderly, lingering a little too long. There is a sinking, nearly unbearable feeling that this may never happen again, and it threatens to break him, so he pushes it as far away as it will go.

You press your forehead to his, silent, you still enveloping him as he eventually begins to soften inside you. Neither of you rushes to move. He cannot read what you are thinking and that makes him nervous.

“Are you okay?” he finally whispers, his thumb grazing your cheek.

You nod but say nothing.

“Okay, baby.”

You both sit there a while, simmering in what you have done, and he wishes you would say something, say anything at all to let him know what is going on in that head of yours. But you are quiet, unreadable.

Finally, you remove yourself from his lap and stumble your way into the ensuite bathroom to clean up.

Elvis runs a hand down his face, wiping away the mixture of salty tears and sweat that has collected there. He uses his handkerchief to wipe himself off and then puts himself back together. Blissed out in his refraction, he is so full of love for you that he almost can’t stand it. He thought he’d known love before, and perhaps he did, but this realization of love for you is so big that he doesn’t know what to do with it. God, he feels like with you by his side, he could conquer the damn world.

But you’re not his girl.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.

Somehow, he’s both on top of the world and completely buried by it at the same time. You interrupt his thoughts, coming back in quietly and falling, exhausted, into his arms. He takes off his coat and puts it on top of you both. He can’t help but pull you closer, up into his lap, so your head rests against his chest. This is where you are supposed to be, he can’t help but think.

He knows the two of you need to talk about this. While he has been having his epiphany, he has absolutely no idea what you are thinking. He has no clue if you feel anything even close to what he feels for you. It is possible that all of this was just some sort of revenge on Jack, and that breaks his heart a little. And even if you did do it for that reason, you chose him. You felt safe enough with him to choose him.

But something deep inside him tells him it isn’t just that, not with the way you kissed him, not with the way he felt like his damn soul was connecting with yours. That deep connection he’s always felt to you, it can’t possibly be one-way.

But what if it is? a worried little voice creeps in.

He wants to ask you, but he looks down and sees you passed out on his chest. Fatigue begins to hit him, as he hasn’t slept in over a day.

It’s not long before he, too, falls into an exhausted slumber.

*

He’s not sure how long you sleep, but when he wakes, the sun has moved and the room is nearly dark. Disoriented, it takes a moment for him to realize that it’s you in his arms, and when he remembers why, his cheeks flame with heat.

Oh. Oh.

Drowsy, he rubs his eyes with one hand, trying to wake up. As the memories of your lovemaking resurface, his heart beats faster, and he knows the moment you wake you will both have to face what you’ve done. You’ll have to decide what comes next. And more than anything, the hopeful little voice inside him realizes that he wants to share this all with you—that’s why it is you he brought to Graceland today, and why it was so important to him that you like it.

“Y/n, honey, wake up,” he says quietly, not wanting to shock you awake, but you don’t even stir. He shifts under you, hoping that might get you moving, but you just lie there.

“Hey, baby, it’s time to wake up,” he says at full voice now, but you remain still, too still, and silent.

His heart starts to pound. Something isn’t right.

“Y/n! Honey, I need you to wake up!” He is getting frantic now, his hand gently tapping your face, which feels too cold. But still, you do not wake.

“Fuck. Fuck! Y/n, wake up!” He shakes you. Panic and confusion roll over him as he tries to figure out why you are knocked out. His sleep-addled brain runs through what happened before you both fell asleep, before you made love.

Her headache, he thinks. She took pills for her headache.

He had thought they were aspirin, but as he frantically rummages through her purse, pulling out the little prescription bottle, he reads “Percodan, one tablet every 6 hours for pain and sleep relief” on the label.

Elvis swears you took two tablets, not one, way too much for a girl your size. You hadn’t read the bottle.

Shit.

Having been in Hollywood, he knows that this happens. People overdose from taking these narcotics, usually to get high, but he knows that you did it on accident. Based on how full the bottle is, he’s guessing that you maybe hadn’t even taken the meds before today.

Regardless, he’s not taking any chances with you. There’s no phone hooked up at the house, so with his adrenaline now working overtime, he lifts your unconscious form and quickly carries you to the car. He peals out, driving to Baptist Memorial Hospital as fast as he possibly can.

The those few hours are some of the most terrifying of his life.

He bites every nail down to the quick in that waiting room, pacing there as your family sits, equally worried. He can’t help but feel that they are judging him for letting this happen, even though it was an accident.

He can’t bring himself to call Jack.

Guilt eats away at him, even though he knows he had no idea about the pills, but if he hadn’t fallen asleep, maybe he would’ve realized sooner that something was wrong. Part of him feels like this is punishment for his sins, for what he let happen in the house. He prays and prays to God, harder than he’s ever prayed before.

Please, God, I love her. I can’t lose her. Do what you want to me, just let her be okay.

His prayers work.

You wake up. The doctors say you are going to make a full recovery. His heart nearly explodes with relief.

He offers to stay while your family goes home to get some rest. It is past visiting hours, but being Memphis’ own superstar, the nurses take pity on him and let him stay, as long as he doesn’t keep you awake.

When you finally stir, it’s the middle of the night.

“E—Elvis?” you croak. “What happened? Where am I?”

He sits up straight and leans forward to take your cold little hand in his. “Y/n! Oh, baby, you took too many of your headache pills and I couldn’t wake you up. You scared the hell outta me. You’re in the hospital, but you’re gonna be okay,” he whispers, squeezing your hand.

“Wake me up? Why—why was I asleep?” your brow furrows in confusion.

His heart drops into his stomach, dread like ice in his veins. He doesn’t want to ask, but he knows he must:

“What’s the last thing you remember, honey?”

Obviously still groggy, you close your eyes for a moment to think. “Um, I remember you picked me up and took me to…to your new house,” you say, then your eyes pop open, “You were showing me your beautiful new house, and then my headache got really bad, so I took some of my pills, and then…” You stop, looking at him blankly. “And after that, I don’t remember. You said I fell asleep?”

Oh, God, no. No, no, no. He feels like he’s going to vomit.

The force of his dread hits him like a tsunami as he runs through what happened in his head again. You took the pills first and then he told you about June and then you kissed him.

But you don’t remember. You don’t remember because you were accidentally fucking high.

“Elvis, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” you say.

“Sorry, baby, I-I-I was just really worried about you, is all. I-I guess it’s all kinda hittin’ me at o-once, now that you’re o-o-okay,” he says, unable to keep his voice from shaking, unable to keep from stuttering through the half-truth.

“Please, go get some rest, E. I’ll be fine. I’m so tired, I feel like I could sleep for days…” you say, drowsily, eyes fluttering closed.

“Okay, okay, baby, I will…Get some rest,” he says, kissing you on the top of your head as you drift back into slumber.

In a panicked daze, he manages to make it down the hallway and to the men’s room before his stomach rolls and he is violently sick into the toilet.

Oh, sweet Lord, he took advantage of you. You were drugged and didn’t know what you were doing, and he had sex with you.

He vomits again, tears running down his face.

I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have ever let it happen if I’d known! I would never hurt her! the reasonable part of his brain cries out.

Shame eats at him from deep inside, cutting him. He deserves it.

How could he do this? How could he let this happen?

I should’ve known. I should’ve known the moment she kissed me that she wasn’t in her right mind.

But he didn’t, and what the hell does that say about him? He’s fucking selfish and he took something from you that you weren’t in your right mind to give.

He dry heaves, wanting desperately to expel his regret but knowing that he never will, not until the day he dies.

And what’s even worse is that he is still left with the fact that he is desperately in love with you. You don’t remember what, up until a few minutes ago, was one of the most amazing moments of his young life. You can’t share that with him. And that makes him feel even more selfish because the last thing he should be thinking of is his own damn feelings.

Sitting there on the cold floor, he tries to convince himself it’s for the best. It’s much less complicated for you this way. For you, there was no betrayal. For you, making love with him can never be a mistake you once made in a moment of anger and desperation. For you, there is only the love of friendship between you two.

Yes, it’s better this way, he thinks. He can carry the burden for both of you. He deserves to.

Because he knows he cannot give you what you need. He cannot be there for you, day in and day out, holding you tight and keeping you safe. Especially not now. Not after what he’s done.

He has to lock this away. You can never know, not ever. He must protect you from this and from his guilt. He knows you wouldn’t be able to look at him if you knew.

Oh, God. Please forgive me.

He can’t stop crying. He has to stop crying because he has to go out there and he has to look fine. He has to be fine, for your sake. You’re alive and going to be okay, and it’s that which he latches onto as a mantra in order to slide into the persona that has made his name.  

He manages to make it to the car without losing it again, as the dawn starts to break on another day. He can’t bring himself to go home; he can’t look his mother in the eye right now. So, he drives aimlessly, for hours, his sins eating away at him until he finds himself at the church.

He waits for Reverend Hamill in a pew, his thoughts dark and churning. This is just the straw that broke him, for he knows that since his fame began two years ago, he has fallen so very far. He has been self-centered and vain. He has fornicated and broken hearts and caused pain to those he claimed to love, all in the name of this new life of his. And he’s pushed his friends to do the same. His stupid, selfish actions have had a ripple effect that has completely ruined lives.

Not only had he driven June away and into the arms of another man, he’d played with your life and Jack’s as well. If he hadn’t pushed Jack to cheat, you would never have needed those pills in the first place. You almost died because he didn’t want to be alone in his debauchery, and he knows that some sick part of him pushed Jack to it because he wanted to sabotage your relationship.

Then he realizes that, on top of all that, he did another incredibly selfish and stupid thing. He came inside you, which means that you could be pregnant. And that would ruin you completely, and you wouldn’t even know why, you wouldn’t understand. He would do the right thing, of course, and maybe, someday, you would learn to forgive him, but it would ruin you all in the process.

Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.

He thinks he might vomit again.

When the Reverend emerges, he looks surprised to find Elvis sitting there.

“Pastor, I am the most miserable man you’ve ever seen. I am doing the things you taught me not to, and I’m not doing the things you said I should,” he sobs, “Please, please pray for me.”

“Oh, son…come in,” Reverend Hamill says.

Deflated, consumed, and heavy with his guilt and the repercussions of his actions, he follows the pastor into his office. He can’t bring himself to admit what he’s done, to admit how horrible he is. He just cannot get the words out. Instead, he weeps and prays, over and over, the Reverend praying with him.

All he can whimper out is, “Please, please forgive me for my sins. Please.” He’s not sure if he’s asking the minister or God or both. He only knows he cannot live with himself for hurting you, even if you don’t know it.

After over an hour of this, by the grace of God, he finally calms some. His entire body and soul aches.

But he knows what he has to do now. He understands the deal he has made.

It doesn’t matter what he wants or needs. You being okay is all that matters. He has to make sure you’re taken care of. He has to make sure that you are happy.

In the days and weeks and months that follow, Elvis pretends he is having the time of his life, becoming every bit the budding superstar that the country insists that he is now. Sometimes, he even believes it; sometimes, he even forgets. Though every time he sees you, his heart breaks a little more, his love for you permeating him to the core.

But he knows he can’t have you. He knows he doesn’t deserve you.

Instead, he plants seeds in Jack’s ear. “You love her, don’t ya, Jacky Boy? When are ya gonna make an honest woman of her?” He pushes Jack to fully commit to you. He even goes with Jack to buy the ring, though he stops himself from paying for it. Jack has his pride, after all.

Instead, he throws himself into work, grateful for the grueling cycle of touring and recording and appearances and acting. He throws himself into fixing up Graceland for his family, building a life of extravagance that he never could’ve dreamed of.

And, God help him, he starts seeing other girls. He leans into the image of the playboy they all want him to be. He dates and he fucks, thinking that maybe, just maybe, one of these girls will make him forget the perfect way you fit into him, forget the way your face looked when you came undone around him. That maybe one of them will come close to the wonder that is you. That they will help him forget his past sins by cutting new ones. He cannot seem to help but do the sinful things he swore he wouldn’t do, lest he drown in his sorrows, but the girls help keep him from the one thing that is off limits: You.

When Jack finally pops the question in the summer, and you accept immediately, he can barely keep himself together. He convinces himself this is the right thing, that he is happy for the both of you as he stares into the night sky knowing deep in his soul that it should be him. He reminds himself that this is the deal, this is what he wanted, to see you happy and taken care of.

And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.

December 28th, 1957, Graceland

Oh, God, what have I done?

The moment you appear down the aisle, looking ever the most beautiful, blushing bride, every part of him aches with love for you. He’d thought that by giving you the life you dreamed of, the life you needed, that it would be enough to let you go. But as Elvis stands by Jack’s side at the altar, he realizes that no matter what has happened, no matter what he has done, he is always going to love you and it’s never not going to hurt, especially not after this.

Not after the quick look you shoot him as you step up to meet Jack, your pretty, wide eyes full of excitement and emotion. Not after seeing you all in white and wishing to God that it was him marrying you right now. Not after he keeps his peace after the minister asks if there’s a reason these two should not be married.

He somehow manages to keep himself from openly weeping during the ceremony by biting the inside of his cheek repeatedly but still finds himself caught in your radiance more than once and must force himself to look away. During the wedding pictures, he cannot help but maneuver himself close to you to press a lingering kiss to your cheek, to be memorialized for all time on film. The press of his soft lips into your warm cheek sends that tell-tale shiver through him, one that drives in the fact that he still loves you. He gives himself this tiny thing, and no one questions it because they all know you are close friends, and a congratulatory cheek kiss on your wedding day is not strange.

Discretely, he makes sure to let the photographer know he wants copies of the pictures, with the excuse that he is paying for them and wants to make sure they are perfect. This, too, is not questioned, as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

To torture himself even more, he offers Graceland up for the reception. These are his two best friends, after all, now cleaved together in holy matrimony for the rest of their lives. No expense should be spared because they deserve all the happiness in the world.

And they do, he reminds himself throughout the day. They do deserve all the happiness in the world.

At least if you are with Jack, he thinks, he still has you in his life. He can still see those beautiful, wide eyes whenever he wants without question or suspicion.

He clings to this.

Even so, he feels as though he is being sucked into a riptide. It seems fated that his life is going in a much different direction than the newlyweds. The draft notice he received a week ago confirms this, weighing heavy on his heart and feeing like a nail in the coffin of his hopes and dreams.

God is testing him, he thinks. It is all a very clear and stark reminder that where he goes, you cannot follow. He cannot help but feel that God is punishing him for his sins by taking him away from the fame he has just settled into to, taking him from the people he loves and the things he loves to do. He wants to lament that it isn’t fair, but part of him knows that he deserves this, too, for what he’s done and for what he’s done to you.

And perhaps God works in mysterious ways, as while he is loathe to leave his parents and his career and his fans, he cannot help the small part of him that is relieved he doesn’t have to watch you and Jack in your newlywedded bliss for the next two years. It’s the only upshot to this entire disaster.

But he won’t let his sorrow overshadow your big day. With a smile plastered on his face, he gives a charming and loving speech of how wonderful it is to see his two best friends find such happiness with each other. He only stutters once or twice, which comes across as endearing rather than damning. But the thing is, even though he is miserable, he is still happy for you two. He wants more than anything for you to have everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and if that is with Jack, then so be it.

The only time he truly falters is during the dance.

Your little sister (who at 18 is not so little anymore), Rosie, as the Maid of Honor, dances with Jack, while he, the Best Man, dances with you. The moment he touches you, sparks fly through him and down his spine, and he cannot help but pull you in a little too close, even though everyone is looking. His large hand wraps around your smaller one and the other clings to your waist.

The thing is, you do not react to this at all, not outwardly, anyway. You let him hold you and press his cheek against your temple. You let him breathe in your scent and lean into you, as if memorizing everything about you. You let his hands contract, pulling you in closer. You let him lead because it’s like somehow you know, in your soul, that he needs this, even if you’re not exactly sure why.

And for that he is grateful. He is grateful as he takes in every bit of you, committing you to memory, knowing that soon that is all he will have of you. All you will be is a memory, imprinted on his heart, for the rest of time.

When the song comes to an end, he leans back slowly, his eyes searching your face for any recognition, any understanding of his plight, any feelings of your own that might linger in your subconscious. You stare back at him openly for a moment, and for a second he thinks he sees a glimmer of something in your eyes, but then Jack is pulling you away and the moment is gone.

As the party continues into the night, he feels like he is suffocating and escapes upstairs to his room. And as people know not to enter his bedroom without express permission, he feels safe to let out the shaking sob he’s been holding back for hours.

He’s not sure how long he cries before a tap at the door startles him into motion, frantically wiping at his face.

“Bewbie, sweet boy, can I come in? It’s just me,” his mama’s voice echoes through the door.

“Yeah, Mama, come in,” he croaks out, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. While he is relieved that it’s her and not one of the guys, or God forbid, you, he still doesn’t know how he’s going to explain the state he’s in.

His mama comes in quietly, shutting the door quickly behind her. She looks him over and in one fell swoop seems to understand, even though he’s said nothing, even though he’s spent months perfecting his nonchalantness for the world, what is going on.

But a mother knows.

His mama sits next to him on the edge of the bed, putting her arm comfortingly around his broad shoulders. “Oh, my wittle baby, it’s her, isn’t it? Our beautiful y/n. You love her,” she says, less of a question and more stating a fact.

That does him in, the way his secret is exposed so easily by his mama. It terrifies him that she knows him so well, and terrifies him that if she knows this, what else does she know? There’s no point in denying anything, so he curls into her like a child and lets go of it all, the tears streaming once again down his cheeks as his body shakes with quiet sobs.

His mama has always loved you, taking quickly to your genial ways and how you always made time to spend with her. Maybe she suspected something from the start, he doesn’t know, but she doesn’t judge or scold him now.

“H-hurts so bad, Satnin,” he hiccups out. And it does, now that he’s letting it. It feels like his heart is being ripped from his chest.

“I know, baby, I know,” she coos, rubbing his back. He can sense all the questions she wants to ask but doesn’t.

“I-I-I couldn’t…I-I ain’t w-w-what she needs or wants, Mama,” he stutters out. It’s as close as he’s willing to get to telling her the truth.

“It takes a brave man to let the girl he loves marry another, when he knows that’s what she wants, though I can’t say I wish it didn’t work out the other way,” his mama tuts.

“Y-you knew?”

“Course I knew, Bewbie. A mother always knows. To be fair, I been watchin’ the way ya look at that girl for the past few years and it didn’t take much t’put it all together, baby,” she says. “But the question is, does she know?”

He stills and stays silent for a moment, before answering truthfully, “I don’t know, Mama. I don’t think so.”

“Hmm,” she tuts, “I’m gonna trust you had good reason for lettin’ that wonderful girl go without tellin’ her how ya feel?”

His heart constricts, causing him to doubt his choices, but he can’t explain how he nearly killed you with his terrible decisions. He certainly can’t tell his mama that he made love to you when you weren’t yourself, no matter that it was you came on to him. And he knows his mama would balk if he told her how much he doesn’t deserve your love because of his sins.

“It’s better this way, Mama,” he says quietly, sitting up and staring at his hands. “And she’s happy, both she and Jack.”

His mama nods, resigned. “Alright, my sweet baby, puttin’ your friends’ happiness before your own…I know ya made the choice ya thought was best,” she says, wiping his face and pinching his cheeks, “but ya get yourself cleaned up now ‘n go be at least a ‘lil happy for your friends, okay?” She leaves the obvious unsaid—that he’s leaving to film in a few days and straight from there, it’ll be into the Army, so this will be one of the last times he can spend with them.

He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”

And with that, he does as he’s told.

*

And then, in a blink of an eye, she’s gone. His mama is gone and his world fully collapses and it’s all his fault.

You are the only one who saves him from being completely swallowed in the blackness of his despair, and he’s not in his right mind to think or care how that looks. All he knows is you’re there when he needs you the most. You’re there to get him through the absolute worst of it before they send him a world away, and then, he loses you, too.

He loses everything that means anything to him—his mama, you, his career—and he wonders how long God will continue to punish him for his misdeeds, until he can’t bring himself to care much anymore about anything at all.

Germany feels like a cold fog that clouds his brain, even when he brings his Daddy and Dodger and Red over to live with him off base. In his haze, he writes Anita promises he wishes he could keep but deep down knows he won’t. Then, he turns around and does all the things he shouldn’t do because he can and what does it even matter if it’s all lost anyway? He takes the pills they give him to keep him awake in the field, and those make him feel pretty good, for a time anyway, and then he starts taking other pills they give him to bring him down after. In his off time, he screws and tries to forget the life he used to know.

And in those horrible quiet hours when he lies awake, trying to sleep when even the pills won’t let him, trying to escape and can’t, he thinks of you. He thinks of his love for you and your hold over him even now, a world away, and when he’s extra lonely, he imagines you on top of him, writhing and beautiful. And when he comes undone, there’s nothing left but a gaping hole in his heart and a mess in his hand.

*

March 1960

Elvis bites his nails to the quick on the long journey home. It’s not just because of the planes and the exhaustion and not knowing if he’ll ever get back to being “Elvis Presley,” but he knows he’ll be seeing you in a matter of hours. Not years or months or weeks, but hours.

And he thinks that maybe he is finally over you, that maybe he’s healed enough from everything and that he’s on his way to start something new, something fresh.

But, God, somehow you are more beautiful now than before, but you act so strange around him, and his heart wants to leap and implode all at once. Somehow everything has changed…but you, you still own his heart.

Once he discovers your pregnancy, he is over the moon for you because he can sense how badly you want this. He doesn’t care that the baby is Jack’s—he loves it more than anything because he loves you and seeing you so happy brings him true joy for the first time in a long, long time.

His career is taking off again, his new image impressing those who denounced him a few years ago, and he already has appearances and recordings and films lined up to go. Life feels…almost good, like maybe he’s finally paid his karmic debt.

Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.

His terrified confession of love is spoken in an act of desperation, a singular hope that if you know he loves you, you won’t be able to go, that the string of fate that draws you both together cannot be broken, that he can somehow will you back to life with the power of his love.

He begs God, begs as he’s never begged before, an inner wail of blood-soaked prayer that does not cease as he rides with your near-lifeless form to the hospital, nor when he calls Jack and your parents, nor as paces the waiting room.

Singularly focused on his pleas to God, he doesn’t even realize he’s covered in your blood until Charlie and Jerry arrive shortly after the ambulance and look at him in shock.

“Jesus, EP,” Charlie gasps quietly, taking in the macabre scene, “We need to get you changed and cleaned up before Jack gets here.”

That’s when he looks down and sees your life’s blood staining his pants, his shirt, his arms, his hands. God, it’s even under my nails, he thinks as he watches his hands shake, feeling utterly disconnected from his body.

He’s frozen, unable to move, repeating his prayers again and again, until Charlie whisks him away and has to physically help him strip down and wash the blood from his body in the bathroom. As he watches the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain, he cannot bear the thought that maybe it’s the last thing he has of you, these stains, and that maybe he’s truly lost you.

He just got you back. He can’t lose you. He won’t.

No, his inner mantra of prayer doesn’t cease until he is absolutely sure you are going to be okay.

Though “okay” is relative, he learns quickly. You have a long recovery ahead of you, the surgeons say, wiping their sweating brows, and the next few days will be crucial. The baby is gone, and the doctors say that more tests need to be done once you are well to see if that is even an option in the future.

He is heartbroken for you, and for Jack. But you are alive. You are alive.

Lamar and Red have to physically drag him from the hospital in the morning to get him ready and put him on the train to Florida for Frank Sinatra’s special, which is the very last thing he wants to do. But it is absolutely pivotal in his career comeback, so he tells Rosie in no uncertain terms that she is to keep him posted about her sister and any developments.

As he showers and packs, exhaustion seeping into his bones, it suddenly hits him that he told you he loved you, and it’s likely there will be fallout from that. It makes him incredibly worried, and he is even more loathe to leave until he knows where he stands with you. It’s possible you won’t even want to see him again.

Or it’s possible she loves you, too, a little voice hopes. But he knows better than to feed that monster. You don’t love him, not like that, and it’s selfish of him to even consider at a time like this.

“It’ll take your mind off things, EP,” Jerry tries to convince him, seeing his trepidation, prodding him along to get on the train. “And it’ll give y/n and Jack and her family time to get situated.”

The message is clear. Elvis is not in the inner circle of your life, not anymore, not as he wants to be. This fact is both sobering and cutting at the same time. It reminds him yet again that where he goes, you cannot follow, and where you go, he is not always welcome or needed.

He nods solemnly, thinking he finally understands, yet again, the terms of his deal with God. You live and he keeps his distance, he keeps his sins from tainting you. You live and he lets you go.

He pops a couple of pills, brought over from Germany, to wake him up, to get him in the performing mindset, to rev him up to being THE Elvis Presley. “Anything she needs, anything at all, comes to me,” he tells Jerry, “Hospital bills, recovery costs…and I want the best doctors helping her figure out her pregnancy issues. Oh, and send flowers, every day.”

Jerry nods, eyes observant and keen. “Of course, EP. Anything for y/n and Jack.”

Yes, anything for you.

*

You don’t remember a thing from that night, he learns from Rosie, and most of him thinks it’s for the best. But a small, egotistical part of him thinks bitterly that you certainly have a knack for forgetting anything monumental that happens between the two of you.

But he is busy. So busy, in fact, that he barely has time to think of you at all after that.

Except half the songs he chooses for his comeback album have something to do with you, which he only consciously realizes when he steps up to the mic to sing. And just as he thought of you the night of the talent show, he thinks of you now, singing about the girl of his best friend and how it feels so right being with you. He pours his hopes and dreams and frustrations and sorrows right into that album.

Perhaps it will cleanse him of needing you. Perhaps it’ll help him let you go.

When you find out that children are likely not in the cards for you and Jack, he sends more flowers, every day for a week. Jack is devastated and practically begs to come out to Hollywood to escape the sadness, so he agrees.

Anything for his friend, right?

He takes care of you from afar. He takes care of everything. Anything you could possibly want or need is yours. But he keeps his distance.

That is the bargain.

He falters at Christmas, almost letting his grief and yours ruin everything. He swears that you feel something for him, that maybe your impulse to be with him was not entirely driven by the drugs all those years ago. That maybe you do somehow remember his confession. Part of him swears if he had let it happen, you would’ve been his once again.

But you are not his, you never really were.

And while he knows this on a logical level, the more he is away, the more he fills his days with mindless movie making and wooing his costars and taking pills that bring him up and more that pull him down, the more he lets himself imagine you are his. From a distance, he can take care of you. From a distance and in the deep recesses of his mind, you belong to him and him alone.

“Elvis Presley” becomes a household name, now with a clean-cut image, alluring to both housewives and teenagers alike. His fame and wealth grow, and so does his isolation and loneliness. So does the need for the pills and to bring the rest of the guys into it all with him. Even Jack.

Especially Jack.

But he doesn’t like to think about why that is.

He manages to destroy his relationship with Anita along the way. He loved her, in his way, he really did. But she was not you. Neither is Ann, though he thinks for a moment that she may be the answer to his prayers, but in the end, he screws that up, too.

As the years drag on, he thinks he finally understands why he sabotages every relationship he’s ever had—it’s you—none of them are YOU. So he flits from fling to fling without ever truly landing because all he really wants is your love. But he doesn’t deserve it, he never has.

He knows this as he watches Jack descend into alcohol and drugs and women, and a small, horrible part of him wants Jack to self-destruct, and even though he knows this hurts you, he is too selfish to stop it. And the guilt of this, coupled with the downturn in his career, pushes him to self-destruct, too.

Still, he keeps his distance. When he’s home, he tries not to shoot you too many lingering glances. He reins himself in, most of the time, but in moments of weakness, he allows himself to get too close. He catches you alone, he makes a pass. But because you are you, you always rebuke him with a laugh. Silly Elvis, ever the jokester.

But sometimes, in the dark of night, in your beautiful, wide eyes, he sees something else. That deeper connection that drew you together in the first place, mixed with a heat he has only seen once or twice. And it is that which keeps his hope alive.

In an attempt to bury it and fill the hole in his heart, he almost marries, but in the end, he can’t go through with it. He’s wildly unhappy and dissatisfied, and it’s not until he finally gains some control over his career again that things take a turn for the better. He finally starts to clean up his act. He seeks knowledge and spiritual clarity. He finally finds his passion for music and performing again after nearly a decade.

But it’s too late for Jack. He managed to drag Jack to hell and while he made it back, Jack has not. And you are miserable because of it. This breaks his heart.

He tried to give you everything you wanted and needed by stepping back to let Jack do so. He kept his distance. He did what he’d promised God, and yet life still destroyed your dreams.

Jack no longer makes you happy. Jack is no longer the man who can give you what you need.

And suddenly Elvis wonders if he was wrong all along. That perhaps he wasn’t the man you needed then, but he is now. Perhaps his sins have been forgiven. Perhaps the more he pushes you away, the worse things become for both of you because you are indeed supposed to be together.

You are his. You’ve always been his.

So, riding high from his first Vegas performance, he finally allows himself to pursue you. He pushes away a decade and a half of guilt and shame and lets his charm and confidence entice you. He lets the sparks fly between you, finally free after all this time, and more intense than ever. To his gleeful surprise, you accept him willingly, if not a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it is just sex, he thinks at first, this carnal need he has for you, but he knows better. As soon as he tastes you after all these years, he knows he can never let you go again. As soon as he coaxes, then watches you come undone again and again, he realizes that still, after all this time, this is it for him. You are it. You always have been. And he will do anything to keep you, to make sure you know that you are his.

He thinks you might remember it all after that first night, but you don’t, not right away. He senses your fear to let go, to let yourself have him, to have this affair. He knows you want this to be only sex. And maybe it is for you, at first.

But he will have you. He doesn’t care how many mountains he must move or what he has to do to convince you to stay, but he loves you more than anything in the world and he’s not willing to part with you, not anymore.

It’s true that his fame, wealth, and influence have spoiled him into always getting what he desires. Of course, what he truly desires always has been you. Now unlocked, his love and want and need for you is insatiable, and he will do anything to keep it that way.

Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.

*

As the blackout of his rage starts to dissipate and he comes to, he assumes that his friends are holding him back from quite literally killing the disheveled and beaten man who used to be his best friend, and he watches with deep satisfaction as you slap the shit out of your husband.

He also feels the immense guilt of letting it get this far, of not knowing just how bad Jack was to you, and his part in all of it.

But when you vomit and promptly fall to an unconscious heap on the ground, his fear is what overshadows his rage and guilt. Something is wrong, he knows it.

Not again, not again, not again.

Triggered by your history, Elvis, with untold strength, wrenches himself from the four men holding him down and clamors to your side, everyone else forgotten.

Pulling your limp body into his lap, he screams for someone to call the doctor. His heart pounds so hard he thinks he might need one, too.

Please God, please God, please God. Not now, not after all we’ve been through.

That deep-seeded, old shame creeps back in as he rocks you: This is your fault. Your selfishness did this. You destroyed Jack, he took it out on her, and you’ve put her at risk, yet again. You are a scourge on this woman you claim to love so much. A pestilence.

He’s getting lost in this fearful despair, and then Jerry’s voice in his ear snaps him back: “EP. EP! You have to let her go, man. The doctor is here.” Jerry pulls his arms off her as the doctor examines her.

Elvis’ fingers go straight to his mouth, his obsessive habit of biting his nails taking over as he watches the doctor carefully.

The doctor looks up, taking in the scene. He looks at Elvis, then at Jack bleeding against the wall, and purses his lips. “Will somebody tell me what happened to this young lady?”

“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.

“Her husband slammed his fist into her face!” Sandy yells over him, furious, earning scathing looks from the entourage. They knew better than to give details, knowing to keep things close to the chest and avoid any legal issues, to protect him at all costs.

“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.

“No, it’s okay, Jer,” Elvis says firmly, waving him off. “I’m sure the doctor knows to be discreet.”

The doctor looks up at his hovering, intimidating form, and says nothing for a moment. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I need to get her to a hospital and stabilized as soon as possible. She needs x-rays. It’s likely she has a serious concussion, Mr. Presley.”

The men start to argue, knowing that as soon as she leaves this room, a whole host of problems could fall down on them, but that’s the last thing he cares about right now. All that matters is you.

Elvis holds up his hand and everyone goes silent. “Do what you need to do, Doc. Anything she needs.”

The doctor nods and asks that someone phone for an ambulance.

Elvis looks up and sees that the men cleared the room at some point, leaving only the major players. Jack still sits, leaning on the wall next to Red, his face battered and bloody, watching the doctor. Elvis can’t tell if Jack is sorry or not. Elvis walks towards Jack, his anger tempered only by his concern for you.

“EP!” Jerry says in a warning tone, signaling for the men to flank him.

“I’m fine,” he commands, crouching at Jack’s side.

Jack flinches.

“Are you proud of yourself, Jacky Boy? Are you satisfied, seeing her laid out on the ground like that? Is this what you wanted?” he hisses.

Jack says nothing. He sees the tears in Jack’s eyes, the regret through the pain, and for a second, Elvis almost sees the man he used to know in there.

“Hmm,” he tuts, looking over his friend with disgust, shaking his head. “I’ll deal with you later. And you, too,” he says, with a low, deadly calm, pointedly to Red. Then he rises easily from the floor, his attention on the men with the stretcher who just entered the suite.

“It’s never enough with you, EP, you selfish motherfucker. The man who gets everything he wants, no matter how many lives he has to destroy to get it. The rules never apply to you, do they? Dammit, you coulda had anyone, anyone! Why did it have to be y/n?” Jack spits out mournfully from behind him.

Shame snakes through him, through the anger that continues to boil under just the surface, covering the sorrow that flows under that. There is truth in Jack’s words, he knows that, even though he wants to deny it.

“How long, Elvis?”

He supposes he owes Jack that much, though he doesn’t even turn his head.

“Opening night.”

“No, you bastard. How long have you been in love with my wife?”

The room goes silent yet again.

Elvis turns around, but he cannot bring himself to look Jack in the eyes for a moment. A lifetime of memories flashes through his head, of times much better than this, of times when they had each other’s backs. Ultimately, he knows what Jack has become is partially his fault. Ultimately, he knows it was wrong of him to want you when you weren’t his, wrong to have sex with you, even before the debacle of you and the pills. It was wrong of him to manipulate Jack into marrying you.

As much as he hates Jack right now, he once loved him, and still, he betrayed him.

Jack chuckles darkly, “That fucking long, huh?”

Elvis finally looks Jack in the eyes but says nothing. Nothing he can say will make any of this less of a fiasco. Nothing he can say with make it right, no matter how much he wants to jump in to defend himself, to tell Jack he saw you first, to tell him he wanted you first, to fucking explain that you’re his goddamn soulmate and he’s had to watch you be with someone else for almost two fucking decades.

“Ahhh, and she didn’t even know, did she?” A hint of a smile plays on Jack’s bloodied lips. “Didn’t even give the King the time of day! Well, at least I got that goin’ for me,” he laughs.  

His brow furrows as he fumes, and he steps towards Jack again. Lamar puts himself between the two men.

“It’s fine, Lamar, let him at me. What do I have to lose now anyways?” Jack laughs, which turn suddenly to sobs, “You were my brother. I gave up my life for you! I loved you, man!”

The words cut Elvis to the bone, flooding his fury with more guilt.

“And I love her,” Jack sobs.

“You don’t fucking love her,” Elvis says, infuriated, pushing past Lamar to grab Jack’s chin, wrenching his head to look at you being put on the stretcher. “You hurt her. You been hurtin’ her. And Jack, if she dies, I don’t care what brotherly love was between you and me—I will fucking kill you,” he says, low and vehement in Jack’s ear, for only him to hear.

He pulls back to stare Jack in the eye, to let him know just how serious he is, to make sure he understands that through the pain and the alcohol and whatever pills he might be on.

Jack blinks through his tears and nods his head once, shakily.

Elvis releases him.

Then he steps in behind you, still unconscious, on the stretcher as they take you out of the penthouse and to the elevator.

“EP, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to…” Charlie starts, hustling behind him.

He turns, seeing the stares of the men who have given him their lives to stand by his side. Some of them are befuddled, some understanding and resigned, some even a little suspicious after tonight’s events.

“I don’t give two shits if it’s a good idea or not, I’m goin’ with her. Anyone wanna argue with me about it?” he says impatiently, shooting up an eyebrow.

No one does.

It’s good it’s the middle of the night, otherwise he would’ve caused a huge scene at the hospital. But the nurses and doctors seem to gather by his demeanor that now is not the time for autographs. Instead of putting them in the waiting room, they set up an empty room at the end of the hall for the lot of them, a gruff old nurse warning them they best be quiet and not wake any of the patients before she closes the door on them.

And for the third time in his life, he waits to know your fate.

He waits for you, just as he’s been waiting for you for the last 18 years.

He waits and he prays, though this time, he makes no bargains with God.

He stills when the doctor finally comes to tell him that, yes, you do have a concussion and though you will likely experience symptoms as you recover, you should recover fully. He feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders.

When the doctor leads him and him alone back to your room, the doctor mentions the other symptoms you’ll likely experience and that you might have issues with your memory leading up to the event. Elvis cannot help but chuckle at that.

“Oh, I’m betting she will,” he says under his breath, though this time, he thinks it might be best after what you went through tonight.

He sits by your side in the quiet, dimmed room, and is taken aback by the angry bruising already spreading over your beautiful face. His fury at Jack swells through him once more, followed immediately by sadness. You look so innocent and fragile lying there. Suddenly, he feels afraid to touch you, as though you might break.

So, he waits. He waits for you to wake and he prays. He thinks of the lifetime he’s had without you and the life he wants with you going forward. And this time, he knows he won’t be leaving your side for anyone or anything.

But his secrets still lay heavy and dark on his heart. There are those things he cannot tell you of that day at Graceland so long ago, and the things he still cannot bring himself to admit to, like his confession of love as you almost died in his arms and his meddling in your life. He doesn’t want to tell you how all of it has led to you lying here in this hospital, hurt and fragile but somehow still his, he hopes.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it yet, so for now he just waits for you to come back to him.

He’s been too rough with you, he thinks, in his quest to show you how you are his. Pushing you too hard to keep up with his rockstar lifestyle and his insatiable need for you sexually has not been good for you. You’re exhausted, not eating, and have been on an emotional rollercoaster for days, and he was too consumed by his own selfishness to listen, so much so that he almost drove you away. The hurt, the feeling of pure panic that shot through him when you said you were leaving was enough to bring him to his knees, but of course, he could not tell you that. He couldn’t show you that weakness. Instead, he’d covered it with anger and passion, fucking you into submission.

He realizes his dominance, while fun in the bedroom, is perhaps masking his true feelings. He has told you in so many words how desperate he is for you, how he wants you to be with him, to let him take care of you, how he is yours, that he needs you. But in truth, he is afraid. Afraid that you don’t and never will feel the same towards him as he does towards you. That it is only his coercion, manipulation, and his sexual prowess that keeps you here with him. No matter how much you say you are his and that you will stay as he fucks it out of you, he’s not convinced that you’ll feel the same in the light of day, of your own accord.

Lord, the way you said you needed him tonight flashed him right back to that first time with you at Graceland. The time you don’t remember. He is putty in your hands now, just as he was then. But that need of yours was only sexual. If it is truly just sex for you and you are only staying for that…well, that scares him and makes him want to hold onto you so tightly that you can’t leave even if you wanted to.

If you don’t ever feel that same pull inside your heart, in your soul, that he has for you, he’s not sure what he will do.

Gone is the bravado and confidence gleaned from years of being Elvis Presley. Instead, he sits here at your bedside feeling stripped to his core: a nervous, stuttering boy with a funny name who loves you more than life itself. He is that boy who picked your books up off the ground, the one who you calmed backstage with your sweetness and wit. For you and you alone, he is just Elvis. And he’s worried he won’t recover if you don’t ever grow to love him.

Anxiety courses through him, a throbbing pulse that serves to remind him that for all he has and is in this world, he is still only a man. And you are the girl who has comforted him through some of his worst moments, yet now after all this time he’s still terrified to let you truly see him. If he lets you in, you will see him for all that he is and all the terrible parts of himself he’s ashamed of: his selfishness and possessiveness, his overindulgence, his obsessive tendencies, his goddamned vanity and ego. His secrets. If you know the things he’s kept from you, he’s not sure you’ll ever forgive him. Certainly, you could not love him.

His heart aches at that thought, flooding him with despair. He needs you so badly that he cannot bear to risk showing you everything; however, a deep part of him wants to flay himself bare to you, to expose himself in a way that he has never done before, not with anyone.

Elvis puts his head on the bed near your hand. He is going to be gentler with you, especially after tonight. He will prove to you that he is worthy of your love, that this is so much more than just sex. He’s going to take care of you and give you the life you’ve always deserved.

God has humbled him once again tonight, and he knows he must do better.

He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.

So, he waits. He prays.

And he hopes that one day, you will love him, too.

*

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[skylinx2o]

For today's propaganda, I shall give a detailed explanation of how Sky's species works. Because I might have been thinking about it, in the not so normal amount. It's detailed for sure :v

(Sky, appearances in seasons 1 to 4)

Anyway, like I said, Sky is a shape-shifter demon (tho her parents are humans, but that's a different can of worms...)

They can change their appearance, but can't change into animals completely, so if Sky wanted to change into them, he would still have to learn the 72 transformations.

They can however change into an animal-like demon forms, and that gives them perks of said species. She likes the lynx and monkey forms the best, because they give more agility. 

Shape-shifting wings is possible, but harder than changing hair colour, or even a tail, since humans have a tail bone, and so do demons since some of them do have actual tails. Sky likes having a tail, and will sometimes forget to shape-shift it out. And her tail actually gets broken and doesn't heal properly (that's why it's bent) in season 3, making them unable to shape-shift it out completely any more. They can only make it change shape, and become shorter or longer. 

Changing colour of her hair and skin is also a more advanced technique, since it needs the decrease or increase in melanin, while the other transformations just require the re-arrangement of his cells. Unnatural colours however are almost impossible to achieve without the aid of additional magic. Tho, Sky does tend to get a bit more pale when changing into a more animal-like form, but that's just a side effect of him not being fully in control of her powers.

The true form of a shape-shifter demon of their species is the one they're born with. So yes, despite their form being fluent, they do have one set original appearance. But, Sky has also something kind of a 'true' true form. It can manifest if their powers go unstable, her body gaining a monster-like gas-like appearance. It's very hard to land a hit on him while in this form, because your punch might just phase through their body. But, the mind of a demon in that state becomes just as scattered as their body, making it near impossible to reason with.

But even when Sky's form is stable, their cells aren't as neatly connected as human's to accommodate for the shape-shifting and make it easier. But that also causes them to be more prone to injuries and other physical issues, such as asthma and poor sight. And any injuries/scars are permanent, no changing that

I think I've said enough for now. Feel free to ask me any question about this - w-

If you like Sky you could perhaps vote for them here ?

@lmk-oc-competition

[nalyra-dreaming]

Unfortunately, I'm rewatching E5; and I still confess some confusion about the meeting between Louisat and Tom Anderson in the bar. Maybe I completely miss something in previous scenes, or (more likely) I'm missing some subtext during the scene with Tom. But it seems to me, that the scene with Tom doesn't lend itself to a red flag that Rue Royale is being raided, unless I'm completely obtuse and missing the entire subtext of the scene? And what's with the 'one each' comment and then the stopping time in the speakeasy? (I understand there's a myriad of questions in this ask, please feel free to respond at your leisure)

Hey dear!

(I mean, in and by itself it is a great episode, and as said before, s1 was the harmless, the family season, so..... *coughs*)

Anyways :))))

Louis went to the chief of Police (angry because his family is being threatened) because Tom actually told them they were raided.

Most of the poor fools they hooked out of the bayou are former inhabitants of the Quarter, so don't be too startled if the police come knockin' on your door. ( Laughter in distance ) It's just a routine look-see.

A routine look-see, mhh hmmm. :)) (The camera is on the chief of police here, which is why the comment is hard to hear. And it's quite cool how they aligned it with Louis' "look-see" of the chief so to speak.)

It's after that comment that Louis notes he doesn't think Tom asked them there for donations, and Tom confirms that.

There was a discussion on this a while back, and I'm siding with @emeraldinerosefaedragon's and @cbrownjc's take here, Lestat was always going to kill Tom, eventually.

He "stopped the time" and made that "x" because... (I think) he sarcastically voted for him.

Tom had just told him about his soon-to-be Baton Rouge involvement, had asked them for money for his campaign. Lestat "voted" for him, thereby (likely) destroying Tom's chances in Baton Rouge... we later see him as a powerful and successful business man, but he does not seem to be a politician in Baton Rouge (even though he has the connections). An "x" on the cheek would have led to questions, especially if matched by one on Chief Bardin.

Now, "one each" is of course extremely interesting, too, indicating a lot about their hunting, and practice of it.

Louis knows immediately what Lestat means, even if they do not kill right now, and he knows (and is totally unsurprised by) Lestat will be "freezing time" on the whole room. They've done this before, and often, likely in their "happy years".

And Lestat has practiced between the soldiers-incident and this one, because there is no blood running out of his ears anymore. There is a lot in that fact alone :)))

"One each" is a command, and an allowance - and one Louis follows without debate. They mark their prey, and even though they only kill them later (and Louis lets Claudia kill the chief) these two are marked for death.

I think, if they had wanted to leave NOLA after, they would have taken the room down. As it were, it was a silent promise.

And, something to consider I think is that they laid low afterwards, right - and no-one came to bother them. (Or no-one Louis chose to tell us about. *shrugs*)

The silent promise, the threat was very much ... perceived as such by the two men marked, and they left them alone after that. Until the end :)

[jackieshauna-weekend]

🎺 JackieShauna Weekend 2023 Prompts 🎺

The Prompts for JackieShauna Weekend 2023 (October 13-15) have been decided. ✨ Thank you everyone who voted!

Be sure to check them out, and feel free to start creating fanworks of your choice (be it a drawing, written fiction, video edit, moodboard, social media au or even music! using the prompts (in part or in full 🧩) and our Yellowjacket faves: Jackie Taylor and Shauna Shipman!

Each day will include two choices of prompts that you are free to use. There is a bonus prompt that you can use any day within the event. Posting guidelines will be shared two weeks before the dates so make sure to keep an eye out!

✨ The Prompts ✨

13th October - And we did get through this together // Malibu, Milk and Confessions

14th October - In college... with or without you // The Princess and The Butcher

15th October - If only I can turn back time // Jealous Stares

Bonus Prompt: Deep Friend Love!

If you have any questions, feel free to ask us here, on twitter or on our discord server where we look forward to seeing and boosting your contributions when the time comes.

Meanwhile, we encourage you to share uour progress with us through your social media accounts! Remember to use the official hashtag #jackieshaunaweekend2023

Join our server!

We hope everyone has fun!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Nathan J. Robinson's "Responding to the Right: Brief Replies to 25 Conservative Arguments"

In Responding to the Right: Brief Replies to 25 Conservative Arguments, Current Affairs founder Nathan J. Robinson addresses himself in a serious, thoughtful way to the arguments advanced by right-wing figures, even when those arguments aren’t themselves very serious:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250777744/respondingtotheright

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/14/nathan-robinson#arguendo

Robinson is a keen student of right-wing media. He reads the books, watches the talk shows, listens to the podcasts. This is a lot of work, because the right wing media machine is extremely repetitive, often unhinged, and frequently grossly offensive. But, Robinson argues, a close study of right-wing media is worth it for what it reveals: the currents and fracture lines, and the underlying beliefs that the whole edifice is built upon.

Robinson sets up his subject with an essay on the curious un-reason of conservative arguments, which are inevitably styled by their proponents as “rational” (with left arguments condemned as irrational, softheaded and sentimental). But conservative arguments, motivated by fear and discomfort with uncertainty, are frequently, demonstrably, historically, provably irrational.

The arguments against letting everybody vote — proffered in the mid-19th century — threatened societal collapse if the “wrong” people were given a say. Despite society’s manifest failure to collapse, these same arguments were advanced again for the next 150 years (and are still repeated today) in conservative circles.

Likewise, the general conservative pessimism that reform isn’t possible — bad regulations can’t be replaced with good ones, bad working conditions can’t be improved through unionization. These arguments are repeated again and again, impervious to evidence.

Robinson describes conservativism as a comforting, fixed ideology that allows its adherents to move through the world without having to question themselves: you broke the law, so you’re guilty. No need to ask if the law was just or unjust. This sidelines sticky moral dilemmas: no need for judges to ask if something is good or fair — merely whether it is “original” to the Constitution. No need for a CEO to ask whether a business plan is moral — only whether it is “maximizing shareholder benefit.”

There are rigid, dogmatic leftists, too (whom Robinson decries) but conservatives who are quick to point out how Marxist dogma can lead to ghastly atrocities — as in Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge — are completely indifferent to, say, the horrors of US imperialism in Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq.

Conservative arguing techniques break down into a dozen categories:

Speculative fiction: “More immigrants will destroy the social fabric of our society” — anything we can vividly imagine is certain to occur. Likewise, “companies that abuse their workers will lose those workers when they quit.”

Saying things rather than proving things: “Central America is poor because bad laws restrict capital formation” — asserting dogma as though it was obviously true, rather than a proposition in need of evidence and proof.

Extrapolating from narrow examples: “All the private housing in Chicago is terrible, therefore public housing is impossible to do well.” No attention is spared for counterexamples that disprove the proposition or analysis that asks why this situation arose.

Lofty abstractions rather than actual thought: “Nothing is more important than the freedom to explore the destiny of one’s soul and risk it at every moment” — it’s inspiring, but what does it mean? How does it apply to the climate? Family leave? Health care?

The rhetoric of “reason, fact and knowledge”: “Facts don’t care about your feelings” — but “facts” are just what conservatives call their “feelings.”

Assumptions about human nature: “Man, acting without religion, is unable to break any chains that oppress him” — unproven, blithe statements that humans are naturally greedy, or hierarchical, or lazy, etc. These are unfalsifiable superstitions masquerading as science.

Ludicrous hyperbole: “American Marxism is actively working to destroy our society and culture”

Bad stats: “The NHS costs British households £5000/year. Governments can’t run efficient services.” Sure, the NHS costs UK households 5 grand per year — how much do American households pay for private insurance?

(Allegedly) unanswerable questions: “We’re supposed to be in awe of teachers’ dedication and outraged at their low pay. Which is it? Are they in it for the money, or because of their mission to help kids?” These “gotcha” questions usually have straightforward answers (for example, people can be dedicated to their jobs and deserving of a living wage).

Gish gallops: Throwing out so many assertions in a single tirade that you don’t even know where to begin.

Plausible, but terrible, analogies: “If a million Mexican soldiers tried to invade the USA every year and 150,000 of them made it and claimed territory for Mexico, we’d be outraged. We should be just as alarmed at 150,000 Mexican migrants who settle here.” Mexican migrants aren’t an occupying army annexing territory to a foreign power — they’re low-waged, hard workers who pay tax, don’t get to use the systems that their taxes pay for, and come at their own direction, not at the direction of a foreign power.

Selective omissions: “Thousands of Canadians go to the USA to get health care they can’t get at home” — not said: millions of Canadians get excellent health care at home, and tens of millions of Americans can’t get healthcare in the USA.

After this anatomy of bad argumentation, Robinson offers general tips for countering these arguments, including “don’t assume they’re stupid,” “focus on arguments, not statistics,” and “stories matter as much as empirical correctness.” These are hard-won, field-tested tactics for both winning over persuadable conservatives and keeping neutral observers from being sucked in by bad arguments.

The next two thirds of the book are taken up with analyses of specific conservative arguments, and responses to them. All told, Robinson takes on 25 of these, from “the woke left want to destroy free speech” to “immigration is harmful” to “there is no such thing as white privilege.”

For each of these arguments, Robinson lays out the best versions of the conservative positions, quoting extensively from both right wing intellectuals and demagogues, and then describes their weaknesses and suggests avenues for arguing these points. He also provides a bibliography at the end of each section.

Robinson also signposts areas where no common ground can be had — true believers in fetal personhood are likely to stay that way, and nothing you say is going to change that. The best you can hope for is to make sure that observers hear the better arguments.

But there are other conservative positions, like “the Nazis were socialists,” that are just plain wrong (Robinson quotes an authoritative source on why Nazis are not socialists — one A. Hitler). These are areas where it’s possible to disabuse people of things they don’t understand well but have fallen into reflexive opinions over.

In his conclusion, Robinson rounds up some conservative positions he agrees with:

many authoritarian “socialist” governments of the 20th century were horrifying;

some leftists are unpleasant and self-righteous;

the Democratic Party is pretty worthless;

conserving things is good.

Though Robinson notes that even on these areas of seeming agreement, conservatives often fall short of their rhetoric (for example, conservation of our forests, oceans, animals and atmosphere are antithetical to conservative policies).

Robinson also anatomizes the most effective parts of conservative rhetoric and exhorts his leftist comrades to learn from it, and put it to better use.

I confess that I find it hard to spend a lot of time in conservativeland; the podcasts and books and TV are often excruciating. Robinson’s book is proof that it’s worth the effort, though.

This week (Feb 14–17), I’m in Australia, touring my book Chokepoint Capitalism with my co-author, Rebecca Giblin. We’re in Sydney tonight (Feb 15) (more tickets just released!), then Canberra (Feb 16/17).

[Image ID: The cover for the St Martin's edition of 'Responding to the Right.']

[onigiriforears]

Mar 2023 Seitokai Bookclub | とつくにの少女

Hi friends! The Seitokai Bookclub is STILL ongoing--the only reason why you haven't seen a post about it lately is because we were still reading コンビニ人間. However, starting on Feb 26, we will be reading とつくにの少女 (Totsukuni no Shoujo), also known as The Girl from the Other Side. If you're interested in joining us or want more details on how our bookclub runs, come join us in the server or feel free to message me/drop an ask (or even @litheah and @tokidokitokyo).

What if I've never read a book in Japanese yet? I'm not confident in my skills. That's fine! Not only do we always have a group vocab sheet that we collectively add to (anonymously), but we have ongoing discussions about whatever book we're reading. That means you're free to ask questions, send screenshots, rant about a character or anything like that. You'll definitely find me asking about certain grammar points or if using a particular set of kanji for a word changes the nuance in a particular sentence.

What's the goal of your bookclub? Well, we're interested in fostering confidence in reading in your target language without feeling that you have no one to turn to. Our server has people of all levels of fluency, meaning that there's always someone who can answer your question. And if we can't, we have people we can reach out to ask. We won't leave you hanging!

You don't seem to choose books I'm interested in--how can I change that? Well, we take suggestions and vote as a bookclub for what we'll be reading next. If your book doesn't win the first time you submit it, try try again! とつくにの少女 was suggested and in voting 3-4 times before it finally won (same with a lot of our other books.) Don't be discouraged!

We hope to see you there! | Seitokai's Nihongo Discord Server

[scavengerssuccotash]

They (nat and clint obvi) have the day off what are they doing?

The answer to this question depends heavily on how their last mission went.

If it was a particularly strenuous mission they use their off days to recuperate and recharge. Hot showers, ice packs and the lot with full on dead to the world naps in pajamas from last night. Which in Clint’s personal opinion really fucking sucks because the concept of a weekend compared to their reality just highlights their lack of a work life balance. He grumbles about it to Lucky and will stew in his anger about another weekend wasted on soothing his aching joints and catching zzz’s than doing stuff that he actually likes until Phil will graciously give them an extended leave.

(Clint thinks that Phil’s just sick of his passive aggression but in reality Nat is the one that requests it. Under the table of course. “Phil, if I don’t have the next three days to rest I’m going to personally show you how much damage a stapler can do to a person’s skull.” “I can swing four, Agent Romanoff, but that’s the best I can do.” “Perfect. I’m cooking Sunday, bring a bottle of Pinot Noir!”)

If the last stretch of missions were relatively easy and otherwise injury free, Strike Team Delta savors it. They’ve learned to temper their enthusiasm however, as trying to fit a month’s worth of activities into a tight 24 hours has left them disappointed before. So they plan it out starting the day they spy a gap in their schedules. Gradually as they get closer and closer to their day off their grand ideas of visiting museums, theme parks or zoos deflate to more realistic goals of a good meal and entertainment. By the time they wake on the morning of their day off, the giddiness that buoyed them from mission to mission has ebbed into a deep relaxing sigh. They spend their morning in bed, kissing, cuddling or sometimes having sex until they’ve decided if it’s a bed day or a productive day. More often than not Clint votes for a bed day, his appetite for Natasha’s physical closeness is near insatiable. Especially because they don’t make a habit of getting frisky while out in the field. Nat on the other hand opts for a day out in the city. ( “We can’t just spend our day off in bed, Clint.” “I dunno Nat, I’ve been told I can be very persuasive.” “And who told you that, ястреб?” )

In the end they both get what they want and make it out of their apartment by lunch, where they grab a sandwich at the corner store before walking to the park to people watch. Sometimes they catch a movie in the evening or go out for drinks with their small circle of friends, depending on their mood that day. No matter their daily agenda they truly truly savor the normalcy that their off days provide. They both feel a bit more human after a couple of days spent showering without trial sized shampoo and some home cooked meals that occasionally end up a bit too peppery.

Thanks for asking!

[shoyastars]

Alllllllright!!!! THE PULL IS IN!

With the total of 21 votes the result isssssss!

YOU ARE CO-WORKERS!

You guys just can’t wait to met him huh? No worries I catch your drift 😉

Here are some important questions though

1. Will it have a nsfw scene?

That depends if you guys want it or not, but I won’t do it till later on in the story. So hang tight ok?

2. Is it ok for minors read or interact with the fanfic?

No! The fandom is still 18+ and children should stay away from it at all cost. This isn’t an option it’s a fact! NO CHILDREN ALLOWED!

3. Will you have an option to choose in the story?

I’ve thought about, and decided since tumbler does have pulls for you to do so, why not? I’ll be sure you guys are able to choose weather an important option or not, maybe I’ll even let you choose weather to go further with Ray in one scenario hehe!

4. Does it take place in the hero world?

Nope! It takes place in another universe where the world is just like ours and the hero’s are only mentioned in comic books and tv shows. Con, did say it could ether be in another universe so I’m going with it.

5. What job will we be doing in the story?

Honestly that’s why I asked you guys if you wanted to work with Ray or not, to lower the odds of many job options. Now that it’s narrowed down a bit, I’m able to look at the options in front of me. No worries I’ll do my research! Can’t explain a job without proper research can I?

If there are any further questions! Please feel free to comment! I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions. Anyways!

✨Let the writing begin!✨

[theminecraftbee]

okay i know solving counting sheep is an evo fic first and foremost but i'm super curious how the hermits end up dealing with three. it sounds like this is the kind of hermitcraft thats already a sanctuary for weirdos, but i feel like someone whos skin is feathers and wears a mask they can't see out of is a new level of strange. also, would pearl canonically still join the hermits after a few seasons in that universe? sorry to bombard you with questions when you already have a lot queued up LMAO

okay so this is like, a BIG QUESTION, and another one i've talked about with @strifetxt. we've noodled around a lot so off the top of my head, here's a few answers to "things we think three might do on hermitcraft"! (with the note: none of this is CANON. just because i'm saying it, word of god style, doesn't mean that's actually what HAPPENS, you can have your own story and headcanon for this in your head.)

three joins in season seven, not six, in my head. i'm not even going to try to pretend to guess what a season six without grian looks like just know that apparently happens.

three gets like, SUPER into the head games, because its a way to use its combat skills to HELP SOMEONE why wouldn't it get super into that? this is the first real introduction most of the hermits have to three. the hermits are like "okay mumbo where on earth did you find someone this good at murder". mumbo is like "who knows".

we were definitely joking that outside of hermits who know how to recognize a watcher (iskall, probably xisuma, i'd say also maybe like... doc or ren), the hermits just kind of assume three is autistic and roll with it from there because the idea the hermits, on being told three's actual circumstances, go "why would we guess that mumbo you said you met it hiding in a bar from overstimulation with you" is VERY FUNNY TO ME.

we were debating if election still happens; three is less likely to set up events on its own but IS likely to accidentally do something a little overboard.

our hack for if we wanted three to do the election is as follows: mumbo makes a joke with like, scar, about wanting to be mayor, three takes this completely literally, three and false end up in a cold war of "who is the scarier person NOT to vote for as mayor". meanwhile scar is vibing and a sith lord backing stress is very concerned.

grumbot does not happen. i don't think there's a world where three does grumbot.

three DOES befriend etho, at first to learn how to do interiors better, since etho is doing the all-interiors base, but later because etho's brand of tomfoolery actually works well with three. TWO weird dorks in masks now.

i think three would LOVE free glass. it and etho would make the world's Most pranks i think, all of which are technically what they were asked for. three helps work for shade-e-e's.

there's definitely more stuff we've talked about that i've missed and ALSO these aren't necessarily canon! you may have your own COMPLETELY DIFFERENT IDEA of what happens post-scs, which is fine! this was us waffling around about what would be fun to have happen, haha.

as for pearl... i like to think she does eventually still join hermitcraft, after a few years of texting back and forth with three and a bit more healing. she deserves it.

[danggirlronpa]

Welcome to the Danganronpa F/F Rarepair Bracket!

POSTED BRACKETS: Seed A1, Seed A2, Seed B1, Seed B2, Seed C1, Seed C2, Seed D1

This is a bracket of 256 ships, with art and graphics represented by over 75 creators. A full list of the ships and their matchups can be found here, and a full list of the pieces used to represent the ships can be found here! (Creators will also be credited on the posts where their work is used.)

Due to the size of this bracket, it has been split into 8 sub-brackets of 32, each of which will determine one of the semifinalists. Starting tomorrow, April 3, at 6:30 PM EST, a round will be posted twice a week, and each poll will last for a week. This will continue without pause until the third round of each bracket, when a round will instead be posted every day. (The polls will continue to last a week!) This will then continue until we reach the 8 semifinalists, at which point another post will be made for the schedule from there!

As of right now, my tumblr is kind of...broken, which means my posts aren't showing up in tags. Since this is already a bracket of rarepairs, which are low engagement by nature, that's a big problem! As such, if you could please reblog this post, it would be deeply appreciated!!

This is a pretty big bracket, so if you have questions, that's okay! Here's a couple that I figure might come up frequently:

I don't even know who this character is!: A brief list of reasons to vote for each ship, as well as basic info about the character if they're lesser-known, will be provided under each poll, so don't worry!

I gave you permission to use my art, but I don't see it here?/I asked you not to use my art but it's still here! What the hell??: Due to the previously mentioned "my tumblr is kind of broken," the entire first day of messages I sent to artists has been, to my knowledge, wiped completely clean - or, if not, then at the very least I have no way to access it. As such, I have no way to check the responses from that day and had to rely solely on memory, which I am famously bad at. So if I misremembered your permissions, please drop me an ask!! I would love to use your art if I haven't, and I would be happy to take your work down if I have.

Why...is Nekomaru here?: I am a voice of the people.

If you have any further questions, feel free to send 'em in! Otherwise, I'll see you tomorrow! (:

[mistynatweek]

MistyNat Week activities have officially begun! This means that: 1) the polls are now open to vote for our MistyNat Week dates, and 2) you are now encouraged to submit suggestions for our event theme!

DATE VOTING The poll is now open to vote on our event dates. The poll will be open from now until Sunday, August 13th at 5pm Eastern Time (countdown here). If you are considering participating, please vote for all of the options that work for you, so that we can try and make this event convenient for the majority of the fandom. (If you are absolutely certain you won’t be participating in creating for the event, please skip this poll. However, even if you will not be creating you are welcome to participate in the theme/prompt suggestions, so please read on!) You can vote in the Event Date Poll here.

THEME SUGGESTIONS It is also time to begin choosing our theme, or the overarching idea that will guide our seven MistyNat Week prompts. Theme suggestions need to be:

safe for work, as this is an all-ages event

general enough that it can be broken down into seven smaller simple prompts down the line

For example, some theme possibilities could be “Tropes & Cliches,” or “Seven Deadly Sins,” or “Alternate Universes”. Then, when we are ready to take prompt suggestions, some Tropes & Cliches prompts could be “fake dating,” or “bed sharing,” or “truth serum,” etc, whereas some Alternate Universes prompts could be “soulmates,” or “no crash,” or “space”.

We will be accepting theme suggestions from now until Tuesday, August 15th at 5pm Eastern Time (countdown here). Voting on the theme will begin the following day, and a separate announcement will be made regarding that poll.

To submit your theme suggestion, please send us an ask. You are welcome to submit anonymously, or with your username attached. You can also submit via our discord or our twitter.

Anyone can submit a theme suggestion, and you can submit as many as you like, at any time until submissions close. While you are free to submit any theme suggestion you like, no harmful/offensive/discriminatory suggestions will be posted. If you are unsure if your suggestion is appropriate, please feel free to ask.

When theme voting begins, the themes will be posted without the submitter’s name being attached. However, the winning theme submitter will be credited (unless you request otherwise). If you have any questions about themes, or how to suggest them, please send us an ask.

We can’t wait to see what you all will submit!

[coldflashevents]

ANNOUNCING COLDFLASH WINTER WEEK 2022

Greetings, folks! 

You’ll recall that recently, I asked everyone to vote on the prompts for our upcoming Coldflash Winter Week, which is due to take place December 26th–January 1st.

The votes are in (and voting is now closed)! As always, we had a lot of amazing prompts to choose from, but there were definitely some clear favourites. I used a combination of the most popular prompts, in no particular order. There are two prompts for each day, to give everyone plenty of options. I’ve tried to include a themed and non-themed prompt for each day of the event, for or for those of you who may not celebrate Christmas or don’t feel like sticking to a strictly winter theme! 

Like the last event, we’re keeping it chill *finger guns*. Any kinds of fanwork are welcome! Fanfic, fan art, playlists, moodboards, fan videos, edits, gifsets… whatever your heart desires. Feel free to make as many contributions as you’d like---the more the merrier!

Without further ado, the prompts for the event are...

Day 1

Mistletoe The Rogues

Day 2

Holiday Truce Secret Relationship

Day 3

First Christmas Fake Dating

Day 4

Secret Santa Body Swap

Day 5

Cuddling for warmth Post Oculus

Day 6

“Let me help" Ice skating

Day 7

New Year’s Kiss Free day

Once again, is a pretty casual event, with no commitments or sign-ups. The only rules are as follows:

1.      Remember not to start posting until the event begins! You can start sharing your contributions on December 26th. If you’re a little behind schedule, don’t worry—I’ll continue to monitor the tag for a short time after the event is over in case anyone misses the deadline!

2.      Make sure your work includes the prompts! There’s plenty of room for creative freedom, so hopefully these suggestions will spark something for you… pun intended. You could even mix and match---maybe Barry begs Len to let Barry “help” him on the ice rink, or they have to cuddle for warmth post-Oculus. So many possibilities! 

3.      The tag for this weekend will be cfww2022, so remember to tag all your contributions! When we get a little closer to the time, I’ll also start an AO3 collection where you can share your works with the world!

4.      Please use appropriate tags. If your work is nsfw, or contains themes that might be upsetting or triggering, please make sure to tag it as such. We want everyone to be safe and enjoy themselves during this event, so be mindful of your fellow users and make sure to leave warnings if necessary!

5.      Have fun!

As always, if anyone has any questions, please feel free to drop me a message!

Thank you everyone, and let the coldflashing commence!

[akookminsupporter]

This question has always bugged me a little That why jikook???

What i mean is since the beginning we know how they came closer over the time and it wasn't a sudden change but a process of spending time together, getting to know each other, being their for e/o, trying to understand one another etc.

So since beginning there's more of jimin nd jungkook "official" content than any other duo like we all know during their trainee days jungkook was mostly close with taehyung nd not only trainee days but the yrs after it too. But when he got asked which is the hyung who gives him the most comfort then his reply was "during trainee days hobi hyung took care of me but after debuting I'm spending more time with jm Hyung so he's the one who gives him most comfort, and jm buys him lots of food" he said the same thing when asked similar question in another time. so if he's this close to taehyung then why jimin?? Was it because he simply wanted to show gratitude towards jimin's gestures?? He said he plays hard to get with jimin but he likes jimin.

Jungkook has had the most lives with jimin after their debut so my question again is if he was close to taehyung or any other hyung nd disliked jm according to some ppl then again why jimin?? Why not go live with other members?? We usually do these things with ppl who we are most buddy buddy so if he was not close to jm according to armys nd all so why jm??

Jimin's being called as "jungkook's favourite model" multiple times in their subtitles means atleast the comapny knows he's the one jk films the most nd we all have seen them asking jk the same question too nd even the staff who's worked with them has said the same thing that it's either they're taking selfies or jk's filming jm. So if he ranks last in jk's list of handsome members why jimin is the one who's being called as jk's fav model??

Since beginning jm nd jk have more dance nd song covers than anyone else. Maybe it's cause they're main-lead duo so the comapny might want to push then like that but I'm sure the comapny wouldn't stop any other pair to release something together right? So if they're free to do what they want with whichever members they want then again why jimin? Why he's the one in most of jk's content??(even tho jihope the two main dancers we still have jikook dancing covers more than jihope)

His first ever GCF the start of something new in his artist life is also with jm...

If according to certain fandom taehyung is jungkook's safe place then why is jimin the one who's always besides jk than tae? Why jimin? Why not your safe place???

What I'm trying to say is there's so many theories of ppl saying jm nd jk weren't close with each other in the beginning which might be true too idk cause i still remember when they asked jk if he likes jm 3 members voted NO so idk bro...BUT if they weren't close then why i see jk with jm more than anyone else?? If uncomfortable then why is he the first one to reach out to you when you were feeling alone talking to a camera (BTS's story book scene ). Like why does he knows you more than anyone else? Why he can sense you're not feeling good without anyone telling him nd he's right there for you???

I'm trying to show contrast with how ppl downgrades their bond but everything we have seen shows nd tells some different story...i wasn't here during early yrs so idk much about their bonds but still...

Opinions.