angel2el

[angel2el]

oh...I AM GOING TO ADORE THIS BLOG I CAN TELL <333

Ahhh tysm!!!

I appreciate your kind words so much!! 💜💜💜

[angel2el]

Blackened Haze (Elvis Presley) - PART ONE -- "Sunset"

My gosh I'm so excited to share this with you all. It's a story that explores a possibility where a reader, Elvis's longtime girlfriend, is there to help him through his mother's death and work towards happiness and peace. This is a bit sad at first. I will say I felt a little solemn at times. But I am proud of it and I love it and I hope you all do too. I love you all so, so much. I do not have a taglist but if you would like me to tag you at the next parts I will. The colonel is mentioned but is not a villain due to the fact that at this point, he and Elvis had good relations.

“I came as soon as I heard you were here,” you say softly as you enter the hospital’s private waiting room Elvis is in.  He’s sitting on the blue couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands when you first walk in, but he lifts his head up when he hears your voice.

“Hi, honey,” he says, voice raspy and weak, waving his hand for you to come over.  You approach him and set your flowers on the table in front of you two before sitting down.

“How is she?” You ask.  His mother was admitted three days ago, and he’d arrived around twelve hours ago.   It’s 4 in the morning now and Elvis doesn’t look like he’s slept a wink yet.  You put a hand on his forehead to brush his hair out of his face.  He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, but he’s pale and his eyes are bloodshot from a lack of sleep.

“They haven’t told me nothing,” he says.  His voice is still low and glum.  You move your hand to his cheek.

“Have you slept at all?” You ask, moving your thumb up and down his cheek.

“Not yet,” he says.

“Lay your head on my lap and try to sleep some,” you say, scooting away so he has enough room to lay down.

“I..I can’t.  What if somethin’ happens to her while I’m asleep?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.

“I’ll wake you up if anything happens.  I promise,” you say.  “You need to get some sleep or you’ll barely be able to make it through tomorrow.”  You put your hand on his waist and gently start to ease him down.  He hesitates at first, but eventually complies, resting his head on your lap.  “Just relax,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder.  You feel his body heave with a shaky sigh.  You can feel his nerves, how hot he is from the stress, the cold sweat on the back of his neck.  He can’t even be with his mother right now because Vernon is with her.  That must be the hardest part.  She’s everything to him.

You can’t imagine what life would be like without her.  You both know she’s very, very sick.  But your heart won’t let you think about losing the sweet, loving woman who welcomed you with open arms into their home when you and Elvis first started dating, and again welcomed you into Graceland when you moved in.  The woman who always cared for you, and more importantly, for Elvis.  She’s his best friend.  The person he’s closest to in the whole world.  He wouldn’t be able to go on without her.

You calm yourself out of the thoughts of losing her by closing your eyes and rubbing his shoulder up and down, trying to think more positive thoughts.  Gladys is going to live.  She’s going to get better.  You blink slowly, tiredly as you keep your touch on him, feeling him start to fall asleep.  He’s exhausted.  He may have been up for over 24 hours at this point, considering he’d been in the car most of yesterday, stressing about Gladys.  Your chest aches with sympathy at the thought of his suffering over the last few days.  Luckily, he’d been granted leave from army training to see his mother.  But that didn’t do much to ease the fear and pain.  You look at his hands, which were shaking slightly.  His nails are bitten down well below his nailbeds, a nervous habit he’d developed as a teen.  You hear him sigh softly.  He was asleep now.  Thank goodness.  You lean your own head back and close your eyes, letting your breathing slow.  You hadn’t been up nearly as long as Elvis, but you’d barely been able to sleep these past few days knowing Gladys was suffering and Elvis was too.  A call had come at 3am this morning telling you Elvis was at the hospital now and had been for eleven hours, so you drove as fast as you could to the hospital to meet him.  Exhaustion and fear wracked your mind, just like him.  For Gladys, and for Elvis.  You put a hand on your forehead and try to calm yourself.  Gladys was going to live.  Everything was going to be okay.  You keep repeating that until deep, dreamless sleep welcomes you.

When you wake up to the waiting room’s door opening, Elvis is still in your lap.  You can tell it's been a long time because you’re absolutely starving.  You put your hand on his head and pat it as you watch a nurse with a tray of food approach the two of you.  Elvis shifts, slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Honey?” he says, turning to you.

“I’m here.”  Your hand goes to his shoulder.

The nurse sets down a tray with two bowls of oatmeal in front of you, pushing your pink flowers – Gladys’ favorite color – aside.  “You two need to eat something.  Haven’t had a bite since you arrived,” she says sweetly.

“Is there any news?” Elvis asks.

The nurse shakes her head.  “I’m not your mama’s nurse, Mr. Presley.  I just got assigned to bring you food.  I don’t know anything.”

Elvis swallows and nods slowly.  “What…what time is it?”

“6pm.  You slept nearly fourteen hours.”

Elvis nods again, but he looks a little guilty.  “You needed it, baby,” you say, handing his spoon to him.  “You need to eat.”  The nurse leaves.

Elvis looks down at his oatmeal.  He doesn’t seem that interested in it, but you pick it up and set it in his hands anyways.  “I know you’re not hungry, but you gotta have something.”  You take a bite of your own oatmeal.  It wasn’t delicious, but you were starving.  

Elvis shook his head.  “My stomach’s in knots.  I can’t eat a thing.”

“I know.  You have to try.”  You take his spoon to scoop up a bite for him, putting it up to his mouth.  He eats it.  You can tell it instantly makes him realize how hungry he’d been.  “Eat the whole bowl,” you tell him, handing him the spoon and getting back to work on your own food.  Slowly, he nods and starts eating again.  It takes a great weight off your chest to see him eating.  You were a little worried about his state, but as he eats, a lot of color comes back into his face.  By the time he’s finished the bowl, you’re almost done with yours.  You take the last few bites and set down the empty bowl.

He looks a thousand times better now that he’s eaten.  “You feeling better?” You ask him, and he nods.

“It’s gonna be ok,” you say, pulling him into a hug and putting your hand on the back of his head.  You can feel his body relax against yours.

“I’m scared,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

“I know.  I know, Elvis.”  That’s all you can bring yourself to say, feeling emotional as he pours his feelings onto you.  You pull away from the hug and put your hands on the side of his face.  “We’re gonna get through this, ok?”

He nods.  “Ok.  Ok.”  You move your hands down to hold his, squeezing them.  His eyes look into yours.  He looks so tired and scared.  Younger than usual.  You smile at him, and he manages a weak smile back.

“Promise…promise me you’ll stay with me,” he asks, his voice trembling a little as he puts a hand on your cheek.

You nod.  “I will.  Forever.  I’ll stay with you no matter what.”  He visibly relaxes a little at this, like he’d been afraid of you leaving him.  You rub the side of his shoulder.  “You have nothing to worry about,” you promise, and he nods, sighing.  You open your mouth to talk more, but as you do, the door opens and a different nurse comes through.

“Mr. Presley?” she says.

“Yes?” Elvis turns to her, taking his hand off of you.

You turn to look at him.  His eyes are wide.

“Uh…your mother…she went into cardiac arrest,” the nurse says, tears starting to fill her eyes.

“What?” you ask.

“Her heart gave out.  She’s…gone.  I’m so sorry,” the nurse says, her voice breaking with sadness.  Gone?  The world stops for a moment, and you can’t feel anything, blinking over and over again until you snap out of it. 

You turn to Elvis.  He’s staring at the wall in front of him.  He swallows, but doesn’t move a muscle.  His eyes are wide.

You bite your lip to keep from crying.

“Would you like to see her and say goodbye, Mr. Presley?” the nurse asks.

Elvis’s lip starts to quiver and his brow furrows as he continues to stare at the wall.  You run your hand up his back.  He looks numb.  Incredibly disoriented.

“Elvis, honey,” you say, but he interrupts you.

“No.”  His voice is weak, but firm.  “She–she can’t be gone.”

You don’t know what to say, inhaling a shaky breath from your nose.  “I’m sorry,

honey,”  you say.

“She can’t be gone,” he repeats, turning to you.  You grab his hand.

“I’m so sorry,” you say.

“Mr. Presley, if you’d like to see her now, you can say your goodbyes,” the nurse repeats.  Elvis shakes his head.  It’s like he doesn’t believe this is real.

“Come on, honey,” You say, standing up.  He shakes his head, but you tug on him and he stands. He numbly follows, keeping your hand in his and his eyes on the floor.  As you walk out of the room, he opens his mouth as if to say something, but all that comes out is a shaky gasp.  You squeeze his hand.  “You’re okay.”

His jaw is shaking still as you follow the nurse into a private suite.  When she opens the door, Gladys is lying on the bed.  She looks peaceful.  She’s not breathing.  She is still.  Utterly lifeless.  It really hits you then, and you start to feel tears come down your cheeks.  Your eyes glance at the other side of the room, where Vernon is sitting, sobbing, with his head in his hands.  You look up at Elvis, who approaches the bed slowly and reaches for his mother’s hand.  When he feels her skin against his, reality smashes into him and he breaks.  He takes several fast, gasping breaths before he starts to cry.  He can’t stand anymore, dropping onto his knees with a thud and keeping Gladys’ hand in his.  His head is down but you can see the stream of tears and hear the violent, anguished, gasping sobs you’d never heard someone make before.  He mumbles something between his cries, but it’s unintelligible.  You squat beside him and put your hand on his back, feeling him shaking over and over again as cries wrack his body.

You can’t help but cry quietly beside him, feeling his grief.  Glancing over at Vernon, you see still has his head in his hands, unable to look at his wife or son.  You don’t know how long you stay like that.  Next to Elvis, listening to him cry and rubbing his back.  You’ve never seen someone so sad.  His sobs eventually turn to gasps and whines, and you look out the window and see the sun is starting to set.  Your feet are starting to go numb.  Elvis starts to quiet after a while, and the nurse speaks softly, gently.

“We have to take her to the morgue now, Mr. Presley,” she tells him.

“No,” he cries, squeezing her hand tighter.  You stand up a little and put your hands on his waist, trying to get him to stand up by pulling.  He’s stubborn, but weak, and you’re able to pull him to his feet.  He takes one look at his mother’s face and starts sobbing again.  He turns to you and you put your hand on his cheek.  His eyes and the area around them are red, contrasting his pale, tear-soaked face.  His breathing is too fast.  He’s not getting enough air.

“Elvis, sit down,” you tell him.  “You’re going to make yourself pass out, honey.”  You ease him towards the chair opposite Vernon’s, and he all but collapses into it.  “Breathe.  Slower,” you tell him as he bends over, putting his head in his hands.  You pat his back in a slow rhythm to try and get him to relax and regulate his breathing.  Vernon has stopped crying now and shakes hands with the nurse as she apologizes to him.  You don’t watch, but you hear the footsteps and the wheels start to roll as they take Gladys out of the room.  Elvis can’t hear it over his cries and gasps, but after a few minutes of you whispering to him and patting him gently, his breathing evens out and he looks up to see that she’s gone.  Vernon comes over.

“Son, we need to go now,” he says quietly.  You can see Elvis’s eyes are welling up with tears again.  “There’s—there’s a car waiting for us outside.”

You nod, taking Elvis’s hand and helping him up slowly.  You guide his arm around your shoulder.  There’s no way he can walk in this state on his own.  You follow Vernon to the exit of the hospital.  He’s silent, keeping his head down and shuffling slowly next to you as you make your way into the backseat of the car outside.  Elvis puts his head in his hands as the car takes off, and you keep your hand on the upper part of his back, pressing your other hand on his thigh.  The ride is silent save for Elvis’s small gasps between cries, and it goes by quickly.  As you pull up to Graceland, Vernon gets out of the car on his side and comes around to you and Elvis’s side, opening the door for the two of you.  Elvis looks up and takes his father’s hand to get out of the car and you follow, letting him put his arm around you again.  You silently take him upstairs and into his room, lowering him to the bed gently before sitting to the left of him.  He’s still crying, much quieter than before, but you can hear his shaky breaths and soft whimpers.  He’s on his side, trembling, with his back facing you. 

“Elvis,” you whisper softly.  It’s hard for you to keep your composure.  You’d known Gladys for six years, being Elvis’s girlfriend since senior year.  Losing her was painful for you, too.  But it was a million times more painful for Elvis, and it hurt you to see him suffering so much.  “Elvis, honey, you’re gonna be ok.”  You put your arm over his waist, resting on his stomach, and your other hand combs through his hair gently.

“I c-can’t live wi-without her.”  His stuttering cuts a hole in your heart, a reminder of the shy, nervous boy who was bullied for his speech impediment when he was younger.  He still stutters occasionally now, especially when he’s upset or tired.

“You will, baby,” You say.  He has to.  Your hand that was in his hair moves to his face, to his soft cheeks which are stained with tears that you wipe away.  You have a decent view of his face.  You’ve never seen him so sad in your life.  You’ve never seen anyone so sad.

“I can’t,” he cries, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.  You wipe them again.

“You can.  You’ll go on,” you tell him, leaning down and kissing his temple.  “You’re gonna be ok.  I promise.”  It doesn’t stop his crying, but he does lean into your touch a little more.

The door bursts open, and you turn to see the Colonel and Vernon in the doorway.

“Elvis,” the Colonel says, “There’s some people who want to take some photographs outside.  The press.”

“N-no,” Elvis says, keeping his back to the door.

“Elvis…” Vernon says. 

“Just a few photographs.  They’re not going to do anything to hurt you,” the Colonel reassures him.

Elvis seems a little calmed at the Colonel’s words, and he slowly sits up and wipes his eyes.  “I’ll…I’ll go out f-for a few minutes,” he says.  You help him out of bed and walk with him behind the Colonel and Vernon down the stairs.  As he walks out the door with Vernon, you sit down at the bottom of the steps and put your head in your hands, letting yourself cry.  Gladys is gone.  Forever.  You hadn’t seen much of her over the past few months, temporarily moving back into your parents’ house when Elvis left, but when you came to Graceland to check in on Elvis’s parents while he was away, she was always sad, drinking or taking pills.  She was heartbroken when Elvis left.  She’d lost her first son and couldn’t bear the thought of losing her other.

As you cry, you feel a tap on your shoulder and look up to see the Colonel holding a glass of water.  “Thank you,” you mumble, taking a drink and wiping your mouth before handing the glass back to him.  He wordlessly nods sympathetically and walks away.  After a few minutes of staring at the door in front of you, it opens and Elvis comes back in.   You stand up and he comes into your arms. 

“You did good…you did good,” you tell him, rubbing your hand up and down his back.  He doesn’t respond.  He’s still shaking from head to toe, weak with grief, barely able to breathe from the pain clenching his throat and pressing on his chest.

“Come on, honey,” you say.  “Let’s go upstairs…”  You pull away from him, wrapping an arm around him, and guide him up the stairs and back into his room.  He collapses onto the bed, curling on his side again.  He’s stopped crying for now, numbly looking out the window and taking labored breaths with his arms over his chest.  He looks like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

There’s no point in trying to get him to change.  After everything that happened today, you worry that the effort could be too much.  You can give him a bath tomorrow and change him into something more comfortable.  At the very least, you’ll take off his shirt and pants, leaving him in his undershirt and boxers for the night.  Leaning down, you easily unbutton his pants, and he lets you slide them off.  Getting his shirt off is harder.  You have to pry his arms away from his chest to unbutton it and pull it off, setting it on the floor.  He crosses them again, still keeping his eyes in straight ahead.

“You’re gonna be ok.”  Your voice is soft and gentle, as reassuring as you can make it.  He looks up to you and shakes his head, his face crumpling and chest shaking visibly as he draws in a breath.  It’s the only night he’s ever spent in his life without his mama.

“I…I c-can’t sleep knowin’ she’s not here,” he whispers.  “We slept in the same bed till I was thirteen.  And now…” Tears start to stream down his face again, and you lay down behind him, kissing the nape of his neck.

“I know.  I know…” that’s all you can say.  He starts to sob again.  You don’t even know how he has it left in him.  He must be exhausted at this point, having cried for some five hours at this point, seeing as the sky is black now.

Your hand gently rubs his side back and forth, trying to soothe him, but you’re exhausted too.  “It’s gonna get better, baby,” you say softly, but he continues to sob and shake.  

“I can’t….I can’t live without her…I can’t,” he repeats over and over again between cries.  The pain of seeing him like this is palpable and exists on every level, aching in your chest, pounding in your head, gripping your throat.  

“It’s ok.  You’re ok.”  Your hand gently goes under his shirt, feeling the bare skin of his side.  He doesn’t feel like he’s the wrong temperature in any way.  That’s a good sign, but it does little to ease your worry for him as you closely feel his desperate breaths under your hand.  “Breathe, baby, breathe,” you urge him.  It’s like he physically can’t, like it’s not just grief that’s attacking him, but panic. 

“You have to calm down, Elvis.  You’re going to hurt yourself.  Please.”  Your begging does nothing.  He can’t stop crying.  He can’t relax even for a moment.  You resolve to continue rubbing up and down his side and whispering gently to him, reminding him that you’re there and you’ll stay.

When you look out the window, the stars are out but there’s no moon in the sky. Memphis is quiet save for Elvis’s raspy sobs and desperate gasps for air.  You put your head down on the pillow.  The only thing you can do is continue to be with him, praying that tomorrow will bring some form of peace to your troubled hearts.

But it doesn’t.

thank you for reading <3 I love you!

[angel2el]

Blackened Haze - Elvis Presley (Coming Soon!)

So so sooo excited to share this with you all! I'm starting my second series (Yes, I'll continue DWY) and I am so excited to release the first chapter.

This series will be an Elvis x reader, taking place around and after the time of Gladys' death. In real life, Elvis never healed from losing his mother. This story will have a happier ending -- with his longtime girlfriend by his side, he continues and life goes on. He heals.

I'm aware this isn't exactly the type of thing most people like to read. In the beginning, it will be very grief-filled, heavy, and sad. But I genuinely enjoy writing this, and I think it will give people a glimpse into Elvis' psyche as well as hopefully warm their hearts as they watch Elvis recover and become himself again, working his way out of a dark, thick haze that took him over when his mother died.

Chapter One will be out extremely soon. I am already at over 2700 words! Please don't be shy to comment or send a message or ask. I love talking to you all.

I'm having so much fun writing this. It's very emotional I hope you all love it.

PART ONE IS UP 🤍

[angel2el]

Update

Hey guys, I just wanted to update you all and say I'm sorry for not posting any writing for so long. I've been exhausted recently and I've been in an awful cycle of getting excited to write something, writing it, and then looking over it and realizing how terrible it is and that I can't post it so I just give up and move on.

I finally found something I am happy writing and is turning out decent enough for me to actually show you all.

The premise is another "fix-it" type of plot, based off some articles I read, where the reader is there for Gladys' death and gets Elvis back on his feet as they grow closer in their romantic relationship. In reality, Elvis was never the same after his mother's death. In this version, I'm hoping to give a happier version where he has someone by his side and he heals. A lot of the information I'm getting is from this article and others. I got the idea from listening to an interview of Elvis talking about his mother and how much losing her devastated him. I'd like to explore a story where he's able to continue on and have a healthy relationship with his grief.

Yes, I will be continuing Done With You. Whenever inspiration hits, I'll get back to it. Honestly, rereading my chapters, I feel that it's not very good writing, so I'm going to work harder to make it better in the future.

Anyways, I'll make a post formally introducing this story with a title and a graphic, hopefully. I'm sorry if it's not what people want to read, but I am genuinely enjoying writing it and I cannot wait to share it.

Thank you for 30 followers. I love you all so, so much.

[angel2el]

Someone linked this post in my inbox and asked me to write something for it! Elvis x reader where he comes downstairs and asks the reader to rub his back and she goes upstairs with him and spends time w him!!

So look out for that 🤍🤍🤍

Love you all.

the way the feminism would leave my body at lightning speed as soon as Elvis asked me to do something…

like cut your toenails? let me go get the clippers sir

[angel2el]

This may be a prickly subject, and I'm sorry if so. But I'm trying to learn more about Elvis, and every time I bring him up to people I know, they try to tell me he was this terrible person, and point me toward Priscilla's book, the movie made on it, and the discourse. Idk if you've talked about it on here (I tried searching your blog but couldn't find anything on it). If you're willing, I'd love to hear your take on it so I can see a more nuanced view.

The film Priscilla was greenlit roughly a month after Priscilla herself was informed that she was close to becoming financially insolvent in 2022. With a business partner, Brigitte Kruse, who allegedly helped broker the film deal, she established a limited liability company called Priscilla Presley Partners that was supposed to use her image and likeness to create several lines of merchandise to coincide with the film's release. That business partner is now suing Priscilla because she did not have the rights to her image or likeness, or any ability to use the Presley name, because she had already sold all of those rights and was no longer considered in good standing with Graceland or Elvis Presley Enterprises. The entire business deal, then, according to the lawsuit, was built on her misrepresentation of how much her image was worth.

The deal between the two of them fell apart after Riley Keough, Lisa Marie's daughter and Priscilla's granddaughter, settled with Priscilla to give her a lump sum of $1 million from Lisa Marie's estate and yearly amounts of $100,000. Priscilla sued very shortly after Lisa Marie's death because she thought Lisa Marie's signature on a will had been forged because Priscilla was not included in it. All of the assets were supposed to go directly to Lisa Marie's son, Benjamin Keough, who died in 2020, and her three daughters, two of whom are still teenagers. Now, part of those assets have been claimed by Priscilla and her other son, Navarone, who has no connection to the Presley family and has stated he is glad Lisa died.

Four months before Lisa's death, Lisa wrote to Sofia Coppola and made it clear she had strong concerns about the Priscilla film and was suspicious of the intentions behind it:

"As his daughter, I don’t read this and see any of my father in this character. I don’t read this and see my mother’s perspective of my father. ... I will be forced to be in a position where I will have to openly say how I feel about the film and go against you, my mother and this film publicly."

Lisa was enormously grateful for efforts put into 2022's Elvis to find her father's soul and to restore his dignity in a world that often turns him and his family into a joke:

"You can feel and witness Baz’s pure love, care, and respect for my father throughout this beautiful film, and it is finally something that myself and my children and their children can be proud of forever."

It is such a strong and powerful statement, to see how much Lisa valued family, not just her father but her own children and their legacy, and how willing she was to speak up no matter what was going on in her personal life to say what was right. On this and many other things, Lisa and Priscilla's values have rarely been in alignment. A friend and EPE business associate, Joel Weinshanker, said of her, "Lisa couldn't be bought, she couldn't be pushed. If she felt that something wasn't in Elvis' best interest, it was never about money. And she really is the only Presley that you could say that about."

Priscilla, though, has adjusted her stories about her time with Elvis almost every time she discusses it. For a quick example, she said in her book, which was released in 1985, that Elvis insisted she do her hair and makeup a certain way, that he had control over her look and would get upset if she didn't dress how he wanted. But in an interview with Ladies' Home Journal in 1973, she said that she made a deliberate choice to attend makeup school so that she could learn how to style herself, and that it was her idea to wear big, black hair and big, black eyeliner. She said she was embarrassed for going overboard. She said, "I wish that Elvis had said something, but he must have liked it because he never commented." This lines up with recollections from Patti Parry, a platonic friend of Elvis' and a hairstylist, who said Priscilla always wanted Patti to do her hair in a "big boombah," but that Priscilla would then get upset when Elvis didn't notice or didn't like it.

These changes are impossible not to notice if you follow her for any length of time. At the film premiere, she said it felt just like watching her life and said she was consulted on everything, since she was an executive producer. After the film came out, she said she couldn't understand why Coppola had changed so much about the story and misrepresented events. In the '70s, she said she and Elvis lived almost totally separate lives, that she came and went as she pleased, and that she loved this freedom. Later, she said she felt completely stifled and trapped and never left the house, even though she had friends she went out with all the time. In 2019, she tweeted a forceful denial about a National Enquirer story: "This is the Enquirer folks... please don't believe everything you read. ... Never planned on being buried next to Elvis. What will they come up with next?" But part of her settlement demands in her lawsuit against Riley in 2023 asked "to be buried next to Elvis." This year, she said in two separate interviews that Lisa was with her when Elvis died and that Priscilla had to break the news to her, despite the fact that Lisa was at Graceland when it happened. She has said she gave Elvis the idea to wear belts on his jumpsuits, to have a lightning bolt as his logo, to sing "An American Trilogy," though none of that is true. She retells the story about forcing Elvis to burn all of his spiritual books to prove he loved her as an almost funny anecdote about debrainwashing him, while Elvis later said it was the worst thing he ever agreed to, a desperate attempt to make her happy by giving up the things he valued the most. (For the record, this is my opinion about their relationship on both sides: thinking they could change themselves and each other to make it work. It never did.)

Every secondhand Elvis account has to be treated lightly and only valued for its consistency with known facts and other witnesses. I try to give enormous benefit of the doubt to anyone in the Elvis world because they often only have partial knowledge of what Elvis may have been thinking at any given time, and there are numerous examples of people who were taken advantage of by unscrupulous journalists who changed the story they wanted to tell. But Priscilla's stories sometimes are not even consistent with her own statements, which makes them very poor options indeed to base anything on. However careful we are about noting potential biases and inaccuracies in other memoirs, we have to be triply, quadruply careful with anything in which Priscilla involves herself because she has a vested interest in generating discourse today in order to make money. Unfortunately, Priscilla has a habit of stifling other accounts or making sensationalized statements each time there is a possibility that she will lose some of the cache that comes with being an Elvis Source—after Elvis' death, when she believed she was going to inherit his airplane and disinvited everyone that Vernon said could fly in it to his funeral; when she sued the parents of one of Elvis' ex-girlfriends after he died because he had allowed them to live rent-free in a house he bought for them; when she claimed that Elvis wanted to reunite with her before his death, despite the fact that he was engaged to someone else and told many people he couldn't see a reunion ever happening with her; before Vernon's death, when she convinced him to make her an executor of the Presley estate until Lisa came of age; after Lisa came of age, when she convinced Lisa to let her stay on as partner; when Lisa accused Priscilla of misspending Lisa's money, during which time anonymous sources cropped up to say Lisa was in debt and drug-addled; when Priscilla was removed from her position as an EPE spokesperson but kept collecting $900,000 a year from the company; when Lisa died, and Priscilla sued once she learned she wasn't in the will; when Priscilla was no longer associated with EPE and decided to do another adaptation of a book that she has since recanted parts of and has contradicted before and after its release.

When Priscilla thinks there is a threat to her image and position, she does new interviews and projects to muddy the waters and stir public interest, whether it is true or false, positive or negative, laudatory or defamatory. She gets corrected by Elvis' surviving family members, girlfriends, friends, and fans, but these stories do not get the same reach no matter how much they are backed by contemporaneous documents and witnesses, or how many resources there are to educate the public on how Elvis' and Priscilla's attitudes about marriage and relationships changed—along with the rest of society—between 1960 and 1970.

I think almost any single-source project is not going to advance our understanding of Elvis in any way because no one individual can speak for him, and we are kind of obligated to include all the context we can in order to appreciate his character, his successes and failures, flaws and virtues—and to treat both himself and those around him as fully three-dimensional people who have their own blind spots. Priscilla is far too aware of her own image, and far too willing to change it to suit the audience, to be particularly valuable here.

She is next scheduled to appear at the Lexington (Kentucky) Comic & Toy Con.

[angel2el]

I would seriously love if you guys could send me some requests or whatever's on your mind in my askbox. I want to talk to you all and currently nothing is in my inbox and it's looking a little dreary lol!

I want to write what you want to read. Please don't be shy.

[angel2el]

results - FUTURE NOSTALGIA

Hi loves, so the votes indicated Future Nostalgia by Dua Lipa. Since no one has requested anything else, I'm going to be writing it as Elvis x reader.

Keep in mind it is not too late to request anything you want and I will take it!

Which song should I do first?

For Love Again, I'd write it about both Elvis and reader having that mutual feeling. Pretty please would be two versions - one about about Elvis needing reader and one, and Hallucinate was explained in the poll.

Again I am always open to change and requests, don't be shy and contact me any way you see fit.

Love you all dearly!

[angel2el]

NEW SERIES - ELVIS (also could do Austin)

Hi loves, so I'm starting a new series or series of series where I write one shots (or multi chapter depending on how much y'all love it) with Elvis or Austin (I know some girls in this fandom love him) if people want based on songs off an album.

I have two options right now and I want y'all to vote on it.

Future Nostalgia would be more hot and heavy, fast paced, sexy and passionate while Golden Hour would be more chill, fluffy, and maybe angsty.

Top songs I'm thinking of from these albums are

Future Nostalgia - Good in Bed, Physical, Love Again

Golden Hour - Space Cowboy, Butterflies

Give these songs a listen, give me a vote, send me an ask, whatever you feel like!

Love you all dearly <3

[angel2el]

Just got done spewing some facts under a video supporting Priscilla and her “movie” I thought I’d share them here:

So many people here are uneducated and will blindly believe everything Priscilla says because she’s a woman and it’s edgy to hate on Elvis.

1. Elvis was never actually wanting to date or marry Priscilla he was with an actress very much his age that was back home while he was in Germany. He just saw Prissy as someone to talk to. She has so many issues with her yandere type fan tendencies being obsessive over a man she wasn’t even with in the first place and who didn’t give her a second thought

2. She did NOT hopelessly wait around for Elvis after he left she continued to play several different guys and she did have a very normal high school experience she went to dances and football games

3. Prissy’s father blackmailed Elvis into marrying her. Elvis did NOT want to marry Priscilla

4. Yes, Elvis cheated but not until after Priscilla cheated first with her dance instructor. She’d also call him while she was doing the deed so he could hear

5. Priscilla said herself the chair scene is highly inaccurate. Elvis was angry on the phone with the Colonel and threw a chair to the wall as Priscilla was walking in the room and he immediately apologized and said he didn’t see her come in

6. She constantly changes her story and her book she said herself isn’t accurate because she said if she didn’t make it dramatic enough it wouldn’t sell

7. For those who might say “she’s a child, she can’t do no wrong she didn’t know what she was doing” at 14 I was well aware of shit and what I did. And I know she did too she wasn’t some innocent angel

8. She’s an awful mother to Lisa Marie. Actively dated and let a man around Lisa that had said he had inappropriate feelings for Lisa when she was a child

9. Got with a married man who had a PREGNANT wife. Yes it’s also the man’s fault but she knew damn well he was married and his wife was pregnant

10. She cannot stop talking bs about Elvis cause he’s the only reason she’s relevant. In contrast to one of (what I believe to be) Elvis’ true loves Ann Margaret who only says nice things about him but she also had a career before meeting him

All in all, yes Elvis had some flaws but people spread misinformation about him all the time just like they do with Michael Jackson. Priscilla is no saint, she’s a lying gold digger who only cared about money in the first place. Not to mention she was laughing at Elvis’s funeral so if she truly was “in love” then why would she do such an awful thing by laughing? She continues to use the Presley name even though Elvis told her not to after they divorced and constantly spew lies and drop his name over and over again. She’s told her story countless times, this movie was slander towards a man who cannot defend himself. Like I said Elvis wasn’t a saint either but you need to take off the rose colored glasses and see both sides of the story. Thank you.

[angel2el]

requests

guys can you please send me requests for one shots? I'd love to interact with you all in this way, please <3

I'll write Elvis and Austin alike, and I do x reader for sure!

Also I'll get to work on part three of done with you as soon as possible, I promise!

[angel2el]

DONE WITH YOU (ELVIS PRESLEY) -- PART TWO -- "THE ASSAULT"

Nearly 5500 Words, in this chapter tensions grow between spouses, friends, and manager until it comes to a head and two assaults take place.

hiii everyone and thank you for all the love on my first part! for those who don't know, this is a piece about an alternate reality where in 1969 Elvis begins the process of firing the Colonel. Part one is right here.

Thank you to the lovely @atleastpleasetelephone for editing this chapter for me!

Please enjoy, and let me know what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist or anything of the sort! For those who don't remember, at the end of last chapter, Elvis collapsed on stage after his show.

--

“Mama,” Elvis whispers, leaning into his mother’s touch.

“Elvis,” she whispers.  

Elvis doesn’t know why he’s here, or how he got here, but he’s back in Tupelo, in his childhood backyard.  Before Vernon went to prison.  Back when everything was simpler.

And Gladys is here.

“Mama, why’d you leave me?” Elvis can’t help the tears that are running down his cheeks.

“I have to tell you something, Elvis,” Gladys whispers.  She lets go of him.

“Don’t stop holding me, mama.  Don’t walk away from me now.  Not again,” Elvis begs.  

“Elvis.”

“What?”

“Elvis.”

“What?”

“Elvis.  Elvis, come on.”

“Wh…”  Elvis’s eyes flutter open.  He squeezes them shut again. 

 “No.  No,” he mumbles.  Gladys is gone.  Reality has hit him and it’s cold as ice.  Jerry is rubbing his chest and Marty’s holding his head.

“Elvis, don’t try to sit up yet.  We’re gonna get you feeling better,” Marty says softly, standing up with a hand on Elvis’s back.  He turns to see Elvis looking shocked with a tear rolling down his face.

“You collapsed, E,” Jerry says softly.  “You gotta rest before the show tonight, ok?

“I..I saw my mama,” Elvis says, his voice raspy and whispering.

“No, you didn’t, Elvis.  You was dreamin’.”  

Elvis squeezes his eyes shut.  It didn’t feel like a dream.

“I…I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you was, Elvis.”  Jerry pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Your mama’s gone.”

Elvis blinks.  Breathes in and out.  

“I…I know.  I know she’s gone,” he says.

Jerry uses his thumb to wipe the tear off Elvis’s face.  “I’m sorry.  You gotta get some rest before the 9pm show.  Cilla’s just landing and she’ll come up to the room as soon as she gets here.

“Wh-what about the Colonel?” Elvis asks, his muscles visibly tensing with nervousness as he thinks of his manager.

“He tried to come over here, but Joe pushed him out.”

“Where is he?” Elvis slurs.

“Doesn’t matter.  I’m gonna carry you on my back to Joe’s room.”

“Joe’s?  Jerry, why–”

“Colonel already knows you’ve been in your room and mine.  It’ll take a while for him to find you in Joe’s.” 

“He’ll find me,” Elvis mumbles.

“We’ll deal with him if he does, ok?” Jerry says.  “I promise.  You ready to go?”

Elvis nods and pulls himself into a sitting position slowly and weakly.  Jerry turns his back to him and squats in front of him.  

“Put your arms over my shoulders.  Nice and easy, slowly.”  

Marty helps Elvis get his arms over Jerry’s shoulders.  

“Wrap your legs around me,” Jerry says, and Elvis weakly does so.

Jerry stands up as steadily as he can manage.  He feels Elvis’s full weight on him now as he leans groggily into his back.  He’s heavy, but not heavier than Jerry can manage.  Slowly, they make their way to the elevator and up to Joe’s room, which Jerry unlocks using the key Joe gave him.  All the while he can feel Elvis’s shallow and labored breath.  He gently stops at the foot of Joe’s bed and eases Elvis onto it.  Marty follows the two of them and makes his way into the bathroom, starting the water.

“Let’s get you out of that costume and into the bath.”

“...bath?”

“Yeah, Elvis.  You’ve got a fever.  Cold water will help.  It’ll also help you wake up.”  Elvis puts a hand to his forehead.

“I-I don’t know if I want a bath right now, Jerry,” he says softly, fiddling with his rings.

Jerry frowns and eases off Elvis’s shoes and socks.  “I know you don’t, buddy.”  He sighs.  “Cilla’s bringing some fever medicine, but for now this is what we got.”

Elvis sighs.  “What about…something for the nausea?” he asks.

“We’ll get you something.  Cold water will help with that, too, though.”  Jerry gently pulls off the top half of Elvis’s jumpsuit.  

“Lift,” he says, and Elvis uses his hands to push his bottom up and off the edge of the bed while Jerry pulls off the rest of his outfit.

Elvis sits back down.  “I don’t wanna–”

“We’re keeping your underwear on,” Jerry says,  “And your necklaces.  But the rings have to come off.”  

Elvis nods in understanding and holds out his hands for Jerry to remove his rings.  Jerry presses his lips together and tries to swallow the lump in his throat at this simple action.  The vulnerability Elvis reveals by not being able to take off his own rings and trusting in Jerry is unmistakably fragile.  He’s as trusting as a puppy who’s been hurt a million times but still has faith.  This type of sensitivity will not help Elvis in his fight against the Colonel.

But it’s the biggest piece of his humanity that Jerry knows.

“Jerry?” Elvis asks.

“Sorry.  Just thinking,” he says, starting to slide the rings off of Elvis’s fingers.  When he finishes, he lifts Elvis up gently, “Bath time.”

He guides Elvis to Joe’s bathroom, where Marty is waiting with a full bath that makes Elvis’s jaw clench.  

“One foot at a time,” Jerry says, slowly helping Elvis into the bath.  As soon as he’s in, he’s shivering violently and trying to get out.  But Jerry lays him down.

“Jerry, Jerry, l-let me out, I’m f-freezing,” Elvis begs as Jerry dips a washcloth in the bath.

“Just relax, Elvis.  Twenty minutes and we’ll let you out.  This’ll do wonders for you, I promise.”

Elvis grits his teeth.  “Doesn’t f-feel like it.”

There’s a knock at the door.  

“I’ll get it,” Marty says.  Jerry watches him leave the bathroom then turns back to Elvis.  His eyes are down and his right hand fiercely grips his left shoulder as his whole body shakes.  

“You’ll be feeling much better in no time, E,”  Jerry promises.  Elvis nods slightly, clenching his jaw.

Jerry turns around when he hears footsteps to see Priscilla rushing over to the two of them with Marty trailing after her.

“Elvis, honey, how you feeling?” she asks, setting her bags on the counter.

Elvis looks up and his face relaxes for the first time in days.  “Come h-here, Cilla,” he says softly.  She leans in to kiss him.

“You’re shaking like a leaf.  You didn’t give him a cold bath, did you?” she asks, looking between Marty and Jerry.

“Uh…yeah.  We did.  Something wrong with that?”

Priscilla blows out a breath.  

“Yeah.  We tried it one time when he got sick, back when I just moved in.  Cold baths don’t do anything for him.  You’re just making him more miserable,” she says, reaching into the bathtub and pulling the plug.  “Can we get him back in bed?  We can give him some of that fever medicine.  Oh, and I got a thermometer.”

“Why don’t you get him changed into clean boxers, Cilla?  Marty and I should talk.  Outside,” Jerry says, glancing between Elvis and Priscilla.

“That’s fine,” Priscilla says.  “Help me get him out the tub.”  Gently, Marty helps Priscilla lift Elvis out of the tub and put a towel over him.  He’s still shivering violently as Priscilla towels him off.

“Don’t put him in nothin’ too warm,” Jerry instructs. “We’re trying to heal the fever, ok?”

“I know what to do,” Priscilla says.  “Elvis, let’s get over to the bedroom.  I can call a maid to bring up some of your clothes.”

“Joe’s clothes will fit him just fine,” Jerry says.

Priscilla nods, putting her hand on Elvis’s back and guiding him back to the bed.  “Why don’t you two leave while I change him?”  Jerry and Marty look at each other.

“Alright.  We’ll be right outside.  Just holler if you need anything,” Jerry says.

“I won’t need anything,” Priscilla says.  “And I’m calling the Colonel.”

“Actually, Cilla…” Marty interjects.

“...we’re, uh, we’re trying to keep the Colonel out of this,” Jerry finishes.

Priscilla makes a face.  “Why’s that?  He’s Elvis’s manager, Jerry.  We need to call him.”

“We’re not doing that,” Jerry says firmly.  “Joe’s dealing with him right now, and he can get a bit of a temper around stuff like this.”

“Um…okay,” Priscilla says slowly.  “But we have to tell him eventually, right?”

“...yeah,” Jerry says, leaving the room.  Marty follows him out.

“Do you think she’s right?” Marty asks.  Jerry scoffs.

“I think she’s bein’ a pain in the ass,” Jerry huffs out a breath and scratches his brow..

“Come on, Jerry.  You know she’s got Elvis’s best interests at heart,” Marty says.

“You know what?  I’m actually starting to doubt that,” Jerry says, wiping a hand across his mouth.

Marty rolls his eyes.  “She’s the only thing keeping him sane.”

“I actually think she’s making him crazy.  You know, last April, Elvis told me she’d been cheating on him with her dance teacher.”

“They’ve obviously worked it out or they wouldn’t be together anymore,” Marty counters, shaking his head.

“That’s the thing, Marty.  He never said a word about it to her.  He just saw the signs.  And found another man’s undershirt beneath their bed after he came back from a concert.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

Jerry shakes his head.  “Not a word.  He’s always been so anxious.  Non-confrontational.  It hasn’t changed as he’s aged.  I bet you she’s still cheating on him and he still won’t say a thing.”

Jerry presses his lips together.  “So…so what?  What are you getting at?  You can’t kick her out just because you don’t like how she’s treating him, Jerry.  She’s still his wife.  He still needs her.  Cutting the Colonel doesn’t mean cutting Cilla.”

“I think it does.  Cilla loves the Colonel.”

Marty makes a sound between a laugh and a scoff.  “That-that’s absurd.  You can’t ask Elvis to divorce the love of his life–”

“--Cilla’s not the love of his life.  He cried for weeks before that wedding, you know that.  He was going to leave her for Ann Margaret in ‘67 before her father forced them to marry.”

“Jerry, you sound crazy.  They’re married.  Your feelings about Priscilla don’t…dictate the decisions Elvis makes,” Marty says firmly.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.  You’re letting your worries about Elvis get the best of you.”

“Jerry, Marty!” Priscilla calls.

“Stop trying to meddle in his love life, Jerry.  You got no say in that,” Marty says.

Jerry throws his hands up.  “Right.  Of course.  Forgive me for being concerned about my friend whose wife has been cheating o–” “Boys, come in!” Priscilla’s voice again.  Marty pushes past Jerry and opens the door.  Elvis is curled up on his side in Joe’s grey undershirt and boxers, shivering again.

Jerry and Marty both approach the bed.  Jerry sits behind Elvis and puts a hand on his back.

“You alright?  Feeling better?” he asks softly.  Elvis’s back feels unnaturally hot but he isn’t sweating at all.

Elvis nods silently.

“He’s feeling much better, I think,” Priscilla says.  “Not perfect, but we were talking about getting him something to eat just now.”

“Good.  That’s good, Cilla.  He hasn’t eaten since dinner last night and he hasn’t kept anything down since yesterday’s lunch.  What are you hungry for, E?”

“...e-eggs and toast,” Elvis mutters.

“Marty, why don’t you go down and ask the kitchen to make him some eggs and toast?” Jerry asks, turning to Marty.  Marty silently sighs and nods before leaving the room.

“We should take your temperature, honey,” Priscilla says.  “Once you’ve eaten we can get some fever medicine in you and you can rest until the 9pm show.  How does that sound?”

“Fine, honey,” Elvis says.  “Come here.”  He reaches his arm out to Priscilla who leans down to kiss his forehead.  “Wh-what about the Colonel?  He ain’t gonna like me taking rests instead of rehearsing.”  Jerry turns to Elvis to see his eyes wide and pupils dilated.  He looks hazy, weak, scared.

“We’ll, uh, we’ll deal with the Colonel.  You don’t gotta worry about him.”

“I don’t understand it,” Priscilla mumbles, barely loud enough for either man to hear.

“What’s that, Cilla?”

“I don’t understand why you’re keeping him from Elvis.  He’s helped him his whole life.  He gave us everything.  Doesn’t make sense to me why you’re trying to kick him out now,” she says, louder.

Elvis swallows and clenches his jaw.  Jerry can see the conflict on his face, the tears beginning to form.

“Colonel’s hurting him, Cilla,” Jerry says, pointing his finger at Elvis’s crumpled frame.  “Working him too hard.  He’s sick now and he still has to work.  You don’t see nothin’ wrong with that?”

“Why are you so defensive, Jerry?” Priscilla retorts.  “He’s my husband.  I know what’s best for him, and I just think it’s wrong that you’re keeping him from his manager.”

“Right.  Well, while you’ve been in Memphis and New York and God knows where else, we were here watching Elvis getting worked to the bone.  If you’d been here instead of–”

“--stop, Jerry,” Elvis whines.  “She don’t know any better.”

“I don’t know any better?  I know—”

“--Cilla, baby, please.  I…I think…” Elvis pauses, out of breath, and puts a hand on his brow.  “I…”

“Breathe,” Jerry instructs.  Elvis draws in a slow breath, his chest rising heavily.  He blows out and breathes again, his heart stopping the pounding motion that’s been making him dizzy.

“I ain’t firing him, Cilla.  Nothing like that.  We’re just takin’ a break.”  Elvis wraps his hand around Priscilla’s waist. 

“Elvis, you were talking about firing him–”

“--I didn’t mean that.  He…he’s given me everything.  I can’t let him go.”  There’s a heavy, thick silence in the room until Jerry claps his hands together.

“Alright.  We’re taking your temperature, then you’re eating, and then you’re gonna sleep.  Cilla, get the thermometer.”

“You get it.”  Priscilla’s voice is sharp and cold.

“Fine.  I’ll get it.”  Jerry grabs the bag from the drugstore and pulls out a mercury thermometer and brings it over to Elvis.  “Open your mouth.”  Elvis follows, tilting his head up to Jerry and parting his lips.  Jerry places the thermometer under Elvis’s tongue.

“Stay like that for a bit.”  Jerry sits down on the bed next to Elvis and watches as he brings Priscilla in closer.

Jerry glances between Elvis and Priscilla for the next few seconds until he feels enough time has passed, watching Priscilla massage Elvis’s hand in her own and look at him.  He turns to Elvis.  “Open,” he instructs, and Elvis opens his mouth so Jerry can pull the thermometer out.  He holds it to the light.

“Not good.”

“What?” Priscilla asks.

“102.2.  I think it’s higher than it was last night.”  Elvis sighs.

The door opens and Marty walks in with a small plate of scrambled eggs and a piece of toast.  “Here you go,” he says, handing Elvis his plate.  “I, uh…I gotta go now.  I have a meeting.  See y’all tonight,” Marty says, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Fine.  Bye now,” Jerry says and Marty walks out without another word.

Elvis starts eating hungrily but delicately.

“Be careful.  Don’t wanna get sick again if you eat too fast,” Jerry says.  Elvis glances up at him.  Not eating fast and not eating too much has never been something that Elvis has followed.  He continues eating in silence before he’s about halfway done and starts to look tired again.

“Done?” Priscilla asks.

“I’m full,” Elvis says softly, pushing the plate away.  Jerry takes it and sets it on the side table before grabbing the bottle of fever medicine and handing two pills to Elvis.  He takes them dry and lays back down.

“Tired,” he says softly.  “Wanna sleep.”

“I need to sleep, too,” Jerry says.  “I was up all night.”

“You can have the bed,” Elvis says softly.

“I’ll take the couch.  Cilla will lay in bed with you.  How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Elvis says.  Jerry makes his way to the couch and grabs a blanket before laying down.  He’s exhausted, but he knows it’s nowhere near how awful Elvis is feeling.  Slowly, he lets his guard down and falls asleep.

—

When he wakes up and checks his watch, it’s 7pm.  They need to get Elvis some dinner and more medicine.  “Cilla?” Jerry calls.  Priscilla walks into the room.

“Yes?”

“It’s 7.  We need to get some more dinner and medicine.”

“Yes.  I think something’s really wrong with him.  His stomach is really swollen and he seems to be in a lot of pain.  I think it’s those pills.”

Jerry takes out a cigarette and lights it.  “Right.  Well, if he’s still asleep, we can go now.  Why don’t you get some shoes on?”

Priscilla nods, grabbing a pair of short heels and sliding them on her feet.  Jerry leads her to the door and shuts it behind them as they exit.  Jerry puts the cigarette in his mouth as they start walking to the elevator.  

“I think we should have a doctor come and see him before the show tonight,” Jerry says.  “I actually think he shouldn’t perform tonight.”

“What?” Priscilla asks.  “He has to perform.”

“...right,” Jerry mutters, frustrated.  “Because it’s your decision.”

Priscilla shakes her head and scoffs.

“I’m just putting in my opinion, Jerry.  I don’t see why you have such a problem with me,” Priscilla crosses her arms.

“I don’t have a problem with you, Cilla.”  Jerry takes the cigarette out of his mouth.  “I just…take issue with the way you talk about Elvis.”

“I just want what’s best for him,” Priscilla insists.

“Yeah.  Me too.”  They approach the elevator and Jerry pushes the button.  “Well, for now, let’s just focus on getting him better.”

—

When Elvis wakes up, it’s slowly and with a grunt as he lifts himself into a sitting position and holds his head.  His sleep was plagued with various nightmares of the Colonel finding him, hurting him.  The worst one…

In the worst one the Colonel had hurt his mother.  Smacked her across the face.  The image of that comes back to Elvis and suddenly he feels a great pain in his chest and stomach and stumbles to the bathroom and vomits.  He kneels in front of the toilet for at least ten minutes, barely conscious, barely able to catch his breath, and freezing cold but too weak to get up and grab a blanket.  It takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep his body upright.  Something is wrong.  His stomach is killing him, his head is pounding, and his heart won’t stop fluttering.  He falls over and lays on the cold bathroom floor, shaking and crying for an indeterminate amount of time before he hears the door open.

“Jerry…Jerry,” he calls weakly, finding the strength to pull himself up and stumble out of the bathroom.  His body freezes when he sees the Colonel with his cane and an ugly frown.

“Elvis,” the colonel says.  “It’s 8:00.  You should be rehearsing by now.”

Elvis is confused and delirious.  “Wh…J-Jerry said you wouldn’t..”

“I am here now, am I not?” The Colonel asks.  “And I am tired of being kept from you.”  Elvis shakes his head.

“St..stay away from me,” he slurs out.  The Colonel comes closer.

“I am your manager, Mr. Presley.  Staying away is not something I can do.  I am already angry enough that you have let these hooligans keep me from you.”

Elvis’s breath picks up and his throat clenches with nausea.  “You..” he gasps for air.  “You–”  Elvis whines in pain and squeezes his eyes shut.

“You are going to come with me,” The Colonel says.  “And there will be consequences for your actions.”  He steps towards Elvis, who deliriously puts his hand up as if to defend himself.

“C-consequences?  You get out..” Elvis slurs.

The Colonel only gets closer.  “Come with me now before I make you.”

Elvis looks up at the Colonel.  Anger burns in his throat.  He clenches his fists.  He can’t think straight.  He doesn’t know much, but he knows he needs the Colonel to get out.

“G-get outta here before I call the cops,” Elvis says, coughing.

“Now you apologize to me before I make you sorry,” the Colonel says, pushing Elvis.  Elvis weakly falls on the ground.  It wasn’t a hard push, but any type of force is enough to take Elvis down in this state.  He’s on the ground, pushing himself backwards with his hands and legs bent.

“Jerry!  J..Jerry!” Elvis calls.

“Be quiet!” The Colonel shouts, moving closer.  

“Jerry!”

The Colonel thrusts his cane at the lower left side of Elvis’s chest as hard as he can.  There’s a cracking sound and Elvis groans in pain before wrapping an arm around his ribcage.

“Be quiet before I shut your mouth for you!” The Colonel yells.

Elvis takes a big breath and screams.

“Jerry!”

“Shut up!” the Colonel screams and whips his cane into the side of Elvis’s face, hitting his cheek and temple.  Elvis crumples to the ground, holding his bleeding head.

He moans and blinks slowly as the Colonel moves closer.

Suddenly, the door opens and big, heavy footsteps come into the room.

“Elvis?  Colonel, what the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Jerry shouts.  “You hurt him?”  He looks at Elvis, whose face and right hand are covered in blood and who is fighting to stay conscious.

“You get the hell out, Colonel, before I kill you,” Jerry says.

“I’m not leaving until Elvis–”

“GET OUT!” Jerry screams.  Priscilla, who had come in with Jerry, approaches Elvis and puts one of Joe’s shirts from the floor over his wound.

“I said–” The Colonel starts, but Jerry shoves him.  He lands on his left arm and yells out in pain.

“Get outta here before I kill you, you fat bastard!” Jerry’s voice is so loud now that it makes Elvis start crying from the pain it causes his head.  He’s completely lost it.  He rips off his sunglasses and kicks the Colonel in the groin.  “OUT!”

The Colonel scrambles out of the hotel room and Jerry slams the door behind him before running over to Elvis and Priscilla.

“E, what happened?” Jerry frantically asks, seeing all the blood that’s accumulated on Joe’s shirt.  

“He…he…” Elvis whispers hoarsely.

“He hit you?  We need to go to the hospital, Elvis.”  Elvis shakes his head and groans.

“N-no hospital…”

“I know you hate hospitals, but this could get serious.”

“Jerry, he has to do the show tonight,” Priscilla says.

“...Screw the show.  We need to get him to a hospital.”

“I..I wanna do the show,” Elvis manages to get out.

“Are you kidding?  You wanna perform in this state?”

“Call Dr. Nick,” Elvis says.  

“Let’s at least get him into bed,” Priscilla says.  Jerry nods and helps lift Elvis up and bring him to Joe’s bed.

“I’m calling the doctor.  Then I’m calling Joe to ask him why the hell he let the Colonel come up here.”  Elvis is barely able to hold his head up as Priscilla tends to him and Jerry makes his way to the phone, dialing a number before talking in a hushed but serious tone.

“He hit you with his cane, Elvis?” Priscilla asks.  Elvis nods slowly, but the pain it causes makes tears stream down his cheeks.

“We’ll get you rested for the next hour.  The fans won’t know a thing,” she reassures him.  Elvis just makes a small noise of understanding in his throat.  He doesn’t really feel like performing.  

“Dr. Nick’s gonna be up here in one minute with some medicine.  Can you tell me what happened?”

“The Colonel hit him with his cane.  Right across the face,” Priscilla says.  “I can’t get the bleeding to stop,” she presses the shirt tighter against Elvis’s face and he whimpers.

“Right.  Well, I’m gonna talk to Joe during the show.”

“Where’s the Colonel?  I think you mighta broken his arm,” Priscilla says, her eyebrows tensing.

“I don’t give a damn where that bastard is.  Long as he stays away from Elvis.  I think we should get a restraining order on him.”

“Restraining order?” Priscilla asks.  “That’s extreme.”  Elvis makes a moaning sound of pain and she shushes him.

“What’s extreme is him hitting Elvis across the face with a metal cane.  That’s assault.  And I plan to never let it happen again.”  Jerry can feel his face getting hot with anger.

There’s a knock at the door, and Jerry opens it to find Dr. Nick with a bag, who walks over to the bed and sits on the chair next to it.

“Can you tell me what happened here?” he asks.

“Elvis got hit with the Colonel’s cane,” Priscilla tells him.  “He’s been bleeding for at least five minutes.”

Jerry scoffs.  Elvis got hit with the Colonel’s cane.  That’s the way of putting it that makes the Colonel seem a lot less guilty.

Dr. Nick puts his hand on Priscilla’s and pulls the shirt away.  Blood gushes out of a gash from the tip of the cane right above Elvis’s temple.

“Normally I would say this doesn’t need stitches, but I think we should give him some considering the show tonight,” Dr. Nick says.

“The…the show?” Jerry asks.  “He’s not doing the show.  He’s injured.  And sick.  And he’s been workin’ like a dog all season.  Sixteen shows a week with no breaks, you don’t see nothin’ wrong with that?”

“No need to get angry, Mr. Schilling,” Dr. Nick says, to which Jerry shakes his head.  He grabs a needle and sutures, then pulls out a syringe and vial.  “I’m going to inject some anesthetic around the wound to numb it for you.  Then I’ll put in the stitches.  How does that sound?”

“F-fine,” Elvis says, opening his eyes.  “Ah…”  The lights cause him pain and he shuts them again.

He feels a small pinch as Dr. Nick injects him with the anesthetic.  “I’m starting the stitches now.  You just let me know if it hurts too much, ok?”  Elvis makes a noise of agreement and tries not to move as he feels Dr. Nick starts the stitches.  It’s over quicker than he thought it would be and isn’t that painful, but it still makes him tense and nauseous.

“I’m gonna start cleaning up with a wet cloth, just getting the blood off your face,” Dr. Nick says, taking out a white cloth and dousing it with water from his bottle.  He gently presses it to Elvis’s face, which causes him to wince and whine, and Priscilla shushes him and kisses the top of his head.

“Can you tell me what happened leading up to you getting hit?”

Elvis nods.  The pain in his head is intense to say the least, fogging up his memory and making it hard to speak.  But he tries anyways.  “I…I had a bad dream.  I went to the bathroom and I got sick…then…then…the Colonel showed up.”

Dr. Nick gently wipes more blood off of Elvis’s face and neck, glancing over at the puddle of blood on the carpet by the bathroom.

“He said…to come with him.  And that he was gonna punish me.”

“And then he hit you?”

“...yeah.  I-I think so,” Elvis confirms.

“He’s having some other issues too.  Stomach issues, and he’s been feverish since the day before yesterday.”

Dr. Nick nods.  “The good news is, all those things can be cured.  Fevers, nausea, head injuries.  And they can all be cured in time for you to perform in 45 minutes.  I’ll give you some pain medication and nausea medication.  I don’t have anything for fevers, though.”

“I do,” Jerry says.  “But he really shouldn’t be performing.”  

Dr. Nick takes out a syringe and two vials.

“Well, it’s up to him.  But he has some fans waiting.”  He fills up one of the syringes and injects it into Elvis’s shoulder, then fills the next and does the same.

Then he stands up.  “Call me if he gets any worse.  I’ll be around.”  With that, he leaves the hotel room.

“You really shouldn’t perform tonight, Elvis,” Jerry says, seeing Priscilla’s jaw tighten.

“I think you need to, honey,” Priscilla counters.  Jerry sighs.  “If you don’t, the Colonel could sue you.  Plus, all those fans are waiting to see you.  You don’t wanna disappoint them, do you?”

Jerry makes a sound between a laugh and a scoff.  “Are you trying to make him feel bad for bein’ sick?  It ain’t his fault if he can’t perform.  The fans can wait.”

“I’m not making anybody feel bad but you, Jerry,” Priscilla bites back.  “Elvis, I really think you should go out there tonight.”

“I…I will,” Elvis says softly.  “Just give me ten more minutes to rest and I’ll be on my way to the dressin’ room.” 

“Why don’t you go down to the theatre and give us some time, Jerry?” Priscilla asks. 

“Yeah.  Sure.  See you in a bit, Elvis,” Jerry says.  Elvis nods. 

-

As soon as Jerry is done lecturing Joe, who’s nothing but apologetic, he rushes to watch the concert.  Priscilla is nowhere to be found and Elvis is clearly struggling.  He’s pale, shaky, delirious, and should be sweating but isn’t.  That can only mean his fever is getting higher and not breaking.  He holds his head when he can and dances slowly, messily.  Even the audience can tell something is seriously wrong.  As Can’t Help Falling In Love starts, Jerry hears footsteps behind him. “Almost done?” Priscilla asks. 

“Yeah.”  Jerry wrinkles his nose.  She smells like alcohol.  

The two watch in silence as the number finishes and the curtain starts to close.  Elvis has given everything.  Surprisingly, he doesn’t faint as soon as the curtain is down. He just curls up into a ball and sits, shivering. 

Priscilla runs over and puts a hand on his back, she goes to give him a kiss but he turns away from her, gagging.  Someone hands him a bowl and he’s sick into it, pushing Priscilla away when she tries to touch him.  

Jerry walks over to Elvis and puts a hand on his back.  It’s hotter than ever before and bone dry. “Someone get him some ice water!” Jerry calls.  When Elvis looks up from the bowl, the force of vomiting has caused his stitches to burst and his head is bleeding again. 

Jerry takes off his own blazer and holds it to Elvis’s head.  “We need to go to the hospital.  Get us a car.”

A staff member from the hotel approaches Jerry and Elvis with a bucket of ice water and a thermometer.  Jerry places it in Elvis’s mouth gently.  “Let’s get your jumpsuit off. 

“What’s he gonna wear?” Priscilla asks. Jerry turns to her.  She’s standing off to the side with her arms crossed. 

“His boxers and undershirt.  Anything else and he’ll overheat.”  Jerry takes the thermometer out and gasps. “105.4.  Is the car ready?  Tell the hospital we’re coming.”  He takes the blazer off of Elvis’s head and find that the bleeding has stopped, so he starts working the jumpsuit off as best he can.  When the jumpsuit and Elvis’s shoes and socks are off, he starts taking handfuls of ice water and pouring them on Elvis’s torso. 

“Jerry—“

“—he could get heatstroke if we don’t get this fever down.  Now.”

Joe rushes into the room. “Jerry.”

“What?”

“The car’s ready.”

Jerry doesn’t know where, maybe it’s the adrenaline, but he somehow manages to find the strength to pick up Elvis bridal-style and carry him to the hallway.  Elvis is completely out of it and his breathing is shallow.  

“Stay awake, Elvis.  Don’t fall asleep now,” Jerry says.  Elvis is in and out of consciousness as Jerry eases him into the backseat of a black car.  Priscilla gets in the other side and Jerry situates Elvis so his head is on Jerry’s lap and his legs are on Priscilla’s. Elvis instantly curls up, clearly freezing.  Jerry puts a hand over him and is about to shut the door when Joe stops him.  

“Jerry.”

“What?”

“I been on the phone with the colonel.”

“So what?”

“You broke his arm.”  Jerry swallows. 

Waits. 

“He’s pressing charges against you and Elvis.”

[angel2el]

sneak peek at chapter two & looking for editor (ELVIS FANFICTION)

For those who don't know, I'll be referencing my work Done With You in which in 1969, Elvis gets overworked and starts the journey to firing the Colonel. I'll link part one here!

Hi loves! Thanks for so much love on part one of Done With You. I am almost finished with Chapter Two and I'm going to give you a sneak peek right here.

In Chapter Two:

Tensions between friends, spouses, and managers grow until a fight breaks out and two assaults take place. While two men try to heal in the hospital, an insidious and poisonous plan is made to sabotage one of their lives.

Ok that's all I'm going to say for now... I hope some people are excited!

Also, I am currently looking for an editor for chapter two onwards. I'd really appreciate the help and I'd love to make friends with some of y'all and give you complete and total access to all my work as well as my credit for you on every post. As some of you know, this is my first ever attempt at writing a story like this so any help is much appreciated. My ask box, messages, and comments are always open.

Love you all soooo much!

Don't be shy <3

PART TWO IS OUT NOW!

[angel2el]

DONE WITH YOU (ELVIS PRESLEY) -- PART ONE

Hello everyone! Part one is now out! For those who don't know, this is my first ever series about Elvis leaving the Colonel. Thanks so much to my lovely editor @landlockedmermaid77 for all of her help and lovely friendship.

Please leave a comment or ask letting me know what you think!

-----

Jerry wakes up at 2:30am to a slow, lazy knock on his door.  He lifts his head up slowly.  He’s exhausted from the previous night of partying.  Slowly, he makes his way out of bed toward his hotel room’s door.  Another knock.

Groggily, he opens the door.  Elvis is standing, shivering, in nothing but boxers and a white night shirt with his arms crossed across his chest, eyes down.

“E..” Jerry starts.  Elvis takes in a breath and puts a hand on his brow.

“Jerry…Jerry, I can’t do this anymore.”  

Jerry opens the door and beckons for Elvis to come in.

“What happened?”  Jerry puts a hand on Elvis’s back.  It’s burning hot and covered in cold sweat.  Elvis groggily makes his way to the couch and sits down.

“The…the colonel’s got me workin’ like a god damn dog, Jerry,” Elvis mumbles exhaustedly.  Jerry sits next to him and rubs his back gently.

“Have you been sick?” Jerry asks.  “You’re burning like a damn piece of coal…”

“I threw up…I don’t know how many times.  I been up all night, Jerry.  Can’t get an ounce of sleep.”  Elvis sniffles and wipes his eyes.  There’s eyeliner smudged around them.  Poor thing couldn’t even get his makeup off, Jerry thinks.

“You need rest, Elvis.  You got two shows tomorrow.  You sleep in my bed tonight, alright?”  He turns to look at his bed and only turns around when he hears a sob.

Elvis shakes his head as his whole body shakes with a sob.  

“I can’t Jerry…I-I can’t do another show…I done hundreds.  Thousands. Thousands and thousands and all that…all that fat bastard wants is more.  Suckin’ my blood like a damn vampire.”

“I…I don’t like him.  You know that, E.  But think about the fans.”

“All I think about is the fans.  All the Colonel ever thinks about is himself.  Wh-why can’t nobody think about me for once?”  Elvis puts his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, E.  I wish I could do more.  Just come to my bed and try to get a little rest.”

“I don’t wanna go to sleep if it means I have to wake up,” Elvis sobs.

“Don’t you say that.  Don’t say that, Elvis.  You’ll feel better in the morning.  Have you called ‘Cilla?”

“Twice.”

“She hasn’t picked up?  She’s just sleeping, Elvis.  You need to get to bed.”  Jerry helps Elvis up and guides him toward the bed, easing him onto it.

“I can’t sleep without my pills, Jerry.  Go get my pills.”

“You didn’t take em?”

“I tried.  They all came right back up.” Elvis turns onto his side and curls up a little.

Jerry places a hand on Elvis’s forehead.  “You in any pain?”

“I got no clue.  My whole body just feels numb.”

“It’s those damn pills, Elvis.  You’re killing yourself with those.”

“You act like I got a choice, Jerry.  I can’t do anything without ‘em.”

“You can sleep right now.  That’s all I need from you.”

“Bring me another blanket.”

“You’re burning.  I can’t do that.  You know it.”

Jerry sits down on the bed next to Elvis and brushes the hair out of his face.  “Close your eyes.  I’ll get you some fever medicine in the morning.”

Jerry turns on the lamp and opens a book on the other side of the bed.  In the light, Elvis looks worse.  His face is white as a sheet and eyes red with tears.  Jerry can only pray he’s well enough to perform in the morning.

Sleep comes to Elvis quicker than he thought it would,but it doesn’t last long.  He’s up only an hour later to a pain in his stomach and rising nausea.  He shoots up.  Jerry jolts up next to him, having fallen asleep as well.

Elvis stumbles to the bathroom and loses all the rest of the water he’d been able to get down before collapsing by the toilet.  Jerry rushes into the bathroom, rubbing Elvis’ back.

“You’re sick as a dog, Elvis…” Jerry puts a hand to the other man’s forehead.

Elvis whimpers slightly at the touch,“I need my…my pills, Jerry.”

“I can’t do that for you.  You got two shows in the daytime.  Let’s get back to bed.”

Elvis silently shakes with a sob, a tear running down his cheek.  Jerry brushes the hair out of his face and puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “Don’t cry, Elvis.  You’re gonna be alright,” he attempts to comfort him.

“I’m done with that Colonel,” Elvis manages to get out.

“We can talk to him in the mornin’ about that.  D’you think you can go back to bed or are you in too much pain?”

Elvis wipes his eyes.  “I can sleep,” he whispers.  Jerry grabs him by the sides and helps him up and into bed.  

“You can have the whole bed to yourself again, E.  You can even have the whole suite to yourself if you want me out of here,” Jerry says.  Elvis nods.

“I want you to stay.  Just stay in that chair and make sure the Colonel don’t come in here,” Elvis says, pulling the covers over himself.  Jerry nods.

–

Jerry isn’t sure how much time passes before the phone is ringing and sunlight is pouring through the window.  Elvis is curled up on his side, shaking like a leaf but still asleep.  Jerry, too, had fallen asleep.  He goes over to the phone and picks it up.

“Yes?” Jerry says quietly.

“Jerry?”

“‘Cilla?”

“Yeah, it’s me.  I heard the phone ringing last night but I didn’t get up.  Thought it might be Elvis, but when I called his hotel room first thing this morning, he didn’t pick up.  Is everything ok?” Priscilla sounds worried.

“Something’s wrong with him, ‘Cilla.”

“What do you mean?” her voice is a little frantic now.

“He’s got a fever, and he’s apparently been throwin’ up all night.”

“All night?  Should I fly out and see him?” Priscilla asks.

“Maybe.  I think he needs someone right now.” Jerry glances at Elvis.  He’s pale and has his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is he in pain?” Priscilla asks.

“I’m not sure.  Those pills are keepin’ him numb, far as I know.  But I’m not letting him take any more.”

“Good.  Those pills are killing him, Jerry,” Priscilla agrees.  Suddenly, Elvis stirs, and Jerry turns to look at him.  He weakly starts to sit up.

“He’s up now, ‘Cilla…”

“Can I talk to him?”

Jerry nods,  “Yeah.  Elvis, come over here.  ‘Cilla’s on the phone and she wants to talk to you.”

“‘Cilla?” Elvis slurs out.  

“Yeah.  She wants to talk to you.  She’s worried,” he says.

“I…I can’t get out of bed,” Elvis says, looking down at his legs.

“He says he can’t get out of bed.”

“I’m flyin’ out,” Priscilla says,  “Tell him I’ll be there by tonight at 9pm, will you?”

“Of course,”  Jerry says,  “Bye now.”

“Bye bye.”

Jerry hangs up the phone and turns to Elvis,  “She’s gonna be here by 9 tonight, E.”

“Oh…okay,” Elvis says drowsily.

“You in any pain?”  Jerry asks and Elvis nods.

“My stomach is killin’ me.  And…and my head.  And my…my right ankle.  Did I tell you I rolled it on my way to your room?”

“No, you didn’t,”  Jerry approaches the bed and lifts the covers off to look at Elvis’s ankle.  It’s bruised and slightly swollen.  He winces.

“It hurts like hell, Jerry,” Elvis says.  

“You can wear a brace while you perform today.  You got a matinee show at 12 and another show at 9, ok?”

“I…I can’t,” Elvis says softly.

“You have to,” Jerry says solemnly.  Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.

Jerry rushes over to open it.  It’s the Colonel.  He barges into the room and sees Elvis on the bed, in pain, pale, shaking.

“Mr. Presley, what seems to be the issue here?  You should already be in the dressing room getting ready,” the Colonel scolds.

“He’s not feeling well, Colonel.  He’s been sick all night, feverish, throwing up…there’s something wrong with him,” Jerry explains.  Elvis looks down to avoid making eye contact with the Colonel. 

“Dr. Nick will give him all the necessary medication he needs to be able to perform today,” the Colonel says, glaring at Elvis,  “Isn’t that right, Mr. Presley?”

“...yessir.  That’s right,” Elvis mumbles exhaustedly.  

Elvis shifts in bed.

“He needs something to settle his stomach.  And some pain medication for his ankle.  That’s all, though,” Jerry says firmly, “All these pills you’re pumping him full of are doing nothing but hurting him.  I’ll send somebody to get ‘em for you, Elvis.”

The Colonel frowns.  

“Are you his manager now, Jerry?  As far as I know, I am the one who makes the calls as to what goes in his body.”

Jerry stands up, walking closer to the Colonel.  

“I ain’t his manager.  I’m just a concerned citizen, Mr. Parker, and I’ll be taking care of him in between the shows.”

The Colonel is taken aback, but grits his teeth.  

“I am his manager, Mr. Schilling.  I will decide what happens to him.”

“Actually, I think we should let him decide,” Jerry says, turning to Elvis.  He’s still looking down at his lap.  

“Elvis, would you rather have me or the Colonel decide what happens to you from here on out?”

“....” Elvis swallows.  

“You,” he whispers.

The Colonel frowns.  

“Very well, then.  Mr. Schilling will prepare you for the shows today, and if that’s what you prefer, he can take care of you from here on out.  Since you don’t need me, I also assume you don’t need my…financial support.”

Jerry shakes his head. The Colonel’s trying to manipulate Elvis again.  He gets closer to the Colonel.  

“Don’t you try trickin’ him right now, Colonel.  He’s vulnerable, and all you give a damn about is using him to make more money.”

Jerry glances back at Elvis, who has his head down.

“That isn’t true.  I care deeply about Mr. Presley,” Colonel Parker says.  “Which is why I’m trying to help him through these next two shows.”

Jerry grits his teeth and shakes his head,“You don’t care.”

Elvis draws Jerry’s attention with a deep, shaky inhale.  

“It’s alright, Jerry,” he says softly, “I…I can do these shows.  Can’t let the fans down.”  He sounds more than sad.  Regretful.  Almost as if…almost as if he regrets ever becoming a musician.

“Wonderful,”  The Colonel smiles, a chilling, evil grin that makes Jerry’s stomach turn,“The dressing room is waiting for you now,” he says, gesturing for Elvis to come over.  Elvis slowly stands up, wincing in pain, and makes his way over to the Colonel.

Elvis puts a hand to his brow and speaks in a low, exhausted voice. 

“Let’s go.”

—-

Jerry watches quietly as Elvis gets his makeup done.  His breathing is shallow 

and slightly labored as he looks down at his hands, which are trembling.  

“You know you don’t have to perform today,” Jerry says softly,“You’re not in a good state right now.”  Elvis glances at the Colonel, talking to a costume designer about twenty feet away.

“I…I can’t defy the Colonel,” Elvis says, his voice barely above a whisper.  The makeup artist can hear him, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Just last night, you were talking about leaving him for good,” Jerry says, staring into Elvis’s eyes.

“That was delusional.  That was the fever talking.  I can’t let him go.”

“God, Elvis, why not?  Can’t you see he’s hurting you?  You’ve done nearly a thousand shows this year alone,”  Jerry counters.

Elvis shakes his head.  

“I can’t leave him.  Not after all he’s done for me.”

“All done,” the makeup artist says softly,“You’re ready to perform, Mr. Presley.”

“You need rest, Elvis,” Jerry says quietly.

“I….I need to perform right now.  I can rest between the shows.”

“Elvis, this just seems so dramatic.  You were just talking about leaving him…”

“I don’t know if it’s possible, Jerry.  That’s all,”  Elvis stands up slowly,  “I gotta get on stage now.”

“Talk to you after the show, Elvis.”  

Elvis nods.  

“I’m serious.  We need to talk,”  Elvis just nods and walks away.  Jerry follows him backstage and takes his seat.

As soon as the curtain comes up and Elvis is revealed to the audience, the room’s noise is deafening to Jerry.  He presses his lips together as he realizes he forgot to give Elvis any medicine before the show tonight.  He knows Elvis can do it.  He just doesn’t want him to.

Jerry puts a hand to his brow and sighs, watching Elvis sing his heart out like he always does.   He gets up and walks around the hotel a little, then goes to the bathroom.

At 12:34, Jerry comes back from the bathroom to check on Elvis.  He’s pushing strongly, but his face is white as a sheet, and his left leg won’t stop shaking.  Jerry leaves to call Priscilla after a few minutes.

At 1:08, Jerry returns to see Elvis with a hand on his brow and his chest rising up and down with shallow, desperate breaths.

When 1:45 comes, Elvis is drenched in sweat and gripping his microphone stand for his life.  His knuckles are white, and his whole body trembles as if he’s completely relying on it to keep him from falling down.

Jerry almost wants to go on stage and stop the show.  He sits backstage, biting his nails and tapping his foot.  When Can’t Help Falling in Love finally starts, Jerry feels a sense of both urgency and relief.

Elvis is pushing through the song.  Sweat is pouring down his face, and he can barely catch his breath, but he gets to the last verse and tilts his head to the sky as he finishes the song, almost as if he’s asking God for mercy.

The song finishes and the curtain starts descending.  Jerry lets out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding in.  Elvis keeps his head up to the sky.  His breathing is ragged, uneven, and can only be described as desperate.  He is unmistakably spent.  

Jerry starts to approach Elvis as the curtain comes closer to the ground.  Elvis doesn’t move a muscle.

Jerry moves a little closer, trying to get a read on Elvis’s expression.  He can’t see any sign of emotion on his friend’s face.

Elvis breathes in loudly and deeply.

He breathes out.

Jerry blinks and turns to Marty, who’s approaching from the other side of the stage.

When he turns back to look at Elvis, he finds him on the ground with his hand over his chest and his eyes fluttering shut.

----

Loves, thank you so much for reading. Let me know what you think!

[angel2el]

sneak peek at DONE WITH YOU + looking for an editor

for those who don't know, hi, I'm chava, and I'm releasing my first writing work about Elvis leaving the colonel as soon as I can! If anyone is a good editor or would like to give me some help, I'd love you to help me out. you'd get unrestricted access to all my work and a friend, which don't we all need!

PART ONE IS OUT NOW!!

[angel2el]

Done With You -- ELVIS PRESLEY

It's December of 1969 when Elvis Presley stumbles into Jerry Schilling's hotel room, sick, exhausted, and ready to fire the Colonel.

He's been working like a dog for years, and it's time to finally break free. But illness, addiction, legal issues, and most of all, money stand in his way. A story that explores a universe where Elvis breaks free of the Colonel in a painstaking, long, and emotional process.

Hi, my name is Chava and this is my first ever work that's coming out as soon as possible. Stay tuned and follow for more!

PART ONE IS OUT NOW!