#elvis had problems but not racism

[lithuilgreenleaf]

Some people say Elvis was racist; this is false

 Go to the bottom for summary (tl;dr)

I sometimes see some wrongly directed hate for Elvis and just want to try to clear it up. I’m a POC and I’m not a fan of his even a little bit, and I’m not saying he didn’t do some of whatever you accuse him of, but I don’t want people hating on others with misinformation.

Elvis was not racist. He never said anything racist, and he admired and respected black people.

The only two allegations on record that I can find against him of racism are these:

One magazine in 1957 started a rumor that Elvis Presley once said, “The only thing Ne**oes can do for me is buy my records and shine my shoes.” This claim was debunked and proven false when a black reporter, Louie Robinson, investigated. He interviewed Elvis, who declared, “I never said anything like that, and people who know me know that I wouldn't have said it.” Elvis had never even been to the place where the magazine claimed he said this quote. Robinson found no evidence that the remark had ever been made, and on the contrary elicited testimony from many individuals indicating that Presley was anything but racist, including black people who knew him since childhood and black artists who performed with him. After his investigation, Robinson concluded, "To Elvis people are people, regardless of race, color or creed." (link) (second link)

“Fight the Power” was a 1989 rap hit by Public Enemy, which had the lyrics, “Elvis was a hero to most / But he never meant shit to me / Straight-up racist that sucker was / Simple and plain / Motherfuck him and John Wayne” (John Wayne was actually racist). However, Chuck D, the singer and writer of the song, later clarified his lyric associating Elvis Presley with racism. In an interview with Newsday timed with the 25th anniversary of Presley's death, Chuck D acknowledged that Elvis was held in high esteem by black musicians, and that Elvis himself admired black musical performers. Chuck D stated that the target of his line about Elvis was the white culture which hailed Elvis as a "King" without acknowledging the black artists that came before him. (link)

One time, Quincy Jones claimed Elvis was racist, but he had never actually met Elvis. He said that a white performer named Tommy Dorsey told him Elvis was racist, after which Quincy Jones refused to work with Elvis. However, it is on record that Tommy Dorsey liked Elvis on a personal level. Quincy Jones also claimed that every time he saw Elvis, Elvis was being taught to sing by Otis Blackwell, a black composer. However, Otis Blackwell never met Elvis in his life (according to Otis himself). On top of this, Quincy Jones is known to have said some questionable things over the years. Also, Quincy Jones had state din 2002 that Elvis was one of the innovator’s of pop music.

Part of the reason Elvis is sometimes accused of racism is that much of his visual and musical performance came from African American sources. People say that he “stole” African American music, and then became known as the “King of Rock and Roll” despite the many African American performers that preceded him.

Elvis acknowledged his debt to African Americans throughout his career, such as when he stated, “A lot of people seem to think I started this business. But rock 'n' roll was here a long time before I came along. Nobody can sing that kind of music like colored people. Let's face it: I can't sing like Fats Domino can. I know that.” (That term is considered racist now but was widely used at the time)

Elvis never liked being called the “King of Rock and Roll”. It was a title forced on him by others. He believed the real “King of Rock and Roll” was Fats Domino.

The reason for his singing African American music was that he grew up in majority black community and he grew up listening to black music. He often broke segregation laws by attending black clubs (often with the help of musicians like Ike Turner) and watched black musicians perform. He loved attending all-night gospel singings at the Ellis Auditorium in Memphis. The performances he saw there are where he later took some of his dance moves and songs from.

Basically, the reason Elvis Presley sang songs by black people and performed in their style was because he liked and respected their music and style. It was his own music too, to him, because it was an integral part of his life.

Elvis always looked up to black musicians.

Once, he recalled how he would listen to Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup—the originator of "That's All Right"(which Elvis later did a cover of)—”bang his box the way I do now, and I said if I ever got to the place where I could feel all old Arthur felt, I'd be a music man like nobody ever saw.”

Once, surrounded by the Las Vegas press, Elvis was asked a question by a reporter who referred to him by his common moniker: “the king.” Rather than accept the title and all the praise that would come along with it, Elvis alerted the media of Fats Domino’s presence in the room. “No, that’s the real King of Rock ‘n’ Roll,” Elvis said.

Elvis also expressed much love for Sister Rosetta Tharpe.

One time, Elvis refused to perform a concert when the organizers refused to allow the Sweet Inspirations (Elvis’s black female backup group) to perform with him. Elvis only agreed to perform once the organizers said the Sweet Inspirations could perform with him.

Black musicians admired Elvis right back.

B.B. King ("The King of the Blues"), who maintained a friendship with Elvis throughout his life, said of him, “Let me tell you the definitive truth about Elvis Presley and racism. With Elvis, there was not a single drop of racism in that man. And when I say that, believe me I should know��. King wrote in Elvis’s defense, “Elvis didn’t steal any music from anyone. He just had his own interpretation of the music he’d grown up on, same is true for everyone. I think Elvis had integrity.” Presley also helped King land gigs, overcoming racism.

Little Richard was also friends with Elvis. Although eh pointed out that Presley’s whiteness helped his career, he did say, “I love him. That’s my buddy, my baby. Elvis is one of the greatest performers who ever lived in this world.”

"Elvis created a new style all his own, and gave an injection to black music like no other artist had ever done." - Rufus Thomas.

Sammy Davis Jr said of Elvis, “I have a respect for Elvis and my friendship. It ain't my business what he did in private. The only thing I want to know is, 'Was he my friend?', 'Did I enjoy him as a performer?', 'Did he give the world of entertainment something?' - and the answer is YES on all accounts. The other jazz just don't matter.” He also said, “Early on somebody told me that Elvis was black. And I said 'No, he's white but he's down-home'. And that is what it's all about. Not being black or white it's being 'down-home' and which part of down-home you come from.”

James Brown once wrote, “I wasn't just a fan, I was his brother. He said I was good and I said he was good; we never argued about that. Elvis was a hard worker, dedicated, and God loved him ... I love him and hope to see him in heaven. There'll never be another like that soul brother.”

Muhammad Ali admired Elvis. “When I was 15 years old and saw Elvis on TV, I wanted to be Elvis,” said Ali. “Other kids in the neighborhood were listening to Ray Charles and James Brown, but I listened to Elvis. I admired him so much and I decided that if I was going to be famous, I’d do it just like him. He’s one of the reasons I wanted to entertain people and be loved by the people and make the girls admire me so much.” He later developed a friendship with Elvis.

There is evidence Elvis donated money to civil rights organizations. (link) (and charitable organizations)

tl;dr Elvis wasn’t racist, and he had no intention fo stealing music. He thought he was just another singer of those genres of music which he admired. He didn’t even think he was that good. He believed there were many black singers much better than him. He credited black people as the sources of the music he performed, and never thought he was king of anything. He loved, respected, and was inspired by black performers, and many of them loved him back.

The fact that interpreting black people’s music made Elvis more rich and famous than black performers was mostly the fault of the racist white public. He appreciated black music and black performers, who were role models to him, while the white public refused to listen to black people’s music unless it was performed by a white person. He did try to use his success to help black performers break racial barriers though, and his success did maybe open the door for black performers to gain access to the mainstream public.

tl;dr again: Elvis had a sincere affection for gospel, soul, and R&B, and a willingness to acknowledge his debt to the African-American musicians who had influenced him.

Elvis had problems, but being racist in this way wasn’t one of them.

If you hate him for other reasons, that’s fine, because the man was problematic as hell, especially regarding women.

[sissylittlefeather]

Let's Forget About the Stars: Chapter 3

A/N: Another installment for Elvis and Dove! This one is a little spicy, but don't worry, these two are still hopelessly devoted to each other.

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, masturbation (m&f), phone sex, ejaculation, oh and racism

Word count ~2.5k

They drift off to sleep together, Elvis's mind racing with plans of how and when to ask and visions of her in a white dress walking down the aisle towards him.

******

Elvis has two weeks before he has to go to Vancouver for his concert in August of '57. He and Dove spend as much time together as possible until then, even staying together at Graceland several times. They don't have sex, no matter how much they want to. He's waiting for their wedding night and even though he hasn't said it to her, she's okay with waiting. That doesn't mean they don't have their fair share of fun similar to that first night they stayed together. Still, though, she hasn't touched him and they haven't seen each other naked.

When the time finally comes for him to go to Vancouver, he takes her home to pack a bag to come along. However, he didn't think about how his manager might respond to the idea. He shows up at his house with Dove in tow only to run into the Colonel.

"Oh! Colonel, this is my girl, Dove Morningstar." The Colonel purses his lips and nods curtly at Dove. She holds her hand out for him to shake, but he doesn't take it.

"My boy, your daddy told me about this new... adventure... of yours."

"Adventure? What did Daddy tell you?" The Colonel looks at Dove, down to the overnight bag in her hands, and then back at Elvis.

"She is not joining us in Canada." Elvis looks at him shocked.

"Why the hell not?"

"She is not acceptable. I would've rather had this conversation in private, but you force my hand."

"Force your hand? Colonel, what the hell are you talking about?" Dove shifts uncomfortably.

"Jumbee, I don't have to come if it's-"

"No, Dovey, you're coming." He turns back to the Colonel. "She's coming. Or I'm not."

"My boy, the flight is booked and she doesn't have a ticket. She will not join us." Dove can feel the anger roll off of Elvis as his nostrils flare with rage.

"What the fuck is the problem, Colonel?"

"Look at her. She does not meet the standard of what a man of your caliber should date, if he dates anyone at all. Now, I am happy to arrange a date with someone appropriate, but you need to see this trip as an opportunity to move on from this silly obsession."

"Silly obsession?! I love-"

"Yes, you love her. Given enough time, that will fade. You'll see. Now, say goodbye and come with me to the airport. Someone will make sure she gets back to where she belongs." Dove looks at the ground, willing the tears not to fall. This is exactly what she has been afraid of since she met him. She turns and heads for the door with her bag in her hands.

"Wait, Dovey, no, don't leave, you're coming." He stops her at the door and she turns to face him.

"Elvis, it's really okay. I don't have to come. Maybe he's right. You're Elvis Presley. I'm just... me." He holds his hand up to her cheek firmly.

"No, honey. I'm Jumbee and you're the love of my life. I will fix this."

"Just go to Canada. We'll figure this out when you get back." He pushes his forehead to hers and closes his eyes.

"I don't wanna be without you."

"I know Jumbee, but it'll be okay. I'll be right here." He nods and kisses her deeply.

"I love you, Dovey."

"I love you too." The Colonel rolls his eyes and ushers Elvis out the door quickly. Gladys and Vernon are set to follow later, so they're still there when Elvis leaves. When Dove falls to her knees in tears in the foyer, Gladys goes to her immediately, wrapping her in a hug and pulling her to the couch to hold her as she cries. She shushes her and hums quietly. Vernon watches the way she weeps and something inside him softens. When a good amount of time has passed, he offers to take her home. She nods, defeated.

In the car, Vernon and Dove ride in silence for most of the way. As they get closer to their destination, he clears his throat and she looks over at him.

"You really love my son, don't you?" She turns and looks out the window.

"Yes. I do."

"I'm not a monster. I want him to be happy. I just worry what people will say. Surely you can understand that." She swallows deeply.

"I do. I've tried to tell him it won't be easy, but he insists that he doesn't care."

"My boy is headstrong. When he wants something, he'll do everything he can to get it, and he usually does. That's why I'm talking to you. You need to decide if you want to do what's best for him." She looks up at him. Is he suggesting what she thinks he is?

"I'm not ending this."

"Even if it means the end of his career? Think about what's most important to him. Do you want to be the reason that's taken away?" They pull up to the front of her boarding house and she looks back at Vernon.

"If he ends this for his career, I will respect that. But until he tells me himself that he doesn't want to be with me, I will be with him. Every step of the way." She opens the door and gets out of the car, walking up to the porch without looking back.

******

On the plane, Elvis and the Colonel have a similar conversation, but the Colonel is not as nice as Vernon.

"An Indian girl?! Elvis what are you thinking? You might as well be dating-"

"Stop. You seem to think I care that she isn't white. That's wrong and you know it."

"You may not care, but your fans will. Half of them will lose all respect for you. The other half will be devastated that you're unavailable. You are only you because of those fans. Do you really want to alienate them?" Elvis looks down at his hands in his lap. He knows the Colonel is right. But he loves her more than he loves his career. He looks at the Colonel sternly.

"I'm going to say this once and I hope you hear me. I would go back to being an electrician before I'd give up Dovey. We're done with this conversation."

"I hope she's worth it, my boy."

"She is."

******

Elvis performs in Vancouver to a raucous crowd and has an amazing show. He's pleased with his performance, but there's one thing missing: Dove. When he comes off the stage, he's hit with a wave of wishing she could be there to celebrate with him. He decides then and there that she will be at his next show if he has to drive her there himself.

The Colonel arranges a party for after the show and fills it to the brim with pretty girls. He's determined to distract Elvis and get his mind away from that girl in Memphis. Besides, Elvis is too old to be what he is. It's time for him to become a man.

But his efforts are all for nothing. Elvis politely greets the women the Colonel thrusts at him, signs autographs and even kisses a couple of cheeks, but nothing more. He almost seems bored with the party.

What he really is is anxious to get back to his hotel room and call Dove. He misses her so much he can barely stand it. All these other girls might as well be invisible.

"Colonel, I think I'm gonna turn in." Elvis gestures towards the door.

"No, my boy! We're just getting started! Here, have you met-"

"No. No more girls, Colonel. I'm going to bed." The Colonel leans in to Elvis's ear and whispers.

"I could always send one of them with you." Elvis snaps his head back to look the Colonel in the eye, shocked he would even suggest such a thing. He's not even sure how to respond. "It's time, my boy."

"No. It isn't. Goodnight, Colonel." With that, Elvis turns on his heel and heads out the door to go back to his room.

******

"And then he said he could send one back to my room with me?!" Elvis lays on his bed with the phone pressed to his ear.

"Wow. What did you say?" Dove is on her side in bed, holding the phone with her shoulder as she plays with the cord. She's missed Elvis so much it hurts, so hearing his voice on the phone is exactly what she's needed.

"I told him no! You know you're the only girl for me, Dovey." They sit quietly for a bit. "I wish you were here."

"I know, Jumbee, I do too. I miss you like crazy."

"I miss you too, baby." Dove smiles and lays back on her bed.

"What would we do if I was there?"

"Well, we'd be snuggled up together on this bed, for one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. And I'd be kissing you." She giggles.

"Oh, you would? Where would you kiss me?" He smiles slyly.

"Everywhere. Your neck, your cheeks, your lips..." Elvis looks down at himself and notices his dick as it hardens in his pants. What he wouldn't give to be kissing Dove right now, rubbing against her passionately.

"Mmm I would like that. Then what?" Dove's chest heaves as her heart races. She feels her arousal building between her legs, desperately wishing Elvis was there to work his magic with his hand.

"Well, then, then I-I-I would..." He trails off, wrapping his hand around his cock without thinking.

"Yeah? What, Jumbee?"

"I would touch you..." Elvis moans softly as he begins to stroke himself.

"Elvis, what are you doing?"

"Nothing... I'm just... nothing." He stops touching himself and then whimpers. "Maybe we should hang up."

"Hang up? Why?" He takes a deep breath. He knows he has to tell her, as awkward as it might be.

"I'm too... I need to... well, baby..."

"What is it?"

"I don't want to... shock you..."

"Elvis, you can tell me anything." He looks down at his rock hard cock and sighs.

"I'm too turned on. I need to... take care... of myself..."

"What? You need to...? Oh." Her mother told her that this kind of thing happens to boys sometimes. She blushes, but he can't see it.

"Yeah, so maybe we should just hang up..."

"No, I'm not ready yet. You've... finished with me before. What if you just did it now?"

"While we're on the phone?!"

"Yeah... we could keep talking..." He's quiet for a minute, thinking.

"You could... do it too..."

"What? No! I'm a girl! I wouldn't even know what to do."

"Dovey, baby, you just move your fingers on yourself the way I do." Her heart is pounding at the suggestion, but she's craving the feeling so badly.

"I wish you were here!"

"I know, baby, I do too. But just pretend it's me touching you. Sometimes I pretend it's you touching me."

"You do?" His hand slowly moves back to holding his dick.

"Mhmm. I pretend like you wrapped your pretty little hand around me and you move..."

"Would you like that? If I did that?"

"Oh, Dovey, I would love it." He unzips his pants, freeing his cock and starting to stroke it again.

"What does it feel like?"

"It feels so good. Like when I rub my finger on you and then slide it inside." She whimpers, her core throbbing with need. "Just touch yourself, baby. Make yourself feel good. I'm right here."

He moves his hand a little faster, sliding his foreskin back and forth, giving himself just the right amount of friction. Dove's hands shake as she slides her pajama shorts and panties down. Slowly, she puts her finger on her clit and moves it back and forth. She whimpers a little.

"Are you doing it? Talk to me baby." Elvis whispers breathlessly into the phone. She moves her finger more boldly, getting lost in the sensation.

"Yes, ohhh, yes I'm doing it. It feels so good."

"Good. That's good. Just imagine my finger on you, moving so fast over that little spot that makes you wild."

"Yes, Elvis! What are you imagining?"

"Oh, baby, I'm imagining your hand on me, pumping up and down, making me feel so good."

"I'd like to... try that... sometime." The thought makes him groan.

"I would love that, baby. Now, slide your finger inside, like I do." She pushes her middle finger into herself and moans loudly. He grunts, collecting some precum from his tip and rubbing it around. "Yes, baby, like that. Does it feel good?"

"It feels so good... oh God..." He pumps himself harder and faster, trying to match what he assumes is her pace and she slides her finger in and out of herself.

"Don't stop baby... I want you to cum for me..." She uses context clues to figure out what he's talking about and moves her finger over her sensitive bud faster and faster.

"Are you gonna cum too?" He nods and then realizes she can't see him.

"Y-yes baby, I'm so close, oh!"

"Me too, Elvis! Yes! Yes!"

"Fuck, Dovey, yeah baby!"

She throbs and pulses around her own finger while his hips buck and he ruins his hand with his release. They both sit on the phone breathing heavily and trying to recover from their orgasms. Finally, he speaks.

"Dovey, are you still there?"

"Mhmm. That was... I liked that..." He smiles, desperately wishing he could snuggle her and kiss her forehead.

"I miss you, baby."

"I miss you too. Come home to me soon, okay?"

"As soon as I possibly can." She smiles into the phone.

"Then I'll see you soon."

"Not soon enough. I love you, Dovey."

"I love you too, Jumbee."

******

Several days later Elvis finally gets back to Memphis. Gladys calls Dove and makes sure she's at Graceland when he gets home. Vernon watches anxiously, wondering if anything he said will make a difference.

When Elvis walks through the door, he kisses his mama first and then runs over to Dove, scooping her up to wrap her legs around him. He peppers her with kisses wildly as she giggles.

The Colonel looks at Vernon, frustrated. Elvis is oblivious as he carries her up the stairs directly to his bedroom. Gladys smiles and walks back into the kitchen, leaving Vernon and the Colonel alone together. Vernon speaks first.

"I tried to appeal to her better nature. I think she really loves him."

"I don't care if she does. This cannot continue. She will completely derail him."

"They're both pretty insistent. I'm afraid if we push them we'll make it worse."

"No. Elvis is not stupid. I'll come up with something."

"Colonel, maybe we should just let him be happy. It probably won't last anyway."

"Is that a bet you're willing to lay your son's future on?" Vernon swallows and shakes his head.

"No. It's not."

"Then I will need you on my side when I come up with something."

"Okay"

"I will be back."

******

Stay with me!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist;

@wildhorseinkansas @everythingelvispresley @ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @returntopresley

[lala1267]

Chocolate and Vanilla (Part 1)

Warnings: racism (it's set in the 50s/60s), physical abuse, mentions of racial slurs (I'm black dw), swearing , loneliness, bullying, drinking, smoking

Summary: you were born in Jamaica and moved to the US at a young age. The only white families on your street where the Presley family and the Jean family. You went clubbing with your freind and bumped into a rising star, do you know him?

I was born in Jamaica as a mixed race girl with big curly hair and tanned skin. In Jamaica there was no white people, only black people. Even though I was tanned and had curly hair I still stood out since I had a white father. I had never met the man and I hope I don't because from what I heard he just fucked my mother just to try a chocolate girl. Well he did get a try but he also had a child that he didn't know about. All through my childhood I was either picked on or ignored even by my mother. She couldn't stand to look at me since I was lighter, she would be embarrassed to bring me to the beach since I was the only child that looked white and everybody else was black. But even though I was lonely I was still happy. I snook out of the house early in the morning just to go to the beach and play in the marine water. I would walk around with my curly hair out without a care in the world. I learnt to ignore all of the looks that I would get and just be happy. I lived in a poor area with shacks and huts for houses.

My mother had a drinking problem and a smoking addiction. Whenever she was stressed or mad at me, she would drink and smoke. This meant that she was drinking and smoking every day. Whenever she was drunk, it was like hell. She would scream and shout and break things and sometimes even hit me, but everyone thought I was just being a naughty little girl even though it was the complete opposite. I was never rude or mean to anyone, even if I wanted to be since my mother would probably kill me. I was incapable of standing up for myself, I was quiet and introverted since I had no one to talk to anyway. A group of girls would throw rocks at me while I walked down to the beach. The boys would walk past me just to 'accidentally' push me over. All because I was lighter.

All of this hell ended on the day that I found out I was going to live in America, at least I thought. My mother woke me up from the half broken bed that I was in with a cigarette in her mouth. "Get up we are leaving" she said in a unbothered tone. I looked at her confused for a moment before replying, "huh, where are we going mamma?". She looked at me with frown. "America". My face lit up as a wide smile appeared on my face. But then I was confused as to why we were going, why are we going to a complete different country, why?. "But mamma, why?"

"Well, a lot of people want me dead since I had a baby with a white man so they are trying to find me. Hurry we don't have much time, we gotta get walking."

I quickly packed my things and the both of us began to walk. It took around an hour or so to walk since I lived in the coast. As i reached the city and was approaching the airport i was in shock since i had never seen such bright lights and cars. I got to the airport and all i could think of is how excited i was. A million thoughts rushed through my head before i stepped onto the runway to the plane.

I was nine years old when i arrived in America. It was much colder. I lived in a poor neighbourhood but i didn't know that since i had never seen a rich neighbourhood. It was mostly a black neighbourhood but there was 2 white families one of them being the Presley family. There was a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes that always used to play on the street with other kids his name was Elvis.

I never even wanted to talk to him since i arrived because i had quickly learnt that the white people weren't so welcoming. I had been ridiculed and called a number of slurs. I didn't understand why i was being made fun of, in Jamaica it was because I was to white now its because I was to dark, can't people just make up their minds. I had always assumed that Elvis was a racist too since I had never met a white person that wasn't.

Years flew by and I was now the ripe age of 15. My hair was long and had perfect brown curls. My skin was tanned and shined in the sunlight, I was wearing a crop top and some short denim shorts. Everyone including most blacks thought I had no class since I had never worn a dress, this was because I was to poor to afford a decent one and I was raised running around half naked without a care in the world.

I had made one friend called Lana Jean, she was the polar opposite of me, she was white for starters. She knew how to stick up for herself and she wasn't afraid to fight anyone. If she didn't like you she would make it clear, no man ever dared to tell her what to do cause she would just respond with a fist. She was very strong for a woman but dressed elegantly if needed. But normally she would walk around in shorts and a crop top like me. The only things we had in common was that we had no class we weren't ladylike. We ate how we wanted, we sat how we wanted and we were inseparable. She was like a guardian to me since I didn't know how to stand up for myself, she would shout for me, fight for me and would probably kill for me.

Me and Lana always went clubbing since my mother was busy drinking and her mother just didn't care. We always went out and had a good time. I would just ignore all of the stares from the white people as I passed the 'whites only' signs. But to be honest I would stare aswell if I saw a dark skinned, tall girl with curls running down from her head to her butt walk past. We went to our usual club called club handy, I felt safe since there was only black people there, they treated lana like family since we would come here every night after work. We were dancing together when we heard a lot of screams coming from outside, they sounded like excited cheers. Then suddenly the doors to the club burst open. I tried to go on my tiptoes to attempt to see over the crowd but before realising I was pushed to the floor along with lana by atleat 5 girls running towards the door. Lana was ready to fight until we got up and saw a tall man with het black hair and was very handsome, who could this be.

To be continued...

[septembersghost]

How do you deal with all the hate directed towards Elvis? He wasn’t a saint but some people are so intense for their hatred for him online that it kinda takes the run out of being a fan :/

hi anon! okay, so the first thing i'm going to do is link you to my love tam's @headfullofpresley reply to this question because she recently answered it very well and more succinctly than what i'm about to write.

i am not on the clock app, which is where i gather a lot of this is coming from? but i know the breakdown of that hate comes in three basic forms - 1. COMPLETELY false and easily disprovable accusations of racism that have somehow spread over the internet for years. (there are countless sources to dispel this, this touches on a mere few.) this has somehow entwined itself with the idea that he "stole" music, which is categorically untrue, and while absolutely there is a factor there regarding the fact that he could succeed differently due to being a handsome white man in a still segregated and tumultuous time, his music and his melding of gospel and r&b was never malicious, it was inspired by absolute love. he also actively supported charities, including black and jewish organizations. his generosity and kindness wasn't limited or biased at all. 2. people victimizing priscilla as if she isn't allowed to speak for herself and tell her own story, one in which she has never claimed that and i don't personally believe anyone else has the right to decide that for someone. (which @bcofl0ve has addressed well here and here). 3. really upsetting and damaging ableism that has persisted in many ways since his death, where people make certain insinuations and judgments about his health and choices with disdain rather than any understanding. this is a problem in that it tends to demonize addiction and weight and other issues rather than approaching that sympathetically.

moreover, i do believe it's a real problem with current social media that we expect sainthood from anyone. demanding unimpeachable behavior and strict nearly puritanical morality from anyone is never going to be attainable. the legendary music, the various iconography and images aside, at the core of it all, he was a person. people have faults and flaws, they make mistakes, everyone is affected by whatever trauma and grief and struggles they may face, and the pressures of that intense, and quite unprecedented when elvis' star rose, level of fame are unimaginable. was he perfect? absolutely not. but being perfect isn't the same as being good. and when you delve into his life and his beliefs, his feelings about other people and reaching out to them, his connection to his music (be it rock and roll, gospel, or anything in between), the way he searched often for meaning, how he had that desire to extend kindnesses to others and to make others happy...there's so much, and the accounts from those who knew and loved him paint a picture of someone who certainly was fallible, but was undoubtedly good. and i think that's an important distinction to make - perfection simply isn't real. human beings are never one thing - we're fragile and resilient and angry and loving and impulsive and kind, and that's never one facet at a time, it's all at once. if you can only look at someone from a judgmental, "this is problematic!," point of view, you're frankly NEVER going to be able to interact compassionately or genuinely. if you look at someone and define them by their mistakes and condemn that without nuance (and you know what i mean by this, obviously we are not speaking of unforgivable actions here), you're never going to be able to embrace the full person, but it also limits understanding and compassion for anyone. i just feel it's vital to look at the entire tapestry of who someone is, and the full measure of their light and heart.

and then i'm just going to reiterate what tam said - haters (of anything) are miserable and tend to be misinformed and thrive on that mean-spiritedness, and that's so antithetical to how i interact with things i love that i don't have time for it and don't think it deserves energy. if something makes you happy, please don't let outside noise steal that! we know and can easily explore what was inherent to his heart and soul. we can hear the beauty and innovation and joy in his music. if that's providing you a sense of comfort and happiness and fun, that's what matters most. if someone doesn't get it, that's their problem. you are always allowed to love things. 💗💗💗

[loving-elvis]

I love Change of Habit, but it's clear some things in the film didn't age well, especially regarding Amanda. I didn't have a problem with Amanda's portrayal; I think she actually did play an autistic child pretty accurately for 1968. But…the scene where Dr. Carpenter and Sister Michelle basically "cure" Amanda through that "rage reduction therapy" thing never sat right with me.

It was always really hard to watch, what with them holding the little girl and telling her they loved her over and over as she kept screaming and struggling to get away. Especially now that we know that autism isn't something that can be cured, and we now know that particular therapy doesn't work and it's even killed a few people.

Something tells me that if E had lived long enough to see how our understanding of autism has changed over the years, and how autistic people really are, he'd have regretted doing that scene.

Hello Anon!

I do love Change of Habit, especially given how different it was from his earlier work in the 1960s. It's easy to look back from our perspective today and see it as less than idealistic or (and I'm not very fond of this term) 'problematic'. But it's important to remember that this movie is very much a product of its time. The depictions of autism, racism, among other things are far from nuanced, to say the least.

I think Elvis, given his desire to learn and grow and improve himself may have regretted it, and maybe he would have wanted to learn more to know everything he could about how things have changed since 💖

[anonstuff]

This was under the Fender reel featuring an artist (whose is a white woman) named Rebecca Lovell of Larkin Poe.

The selfishness of these men in the comments is incredible.

They’re really, actually upset that Fender is featuring ALL guitar players instead of just white men. Mind you, white men are still featured regularly by Fender, as is everyone else now too.

Everyone plays guitar, not just white men. So why shouldn’t Fender depict that? Everyone buys their guitars, not just white men. So why shouldn’t Fender depict that?

The racism and sexism of “artolarkin”, in more words, saying that non-white men are all bad players (“women or people of colour playing barre chords with heavily saturated chorus and delay covering it all up?…”)

And him talking about a band, that says they don’t want cis white men is obviously a result of the guitar community being gatekept and exclusive to white men only. When you exclude people so much, what do you think they’re going to do? They’re going to try to help themselves in a world where they are hated and pushed aside. You had no problem keeping cis white men out of the mainstream guitar community, but when they decide come together to enjoy what they love, you have a problem. That band’s exclusivity is a reaction to your exclusivity in much larger and more impactful areas of the guitar community including ruining people’s chance at a career because they aren’t a white man.

Which is why Fender showing EVERYONE playing guitar is a good thing. A guitar player is a guitar player. They come in different “colors” and walks of life.

The irony is this “joe” guy saying its not about music anymore and that its political to include non-white male players. As if the non-white men featured aren’t even guitar players making music. The irony is that these bigoted men are the ones making things political by mentioning their issue with non-white male guitarists being featured in ADDITION to white male players.

Non-white men are not “political” pawns. They’re people. People with real lives, who also have talent and skills that are so often not appreciated because they aren’t white men.

All of these non-white male players being featured are...you know… guitar players. They are real musicians who play Fender guitars. It’s not like they’re playing air guitar and have no idea how to play and are just there for no reason.

These men play styles that were created by POC (for examples blues guitar invented by black people). They use techniques that were created by women (Sister Rosetta Tharpe, The Grandmother of Rock And Roll, who also taught Elvis Presley many guitar techniques). But Women (like Ms. Tharpe) and POC who created entire genres that they enjoy so much should not be appreciated—Past or present.

Guitar is for everyone.

[77summer]

Conscientious Objectors and Draft Evaders

“I heard through the grapevine… that our new neighbor… was a conchie.” Well. Dad probably doesn’t know about this.

(Content Warning: Racism)

The basic definition of a CO is a person who refuses to perform military service, typically on religious grounds. There have been recorded cases of COs throughout history, but it was only at the start of the modern period (the late 1700s) that countries began legalizing these exemptions. Generally, refusal to perform mandatory military service would result in imprisonment or execution as it is a criminal offense.

Being a CO technically counts as a form of draft evasion, which means the act of avoiding government-imposed military service. However, it sets itself apart as a legal form of draft evasion. Simply put, nobody goes to jail for being a CO. Instead, COs are asked to perform alternative services, such as working for non-profits.

Draft evasion was rampant even during the First World War. At the time (and even now, in some places), many considered it every citizen's moral obligation to serve their country. Refusal to do so was seen as deeply shameful and cowardly.

By the time the Vietnam War came along in the 1950s, the US had already been involved in no less than three other wars in just over four decades. As such, the general American public was divided on their support of the Vietnam War.

During this war, most men ages 18-26 were eligible for the draft. Exemptions were made for college students and those with disabilities and mental health problems. Applying for CO status was difficult enough, but even successful applicants were still ostracized from their communities. It was also widely known that the system had biases against men of color (particularly African-Americans), as more non-white men were drafted than white men and were likely to be refused CO status.

Instead of applying to become COs, many simply resorted to illegal methods. One of these was to escape to Canada, as it was very easy to seek out political asylum there in the 60s and 70s. There are no official numbers available, but it's estimated that at least 30,000 men ran away to Canada to avoid the draft during the Vietnam War.

President Jimmy Carter, who was elected in 1977 (four years after the US withdrew its troops from Vietnam), issued unconditional pardons for all draft evaders. This allowed them to legally come home. Not all opted to return and instead spent the rest of their lives in Canada.

(Elvis Presley's draft card.)

[angelfacemjj]

Idk about Prince, but the Elvis part is actually true.

Elvis Presley had a specific fetish on fourteen year old virgin girls, and had hook ups with many of them (one even had a problem and had to go to the hospital while Elvis left her there w/ no regrets).

He started dating Priscilla when she was 14 and he was 24. He groomed her. Elvis Presley was a groomer.

But there are still people who defend him and call Michael a pedophile. I wonder why... (Spoiler: It's called racism and white privilege.)

Since everyone's reading comprehension clearly just went out the window when the person in the Epstein documents asked about Michael Jackson. The girl literally said nothing happened. And to go into more detail, this was before anything about Epstein came to light and when Epstein was still fronting as one of those financial businessmen. MJ was LITERALLY THOROUGHLY investigated and HEAVILY survellienced by the government/FBI for over 2 decades BEFORE and AFTER meeting Epstein, the FBI REALLY wanted MJ gone from the public eye, they even tried to use his childhood photos and some playboy magazines to prove he was guilty. In the 2000s MJ was in conflict with Sony and was going broke, some people(we dont know who they were yet) recommended he go to Epstein to solve financial issues. MJ dipped out and Epstein never got his number, his name literally was not in that black book. Y'all keep bringing up those false accusations with the boys when if you actually look up anything on it, the boys came forward and said their parents lied, and the bed thing was false because MJ's room was huge and had two beds, he had the PARENTS AND THEIR KIDS sleeping in the beds in his room while HE slept in his own GUEST ROOM.

Stop making shit up when the people who wanted so badly for him to do something criminal literally couldn't find anything at all in all those years that he was looked at so closely to the point he was literally having mental breakdowns from being watched every where he went, during every call, and so on.

(edit: To add to this, people constantly lie about his skin and how he felt about himself and his body too. When for one, his autopsy was right there and literally says he suffered from lupus and Vitilogo and his hair was literally the way it was due to it being set on fire in that one Pepsi commercial, there are literally graphic images of just how badly his scalp had been damaged. He never hated himself or his blackness, infact he actively tried to hide his white splotches for as long as he could. He used makeup and skincare stuff that he was unaware had any bleaching affects in the ingredients. He was very open and loud about being proud of his African heritage, he even was crowned in an African village.

I made this post cause I started tweaking because the singular black breadtuber I was watching was reading the Epstein documents and when he got to Michael being mentioned he and everyone in chat suddenly became illiterate and he was talking some shit like "it would seem he really was that guy if those documentaries, court stuff and articles didn't already convince you" like WHAT??? And chat was agreeing and someone was like "the Twitter stans are still gonna find a way to defend him after this" mind you, if you weren't bread dead and believed all that slander, all the court stuff declared and pretty much proved his innocence and later one people including his own friends and family came forward saying they were forced and coerced into lying. Those documentaries that came out and so many of those articles were straight up slanderous because they were damn tabloids, I don't get why people are still trying to use tabloids as proof when they were known for spreading rumors that often were not true in the slightest. This shit actually has me genuinely heated. Like, the breadtuber didn't bother reading the rest and was just like "well that proves it" even though it was stated right below that Epstein did not have his contact. Then there's the dumbasses on Twitter too making this shit worse. You'd think that most people at some point would bother to actually use their brains and seek out as much info as possible instead of taking lies and running with it, especially if they have a platform where they literally should be doing such a thing but nope. The guy was iffy about the star wars guy and whether or not he was actually a contact in Epstein's list but that same grace was not afforded to MJ.

Another edit:Oh and also it's wild MJ's false accusations are always brought and people say Elvis and Prince are better than him meanwhile Elvis and Prince were known pedos and abusers. Like are you fucking kidding me!!!)

[euphoriacafe]

Somebody I Used To Know: Elvis Presley Series 2

All For Us ; Chapter 2

Austin!Elvis Presley x Female Reader

Summary: A group of Diverse adults who are singers that traveled through other countries, some would call them hippies and others would call them abominations. Alexis, who is one of the main singers for the band, met Elvis Presley when he was barely starting his career and only fate can decide whether or not Alexis will save him.

Warnings: Lots of Swearing, Yelling, Sexual content, Twisting of history and angst/mentions of death.

Note: This series is purely inspired by the songs, I wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys & Somebody I Used To Know by Gotye.

PS. THIS STORY WILL HAVE SOME DETAILS SUCH AS HOMOSEXUALITY, TRANSGENDER, DRAG QUEENS, DIVERSE GROUPS ALSO SOME SONGS USED BY THE "BAND" WILL BE 21ST CENTURY.

Chapter 1

(I RECOMMEND LISTENING TO SHE KNOWS BY J.COLE FOR THIS)

     Those baby blue eyes have haunted me ever since that night. As well as feeling sick to my stomach, I was also feeling dizzy. Alcohol may have played a part or maybe we never separated our eyes from each other. All I could do was lean my back against the wooden bar while everyone danced, laughed, sang, and partied like there was no tomorrow. I don’t want to be attracted to him, I dislike his little smug face. There is a woman who is in love with him. I have to hate him if I don’t and just sleep with him. What does that make me? Where do my morals go after that? One moment I was staring at him when he sat at the window drinking a beer and the next I was in the bed of the hotel laying next to Cherry. The sunshine was peaking through the blue curtains glaring at my dark brown eyes. 

Do I remember much towards the end of the night? No, I drank till I felt my body felt light to get rid of these emotions. 

One thing I do remember though is before I went to bed I saw that Elvis had a hotel room next to Hank Snow that was on the other side of the lot from me. What else did I see? Well, just a pretty little whore that walked into his room after he opened it.

Did I imagine it?

No.

I couldn’t. 

Any boy or man is the same. Sex is what drives them and when they want it they get it no matter what the cost is. I slowly sat up feeling groggy and dizzy from the drinking. Pushing the blankets off of my body I turned my view to Cherry’s body. It wasn’t unusual for any of us to sleep in the same bed. It was more of a comfort to us if anything. We were like a tight mixed family that never left each other's side. “Cherry wake up babes.” I stood up and began to stretch a bit. The only clothing I had on was a pair of black panties that hugged my waist well.

Cherry mumbled under her breath still laying down and most likely it was a simple “no, not yet please.” She pulled the covers over her head and I chuckled. 

“Fine, stay in bed but remember that we need to start getting ready for tonight for that hayride shit.” I walked over to the blue chair grabbing my white robe and tightened the tie around my stomach. 

Even though it was hard for me to lose weight and god knows i’ve tried too. That one would notice over time is that real men loved women who had a little bit of weight on them. Especially girls who looked foregin, it was more of a weird awful fetish that men loved and to a certain point would pay to hide away. The world could only change so much and for us -Velvet Pristin- well we forced the world to accept us despite the sexism and racism. I was taught by Mother Dani that we should never be afraid to embrace our bodies or sexuality and that is something I held deep to my heart. 

Being a short woman when most people are tall as fuck and having somewhat dark skin was something that definitely drew in the weird people. Men pictured me as innocent till I’m on stage and since I’m a woman they didn’t have a problem with it till other women get jealous. I don’t want their men, but to make other women flustered I would usually sing to them. It usually rings out which women held in their deep desires to just be with another woman instead of the typical man. 

Have I slept with another woman? Yes.

Have I slept with a man? Well…

“Good, you're finally awake.” Scartella came through the door bringing me out of my thoughts. 

Scartella has always been an early bird ever since we got back to touring the country again. Before we came to Tennessee she was residing in California doing films left and right, even got a role to be Snow White. That was aside from the point though. 

“I am and I am starving.” Before I could leave the room Scartella put a hand on my shoulder stopping me.

“Listen I saw that boy you were staring at last night,”Scartella’s voice went soft and gave me a small smile. “Are you seeing him?” She was completely interested in this type of topic, a little bit too much for my liking. 

“No, I wouldn’t involve myself with a southern boy and especially when all men are the same,” I squinted, shaking my head displeased. Her smile faded and grew a small pout. “I would rather marry a horse or geese than a southern boy.”

“Well that’s not true, not every boy is the same.” Kira interrupted and brought Steven and Hunter into the room with her. “I mean Steven and Hunter are from Tennessee and they are perfect gentlemen.” Kira placed her purse on the couch sitting down. 

“Now I think I won’t even be able to eat now.” I whined under my breath walking back to the edge of the bed.

“I mean some men can be trashy.” Steven spoke, taking his spot next to Kira. 

“I mean well any person can be trashy but it just all depends how you treat them.” Hunter explained taking a sip of his Coca Cola bottle. Of course, the people who were actually in relationships were giving me life advice again. At this point I felt as if this was being planned to talk about. 

“Is there a point to this,” I looked at them just over it all already by now. “I really just want to eat and finish my day so then I can sleep away.” I clasped my hands together and rocked myself a bit back and forth. 

“We saw you talking to Elvis Presley and we got curious to what you both could possibly be talking about,” Hunter asked but was cut off by Scartella getting hyper again shouting “Or what you both possibly could be doing?” She winked. 

Oh my god. 

They think I slept with the Presley boy. 

The silence grew and the tension became unbearable. What kind of answer did they want from me? I sighed and stood up looking at all of them in the eyes. They leaned in for my answer and I couldn’t wait to actually disappoint them at this moment. “You really want to know?” I smiled bending over to them with my hands on my knees. I scrunched my nose and while they nodded frantically they grinned as if they knew the answer. 

“I told him I never want to see his pretty little self again.” I whispered, yet it was so loud of them that their smiles slowly faded and went into disbelief.   

I chuckled and stood up straight. “He has a girlfriend.” I turned on my heel and opened the door. “Also take in mind that even if I had sex with him, it wouldn’t be in a dark room nor would be around anyone to hear.” I walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. I took a deep inhale and exhaled seeing Greyson standing outside his hotel room already smoking. “Your food is in my room.” I smiled once those beautiful words came out of his mouth. “You are a fucking saint, did you know that?” I asked. 

Greyson scoffed, shaking his head. “Not a saint, just someone who didn’t want to hear you be cranky.” 

I nodded and gave him a goofy grin saying “Good man. You’ll make your wife very proud someday.” 

He scoffed at opening the door to the hotel room for me and I saw Skye doing Dani’s hair as he stuffed his face with a muffin. “Good Morning sunshine.” Skye blurted going back to Dani’s curls. 

“Morning hun’s.” I bit my lip going wide eyed seeing eggs inside a small food box. “Seems like mama just scored.” I snatched the box, opened it and grabbed a fork. I took a small bite of the delicious food and moaned. “Gosh, this is all I wanted.” I sat down in the chair feeling Dani gawking at me.

“Why are you staring at me?” I spoke, keeping my eyes on my food. 

“No reason.” Dani spoke quietly; his accent was thick and heavy.

“Are you going to stay for the Festival tonight Alexis?” Skye proposed. “I mean everyone is going to stay except for Rory and I since tonight is our anniversary.” 

I grew irritated, love is all around me yet no one fitted my standards enough to be with me. I closed my eyes and licked my lips. “Do I have to stay at the festival?” I shot a glare at Skye who never once looked at me this entire time. Some would call me an asshole, others would call me an honest woman, others would call me scary, but in reality I was just mentally tired. “You don’t have to but it would be appreciated if you do stay.” Dani butted in eating one last piece of the muffin off the plate. 

I sighed, dropping my fork and closing the box. I didn’t want to be alone… no one wants to be alone but that’s just how the cookie crumbles. I nodded my head standing up fixing my robe. “Yes I’ll stay as long as there is food or alcohol.” I put the box in the small black trash can.

“Good now go to practice. I'll make sure to get you ready before the festival.” Skye spoke again, never breaking eye contact with Dani’s hair. I inhaled deeply and walked out the door.

Across the hotel lot, I saw the female giggling as she walked out of Elvis' room. It was at this point that my ears felt dead, and my eyes got blurry as I saw Elvis leaning against the door frame watching the girl leave.

There was no doubt in my mind. I knew.

His focus went from the girl to across the lot almost freezing once he saw me. “I know what to write now.” I whispered to myself.

I walked into my hotel room opening the door wide and then looking back to see him still standing there still frozen at his door frame.

-Elvis POV-

  Throughout the entire night it was hell for him watching Alexis laugh and touch other guys arms. Her soft brown eyes, the way the blue dress hugged every curve she had, the soft tan complexion, even after the brief discussion inhaling her intoxicating scent and touching her small gentle hands. Elvis almost felt bad if he accidentally tightened his grip on her when pulling into a different room. He had a girlfriend, Barbara Hearn, his sweet angel. Although the relationship was always on and off he still cared about everything she would think and say.

Why was he thinking about another woman? It wasn’t like him to do that. 

Truth be told the only reason why he knew of Velvet Pristin was due to Barbara loving them and giving her the confidence boost. Barbara was always open to things and that’s what Elvis adored about her. Yet, once Elvis laid eyes on that woman the first time she performed for the Hayride he couldn’t remove his eyes from her.

His blood would boil and continued to drink all night long but it was never enough to get him drunk. He left the event before anyone could notice and went back to the hotel. Colonel Parker set everyone up in hotels while we traveled and well he couldn’t be more thankful for that. God knows that even Elvis couldn’t be able to afford this type of hotel. 

“Yes Mama, I’m stayin’ in at the hotel I’m not leavin’ I promise.” He was cut off by a sudden knock at the door. Elvis thought it was probably Hank Snow asking for him to quiet it down which to his defense he did feel bad here and there. “I’ll call you right back mama. Love you too.” He hung up the phone. 

“Hank I’m,” Elvis opened the door to find a pretty girl standing at his door. Black hair, white skin, red lipstick. Elvis could’ve sworn the devil sent her to tempt him. 

“Hi there.” Her accent was high and southern she gave a seductive smile with fuck me eyes. She walked past Elvis into the room swaying her hips side to side. His breath hitched in the back of his throat looking down and following her steps. This is wrong, Elvis, ask her to leave Elvis. 

No.

He closed the door behind him, missing the shadow that stood at the balcony on the other side of the lot. The girl started to strip from her dress and kicked off her red heels. Elvis this is your last chance, ask her to leave, Elvis. His mind grew cloudy, filled with lust and swallowing hard.

Elvis walked to the window curtains and shut them quickly before turning his view to the girl, observing the way her skin looked soft. Strolling over to the girl he stood towering over her. It was too late. She grabbed his planting small delicate kisses on his knuckles before trailing it down to her chin, neck, then finally to her chest. 

“Well aren’t you just a naughty little thing.” Elvis' tone was husky and filled with want. Laying her back against the bed as her short hair touched the pillow he climbed on top of the girl. She placed her hands on Elvis' shoulders pushing off the shirt he was wearing; he looked down to her waist only for a split second then looked back to her face. Suddenly it wasn’t the same girl he let into his hotel room. It wasn’t Barbara's face he saw. 

Alexis.

This wasn’t real, he had to be drunk even if he swore he wasn’t.

Either way his chest started to puff more and more not wanting to let it end. “You so pretty Mama.” He let those words fall out of his mouth. As the girl giggled he was memorized by the pretty white lie his mind was pulling. The girl lifted her head up smashing both of their lips together. 

His lips became hungry and even though his body knew it wasn’t Alexis he forced the imagination.

The pulled away and watched as he rubbed the wetness between his thumb and pointer finger that was left on her pink panties before looking back at her. 

“Do I turn you on that much, mama?” He gave a wicked grin. All the girl did was let her body answer by nodding, unbuckling Elvis’s belt, exposing the bareness of his lower waist. 

“I’m loving the feeling that you’re giving me more than anything else,” She responded. Elvis allowed himself to sink further into the girl's body so that he could get more comfortable. The girl watched Elvis adjusting his body and feeling the bulge growing in his pants, pushing down his pants. 

The girl flipped them both to where she was on top of his now exposed crotch. She slipped her panties to the side and let her folds be split by his throbbing dick. 

“Lay tight baby. Be a good boy baby,” She pleaded breathily, she spat on her fingers and brought them to her pink clit, rolling it in circles. She exhaled, throwing her head back, shutting her eyes as she grinded against Elvis' long dick. Elvis watched as she was relaxing her body on top of him. “Don’t you wish you could be inside of me, Elvis?” As she continued to finger her sensitive clit. 

“Oh mama,” Elvis groaned loudly.

“Tell me what you’d do to me, Elvis” She moaned. He stared at her, half-lidded with hunger. He watched as his erection was now swollen and fidgeting under between her folds.

“Trust me baby. I’d take care of you.” She moaned. 

She raised her body a bit  still rubbing spirals into your clit, feeling her body reflexively arch against her own fingers as she worked. She couldn’t help but moan loudly, keeping her eyes locked onto his.

All he could picture was Alexis’s tan body, every little thing she could see as an imperfection but would be perfect to him. All Elvis could hear or at least imagine was Alexis' little cries and moans that would sound like music to his ears.

He grabbed a hold of the girl's waist digging his nails as she started to tease the head of his dick against her clit. Letting out a groggy groan he panted.

“Since you want to tease, I’d teach you a lesson.” He shook his head to give her an answer.  

The girl bit at her bottom lip as he spoke, enjoying the way he was still in control even without having to do any work. She let the tip of his dick enter only, inserting it slowly inside. 

“Oh you’re so big, Elvis.” She murmured, her voice falling apart as she went further down his erection. Elvis loved the warmth that was surrounding her erection but all he could picture was how tight he would want Alexis to be. 

“Can I touch you?” He begged, springing forward holding a small piece of her back. She  nodded her head with a toothy grin but moaned out loud when she felt him moving inside of her.

“You’re so good, mama.” He spoke, placing his thumb on her clit, rolling lazy circles. She held her breath as he kissed the girl flicking his tongue against her tongue. She felt the heat from his breath, while her core was in need for him to move inside of her more. She grinded her hips into his feeling him move and twitch more. She shut her eyes tightly moaning into his lips. 

“Open your eyes, mama.” Elvis questioned, breaking up the kiss and flipping her back to when she was laying on the bed. 

In a quick response, quickening his speed inside of her, He dived into her neck, flicking his tongue and biting onto her skin. He was using the fullness of his lips to close around her neck shooting more pleasure to her core.  

“oh–” She cried out, bringing one of her hands to his shoulder and the back of his head, squeezing. He continued slamming his hips into hers going deeper each time and taking the opportunity for his hand to sneak up to find hers, lacing his fingers. She brought her hands up to her chest, pinching her nipples, doing anything she could to keep herself from coming too soon. She was in full bliss that she must’ve forgotten her name. Moans slipped from her throat. “Oh my lord, please, Elvis,” She shouted. Elvis began to chuckle lightly. 

“Don’t worry baby. Keep still,” he groaned. His face was flushed. The girl did as he instructed her, staying in position as he pulled her legs towards her body, burying himself further and deeper. Elvis increased his speed and pressure. 

“Oh Elvis!” She blurted out in a moan, “I’m so close Elvis!” She said, letting her eyes roll back.

She felt him breathing heavily against her neck, and knew that he was just as tired as she was. He was moaning in pleasure as he felt her squeeze around his erection, soon following her as he pulled out cumming onto her stomach. She closed her eyes and let herself fall apart against him, as her legs were shaking uncontrollably. Elvis rose from being on top of her. She watched as he went to the restroom to grab a wet towel and came back to wipe off her stomach.

Once Elvis came back and looked at the girl he didn’t see Alexis’s face anymore. He took in a deep breath and exhaled deeply.

For her it filled her with euphoria and bliss just getting to say she slept with the hottest man in the south. His face was sticky with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, showing obvious proof of a shared journey. 

After wiping off the stickiness of the cum he laid in the bed as she cuddled herself into his side. He regretted every moment of this, this wasn’t him. Thinking of another woman, sleeping with another woman. 

He dozed off and as time flew past through the night he woke up to the girl staring at him lovingly. He wanted her gone. He sat up and smiled “I’m sorry but you have to leave,” he was cut off. 

“Mary.” She said after all this time he barely learned her name. 

He didn’t care. He wanted her out. He gave a small smile and chuckle. “Well thank you for the loving night, Mary. But I have to get ready for my day.” She nodded and as she got undressed she picked up her outfit quickly fixing her hair and just threw on the outfit. 

Elvis stood up putting on his trousers with no shirt, he walked Mary to the door and opened it. She gave him a small kiss on the lips and began to walk away biting her lip. 

He was mad at himself and he eyed the girl. 

Turning his sight from the girl he looked across and saw Alexis. 

His breathing stopped and mumbled a small “No…” He straightened his posture and watched as she closed the door to her hotel room. 

Great.

______________________________________________________________

I hope you all enjoyed it, let me know if there is anything I could improve on!!

[sapphire-scribblings]

Two odd, lonely children

Title: Two odd, lonely children

Featuring: AB!Elvis and queer gender-questioning character

Summary: Elvis thought he knew everything about his friend and neighbor DJ Fontana pretty well. But one night in Lauderdale Courts, he learns something new.

Trigger Warnings: Coming out, internalized homophobia due to religious trauma, talk of religious bigotry, mentions of racism and homophobia (If I’ve missed something, please let me know and I’ll add it.)

Author’s Note: I’ve been scrolling through the Elvis 2022 tag and finally decided to contribute, despite my reservations on RPF. This pulls from elements from the real man’s life but is decidedly a work of fiction. Most (if not all) of the stories I’ve read have been romantic in nature. This won’t be that, so sorry if that ain’t your cuppa but I hope you’ll enjoy it regardless! This is just an idea that got under my skin while reading about Elvis’s life and the people in it.

“You ever feel like there’s something wrong with you? Like you just ain’t right?”

Elvis looked over at his friend Delilah Joy Fontana (“No, I done told ya, it’s DJ!”). The pair finished Sunday service and dinners with their respective families and agreed to meet up on the roof of the Courts. It was one of their favorite spots to relax. The wind was warm and scented with the muddy perfume of the nearby Mississippi River.

“Sometimes,” Elvis admitted, looking back into the night sky. “When teachers or other grown-ups make me feel bad for wiggling so much…but Momma says God don’t make mistakes. Says we’re made in his image, just as we are.”

“I wish I believed that.”

Elvis frowned. DJ had been in a funk for a while now. At first, he chalked it up to girl problems, like their “change” into womanhood. A couple of his girl cousins had gone through it, although he wasn’t exactly sure what kind of “change” occurred. They seemed the same, if a little moodier at times. He tried asking his daddy, but the older man just flushed and said not to concern himself with it. But whatever bothered DJ felt like something more. Something dark, that gripped her tight and wouldn’t let go.

He turned over on his stomach. The grit from the rooftop bit into the skin of his elbows. DJ’s eyes were glossy with tears as she continued to stare into the sky. He felt a surge of protectiveness. He couldn’t stand it when girls cried.

“Oh DJ…I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

She blinked, and a tear slid down from the corner of her eyes into her short mess of hair. Everyone at school was scandalized when she showed up with her hair cut short. She claimed she cut it to sell for money to help her momma and big brother, but Elvis knew better.

“I just hate how long and itchy it is, EP! I want it gone!”

DJ scrubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I can’t tell you, Elvis.”

“Why not?”

She finally turned to look at him and whispered, “’Cause…you’d hate me if I told you, and I don’t wanna lose my best friend.”

“You take that back!” Elvis snapped. He pushed himself onto his knees, his heart racing and his hands shaking. His blood was pounding in his ears, he was so mad. “If-if you was a boy, I’d pop you right in the mouth for saying that! What kind of sorry friend you take me for, DJ?”

DJ stood up, and he followed suit. They had fought before. DJ wasn’t like other girls. She picked fights and wouldn’t back down once they started. Their mommas had pulled them apart far too many times for roughhousing. Elvis would claim DJ started the fight, and she would look like the cat that ate the canary. Now there was no humor. They stood, almost nose to nose, and she shoved him, yelling, “You don’t understand!”

Elvis shoved her back. “Then help me!”

They stood there for what felt like forever. Fists balled up, chests heaving. Suddenly it looked like someone let the air out of DJ. She slumped down to the ground and pulled her knees up against her chest. Elvis felt desperate and scared and younger than his fourteen years. He sat down next to his friend and tentatively wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders. She was trembling but leaned into him.

“You know how the preacher talked about degenerates at service today?” DJ asked. “That we gotta, ya know, keep an eye out ‘cause the Devil is always looking for ways to get his hooks in us?”

Elvis nodded, and DJ’s face began to crumble. “I-I think he got me, Elvis. But I don’t know how or why. I thought I was good, so good-“

“What are you talking about?”

She was silent for a moment but moved closer to Elvis. He put his chin on the top of her head. He was determined not to turn her away, no matter how dark her secret was. After a moment, she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “It started when Danny Carter took me to the spring formal. I didn’t want to go, but Betty Graves and Jessica Glenn said I’d be crazy to turn him down, that he was too cute. So I went with him and we danced and held hands. But EP, I didn’t feel all the excitement that girls are supposed to feel. I kept getting distracted with how sweaty his hand was, or how chapped his lips were when he kissed me goodnight.”

“Maybe he just wasn’t the right one,” Elvis said. “Momma told one of my cousins that you gotta kiss a lot of toads before you find a prince.”

“No, Elvis,” DJ said, her voice sad and tired. “This is different. When I look at the boys in school with their girls, I…”

Elvis squeezed her shoulder. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “When I look at the boys in school with their girls, I wish I was the boys…not the girls.”

Elvis sucked in a breath. DJ kept going, her voice growing more desperate and scared. “I’ve tried to ignore it, but every time I see Betty or Jessica, I feel like I might die if I can’t kiss them like their fellas do. I know it’s vile and wicked and wrong, and I don’t know how to make it stop! I-I don’t wanna go to hell, Elvis!”

DJ began to cry in earnest, and Elvis wrapped his other arm around her, squeezing her tight and rocking them both back and forth. He didn’t know what to do with this new information. He heard what the preacher said, knew what the Bible said. The preacher had a copy of the local paper at the service. He read out a story about the vice squad breaking up one of those fairy bars, ranting about the moral rot of the country and how good Christian folks were the ones to save the country from sin and fornication.

DJ’s voice pulled him from his swirling thoughts. “Do you hate me now, EP?”

Hate DJ? He remembered when his family first moved into the Courts, she was the first kid to be nice to him. She didn’t treat him like some dumb hillbilly from Mississippi. They would sit outside and shared a Coke and five-cent candies, reading a shared copy of Captain Marvel Jr.

Elvis pinched DJ’s arm lightly. “What’d I tell you about that?”

His heart pounding in his chest, he said, “I know what the Bible says, what the preacher told us, but…he’s been sayin’ the same things about integration. And I think he’s dead wrong about black folks. They been kinder to me and my family than some whites. So I can’t help but think…if he’s wrong about them, what else is he wrong about?”

DJ pulled away. Her face was blotchy from crying, but there was a hope in her eyes. “You mean…you think I can feel how I feel about girls and myself and still be a good person?”

Elvis nodded, and she finally smiled. She practically knocked him over hugging him. “Thank you, EP. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

He hugged her back. “I forgive you. That’s what friends do.”

They stayed up there for a little while longer, DJ sharing her crushes on the different girls at school. They decided that just between them, Elvis would talk to DJ as a boy, see how that felt. But soon their mommas came to get them, hollering about being where they weren’t supposed to and threatening to whoop them if they didn’t get downstairs and go to bed. Elvis and DJ apologized and tried to blame each other. Just like friends do.

A/N- Please let me know what you think. If you have other moments you'd like to see between these two, feel free to message me about them. This fandom is a lot of fun, so I'm happy to add to the stories available. Toodles!

[mermaidsirennikita]

I think there’s been this discourse ever since the promo started with Kathony stans insisting that they are better than Polin stans and Saphne stans. Like there’s been a lot of I don’t think any real kathony stan would sent hate to the writer or send hate to Charithra. And then they point to other ship fans such as Saphne & Polin and claim that they are really the toxic fans. And ultimately every single fandom will have the problem of misogyny and racism so you really can’t play who had the most progressive shippers.

Ultimately I think it comes from the weird parasocial relationship with the show. K/A must reign supreme!! I hv never been in a fandom so obsessed with where they are trending or how many views something got on YouTube or pple this desperate to hv the S2 be more popular so they can turn around and say suck it.

Lol “a real Kanthony stan”. That language took me out. Like what, do I need a special tattoo to prove myself as a true stan? Is there a handshake? A super green pass for Kanthonys? If you stan Kanthony you’re a Kanthony stan. Some people who ship it are reasonable. Other people are assholes. As is the case with basically any ship.

I guess people are just trying to avoid the “bad ship rep”, you know? But I think that ship has sailed—I saw a prominent romance blogger tweeting about how toxic the Bridgerton fandom is today lmao. Elvis has left the building on the reputation. Fandom is kind of a bullshit construct anyway, but like…. People are trying to shift the blame here to attempt to look good, and it’s kinda laughable. There will always be issues, and there’s no way to play it like this group is the best group of shippers.

I feel like a lot of people who ship K/A have a chip on their shoulder because they had this perception that the second book was going to be the true home run of the show…. And then they kinda hit one outta park with the first season in terms of popularity. The Duke and I is not the most popular book in the series, but who knows? S1 could very well be the most popular season of the show. Who the fuck cares? All I care about is that I got the season with my second favorite couple in the series and I’ll enjoy the parts of it I like and process what I don’t like.

[96thdayofrage]

It was the mid-1980s, and African American rock ‘n’ roll, R&B and blues musician and activist Daryl Davis had just finished performing a set with his band in a bar in Frederick, Maryland.

As he left the stage, a White man—who would later reveal himself to be a member of the Ku Klux Klan—went up to Davis, put his hand around his shoulder and expressed his approval and admiration for his performance. “This is the first time I heard a Black man play piano like Jerry Lee Lewis,” he told Davis after they exchanged pleasantries. Surprised with the statement, Davis quickly replied, “Well, where do you think Jerry Lee Lewis learned how to play that kind of style? . . . He learned it from the same place I did: Black blues and boogie-woogie piano players.” The White man was in disbelief and refused to accept Davis’ proposal.

Hearing about this incident on the Joe Rogan Experience podcast made me realise that I had been just as ignorant and oblivious as this man about the extent of the artistic contributions of Black people to American music. The moment also sparked within me many questions about my state of ignorance. Why did I not know about these artists? How much more did I not know? How much of the music I listened to was indeed Black?

As an Indian girl growing up in Kuwait in the 2000s, my exposure to American popular music came primarily through television channels like MTV Arabia (the Middle Eastern iteration of MTV) and MBC (Middle East Broadcasting Center) as well as the radio station Radio Kuwait FM 99.7. Hit singles from a range of American artists, including Black artists, were in heavy rotation along with other shows. My favourite was an MTV show called ‘Rewind’ which played classic pop, R&B and hip hop hits from the previous decades. Songs were played in cars and at parties and hummed in classrooms by local as well as expatriate teens of various nationalities who, like myself, were unaware of the cultural and historical backstories of the music.

For example, I heard of Elvis Presley, dubbed the “King of Rock ‘n’ Roll,” on television shows and news media due to his iconic status, but until recently, I had no idea that Presley was profoundly influenced by and “borrowed” from Black blues, gospel and rhythm ‘n’ blues artists of and before his time. He was influenced by radio performances of then local Black disc jockeys like B. B. King (who later came to be known as the “King of the Blues”) and Rufus Thomas (who also became a successful recording artist) and by performers at the Black nightclubs he visited during his teenage and young adult years.

Furthermore, I only recently learnt that many of Presley’s early recordings were covers of original songs by Black artists and that some of his biggest-selling songs like ‘Don't Be Cruel’ and ‘All Shook Up’ were penned by a Black musician by the name of Otis Blackwell. In fact, the first time I heard about it was last year in a YouTube video of a speech that Michael Jackson gave in 2002. While facts like this have now become somewhat common knowledge for most people in the West, my lack of awareness of Blackwell and others like him may be the residual effect of a time in the United States’ past when racial segregation permeated every aspect of life, including music and entertainment.

Dr Portia K. Maultsby is a renowned ethnomusicologist and professor emerita at the Department of Folklore and Ethnomusicology at Indiana University and the founder of the university’s Archives of African American Music and Culture. Maultsby took up the study of African American popular music traditions in the 1970s when there was no one looking into it as a valid area of research. She explains that segregation ensured that White Americans remained ignorant of Black musical traditions.

“Due to the segregated structure of the country for years and years, White Americans were kept away from the sounds of Black music,” Maultsby says.  During this time, many Black jazz, gospel, R&B and soul artists enjoyed popularity in and even toured different parts of Europe. However, within the United States, Black artists were relegated to the so-called category of ‘race music’, an umbrella term—later replaced by ‘rhythm ‘n’ blues’ in the 1940s—used to denote essentially all types of African American music made by Black people, for Black people. The songs were distributed by mostly White-owned record labels catering exclusively to Black audiences, which meant that the White population remained largely ignorant of the large volumes of work that was recorded by countless Black artists. Black artists also did not get paid as much as White artists or have as many resources, and segregation ensured that their performances were limited to smaller venues.

By the early 1950s, however, a number of independent radio stations (again, mostly White-owned) began popping up, including rhythm ‘n’ blues or “Negro” radio stations. Since it was not possible to segregate radio waves, Black music became accessible to everyone and White teenagers began taking an interest in it. Seeing this, the music industry recognised the potential of appropriating Black music and record companies started making sanitised covers of the music with White artists to distribute to White listeners. But as Maultsby explains, they did so while “keeping the original artists in the background, unexposed” and rhythm ‘n’ blues music, covered and performed by White artists, was now marketed to the mainstream White listener as ‘rock ‘n’ roll,’ a term coined by radio disc jockey Alan Freed.

Record companies and White artists wanted the Black sounds and styles that appealed to the White audience but they did not want the Black artist. American record producer and founder of Sun Records Sam Phillips had been looking for “a White man with the Negro sound and the Negro feel” when he found Elvis Presley. The Beatles got their start by covering various blues artists like Arthur Alexander and rock ‘n’ roll pioneer Chuck Berry. Janis Joplin, who was dubbed the “Queen of Rock”, wanted to sound like a Black blues musician and was influenced by Lead Belly, Bessie Smith and Big Mama Thornton. Pat Boone covered ‘Tutti Frutti’, an original song by musician, singer and songwriter Little Richard, and reached 12th place in the national charts of 1956—several places ahead of the original.

Covers like these were made by record companies much to the disapproval and discontentment of the artists. Little Richard, nicknamed “The Innovator, The Originator, and The Architect of Rock ‘n’ Roll” and whose style influenced big names like the Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, David Bowie, Michael Jackson and Prince, told the Washington Post in 1984 that he felt as though he was “pushed into a rhythm ‘n’ blues corner” to keep him away from the White audience. He said that “they”—who he does not name—would try to replace him with White rockstars like Elvis Presley who performed his songs on television as soon as they were released. He believed that this was because “they” didn’t want him to become a hero to White kids.  

Little Richard’s statement reveals the racism and the lack of agency that Black artists suffered while under exploitative record labels. Exploitation happened to almost all artists in the music industry, but Black artists were particularly targetted as they would receive very little or nothing in royalties. Forbes reports that Specialty Records purchased ‘Tutti Frutti’ for a meagre 50 USD and gave him just 0.05 USD per record sold in royalties, while White artists received much higher rates—a discriminatory practice that was quite common in the industry. Richard, after he left the label in 1959, sued Specialty records for failing to pay him royalties.

Dr Birgitta Johnson is an associate professor of ethnomusicology in the School of Music at the University of South Carolina and teaches courses on African American sacred music, African music, hip hop, blues and world music. She explains that Black artists were not protected by copyright laws and would often have their music recorded and sold by record companies without proper contracts—in other words, their music would get stolen.

“Back in the day, there was no expectation that the Black artist could fight someone in court even though some of them did,” Johnson says. “If they didn’t have the copyright stolen from them, the record companies would own the music [instead of] the artists, and [the artists] wouldn’t know it because a lot of the time, they wouldn’t have the legal know-how to recognise what was happening in contracts. They wouldn’t get paid royalties . . . even though they were due royalties.”

While this exploitation of Black artists continued, in the late 1950s, after the development of smaller and more portable transistor radios, a wider audience of White teenagers began listening to Black radio stations. This new generation no longer had to depend on the family’s devices and gained more autonomy over what and who they listened to. “Young White people, who would become the hippies of the ‘60s, are the generation of people who started to press for their freedom . . . to [listen to] what they wanted to hear,” Johnson explains.

Listeners who heard the originals would call up the radio or go down to their local record store and ask for the originals, and record companies had to start supplying to demands to stay relevant in the market. “The covers made money but didn’t last long,” Johnson says, “because young White people no longer wanted the covers, the fake versions, the copies.”

The problem was that cover bands and artists tended to simply do whatever the producers asked them to do, which was usually to copy the original artist’s sound, style and moves, and more often than not, it made for bland and inauthentic renditions of the originals. The covers lacked the authenticity that Black artists conveyed in their performance and the young audience who had heard the authentic versions could see this. “They knew what the good music sounded like—it was almost like they understood... they may not have understood the racial dynamics of it, but they knew [the real thing from the fake],” Johnson says.

Moreover, artists who did covers were performing in styles that were foreign to them. “It was outside of their tradition; it was outside of their aesthetics; [and] they couldn’t bring the same excitement to it sometimes,” she explains. The music, performance and singing style had characteristic elements such as polyrhythms (layering of multiple rhythms), call-and-response, dance and improvisation—elements rooted in traditions that were brought to the United States by enslaved West and Central Africans between the 18th and 19th centuries. More importantly, the lyrics of songs by Black artists reflected the unique social customs, trends and living conditions of Black people, and these were not fully understood by people covering the songs. As a result, “[the covers] couldn’t compete with the real thing,” Johnson says.

Maultsby explains that due to the increasing popularity of the originals, record labels soon began recording more Black artists. However, she says, they watered down or “temper[ed] [their] heavy gospel-oriented sound” to make it more palatable for the White audience, and “one way they did [that] in the ‘50s and into the early ‘60s was to use pop production techniques” which meant a “background of strings and backup singers that sounded more White—concert-type singers—to soften the more raspier, emotional sound of the Black singer.”

By the 1980s, Black music gained exposure to an even wider international audience through television channels like MTV as well as broadcasts of live performances. Throughout the 1980s and ‘90s, collaborations between interracial duos were used as a mass-marketing strategy to increase the reach of Black artists and pop production continued to be used to “soften the Black sound.” Record companies also paired up White artists with Black producers to achieve that ever-popular Black sound.  

“Thus, more White artists embodying or imitating aspects of the Black style made it acceptable and soon . . . that Black sound began to define the American sound,” Maultsby explains. However, this imitation and dilution meant that people could never experience authentic Black music.

According to Maultsby, who helped pioneer the academic study of African American popular music, the way non-African Americans experience African American music, even in the United States, is from the perspective of an outsider, and this applies to the international audience as well.

“By and large, within African American communities, music is created as a part of everyday life . . . music is a part of our lived experience,” Maultsby explains. “When that music is then taken out of that context and placed in the music industry, it becomes a commodity for mass dissemination, and it takes on a different meaning and a different function.”

She explains that the live performances of legendary artists like Aretha Franklin or James Brown were very different from the studio-recorded performances because the records were “mediated so that [they] fit a certain format that [could] appeal to a broader audience.”

“Record labels didn’t like recording performances live because they felt the audience interaction would interfere with the performance,” she says. “But that audience interaction [was] very much a part of the way Black music is created and experienced.

The writing and coverage of Black music both in and outside of the United States also did a poor job of representing its true essence. As Maultsby explains, White journalists who covered Black music would write about it from a White perspective rather than a Black one.

“A lot of misconceptions early on had to do with the music being reported by White journalists who reported through the lens of White audiences,” Maultsby says. “When journalists wrote about Black music . . . in the US—and this carried on to Europe and the rest of the world [including] Asia [and the] Middle East—they wrote about it through their observation of performances in venues with predominantly White or all-White audience, or in general, non-Black audiences . . . they did not go into the Black community to see how the music was performed and experienced.”

Writing about Black music and culture from a Eurocentric or White point of view has resulted in early Black contributions to popular music being misrepresented as well as erased from the general consciousness. Black culture was appropriated, exploited and diluted and in the process, consumers were left with watered down, commodified versions of the art that did not represent the people that were at the heart of creating it, and its after-effects have carried over to the present-day, among non-Western consumers.

Black contributions to music are also rarely discussed in mainstream media, which is largely controlled by White executives.

“The influence of Black music in a lot of American music are things that only get discussed in classes or documentaries—sometimes award shows—but mostly in formal environments, unless you’re from that tradition,” says Johnson. “[Artists like] Steven Tyler . . . [have] said, ‘I grew up listening to the blues; I love the blues’ . . . but the people who promote him don’t really have any interest in [promoting that] narrative because it’s really about selling a personality when you think about how the music industry works.”

She explains that though most people are analytically aware that the United States is a diverse country, images that are promoted by American companies are very White-centric. What is sold to the rest of the world as “American” is usually centred around Whiteness, whether that’s through music, movies, television or other forms of entertainment.

“The outside world sees a very limited package and predominantly a White or Eurocentric image . . . people look at America and assume this is basically a White space even though we have all this diversity—we’ve always had this kind of diversity of culture,” remarks Johnson, who often does not get recognised as Black American when she travels internationally. “When I go to China, they don’t assume I’m American. When I go to Thailand, they don’t assume I’m American."

Even though a lot has changed for Black musicians and artists in the United States since its “race music” days, the impact of racism and Eurocentrism lingers on and affects the way Gen Z as well as millennials outside of the United States, like myself, understand pop music in the 21st century. Many tributes have been paid to pioneering and legendary Black artists in award shows, documentaries and biopics and their contributions have been studied academically by scholars like Maultsby and Johnson, but my awareness of Black music and culture as a non-American is not only limited by what’s been given to me in the media, but also by what’s been left out of the conversations around popular music. How do we change this?

As Maultsby expresses, it starts simply with acknowledgement—just like a symphony orchestra’s roots are acknowledged to be European no matter who performs it or how it is reinterpreted in different cultures, or how a sitar is recognised as an Indian musical instrument whether it’s played in a jazz performance or a symphony orchestra, we need to continue to learn and acknowledge the Black roots of the music even when it has a local interpretation or variation.

“We all know [the symphony orchestra] comes from Europe; there’s no question there; we don’t try to claim it as our own conception, but we do participate in that culture. That’s how we have to think about Black American culture,” she says.  

We need to recognise African American music for its role in shaping Western popular music, and understand what constitutes Black musical traditions and what differentiates it from the rest of the world, rather than generalise it as merely American music. And while music may have transcended cultural and racial boundaries, transcendence should not come at the price of obscuring and erasing the source.

“It’s fine as long as we keep in mind the source of that music,” Maultsby says. “We can say it transcends race—it just shows how influential Black has been internationally—but at the same time, we don’t need to erase the group that created the music and make Black people invisible in terms of their contributions. And that happens a lot.

“If we are not reminded that Black people are the ones that created the music you love, we question their contributions to society and to the world. We shouldn’t need to be reminded every day. It belongs in our consciousness.”

[looxxi]

A lot of people are debating whether or not kpop idols should be speaking out about BLM and if black fans have a right to be angry if idols stay silent — which they do. As a white woman, I have no right or place to decide how these fans should feel or respond, but for those saying it doesn’t matter because kpop has nothing to do with BLM, let me give you a little history lesson on kpop and the genres of music it is heavily influenced by!

Korean pop music, gayo, or kpop, however you choose to refer to it as, can be traced back to 1885 when an American missionary began teaching American and British songs at schools. More western culture was introduced after the Korean War, when U.S. troops remained in South Korea. Modern kpop began to evolved in the 1990s when Korean pop musicals began to incorporate Europop and popular American music styles. It does have roots in traditional Korean music, however it is actually heavily influenced by western music and culture! Some of the biggest genres influences on kpop include rock, jazz, gospel, hip hop, R&B, reggae, electronic dance, experimental, folk, country and classical music. 

For the sake of this, I’m going to predominantly be focusing on jazz, R&B, rock, and hop hip.

Jazz originated in black communities in New Orleans in the late 19th century and has origins in blues, ragtime, spirituals, classical, and West African music. The 1920s was known as the Jazz Age, and jazz is considered by many to be America’s classical music and one of America’s original art forms. It has many derivative forms, including free jazz, hard bop, modal jazz, smooth jazz, Latin and Afro-Cuban Jazz. New Orleans jazz specifically blends sounds from brass-band marches, French quadrilles, biguine, ragtime, and blues. Swing was also a very popular derivative of jazz in the 1930s with musicians like Cab Calloway, Duke Ellington, Earl Hines, Jimmie Lunceford, and Count Basie.

Minnie the Moocher (Theme Song) by Cab Calloway

In A Sentimental Mood by Duke Ellington and John Coltrane

Weather Bird by Louis Armstrong and Earl Hines

Tain’t What You Do (It’s The Way That You Do It) by Jimmie Lunceford

Splanky by Count Basie

Rhythm and blues (R&B) developed in urban Black communities in the United States during the 1940s. Some of its stylistic origins are jazz, blues, spirituals, gospel, and boogie-woogie. Since the 1980s it shifted into a new style younger generations are currently most familiar with, referred to as contemporary R&B, which blends rhythm and blues with pop, soul, funk, disco, hip hop, and electronic music. Some of the most influential R&B artists are older artists like Prince, Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, Aretha Franklin, Whitney Houston, Chaka Khan, Beyoncé, and Mariah Carey to newer artists like Rihanna, Ne-Yo, and The Weeknd.

When Doves Cry by Prince

Superstition by Stevie Wonder

Man in the Mirror by Michael Jackson

Respect by Aretha Franklin

I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me) by Whitney Houston 

I’m Every Woman by Chaka Khan

Partition by Beyoncé

Hero by Mariah Carey

Needed Me by Rhianna 

So Sick by Ne-Yo

Blinding Lights by The Weeknd

Rock music originated in the United States in the late 1940s, and began as “rock and roll.” Rock and roll’s biggest influences are black musical genres, two of the biggest being blues and R&B. Blues originated in the Deep South in the 1870s from African musical traditions, spirituals, and African-American work songs (this is the white guilt way of saying what they actually are Slave Songs). Blues is arguably the most influential genre in modern western music as some of its derivative forms include rock, ragtime, R&B, jazz, and country. Some of the biggest rock and roll artists include Chuck Berry, Nat King Cole, the Crows, the Penguins, and the Turbans. Even Elvis Presley, the “King of Rock and Roll” would say some of his biggest influences were B. B. King, Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup, Ivory Joe Hunter, and Fats Domino, all Black musicians.

Johnny B. Good by Chuck Berry

L-O-V-E by Nat King Cole

Gee by The Crows

Earth Angel (You Will Be Mine) by The Penguins

I’ll Always Watch Over You by The Turbans

The Thrill is Gone by B.B. King and Tracy Chapman 

That’s All Right by Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup

Since I Met You Baby by Ivory Joe Hunter

Ain’t That a Shame by Fats Domino

Finally, hip hop and rap music which developed by inner-city Black communities living in the Bronx, NYC, in the 1970s. Its origins are styles of funk, disco, electronic music, dub, R&B, reggae, dancehall, jazz, spoken and performance poetry, scat singing, and talking blues. Hip hop has four key stylistic elements: MCing/rapping, DJing/scratching turntables (records), breakdancing, and graffiti writing. Due to poverty and lack of acceptance outside of ghetto neighborhoods, however, hip hop did not officially get recorded for radio or television until 1979. Hip hop has derived and has many subgenres since the 70s and now includes freestyle rap, gangsta rap, hardcore hip hop, mumble rap, trap, experimental hip hop, and more. Some major influential artists include Public Enemy, Boogie Down Productions, LL Cool J, Ice-T, Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Wu-Tang Clan, Notorious B.I.G., Lil Jon, Lil Wayne, Soulja Boy, B.o.B., Drake, Nicki Minaj, Kendrick Lamar, Childish Gambino, Chance the Rapper and so so so many more.

Fight The Power by Public Enemy

South Bronx by Boogie Down Productions

Mama Said Knock You Out by LL Cool J

Colors by Ice-T

Still D.R.E. by Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg

Drop It Like It’s Hot by Snoop Dogg and Pharrell Williams

C.R.E.A.M. by Wu-Tang Clan

Hypnotize by Notorious B.I.G.

Snap Yo Fingers by Lil Jon, Youngbloodz, Sean Paul, and E-40

Scared of the Dark by Lil Wayne, Ty Dolla $ign, XXXTENTACION

Crank That (Soulja Boy) by Soulja Boy

So Good by B.o.B.

Started From the Bottom by Drake

Feeling Myself by Nicki Minaj and Beyoncé

HUMBLE. by Kendrick Lamar

This Is America by Childish Gambino 

No Problem by Chance the Rapper, Lil Wayne, and 2 Chainz

There is nothing you can say to tell me there isn’t Black influence on kpop. BTS had a whole multi-episode show where they travel to LA to train under “hip-hop tutors” Coolio, the artist behind Gangsta’s Paradise, and Warren G, a g-funk producer. Haechan calls Michael Jackson his favorite artist and inspiration. Almost all kpop groups have a rap line who “shockingly” LIKE BLACK RAPPERS AND ARTISTS. And it isn’t unheard of for kpop idols / groups to support and promote fundraising and campaigns. I’m not here to attack kpop, I’m here to explain why people can be upset by their silence.

Gangsta’s Paradise by Coolio and L.V.

Regulate by Warren G and Nate Dogg

While I am aware many of idols’ / groups’ accounts are not run personally or by their management, the silence and lack of support can hurt. I can understand why black fans want to see their idols they have been supporting support them too, especially when those idols have been, in a sense, profiting off of their culture. I can understand why black fans want their idols to support them not getting murdered in the street by police who are supposed to protect them. 

For anyone saying that “this is America’s problem” and “leave it to America to figure out,” World War II happened because Hitler was committing genocide on Jewish people and it took ALL of the Allies, not just anti-nazi Germans, to take down Hitler and the Axis powers. The police and the government are committing genocide on black people. Systematic racism is a disease that the world, not just America, needs to fight.

Silence doesn’t make you an ally, silence makes you an accomplice.

Here’s how you can help:

https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co

https://moreblminfo.carrd.co

Thread of More Places to Donate

Thread of How White Allies Can Help

A List of Black Owned Fashion / Cosmetology / Skin Care Brands

Tips on How to Engage Conversation on BLM with Conservative / Racist / Bigoted / Homophobic Family

Donate. Sign Petitions. Text and Call Local Governments. Protest. Vote. Educate. Listen.

[septembersghost]

me listening to Elvis: this music is so wholesome and fun and nice why did people have a problem with it? me listening to Steamroller Blues: they let him sing this on the radio? 😳

ASFASHSDHSDKGLJHS

he's only singing about sharing his love for the rhythm and blues, whatever do you mean? 😌😏

the funny thing about that song, which is a much later one from him, is it was originally written by james taylor as a parody: "[He] had heard one too many pretentious white blues bands and wrote 'Steamroller' to mock them." but something about the vocal of the cover sells it.

a lot of subversiveness in old music was subtext (especially like anywhere from the 20s-60s), but it was still enough for certain people to get mad about. then with elvis, add in the forbidden wiggling (how dare! there should not be suggestion of rhythm onstage! what if it conjures...sexiness?! 😱), the pervasive idea of some level of sinfulness that was associated with rock and roll, and the underlying racism towards r&b that extended to anyone presenting it to a mass audience, and you get, well, trouble.

on the personal side of this, my maternal grandparents were both teachers and very faithful people, so despite their deep love of music (and musical theatre of the day) and living in california, they were quite conservative about what was acceptable. my mom was a child when elvis' career first took off, but a teenager when he made his comeback, and she wasn't allowed to listen to/watch him, because, you know, hips and rock music! she wasn't allowed to listen to the beatles (that shaggy hair!), and though they listened to the radio, they disapproved of artists like frank's "lifestyle" (they kind of saw him as a gangster lmao), marilyn was scandalous, and so on. they did let her listen to the beach boys, because they were so nice and clean cut (hilarious irony given what was going on behind-the-scenes, and what's more is elvis' faith and overall personal beliefs probably would've been something they'd have liked). my grandpa had an incredible baritone and was offered a record contract when he was young, after he came back from wwii, but turned it down because he believed his voice should only be used in church to uplift the lord. my mom was asked to do a screen test in highschool and they wouldn't allow it. i think all the time about how different their lives might have been (i wouldn't exist to comment, but that's not a great loss to the universe lol). my mom actually shocked me this christmas when she told me she couldn't remember them ever listening to secular holiday music growing up. this wasn't true by the time i was a kid! i loved my grandparents very much and was lucky to grow up so close to them and know them well, some of my favorite memories are watching old films and listening to music with them, and maybe it was because i was a grandchild so they could be more open, but my grandpa in particular always wanted to know what i was reading or listening to, and i shared so much with him. i vividly remember playing the phantom cast recording for him and how he enjoyed it, how he even listened to 'n sync with me (he especially liked their acapella rendition of o holy night). so much of my appreciation for musical theatre and classic cinema started with them, it just stretched far beyond what they tended to gravitate towards.

meanwhile, my paternal grandmother was a total sponge for the culture, she loved all types of music, movies, and theatre, and they were in brooklyn so closer to that nyc melting pot and broadway. she worked for composer frank loesser for a while, she met a young barbra streisand, she loved frank and bing and tony bennett, all the crooners of the day, she at least liked elvis' ballads, she enjoyed the romantic comedies and the noir. so my dad had all that growing up, and then he was a huge beatles fan. my dad introduced my mom to sinatra's and streisand's work and they jointly passed that on to me, while she gave me the beach boys and fleetwood mac and carole king and the carpenters and james taylor, and he gave me things like the hits of the beatles and elvis and was my introduction to interest in marilyn. i'd hear whitney and mariah and celine with my mom, and reba and the judds and george strait with my dad. but somehow the old things really stuck and are what i ended up expanding on my own (and it probably says something about me psychologically that i held onto the things i could bond over with my dad because we are such different people, whereas my mom and i are alike and she often ends up loving everything i love anyway). i'm always grateful for those early sparks of passion and seeds that i got to water and cultivate and let blossom in my own love of various art.

tl;dr this reply got so away from me but yes, in hindsight and given the many boundaries that have come down in art and expression today, it's hard to imagine why certain seemingly innocuous things were considered so spicy back in the day. and while the culture is ever-changing, those foundations and what was beautifully created and impactfully shifted as time went by still has a powerful presence and ties into so much that continues to exist, and that's part of why much of that music and many of those films are evergreen to me.

[mackenzie-brown]

Watching the detectives

WATCHING THE DETECTIVES

 The Prince of the City series is an homage to the best hardboiled, pulp fiction from the USA that sprung up in the 1930s and 1940s. As a lover of the work of Chandler and Hammett, I continued my foray into the world of noir by reading John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee series, Ross MacDonald’s (no relative) Lew Archer books and these days I enjoy reading Robert Crais’ series featuring Elvis Cole and Joe Pike. As a result of my love for these classic authors and their characters, I developed a desire to create my own version of noir fiction. So, you must forgive me if a few Americanisms find their way into the language of Vic Prince and his cohorts, particularly in the first book in the series, The Cat’s Whiskers.

 As the series developed into book two and three, I found that, as I’ve become more comfortable in the genre, my prose these days is littered with fewer phrases from US noir fiction and I’ve created something of a hybrid. I might call it British noir, so I suppose that leads me nicely into explaining why I set the series in Liverpool in the first place.

Liverpool is the city of my birth, a city steeped in history—not all of it positive—and, during research for a previous book, I found that enjoyed writing stories set in the forties.

As many fans of detective stories will attest, one of the many tropes is that the central character is often the underdog—someone who is fighting on all fronts, when everyone around them seems crooked and rotten.  That was one of the reasons why I opted to portray my titular character, Vic Prince, as a black man of African ancestry.  This ties in well with one of the shameful things about the city I love: the slave trade and the rampant racism of the era in which the series is set. This harsh environment Prince finds himself in also provides another way in which readers can empathise with the protagonist.

In the second book, Nine Lives, Vic ventures to Southport, an affluent and prominently white seaside resort.

Here, Prince faces an alien landscape in which the usual odds stacked against him are even more acute.

Each book has an individual mystery, but the series actually takes place over the course of a year. A more complex, overarching mystery runs through the series like a thread, acting as a bridge that connects the narrative across all five books.

In book three, Picture Purrfect, the most famous black actor in Hollywood is filming in the city and hires Vic to solve a rather delicate problem. Vic is forced to lock horns with a hard man from the North East in his quest to stop a stone killer in a dress.

The idea of using cats as a way of connecting each of the titles sprang from my own admiration for our four-legged friends, as well as the fact that, throughout the entire series, Vic is chasing down miniature charms, created in the feline form, known as the Nine Lives—and that every faction in the city is looking to get hold of them and unlock the secret they hold.

The fourth book in the series is almost ready for publication, Return of the Feline.

In this book, we learn that Vic’s best friend and black marketeer, Percy, had a bad breakup a couple of years before, and his former fiancée contacts Vic out of the blue. Vic knows Percy still carries a torch for Agatha, but when he meets her—instead of wanting him to smooth the path to a reunion with Percy—she reveals that she has four items from the Nine Lives collection to sell. It seems other factions in the city know what she is selling, and two men are trying to kill her, while another pair are on the lookout for her and her former business partner. Vic is left to pick up the pieces, managing his best friend’s emotions when she goes into hiding and keeping her alive long enough to keep the items she is selling from falling into enemy hands.

I am currently writing book five, King of the Jungle, which will conclude 1940 and the first overarching narrative of the series, and will be published in early 2021.

 Mackenzie Brown, November 2020

[rwbyremnants]

TRIGGER WARNING: Racism and abuse.

NOTE: Merry Christma... well, Boxing Day! Sorry this chapter isn't exactly the most festive it could have been. Hopefully you enjoy it anyway!

=Chapter 9

That early evening, Weiss felt content in her knowledge that she and Yang were on good terms, and that they had already logged some study time to help Yang improve her grades. Things were going well. Now, she only had to solve one other new problem that had presented itself.

“Search me,” Pyrrha sighed as she gently stirred her milkshake with the straw, gazing into the far corner of the malt shop. Weiss had elected to have only a cherry phosphate, not wanting to spoil her dinner since she was eating at home tonight. “I’m an only child.”

“I might as well be,” Weiss admitted. “Whitley is a pill, and a boy anyway, and Winter’s been gone away to college for a couple of years now. Father won’t even tell me if she calls or writes since he’s so disappointed in her career choice.”

“But the WAC is a noble field! I’ve actually been thinking of enlisting myself, if I don’t train for the Olympics…”

Lowering her voice, Weiss whispered, “I think he expects it to turn her into a lesbian. Since the army is ‘men’s work’ to him. Which is pretty ironic, isn’t it? Worried about the wrong daughter.” Then in a more normal tone, she added, “Plus, he wanted her to take over the company reins. I’m not as well-suited, even though I want to - and Whitley is completely useless, the selfish little toad. But it’s too late; she’s even more stubborn than me, and won’t change her mind for anything.”

Pyrrha nodded to herself as Danny And The Juniors came on the jukebox. A few of the kids in the far corner got up and started to dance, even though it always made the elderly man behind the counter roll his eyes. Privately, Weiss thought that if he hated modern music so much, he shouldn’t provide it for the clientele.

“Well… are you sure you want to take over the business?”

“Huh?”

“It’s not set in stone. If you want to do something else with your life, I think you should. We only go around once, don’t we?”

“Thanks,” Weiss snorted as she patted Pyrrha’s hand. “You’re a peach, Pyrrha. But no… I do think I’d like to take over Schnee Communications. Really do something big with it.” She noticed her other hand was tapping the stem of her soda glass, and she smiled. “Did you want to dance?”

“Hm? Dance? Me? To what?”

“To ‘At The Hop’, you dunce,” she giggled.

“With you?” An instant later, she blanched and followed up, “N-not that there’s anything wrong with that! I just m-meant… well, we’re in public, a-and I’m not like you are, a-and-”

“No one cares if two girls dance together, Pyrrha. As long as we don’t start necking in the middle of the malt shop, it’s fine! Besides… maybe we’ll get asked to dance by boys.”

Still flushed, Pyrrha glanced over shoulder at the crowd. “You really think so?”

“I do. And who knows? Might get your mind off a certain Jaune Arc.”

“Shhh!” she hissed, but even while Weiss was giggling she slid out of the booth and grabbed her by the hand, dragging her just far enough from their booth to dance.

Neither of them were very good at it, but at least enough to keep time with the music and avoid knocking anything - or anyone - to the floor. Weiss had to admit she was impressed with Pyrrha’s jitterbugging, and even herself for not falling on her behind even once. She did see out of the corner of her eye that a few of the boys were watching them with slight astonishment, but she made up her mind not to care; if she projected confidence, showed that she didn’t care in the slightest, they would eventually go back to their own dance partners. And she was right; a couple of other girls did the same, and even two boys, laughing at the absurdity. Maybe they would start a trend!

When “All Shook Up” came on next, she couldn’t seem to help herself; she really thought Elvis was the most. Pyrrha took a step back and let Weiss put on a show by herself, mostly just swaying and snapping her fingers. Neither of them minded much, and she got a few cheers when the song ended. Vaguely embarrassed, she curtsied and moved to sit down.

Then someone put in another dime and cued up “Lollipop”. Pyrrha kept dancing, but Weiss decided that it was time to put on a show of a different kind.

“Call my baby lollipop, tell you why,” she belted out in time with the Chordettes, earning her wolf-whistles and thunderous applause from all but the elderly soda jerk. “His kiss is sweeter than an apple pie! And when he does his shaky rockin' dance, man, I haven't got a chance!”

Everyone started singing along with the chorus, and Pyrrha laughed and clapped louder, clearly enjoying herself. Weiss was, too. For some reason, she had always thought it too unseemly to dance in public anytime other than an actual school sock hop. Singing was another matter, but her father expected her to keep her performances to operetta and hymns. As much as she liked popular music, it was discouraged and seen as “pedestrian”, so she had never owned any records of her own.

Finally worn out, the two of them finished off their drinks and then made their way home. If they settled in quickly, they could study for an hour or so before suppertime.

However, as it turned out, life had other plans.

“Weiss!” her father called out as they passed through the living room. “May I speak with you a moment?”

“Yes, Father?”

He glanced pointedly at Pyrrha. “Alone?”

“Sorry,” she whispered to her friend. “I’ll be up in a minute?” Pyrrha nodded, waving at Mr. Schnee as she headed upstairs. He did not deign to acknowledge her.

“Good. Sit.” He motioned to the couch before reclaiming his armchair. Weiss obeyed, sitting primly on the edge of the cushion. “I was hoping you would be able to shed some light on certain information that has come into my possession.”

“Sorry, what information is that?”

“Apparently, you have been consorting with known delinquents.”

As she stared at her father, the bottom dropped out of Weiss's stomach. Someone had seen her with Yang. Who?! They hadn't been very discreet so it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise that they had been caught - and yet it did. She was completely gobsmacked. Still, there was no reason to cop to everything right away; maybe he didn't know very much, and she certainly didn't want to accidentally volunteer information that wasn't necessary to volunteer.

“What?”

“Don't play coy with me,” he went on with a slight sneer that lifted the corner of his mustache. “Whitley saw you sneaking out of the house in the dead of night. What could you have been thinking?”

It was worse than she thought. Of course her father would believe Whitley, that little toad. “W-well, I only went to retrieve a school book I loaned out.”

“To that Chinese girl, hmm?”

“Yes. I'm helping her with math and-”

“You expect me to believe that the only reason you climbed down the side of our home was to retrieve a book? Just what sort of fool do you take me for?”

“The best sort! Wait- I mean, no fool at all, Sir!”

Shaking his head, he crossed his legs and leaned heavily against one elbow. “All the money spent on tutoring, already wasted when you insisted on going to a public school instead of a private academy. Your mother made the inane decision that if it was what you wanted, it was worth the sacrifice. And now look where we are! You’re running around Vale with some kind of… opium fiends on motorbikes!”

“Opium…” Weiss rolled her eyes when she made the connection. “Just because she’s half-Chinese doesn’t mean she’s ever even seen opium, Father. And as far as I know, she hasn’t!”

“Oh, really? You have enough experience with the fruit of the poppy that you can tell the difference?”

It was very difficult for her not to get upset with him. “I’ve literally never spent a moment thinking about her being Chinese. She’s being raised by her mother, who’s from America.”

“Hmph. The fact remains, she is not the sort of friend you ought to be keeping company with. I forbid you to see her anymore.”

“You what?” Blinking up at him, she waited for him to elaborate, or to rescind his edict. He did not. So she burst out, “You can’t do that!”

“I just have.”

“But she’s-” It took quite a lot of effort to suppress some kind of ill-conceived confession of love. “Father, she needs my help in school, a-and we’re good friends! And you won’t tell me I’m not to see her!”

His eyes flashed dangerously. “Watch your tongue, young lady. This is my house, and what I say goes.”

“NO!”

“Excuse me?”

“Not this time!” she snapped, leaping to her feet. She knew this wasn’t a spectacular idea, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself; it was as if the anger pulsing behind her temples was taking over her body, separating her from being able to command it any longer. “All I ever do is what you tell me to! I’m a good student, I practice my singing every day, a-and I’ve even been keeping up with tennis! With Yang! So why… I mean, how can you forbid me to see someone you don’t even know? That isn’t fair!”

She could have predicted he would say “Life isn’t fair” before he even formed the words, and was only further angered to hear him say them after all.

“So what?! That doesn’t mean you have to be unfair along with it!”

Jacques Schnee shot to his feet and snatched up her bicep, jerking her forcibly toward him with an iron grip. His cold eyes stabbed down into her own and her heart stopped beating to see his barely-concealed rage.

“You will stop speaking to me in this manner, and you still stop associating with the Chinese girl. My decision is final. If you continue to disobey me, there will be further consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

“No.”

“Try that again,” he growled, shaking her arm.

She didn’t know why she said it. Her father had already proven he had no interest in what she had to say at all. Perhaps it was the fact that Yang had become a lot more important to her than she ever thought possible, and that connection was too precious to be severed for no reason other than Yang’s race and the fact that she wore a leather jacket. Something within her was glowing white-hot and could not be cooled down until it burned something else.

“Or what? You’re going to hit me? Again? Like you hit mother when you think we’re not looking? Like she hits Whitley when he smarts off? Is that just what this family does? It’s pathetic! You are pathetic!”

His eyes flicked to her scar, and Weiss felt the dark thrill of a very unsatisfying triumph. A rough shove sent her falling against the couch, grasping at the arm to keep from winding up in the floor.

“I knew it was a mistake to entrust my company’s future to a woman. You never see the bigger picture. Whitley may be a low-grade moron, but at least he understands loyalty. All you care about is your sock hops and giggling with the girls - now including some foreign wok-woman. Squandering your potential. There’s too much of your mother in you.”

“I don’t care,” she lied as the tears began. How desperately she wished they wouldn’t.

“You will. When I’m disciplining you until you straighten up and act in a way befitting the Schnee name, you’ll care.” Smoothing the front of his suit, which had barely been disturbed at all by shoving his daughter, he grunted, “Get up and stop that blubbering.”

Weiss obeyed. Back straight, she stared him down, even as her cheeks glistened.

“Better. Now, you will sever all contact with the ruffian girl, and you will focus on your studies. Is that clear?”

“It’s clear.”

“Do you promise to obey me?”

Teeth clenched, she hissed, “Never.” His hand came down hard across her face. “AH!”

“Do you promise to obey me?!”

Furious in a way she didn’t know she could be, Weiss turned and screamed, “NEVER! I’ll never obey! You can slap me, you can kick me, y-you can chop me into pieces and feed me to the birds! I don’t care! I’m never going to let you tell me who I can and can’t be friends with, EVER!”

For a long moment, he regarded her and the angry red throbbing on her cheek. His face was completely impassive, even though he was breathing hard. Then he turned to stare into the unlit fireplace.

“That’s ‘with whom I can and can’t be friends’. Clearly, she’s already having a detrimental effect on your grammar.” The sigh was weary, as if this were nothing more than a tedious board meeting. “Very well. I’ll take care of the matter myself. And don’t think there won’t be further consequences.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“You’ll see.” Turning back, he glared down at her. “You are dismissed. Go and study. Do something useful for a change.”

After a few seconds of huffing and puffing, Weiss managed to growl out “I hate you!” before she fled from the room and stomped upstairs.

She had fully intended on going to her room. Pyrrha was probably worried about the screaming, if she hadn’t somehow missed all the noise. Halfway there, she changed direction and burst into the drawing room, fists vibrating at her sides.

“MOTHER!”

Willow Schnee was draped over the piano bench, an empty bottle of red wine dangling in her loose grip. This was sadly a standard state of being for the woman; it had been for many years. Weiss had some hazy memories of a glamourous woman who didn’t fall to pieces so often, who could resist the pull of strong spirits. Hazy, distant, and with no impact on the present day.

“Wha…?”

Sinking to her knees beside her, Weiss sniffled and whispered, “He hit me again! H-he promised he wouldn’t, and he did, a-and I… Mommy, I need you to come back! Come back to us!”

The skin between the woman’s perfect eyebrows crinkled as she tried to think her way through the fog of alcohol. “Hm?”

“He slapped me! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Oh… no, no he didn’t. He said no more… only me.” She groaned and pushed a hand into her face. “Winter, stop the train, Mommy needs to lie down…”

Of course it was useless. Sighing, she took the bottle and set it aside, then managed to heave her mother to her feet and guide her to the chaise lounge under the window. The setting sun was just starting to pinken the sky, and she thought the view might help.

“Please don’t go,” Mrs. Schnee murmured. “I… want to… you were always so sweet, Weiss…”

“At least you got my name right that time,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Leaning down, she pressed her lips into her mother’s pale forehead. She and Winter looked the most alike, and she definitely had their mother’s gentle eyes. But Weiss had her nominal stature and her angelic singing voice, which were nothing to sneeze at. “Mother?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“Mmm…” Her hand came up to rest on the side of Weiss’s neck. “Love you, too, sweetheart. You’re my little…”

Before she could even finish her sentence, her arm flopped to one side and she began to doze. “Snow Angel,” she finished for her. That was most likely what she had been about to say. Weiss decided to leave her there and simply sneak back out of the room. Compared to that mess, her life was entirely tolerable.

When she regained the safety of her own room, she found Pyrrha twisting the hem of her long poodle skirt in her hands. She looked panicked. Seeing her friend in the doorway, she stood, eyes full of fear as she whispered, “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Edging the door closed, she approached her desk in the corner and rested a hand on her books. “Let’s just… do our homework.”

“Your face…”

“What about it? Am I really that hideous?”

Pyrrha put her hands on her friend’s shoulders and held her fast. “Don’t do that. He… he shouldn’t be allowed to…”

Suddenly, Weiss needed to be alone. She wouldn’t tell Pyrrha to leave, but that didn’t prevent the desire from rising up powerfully within her. The desire to disappear. The desire to be anyone but a Schnee. “Nothing happened. Do you understand?”

“I don’t,” she whispered in a tight voice. “I can’t pretend this away, Weiss.”

“Then try. Try really, really hard.”

Then arms were around her, holding her as close as was possible. Even though she hated herself for it, would have given the entirety of her trust fund away to stem the flow, the tears started pouring forth in earnest. And they didn’t stop for some time.