#like it is your own fault if you follow people who hate women what do you meannnn

[juniperhillpatient]

honestly hate those posts that always go around like “tumblr users name a female character challenge” “fandom never appreciates female characters” “fandom always hates female characters for the same traits they revere in male characters” like. I’m sorry WHAT. what fandom are you guys in? huh? Y’all know you…. you pick who you follow on here right? I’m sorry so many of u say u have this experience but I guess I’m different lmao

[ubeb0nes]

Getting jealous (AGAIN) as Sevika's girlfriend...

you just can't catch a break, huh? your fault for falling in love with this absolute lady-killer

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a/n: ever since i remembered i have free will and can post all my sevika goblin thoughts i have been cooking entire posts up in like under an hour, somebody please help me LMAO

i had too many ideas for the jealous!reader, so here's another. i picture this as being my pit fighter!reader characterization, so do with that what you will :33

it isn't that you hate absolutely anybody looking at Sevika at all

like, you get it. and a part of you loves that everyone else can see just as clearly as you how absolutely captivating she is.

BUT IT GETS TO A POINT-

After the incident with the girl at the bar, Sevika does her best to make sure that you don't feel neglected in public. She slips, of course she does, but she does try like hell

It typically goes that anybody who approaches her, flat out doesn't acknowledge you. it's a by-product of how she's so non-PDA that it slips the mind of these thirsty women that she's even in a relationship

You, being a practical and results-driven individual, remedy this by being a little bolder in public every now and then

Nowadays, Sevika doesn't usually object. She understands why you're doing it now, and she's getting tired of the would-be homewreckers coming onto her too lol

You'll cup her cheek, give her a firm but quick kiss whenever you bring a drink over to her while she's in a game of cards. Come up beside her at the bar and rest your hand on her hip for a while (she fucking loves this one, she won't tell you though)

From then on, people start to get the message. If anybody's heartbroken over it, they become less inclined to showing it

So, you almost want to believe you're imagining things when you clock someone from across the bar who seems to keep giving you the stink eye

you're not dumb

you can see the way she's gesturing between you and Sevika to her friends, shaking her head in disgust. now that's a new one...

Sevika has her human arm over your shoulder while this is happening, the other holding onto her hand of cards. She looks over at you when you pluck the cigarillo out from her fingers and take a drag of your own in distress. She's deeply amused by this

"Okay, baby?" "Mhm. Peachy." You were not peachy. The hell did you do to deserve that look?

For a second Sevika thinks you're mad at her, frowning and angling her body towards you (she notices Ran trying to sneak a look at her cards as she does, and bucks playfully at them). Her eyes flick up to follow your line of vision, and then she understands

She chuckles under her breath.

"You could take her in a fight, princess."

oh, and don't you know it. You shake away the thought though, not wanting to escalate the situation in your head in the case that it's actually not at all what you think it is, and then you look stupid

You ask Sevika if she wants another whiskey and she declines, so you get up to just get yours. You're minding your business by the bar, trying to not grace that table with any more glances when that bites you in the ass as a shoulder checks yours

of course, it's the girl. I guess it wasn't in your head

You make eye contact with her when she looks over her shoulder at you and scoffs, shaking her head. You don't look away even as the bartender slides your drink into your hand

now, you have some options here. most of them include violence to some degree. you're contemplating them all as you're walking back to Sevika, eyes straight ahead

then you catch a few choice words from her table; something, something, "-can she fight..." you don't hear the rest, but does it really matter?

you stop in your tracks. you glance up at your girlfriend who didn't see what happened earlier but is watching you now, brow raised and mouthing what's wrong?

at this point, i don't think this even counts as jealousy, you're just defending your woman's honor

you give her a shake of your head that says don't worry (and now she's definitely worrying), and turn on your heel and make a beeline for the bitch's table

Sevika is about to get up to back you up- for whatever the situation may be- when she sees your posture as you stand over the girl from earlier.

Ran stops her though, grinning from ear to ear. "Let your girl have this, Sev. I wanna see her beat ass." Sevika scoffs, but tentatively sits back down. She trusts your judgement. Whatever your call is-

oh, you're smashing your glass over the girl's head. Ran gives a loud whoop

"You wanna take her from me? Go ahead, try," you'd said while Ran was talking Sevika down. The smile on your face was near-manic. "See what she does when you put your hands on me."

It's not like this woman was exactly tiny or helpless-looking; most in Zaun strived to be neither. But Sevika hadn't been lying when she said you could take her.

It was not a memo she'd received, though.

You couldn't recall what exactly she'd said, but you do know your mind reached an immediate state of singularity when she said she'd kill you before Sevika could do anything about it.

BET

"Goddammit-" Sevika barks out your name as she shoots up from her chair. Ran is doubled over with laughter

She's deceptively fast for her height, and thank fucking god for it. Her human arm wraps around your waist like a vise, pulling you back with ease

She would've been cutting up right with Ran in any other circumstance, given the way you were stancing on the now-dazed woman, fists clenched and shoulders shrugged up like an angry big cat

"Down, girl," she mutters to you. Her lips quirk up at the way you shift your jaw around, obviously still pissed off and ready to scrap

"I was defending your honor." "Mhm. What would I do without you, huh?"

Sevika's in front of you when the woman scrambles up out of her seat to retaliate. Sevika towers over the both of you, and you're nearly completely hidden behind her now as she glares at the woman

"You don't wanna fight her, much less me. Go ahead and clear off."

Maybe jealousy isn't as accurate of a term for you as territorial. You've got nothing to be jealous of, not with how fiercely devoted Sevika is at every turn

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

October 29 - Kidnapping

pairing: dom!Wanda x sub!Reader

summary: Wanda kidnaps you.

content warnings: kidnapping, possessiveness, stalking

word count: 1.6k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Truly, it was your own fault that you were in this situation. You hadn’t been paying attention, oblivious to the eyes watching you as you made your way home from your job. 

In all honesty, you were the perfect target. You were beautiful and shy, not too sociable. You didn’t have many friends, and you spoke to your parents maybe three times a year. The homely routine of yours consisted of going to work, buying groceries, and spending time at home reading. 

It was a quiet life, and you didn’t mind it. 

Unfortunately, you’d caught the eye of a woman passing through town. Her boredom had become overwhelming, her need for a source of entertainment growing with each day. Well, it was more of a need for obsession, to focus on something that would utterly captivate her, and you were doing a fine job of that.

Wanda Maximoff, recently recovering (sort of) from destroying the darkhold and subsequently any hope of finding her children, had been aimlessly driving through town when she saw you. 

God, you were perfect. You had a charming bookbag around your shoulder, with wired earbuds in as you walked. Wanda couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen someone with wired earbuds, or someone who read a book while walking. She was worried that you’d bump into something, but you navigated the main road easily, only glancing up every few seconds. 

Your hair was pulled into a ponytail, the curls a day old as you hurried towards your destination. If Wanda had to guess, you were late to something, most likely a job. Your cheeks were flushed, but your eyes remained on your book, as if unable to tear yourself away from the words. 

Suddenly, Wanda was overcome with the need to read that book. She wanted to know everything about you. What did you eat in the morning, did you thrift your sweater, how many people would look for you if you went missing?

The last question sent a thrill through Wanda, and she could feel a part of her clicking into place. 

It was you. 

You are what she needs. Only you can save her from this dangerous edge she was teetering on. With you in her possession, Wanda would finally find a purpose again. She wanted to make you fully hers, someone who would love her as much as she loved them. 

It wasn’t that hard to book a dingy motel on the edge of town, and Wanda made sure that you never saw her as she followed you. She learned so much about you in two short weeks. You were almost always running late to something, your nose buried in a different book every few days. The only stores you frequented were the grocery store, the used book store, and an antique thrifting shop that had Wanda turning up her nose. 

When you were hers, she would buy you the finest things. You wouldn’t need to shop at secondhand stores anymore. She could tell you weren’t struggling financially, but you weren’t living comfortably either. Your apartment was many blocks from the main road, with broken street lamps around it and an unkempt yard. 

Wanda hated seeing you live in such a decrepit old place. What if something happened to you? Obviously, you didn’t see the lingering looks men and women alike would give you, but Wanda did. It had her fingers itch and her ears burn when she would watch them, your attention elsewhere as you hurried past them. 

On Friday night, after watching you return home to read your book on the couch, surrounded by blankets and a mug of hot chocolate, Wanda decided that you were hers. 

It was laughably easy to follow you in her car, the headlights off as you walked home late the next evening. You had a closing shift on the weekends, but you were blissfully ignorant of the dangers of the world, your earbuds firmly in place as you squinted at the words in your book. 

All Wanda had to do was drive around the block and park her car under one of the many broken street lamps. You didn’t even hear her get out of her car, your attention fully captivated by the book.

She nearly reveals herself too soon, delirious at the thought of being near you. You pass by her, your perfume causing her knees to tremble and weaken slightly before she finds herself overcome with the need to possess you. 

Wanda could have used a spell to capture you, but what's the fun in that? Besides, she really wanted to feel your squirming body against hers. She’s waited long enough. 

“What the fu-” you manage to say, your book dropping from your hands as you feel someone clap a hand over your mouth. You can still hear your music playing through your earbuds, and you resist as one earbud drops out. A woman’s chuckle sounds out right next to your ear, and you feel your blood run cold. 

Who the fuck laughs after grabbing someone? You hope it’s a joke, but the strength in the hands that haul you over to a red car is too much for you to pull away from. The scent of sickly sweet vanilla hits your nose, and you blink in confusion as you’re forced into the passenger seat of the car. 

The woman is too quick for you, shoving you in and slamming the door before you have time to react. You can see her moving around the car, and dive for the driver's seat, your fingers scrabbling on the lock.

You’re too slow, and the woman gives you a withering stare as she sits in the driver’s seat and pulls the door firmly shut behind her. It’s the first time you’ve fully seen her face, and the only thing you can think about is how beautiful the woman is. 

Honestly, she’s god-level ethereal. 

Confusion fills you, your heart beating as you try to undo the lock on your side. Your fingers search the frame, but you find only a hole where the lock is supposed to be. 

“You won’t be able to escape, dear,” the woman says, and you jump at the sound of her low voice. She sounds almost… friendly. What the fuck is going on?

Staring at her silently, you attempt to formulate a plan. It’s almost as if the woman can hear you thinking, because she smirks at you when you consider hitting her over the head with your bag.

“You and I both know that the only things you keep in that bag are a book and a sweater,” she says, her eyes full of mirth. They’re green, you notice, and then admonish yourself. “But go ahead at try, sweetheart.”

God, you wish she’d stop calling you pet names, it was confusing. 

“My name is Wanda,” the woman says, her eyes gazing at you. The expression on her face is unnerving, and you remain silent, watching her as she easily turns onto the highway. 

It’s late, and there are barely any other cars around. Some small part of you knows that you won’t be able to escape. Any attempt you make will be futile, so you just stare at her with wide eyes as your fingers nervously fiddle with your book bag.

What were you supposed to say?

“Typically,” Wanda begins, a soft smile on her face as one hand leaves the wheel. You watch it drift closer, fear and anticipation making their way through you. “When someone offers their name, you should offer yours in return.”

Her hand rests lightly on your thigh, and you feel revulsion fill you. Quickly, you push her hand off, pressing yourself against the door to get as far away from her as possible. Wanda’s green eyes snap to you, anger swirling in the depths as she grabs your thigh again, this time digging her fingers in.

“Do not ever reject me,” she says, her voice tight and low. 

Something sparks in the air between you, and you can practically feel her anger as it fills the car. Nodding quickly, you blink as the suffocating anger disappears in an instant and an easy smile slips back on her face. 

Those fingers start stroking your thigh, gentle and slow. You normally wouldn’t mind it if a pretty woman touched you like this, but you just… you just got fucking kidnapped.

Your breaths come short now, panic making its way through you as you stare out the front window. The woman seems oblivious to the rising emotions within you, her eyes locked on the road as she continues speaking.

“You’re going to love our house, darling.” Wanda smiles brightly at you. “It’s soundproof. And it has a dungeon, can you believe it?”

A choked whimper escapes you, and you remain silent. Wanda sends a sharp look your way, and you realize that she’s waiting for a response. You shake your head slowly. 

“Use your words, sweetheart. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours.”

Pretty? 

“Um,” you say quietly, unnerved by the level of attention you were receiving. “Okay?”

Wanda chuckles at that, and you press yourself as far away from her as possible. The door handle digs into your side, but you don’t care. You want out. You want out of this car with a creepy, gorgeous woman touching you and making you feel conflicted things, and you want to go back and finish your book.

“Don’t you understand, darling?” Wanda asks, looking at you with a dark look behind her eyes. Her voice and smile are soft, a direct contradiction to her next words. 

“You are mine. You can never leave. I won’t let you.”

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 10 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Ahhhh, my babies, we've finally reached the chapter I've been itching to tell you about for ages! And I cannot WAIT to hear what you think about it!

We left off in Chapter 9 with poor Lori fighting physical exhaustion and a gamut of feelings for Elvis (who's being a stubborn idiot), and when they arrived home to Graceland, their frustrations came to a head. Elvis finally confronted her about her past and a terrified Lori didn't take it well.

Now in Elvis' perspective, we pick up immediately after her collapse. He is mortified and lovesick and convinced that he's harmed her beyond repair. Oh, Elvis. 💔

Like I said, I can't wait to hear your screams about the twists in this chapter, so please don't hold back! 😁 I hope you enjoy!

Much Love! xoxoxox, Madi 💗

TW: Please scroll to the end only if you need them--I don't want to spoil anything for those who hate spoilers!

Broken Glass Chapter 10

Shit shit shit shit, Elvis chants in his head as you vomit violently onto the pavement, go grey as a ghost, and your terrified eyes roll back into your head. His lean arms wrap around you quickly when you collapse, keeping you from falling into your own sick or hitting your head on the ground.

“Shit,” he curses, out loud this time, following your center of gravity and scooping you up into his arms. “Lori! Come on, darlin’, wake up f’me,” he pleads softly.

Your body seems awfully tiny and much too light for someone who’s presence he can never truly ignore, even when he wants to. His heart slams in his chest, his blood already up from his temper, though it fizzled out the moment you started shivering and sobbing and apologizing like he was sending you to the gallows. The look of resigned fear on your face was enough to give him nightmares and that was before you’d lost consciousness.

He is no stranger to fainting women, it being a staple of his fame since almost the beginning. While he never could quite understand why he of all people caused such a reaction in young ladies, he was always as calm and gentle as he could be. It was his fault they got overexcited, after all—they couldn’t control it just as much as he couldn’t.

But this was different.

You certainly hadn’t passed out because you were overcome by the joy of his presence. Instead, you look like death, and he’s not remotely calm about it.

“What the hell happened? What’d you do to her?” Gene asks accusatorily, running up behind him, followed by the rest of the guys in various states of concern.

“What’d I do…? Shut yer damn mouth ‘fore ya catch flies, ya idiot, and go call the doctor,” Elvis huffs back, hoisting you up into his arms, swinging around, and hightailing it towards the house.

The fear that lances through him at your pallor and lifelessness hits like a knife. The seed of anger he’s held on to so tightly this last week withers at the thought he’s done real damage here.

This is my fault.

He’s not exactly sure how but he knows. He only had to take one look at your face when he called you out to understand you hadn’t meant to hurt him and your past scared you enough to risk the lie. Stupidly, he’d wanted the satisfaction of confronting your wrongdoing, for you to have a smidge of the hurt he was feeling.

But he never wanted this.

How could he have missed something was wrong? You are so damn strong, meeting every challenge thrown your way that he never considered you might be unwell. Selfish idiot, he chastises himself.

He comes close to kicking down the door to his home, but Charlie scoots around him fast enough to open it before he resorts to property damage.

“Come on, Little Bird, wake up for me,” he murmurs softly as he oh so gently sets you on the long sofa. He hates the boneless way you settle, eyes closed and completely unconscious. Nerves shudder down his spine and he doesn’t bother to hide them.

“Did someone call the damn doctor?” he yells at Charlie.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s on his way.” Charlie has the sense to look worried, unlike his idiot cousin who peers over his shoulder.

“Wipe that dumbass look offa your face and go get her some water!” Elvis snaps at Gene, who looks at him wide eyed for a moment before disappearing.

Brushing a lock of hair off your forehead, he holds and rubs your cold little hand in his as he quietly talks to you.

“I’m sorry, Lo, I-I-I shouldn’t’ve come atchu like that. I-I realize now that, um, maybe you had your reasons f’not telling me ‘bout your past. I jus’ thought you knew you could trust me, and-and it hurt that you din’t and sometimes I just get so mad I can’t see straight but I shouldn’t take it out on you…” he rambles quietly, “Please jus’ wake up, now, you gotta wake up, honey. I can’t do this without ya.” The admission falls breathlessly from his lips, soft as snowfall.

His heart plummets when he thinks about all the ways he’s taken his anger out on you this past week—ignoring you, throwing girls in your face, making snide comments—and his ego wants nothing more to justify his actions, but in truth, you were right. He had been playing mind games and not communicating why he was upset. He should have just asked you about it right after Frank spilled the beans instead of punishing you for something you didn’t even know he’d found out.

Lord, his mama would have his hide for such childish behavior.

Shame flames his cheeks and worries surround him like a dark cloud until the doctor shows up. You still haven’t so much as stirred and it has him nibbling at his nails—a nervous old habit he’s never quite been able to kick.

When Dr. Shaw arrives, Elvis shoos away the audience of men who’ve crowded the living room when he wasn’t looking. At least they all have the sense to look concerned.

“What happened?” Dr. Shaw asks, setting his bag down next to the couch.

“I-I-I don’t know exactly, one minute she was fine, well maybe not fine cuz we were in a bit of a disagreement, ya see, and well, she, maybe she was worked up? One minute she was standing there and the next she lost her lunch on the pavement and passed out,” he says, unsure if he’s making any sense.

“Did she hit her head?” The doctor asks, examining your hairline.

“Naw, I caught her before she hit the ground.” His leg jiggles uncontrollably, wondering if you’re okay, wondering what he could’ve done differently.

Dr. Shaw looks at Elvis over his glasses, taking in his nervousness. “Has she been ill otherwise?”

Elvis blinks. “Um, I-I-I’m not sure.”

The doctor is one of the only people who knows about his illness, who you really are and what you are doing here, so it’s unsurprising he looks a bit incredulous. “Elvis, you’re spending all of your time with this young woman, and you don’t know if she’s been ill or not?”

More shame bleeds through his chest and settles like a stone in his stomach. His face flushes red hot and the temperature in the room seems to have gone up without him noticing.

“Um, no, I-I guess not, sir,” he mumbles.

He knows his faults, and generally being uncaring isn’t one of them. But these past few weeks, he’s been thinking mostly about himself. His feelings. How your secret affected him. Not how it affected you, or why you might need to hide it. You’d tried your best to take care of him, apparently to the detriment of yourself.

No, he’d been mighty careless with you, and spitefully so.

Dr. Shaw gives him a pursed-lip look.

“I, well, now I know the new hours are keepin’ her busy, what with how I gotta live and all. I-I-I guess she’s seemed tired?” Elvis adds, desperate to fill the silence.

He doesn’t feel he can share all the other pieces, like how you’d been on the run from your mafia fiancé who’d…

Oh, Lord.

Dread rolls in his stomach when he realizes his misstep.

The nightmares. You quivering in terror on the bathroom floor. The bruises. Bruises he’d seen staining your body in places no bruise should ever be. The way you’d flinched when he touched you roughly.

Your fiancé had done that to you. That man was the reason you fled New York.

How stupid he was for not putting it all together sooner. Your fiancé hurt you, and you tried to escape the only way you could.

And Elvis was so afraid of loving you, so consumed by his own feelings, he punished you for it. Just another man in your life punishing you for something that wasn’t your fault.

Fuck.

His gut rolls, leaving him queasy. Through his horror, he wonders if you’ll ever be able to forgive him. If you even should.

Your little moan steals his attention as you stir slightly on the sofa.

“Lori?” he asks, jumping to, wanting you so badly to wake up so he can apologize, so he can make it up to you. “Please, baby, you gotta wake up now. The doc is here.” He grabs your hand and doesn’t even care how desperate he sounds.

“Mmm?” Your eyes flutter open and his heart swells to see those crystal blues start to focus.

“What happened?” you moan quietly, rubbing your eyes.

“You, uh, you got sick, darlin’ and then fainted,” he coos but there is an edge of disappointment in it, in himself.

Your eyes narrow and then widen with what he assumes is your memory coming back. He watches the trepidation and embarrassment fill your eyes. You slide your hand out of his, shirking back from him, and his heart crumbles a little.

I did this.

“Dolores, can you tell me what happened? How are you feeling?” the doctor asks.

Your attention pulls away from Elvis, your trepidation clouded by your struggle to focus.

“Oh, I’m sure I’m fine, probably just carsick from the bus ride,” you say, voice wavering, unconvincingly trying to blow off the concern.

“You’re not fuckin’ fine,” Elvis snaps before he can stop himself.

Your eyes widen and Dr. Shaw clears his throat.

“Excuse my language,” he apologizes, then tries to continue more gently, “but you’re not. You’re always gettin’ on me about not tellin’ you what’s what, so now you better answer the doctor’s questions truthfully, honey.”

There’s a beaten, submissive look in your eye that nearly breaks his heart. You turn your attention back to Shaw.

“I’ve had an ongoing headache for days…weeks, maybe? And I am exhausted,” you admit quietly. “Carsick on the rides. It’s probably just a virus. Nothing a l-little rest won’t cure.”

Dr. Shaw purses his lips. “I’d still like to do an examination and some tests. Is there somewhere more private we can go?”

“Upstairs.” Elvis jumps up, eager to be helpful and expend some of the nervous energy coursing through him. He extends his hand to help you off the couch, but you shrink back from him. Stomach churning with guilt, he watches as you warily push yourself off the couch to standing.

You wobble and sway on your feet, and his instinct kicks in as he immediately swoops his arm under you and lifts.

“Elvis, stop, I can get up the stairs by myself,” you protest halfheartedly, but by the way your body sags against him, he doesn’t believe you.

“Hush.”

Scowling, you don’t fight anymore, your eyes getting a dim and faraway look when your head plops on his shoulder with defeat. It’s worrisome.

By the time he maneuvers you up the stairs and into the bedroom, his growing unease has taken root. And it grows more when he sets you on the bed and you look like a shadow of your usual self. Like darkness is trying to swallow you whole and you are letting it.

He looks at Shaw, his eyes trying to convey the deep concern he now feels for your wellbeing, the concern that should’ve been there for weeks if not for his head being wedged so far up his own ass he refused to see what was right in front of him.

“Thank you, Elvis,” Shaw says, “Now, I’ll need some privacy to do the examination.” The doctor nods his head towards the door, dismissing him.

“Aw, hell no. I’m not leavin’ her like this.” He shakes his head stubbornly. The thought of her alone with any man but him suddenly makes his skin crawl, even though he’s known Shaw for years.

“Elvis, I’ve got her. Go. I’ll be down to update you in a bit.” Shaw’s voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for question.

Elvis clenches his fists, his nostrils flaring.

Breathe. In, out.

It’s your voice saying it. He looks to you, sitting stock still against the pillows, staring into space, and realizes your voice is only in his head. It’s both heart-wrenching and comforting.

Finally, he nods curtly, then leaves his—our—room, shutting the door quietly behind him, resisting the urge to leave it open just a crack in order to listen in, to make sure no harm comes to you. But even in his current state, he knows that is overstepping. He forces himself to walk down the stairs, his mind churning.

After pacing the length of the house multiple times, beating himself up for his poor treatment of you, furious at your former fiancé for hurting you, and tying himself into knots with worst-case scenarios, he eventually finds himself at the piano. The only thing that ever truly quiets his mind is music. His fingers fly over the keys and he pours it all into the spirituals coming to him from deep within his soul.

God loves him best when he sings. Maybe He’ll hear his pleas for forgiveness, his prayers for healing—not for himself, but for you.

Lost in the music, he’s not sure how long he sings, but stops abruptly when Dr. Shaw appears in the doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the doc says.

Elvis waves his arm dismissively. “How is she?”

Shaw hesitates. “It could just be a virus, but I took some blood and urine to test.”

There’s something he’s not saying, Elvis can tell. “And?”

Another pause. “I’m a little concerned about her…state of mind. I know I’ve only met her once or twice, but she seems withdrawn, almost traumatized. You said there was an argument?” He looks at Elvis with an undercurrent of judgement.

Heat blazes across Elvis’ cheeks, while guilt stabs in his belly. “I-I-I…yes, sir, but I’d never hurt her! And I-I don’t think…I-I mean, I don’t know…I think something happened t’her before we met,” he eventually gets out. It’s not his place to share your secrets, but damn if he’s going to let this doctor think he’s hurt you physically.

Dr. Shaw’s eyebrow raises, but he doesn’t press. He looks over Elvis with pursed lips and a watchful eye before his gaze softens.

“Can I go up and see her?” Elvis asks, almost desperately.

Shaw nods. “But she needs to rest. Stay off her feet. Eat well, if she can, and drink plenty of fluids.” Not run around after your ass, is the unspoken instruction. “Make sure she’s doing those things but…I wouldn’t press her.”

“Yessir.”

There’s tension hanging in the air before the subject is changed. “How are you feeling? Do we to have someone else step in until Ms. Cannava is well?”

Elvis grimaces, shaking his head. The last thing he needs is someone else poking around in his business, in your business. “I’m alright, sir. Probably could use a little R & R myself.”

Shaw looks at him with a critical eye. “Alright, son. Let’s keep it low-key, shall we? I’ll be back tomorrow to check in and hopefully we’ll have some answers.”

And with that, Elvis sees the doctor out.

He lasts approximately 90 seconds before he runs to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and takes the stairs quickly enough that he spills half the glass before he makes it to his room.

“Knock, knock,” he says gently, opening the door. You are laying on your side now, away from him, curled in on yourself on top of the covers and the sight nearly does him in for how vulnerable you look.

“Doc said you need plenty of fluids, so I brought you some water,” he rambles, coming around and setting the glass on the stand next to the bed. “Can I getchu anythin’ else?”

You blink slowly, but don’t respond otherwise. His stomach drops. It’s unnerving, the way you’re staring through him at the wall, vacant and broken.

He can’t have done this, right? Not like this. There’s got to be more to this than a silly fight.

You’re a fuckin’ asshole, the voice in his head berates. He wants to disagree but can’t. But this isn’t the time for him to feel sorry for himself. Standing here being useless isn’t helping anyone.

What would Little Bird do? The thought snaps him into action. “Imma gonna just take off these shoes a’ yours, okay?” he says gently, not wanting to startle you. With care, he takes off your heels one by one, setting them on the carpet at the end of the bed. He wants you to be comfortable but hesitates to undress you, unsure if that would be crossing a line. But he can’t well leave you to sleep in the clothes you wore on the bus for near a day.

After a minute of indecision, he plows forward. “Alright, honey, I’m just going to help you out of these clothes, just down to your slip, okay? Nothin’ more, don’t you worry.”

You don’t fight him at all, wordlessly allowing him to move you upright and undo your blouse. There’s certainly nothing untoward about the way his fingers manage the buttons or how they unzip your skirt. It’s not the way he ever wanted to be doing these things, though, he thinks as he strips your clothes and pulls down the spread on the bed. You have no outward reaction to him lying you down and pulling the covers up over your body, other than letting your eyes fall closed.

He thinks back to the care you’ve shown him when he’s been such in a state, and it’s what gets him through the feeling of helplessness churning in his gut.

Once you are tucked in, he grabs his own pajamas. He’s got no urge to leave you or deal with the idiots downstairs. No, even though his mind is going, he joins you in the bed, attempting to read the book on his nightstand while worry nags at him. Eventually, his eyes droop closed and the darkness takes him, too.

*

You are a bit more responsive the next day, eating a bite of the toast and jam he’d brought up for you, but you stay in bed, eerily quiet and entirely too withdrawn for his liking. He does his damnedest to follow Dr. Shaw’s instructions and leave you be, but it’s nearly impossible for him to not check on you multiple times an hour.

Honestly, he’s not sure you even register his presence half the time and fuck if that doesn’t stab him straight through the heart.

Charlie and the other boys do their best to distract him, but he’s got no humor for the usual fun and games. No, he’s much too wrapped up in his own head, vacillating from wanting to punch his way through the wall and being so lovesick he feels nauseous. The only thing keeping him from totally spiraling is the fact you are still here and alive and in his bed. He hasn’t lost you yet, he doesn’t think.

He can’t lose you.

By the time Dr. Shaw arrives in the evening, Elvis is about ready to jump down his throat with questions. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“Let’s go upstairs, son,” Dr. Shaw says, in a somewhat ominous tone. If the doc wants him there for the conversation, the news can’t be good.

Elvis’ heart knocks against his ribs with each step closer he gets to you. You can’t be sick. He’s only just found you and Lord, does he need you more than he needs air. If he’s learned nothing else, it’s that.

Fidgeting, he lets the doctor in the room, following close behind.

“How are you feeling today, Lori?” Dr. Shaw asks, sitting near you on the edge of the bed.

Your usually bright and savvy eyes seem dull as you take the effort to focus on the doctor and his question. “I’m tired,” you whisper sluggishly, shrugging.

“Well, I think we have an answer as to the reason for that,” Shaw says kindly, then motions to him. “Elvis, why don’t you sit?” He gets up from the bed, offering Elvis his spot.

Oh, God, it’s that bad. His dinner threatens to make a reappearance, but he swallows the bile down, sinking onto the bed near your legs.

Dr. Shaw clears his throat. “Ahem, well, Lori, the good news is I don’t think you are sick in the real sense of the word.”

A wave of elation hits Elvis. Thank you, Jesus.

“You are, however, pregnant.”

The crest hits, disbelief slamming into him, taking his breath away in a whoosh.

“How’s that possible?” It falls out of his mouth immediately and without thinking, imbued with much too much innocence after his jaw hits the floor.

A deeply biological sense of panic washes over him then because it is most unmarried men’s nightmare, especially a man like him, to be blindsided by news like this. But his biology and his brain aren’t on the same level because it takes him longer than it should to reconcile there is absolutely no way this child is his.  

This isn’t technically his mess.

But the doctor doesn’t know that and peers over his spectacles with a raised eyebrow. “I trust I don’t have to give you a talk about the birds and the bees, Elvis.”

A flush of heat hits his cheeks and he shakes his head. “No, sir.”

All at once, the gravity of the situation sinks in. The bruises. Your fiancé. That fuckin’ monster. The slightly judgmental way Shaw is looking at Elvis because in the doc’s mind, Elvis is the one who got you in trouble.

Shit.

Finally, his head turns to you. Your olive skin is deathly pale, your icy eyes more intense than usual and shining with unshed tears as you stare straight ahead. Your fingers twist around and around themselves, something he’s noticed you do when you are nervous.

Elvis lightly places his hand on your shin and your eyes whip to his for the first time in over a day. At least you don’t flinch at his touch this time. Instead, his touch seems to ground you and he watches carefully as you come back into yourself and out of wherever your head has held you prisoner since he yelled at you yesterday.

Dr. Shaw looks at the both of you before continuing. “It’s very early days, my guess is—”

“Four weeks,” you finish, the pain of knowing exactly how long etched in your features. It makes his heart ache for you, and more than anything he wants to find the man who did this to you and make him regret he was ever born. But now isn’t the time for all that.

Four weeks is the same amount of time you’ve known each other, meaning this happened after he’d already met you.

How?

“Yes, and anything can happen in these early days, as you well know. I know this is a…delicate situation.” There is unspoken subtext in the doctor’s words, and while Elvis is piecing it out, you seem to understand immediately. The look you give him is heavy and filled with words you cannot say out loud yet. The silence sits heavy between you two.

The doctor takes his cue. “You two have a lot to talk about. Why don’t I come back tomorrow to do your exam and get you set up with what you’ll need going forward? Keep your activity light for now.”

You nod. “Thank you, Dr. Shaw,” you whisper.

Elvis stares at you, trying to psychically glean what you are thinking, but your eyes have shuttered and his own thoughts are going a mile a minute. It’s hard to focus until after he sees the doctor to the door.

“Doc, this probably goes without saying, but we need to keep a lid on this,” Elvis says quietly. He’s too much in shock to understand all the ramifications just yet, but he knows this world is unkind to unmarried young ladies who find themselves in the family way, even if it wasn’t their fault.

He’s got to protect you.

“Of course, Elvis. The same discretion I apply to you will apply to her, don’t worry son,” the man says, patting his back in solidarity.

He ignores the concerned and curious looks from the guys in the living room as he takes the stairs two at a time, his anxiety rising the more he’s away from you.

Skidding through the door, he grinds to a halt when he sees the empty bed. Frantically, he looks around the room, finding you in the closet.

“Little Bird, what’re you doin’?” he says, watching in disbelief as you start pulling clothes and throwing them on the bed before dragging your suitcase, which had only been put away yesterday, back out into the room.

“I have to go,” you say, deliberately not looking at him as you rummage in the closet.

“Go?” he asks stupidly. “Go where?”

“I don’t know…maybe out West somewhere. Canada, maybe,” you mumble, as if this a normal conversation.

His pulse thunders in his head. “What…no, why do you think you’re goin’ anywhere in your condition?”

“I’m not an invalid, Elvis, I’m pregnant,” you scoff. “I’m—” your breath hitches for a moment, your shaking hand revealing your true feelings no matter how calm you are trying to appear. “This isn’t on you, and I know you were getting ready to let me go because I lied to you, which I’ve accepted, but I had no idea…I should’ve known. And I thought I’d have more time to get ready…”

His mouth might be catching flies for how dumbfounded he feels as he tries to follow your rambling train of thought. You scurry into the bathroom and rustle around before returning with some of your things, which you dump haphazardly into the suitcase.

“I know you were getting ready to let me go…” circles round in his head a few times before it hits.

You’re running. And you seem to think it’s what he wants.

“Stop.” The command is low and firm.

You freeze in the closet for a moment before grabbing another armful of dresses, ones he bought you even though you insisted you didn’t need anything.

“Dolores, stop this right now and sit yer ass down, goddammit!” he raises his voice, pointing to the bed.

Finally halting, he watches a shudder run through you before you defeatedly sit on the very edge of the bed, your arms full of clothes. Refusing to look at him. He can’t tell if you are more afraid or ashamed, but either makes his heart crumble and the thought of you leaving has him wanting to break in two.

He sinks to his knees in front of you, desperately wanting to take your hands in his own but not wanting to overstep in your fragile state. He softens his voice like he’s going to sing a lullaby.

“Little Bird, I don’t want you to go. Why would you say that?” It comes out too pleadingly, but he can’t bring himself to care.

You blink rapidly, once, twice, processing his words, the unemotional mask you are trying so hard to keep on your face cracking. “You…you were so angry I lied and have every right to be! I thought you’d want me gone as soon as you found someone new,” you whisper.

“Honey, no—”

“And now, as if Gianni hadn’t already done his worst, now I’m…I’m pregnant.” Your voice chokes and the façade finally collapses as sobs wrack your shoulders.

Elvis can’t stand it any longer, sinking onto the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms. You go stiff for a second, resisting, but he squeezes, and you relent, your head falling on his shoulder, tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Every quiet sob coming from you breaks his heart a little. He still doesn’t know you like he wants to but knows without a doubt you didn’t deserve to be hurt like this. You don’t deserve to bear the consequences of an evil man’s actions.

Gianni.

That was the name you said. Rage simmers deep in his stomach, but now is not the time to plot that asshole’s demise, no matter how much he wants to. Right now, Elvis has to make sure you don’t do something stupid, like leave him and run to Canada.

His shirt soaks with your tears. The damp sticks to his skin and should be uncomfortable yet it’s not. It’s proof you are here, with him, and he holds onto that.

“Breathe, baby. Just like you showed me—in, out, in, out,” he coos.

Sobs turn to sniffles. Your body shivers but fights for those slower breaths, your grip on him loosening as you seem to calm. He is lulled, too, his racing mind given reprieve for a moment, distracted by your presence in his arms.

Heavy silence fills the space.

“I have to go,” you whisper, sounding pragmatic and defeated, but calm. Peeling yourself from the cocoon of his arms, you stand abruptly.

He grabs you gently by the wrist, turning you back to him. “Din’t you hear me, lil’ one? I don’t want you to go. I-I’m sorry I been such an ass. I-I-I shoulda just asked ya what happened instead o-of punishing ya for somethin’ I din’t understand.” Desperation he’s unaccustomed to feeling leeches into his voice.

He looks up into your shining eyes, hating the warring resignation on your pretty features.

“Elvis…” you begin, stepping away, “you have every right to be angry but—"

“No, n-no…I mean, yeah, I was, but that doesn’t matter now. Please, Little Bird.”

You pause. “I need to leave.” You start putting things in your suitcase, much slower this time.

His heart cracks a little more with every beat. “No, Lori. You…listen, I-I-I’ll be a much better patient, I promise. I’ll stick to your diet and routine and all that shit.” He tries to make light but your face fixes in a determined scowl.  

You just shake your head resolutely.

Finally, he grasps your hands. “Honey, ain’t you hearin’ me? I’m sorry, so fuckin’ sorry, an’ I don’t admit that very often cuz I’m a stubborn ol’ goat, but I’m sayin’ it now. I don’t want you to go. So, stop this nonsense and talk to me!”

Quiet tears streak down your cheeks and you try to blink them away as you look down at him.

“I hear you. But you don’t understand—you’re not thinking, Elvis. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go to save you,” you plead.

“What?” He can’t hide his confusion.

“I already put a target on your back. And if Gianni finds out I’m…he’s coming after me. Whether today or tomorrow or a year from now, I feel it in my bones, and I’ve put you right in the crossfire.”

“I can take care of myself,” he bristles.

You shake your head. “It’s not just that. Once the press gets wind of this—” you motion to your belly “—it won’t be good for either of us. If I go now and disappear, you’ll have a chance.” Your sentence ends in a whisper.

He blinks once, twice, trying to absorb what you’re saying. But all the logic in the world doesn’t change his heart. It doesn’t change how much he…

“I need you,” he admits, staring right into your eyes, unwaveringly.

Your lip quivers. “I can’t.” You look away before speaking again. “I’m sure Colonel can find you someone else who can fulfill your needs.”

Fuck. He’s losing you; you are slipping right through his fingers. Frustration fills him with frantic desperation.

“You ain’t gettin’ it, Dolores. I don’t need some other nurse, I need you, goddammit!”

His voice is loud in the small space, echoing briefly before the sound gets sucked into the sound proofing.

“Elvis…” you whisper, eyes going wide with questions he can’t answer, not now.

“Listen—jus’ listen to me, okay? There’s gotta be somethin’, cuz I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you out there by yourself to get hurt by those goons. I’ll fend ‘em off myself.” His brain whirls, trying to see his way through the problem.

“No, Elvis, you don’t understand! This isn’t the movies! Gianni, my father, the famiglia—those ‘goons’—they are dangerous. Lethal. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. And if Frank knows I left, it means even if they can’t get to you physically, they can do worse to your reputation and your career—everything you’re working so hard to keep.”

Your face blanches and your entire body goes tense. “And if Gianni finds out I’m pregnant with his child, even you might not be safe from him. Oh, Madone, I should have never come here.” Green tinges your face and you bolt for the bathroom.

His heart races, slamming against his ribcage again and again. You paint a bleak picture, and your fear is contagious. But the fear of never seeing you again, of you being out there alone and in danger, strikes not only dread in his heart, but a protective fervor he’s never quite felt before.

An idea comes to him then in a flash, and the sound of your retching snaps him into action. Whether it’s terror or the baby, or both, it has you so in knots you are sick, and he can’t have that.

A few weeks ago, he may have been able to tell himself it’s because you are a good nurse, that he doesn’t want to train some new girl when you already know what you are doing, and that’s why he’s about to do something either wildly clever or wildly stupid. But he’d be lying.

He feels like he’s buzzing from the inside out with nerves, almost like the feeling he gets when doing a live show. It’s equally terrifying and exhilarating and addicting and maybe it’s God’s way of letting him know he’s on the right path.

Barely aware of how he got there, he’s in the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and crouching down next to you by the toilet. Not how he ever imagined this would go, but here he is anyway, brushing the hair off your cheeks. He’s so far gone for you, the sick doesn’t even phase him as he wipes your face.

None of it phases him enough to let you go.

You don’t want to look at him, he can tell, but you finally do, your ice blue irises vibrant against your bloodshot eyes, looking defeated and scared and miserable. But still beautiful. Always beautiful.

“Marry me.”

He says it with a quiet confidence only he could muster, despite the pounding of his heart.

You blink in shock, straightening. “W-what?”

“Marry me.”

“Elvis, you can’t be—”

He holds up his hand, halting her reply. “And before you say no, hear me out.”

Your mouth snaps shut in bewilderment.

“Doc said it was early. So, if we get married real soon—love-at-first-sight and all that—it’s still plausible to those without details everything is on the up and up, right?”

Your eyes narrow a little as you work through it. “I…I suppose so, if all goes well.”

A thought comes to him suddenly, threatening to ruin his plan, but he has to say it or he won’t forgive himself for not giving you the out. “I shoulda asked…I-I mean…there are other ways to solve this, less legal ones, but I’d pay for it if that’s what you want. I wouldn’t blame ya, considerin’ the circumstances,” he says almost bashfully.

It takes you a second to glean his meaning, your face going more ashen than it was already. “Oh. Oh, no. I…I’m Catholic. I don’t…that’s not an option for me.”

“Okay.” He nods, knowing he needs to continue, “T-There’s also adoption. I won’t force you to raise this baby, even if it looks bad for me…I-I-I would never do that to ya.”  

Your eyes fill with tears again, a gamut of emotions running through them. “I don’t think I want that either,” you say quietly.

The weight of that settles between them for a moment before he clears his throat. “Alrighty. I hate to ask this, but you said ‘four weeks’ earlier…so did he hurt you after we met? How—how long were y’all together?” It all leaves a bad taste in his mouth to ask, but he needs to know in order to make this work.

Your eyes close painfully. When you open them, there is resolve there, covering your suffering. “We weren’t. Not really. Gianni set his sights on me a long time ago, and my father…well, Gianni’s family is powerful, and Pop knew a marriage between us would raise his status in the famiglia. My mother didn’t want it, but when she died…well, I had to help raise my brothers, and I was too young, anyway. Then, I escaped by going to nursing school and managed to avoid him for a while, but…,” you take a deep, shuddering breath to keep going. “…but the day after we met in the hospital, he cornered me after my shift. He, um, proposed, and I froze. I didn’t say yes, but I-I was paralyzed, and he took that as acceptance. Then he brought me home to an empty house and…stole what he thought was already his.”

Elvis squeezes his fists so hard his knuckles go white. He has never been a particularly violent man, not finding pleasure in it like some men. Even in his bouts of bad temper, his anger is usually taken out on inanimate objects rather than people, but right now the rage he feels at Gianni is downright murderous. He’d like to rip this man’s heart out of his chest for what he’s done to you.

He swallows the bitter pill of his rage, though, tempered by the anguish in your eyes. A single tear streaks down your cheek and before he can stop himself, he’s cupping your face and pressing his forehead to yours.

“Never again, Little Bird. As long as I have breath in my lungs, nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

You suck in air sharply, then your body shudders on your exhale.

“You can’t promise that,” you whisper tearfully. “I can’t ask you to promise that.”

“Well, I am, and you know better than anybody I don’ take kindly to bein’ told what to do or not do, so you better save us all the trouble and jus’ accept it,” he says, and while there is humor in it, he’s never been more serious.

He fights every instinct in him that wants to kiss your lips, instead pressing his own to your forehead, wishing he could give you some semblance of peace. Pulling back before he does something stupid, he gently wipes your tear-stained cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. You let him, and he supposes that’s enough for right now.

“Does anyone know what he did, besides me?” he asks, hating that he must.

“No, not unless Gianni told someone. I didn’t even tell anyone he’d proposed. I just went to work and then Colonel offered me this job and I realized it was my only chance to escape. I didn’t even say goodbye to my brothers in person. I’m so sorry I lied and put you in this position,” you say, voice cracking with emotion.

“You were jus’ tryin’ to survive, honey. No one can fault you for that. I’m glad you got away.” And he is, he thinks, as he smooths your hair. He nearly gets trapped in the blue of your mournful eyes before he snaps himself out of it. He’s got to focus.

“The timeline works out, then, darlin’. Even if people believe we did the deed before marriage, there’s no reason for them to think it’s anyone’s but mine. Gettin’ married cements it, ‘specially with this new, a-dult image Colonel is tryin’ to push of me.”

Colonel is gonna hate this.

“Colonel is never—” you start, seemingly on the same wavelength.

“I know, which means there’s gotta be no doubt in anyone’s mind this baby is mine.”

Your eyes go wide in understanding. You haven’t said yes yet, but he knows how logical and practical you are. He’s got to make you see this is the only way.

“Will Colonel believe it, though? He knows we—I—didn’t take to this arrangement so easily in the beginning.”

“We gotta make him. And I think you continue to underestimate my powers of seduction,” he jokes, wiggling his brow, trying to lighten the increasingly heavy mood.

You sigh. “Be serious, Elvis.”

“I am. It doesn’t matter what really happened, honey, it matters what people think happened. And I’m bein’ honest when I say it won’t take much for most to believe we fell in love and you fell into my arms. Or vice versa. My, um, reputation’s gonna work in our favor.” Heat flames his cheeks, which he knows is silly, but he plays it off with a smirk.

Your eyebrow quirks, but you leave it at that.

He rambles on, “And I don’t know this, um, family of yours, but I’m guessin’ even Gianni is gonna have a hard time provin’ anythin’ if you’re married to one of the most famous men in the world. I can’t imagine even the mob will try an’ steal ya out from under me, so to speak. Not with our ‘love story’ pasted across the world in black and white for all to see. It keeps you and the baby safe.”

You go quiet and still, and he can see the wheels in your head turning. “I…okay. Maybe, just maybe, you’re on to something,” you finally relent.

His heart jumps and he can’t help the proud grin spreading across his face from your almost-praise.

“But Elvis, this is too much to ask of you. This is your life. I know you had no plans to get married, at least anytime soon—”

“Plans change,” he throws back, quickly and a little too adamantly.

“Not like this.”

“Things changed the minute I got this diagnosis, honey,” he adds soberly.

You go quiet, as though with everything going on you forgot what you were doing here in the first place.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” you apologize.

Elvis shrugs it off. But he doesn’t want your pity. No, he wants you safe, and he wants you to stay. And he’s man enough to admit this isn’t all for your benefit. He’s being selfish here, too, because, somehow, you’ve wrapped yourself around his heart and the idea of you ever leaving him fills him with despair.

You continue, “I hear what you’re saying, I do, but, Elvis, I’m afraid you’re not thinking this through entirely. You’re offering to raise another man’s child as your own, offering to marry someone who you don’t love…there’s no going back from that, especially when there’s a child involved.”

He swallows thickly, but not because he’s in doubt. Anything but. The image in his head of you smiling and laughing as he plays with the baby, of early morning whispers of love and sharing a bed in more than just name, of you helping fill the rooms of this damn mansion he bought for his mama with gorgeous blue-eyed children…it is so enticing and so close he can’t bear to think what might happen if you don’t say yes.

I love you.

And even if you can only give your trust in him to keep you safe and help raise your child and nothing else, he would still rather have you at his side and love you in secret than not have you at all.

God, how I love you.

If he let the words fall out of his mouth right now, would you agree, or would they send you running?

He can’t chance it. Not with the state you’re in now. So he steels himself instead, using the charm God gave him to get you to understand.

“Honey, I know what you’re sayin’, and it don’t change a thing.”

Those eyes of yours go wide, and he can tell there’s something you’re debating on sharing. A few moments pass while he lets you deliberate.

“Elvis, you need to know before…,” you trail off. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “This is it for me. Maybe it’s old fashioned, but with my beliefs, even in this insane situation, this wouldn’t be temporary. Gianni, my father…it’s possible they’ll never stop trying to get to me. And in my world, marriage is forever. Divorce is not an option. I…I can’t bear to think I’m the one ever keeping you from true happiness, from a love and children of your own. Instead, you’re getting a sullied wife who shackled you in a moment of need and who you’ll come to regret. I can’t have you regret me, Elvis.” Tears pool in your eyes and if he wasn’t already on his knees, he thinks this would have brought him there.

This is a tipping point, just like the moment the doctor handed him his diagnosis. Nothing will be the same after today, for either of you. God has a plan, he’d thought when you’d shown back up in his hospital room at just the right moment, and it hits him now—he swears on his dear mama—it was all leading to this.

“There’s no me without you anymore, darlin’. Who else is gonna take care of me? Who else can I trust with my life? I’m helping you and your baby, yes, but you’re keeping me alive, too. And you aren’t ‘sullied’,” he says with more conviction than he’s said anything before, his voice trembling with all the words he cannot say to you yet. He can only pray you see him, too.

The welling tears in your eyes overflow once more, and it cuts him to not know what you’re thinking, to think he’s the one making you cry this time.

“Don’t be sad, honey, please,” he whispers, begs. “I can’t bear to make you cry.” Unable to stop himself, he brushes your cheeks with his fingers, cupping one in his hand.

The way you lean into him is so slight he might be imagining it, but it’s enough to give him an ounce of hope, one he latches onto immediately.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad, not about you anyway. I’m crying because I can’t believe you’re willing to do this for me. You hardly know me,” you weep.

“I know enough.” And I’d do anything for you.

You close your eyes, dark lashes clumped with tears fanning across your cheeks. “Can you…can you give me a minute?” you say, not unkindly.

“Y-Yeah, yeah, o-of course,” he stutters, his heart fluttering nervously as he stands. Holding out his hand, he helps you up off the floor, making sure you’re steady on your feet before letting go. “I-I’ll be in there, when you’re ready.”

The door to the bathroom shuts behind him and he hears the faucet running. Waiting has never been his strong suit, which he’s brutally reminded of as the minutes tick by. He tries to sit on the bed, but he can’t keep still and jumps up immediately, running a hand through his hair while pacing the room.

But as much as he should be doubting his decisions, he’s not. He should be questioning his damn sanity, proposing to you like that—a woman he’s known all of a month who comes with more baggage than an airliner—but honestly, he’s never felt so sure of something in his life.

Sure, Elvis from five weeks ago may have sent him to the looney bin for offering to marry a girl and raise another (apparently very dangerous) man’s child, but that Elvis hadn’t been handed a death sentence and a ticking clock. That Elvis didn’t know his Little Bird.

That Elvis didn’t love her.

Hell, he’s much more worried you’ll leave out of some hairbrained thought he’s better off without you and get caught by Gianni, who he’s absolutely certain will hurt you in ways you never thought possible if he catches you.

No, Elvis isn’t scared you’ll say yes—he’s terrified you won’t.

He can’t begin to think of the despair he’ll feel if you disappear. Selfishly, he’s not sure he can stand to take another heartbreak, not now. It would be a cruel joke for God to put you in his life and then rip you away just when he needs you the most.

It makes him think of his mama and the gaping wound of her loss that’s only begun to heal. All Mama ever wanted for him was to be settled and happy, with a good woman by his side. He hadn’t understood why at the time. He’d wanted to focus on his career, to be free, to enjoy his youth and all the perks of his fame. But God humbled him right quick, first by sending him off to the Army, then by taking his mama. Since then, he’d spent too much time falling into the arms of woman after woman both drowning his sorrows and in the hopes he’d find the one to magically fill the void left in his heart.  

Yet all of it led a path straight to you. And there’s something serendipitous about it he can’t ignore, no matter how batty it all might seem.

So, he best convince you to stay.

After what seems like an eternity, the bathroom door swings open. Your color is still drawn and sallow, the dark circles under your deep-set eyes more pronounced than usual, but you are hauntingly beautiful. Silent, you glide your way towards him slowly, your face shuttered in that way of yours, giving nothing away. His blood thunders in his ears and he hopes you cannot hear it.

You stop before him, mere inches away. Anticipation itches under his skin as his pulse ratchets up. He jumps when you place your palm flat on his chest, right over his heart, the way he knows you do to ground yourself.

Well, hell, there’s no hiding now, not when he knows you can feel just how fast you have his heart beating. You’re probably counting his pulse and getting ready to tell him to relax.

But you don’t. You don’t speak at all. You stare at your hand over his heart and wait, but he’s not sure what for. It’s not until his lungs scream for air that he realizes he’s holding his breath. He feels like he’s going to float away and finds himself shakily breathing in. He knows you feel it. His hand covers yours, anchoring him to you, trying to prove he means everything he’s told you and so much more he can’t yet say.

Finally, your eyes raise up to meet his so intensely he might have been knocked off his feet if he wasn’t locked onto your hand so tightly, feeling his heart thrum against your palm.

“Lori—”

Your finger shushes him, pulling against the fullness of his lips. The touch is electric, zinging through every nerve in his body and buzzing around his chest. He doesn’t understand what’s happening until you’re on your tiptoes, your cold little hand pulling down on his jaw.

The two of you have kissed before, of course, but always for an audience, and even then, you’ve never once initiated it. So, when your lips meet his so softly, he’s taken aback with disbelief.

You don’t waver, however, through the milliseconds it takes him to recover his wits, waiting patiently until every sense in his body hums to life all at once. His heart swells and his belly tingles and then he’s kissing you back, as gently as he can, swearing he won’t be careless with you again.

He wants to devour you but doesn’t want to scare you, doesn’t want to ruin this blissful, unbelievable little moment where your lips are pressed so chastely against his own, using them to say all the things neither of you can seem to say out loud.

The sliver of logic still left in his brain tries to convince him this slice of vulnerability you’re sharing with him is likely nothing more than a show of gratitude, but his aching heart can’t tell the difference.

So there’s no helping the way his other hand falls to your waist, cinching there, pulling you closer. Your minty breath puffs against him in surprise, then he’s gently chasing your mouth with his, unable to stop himself—the hope of it all, of what could be, is too consuming. He can’t stop the way it blossoms through him, opening pieces of him he didn’t know existed.

It’s dangerous, this hope, but Lord have mercy, he can’t bring himself to care about the risks. Not when you’re in his arms like this. Not when he needs you like he needs oxygen.

This little kiss is like heaven, he realizes, because you are giving it freely. It’s not for show; it’s not begrudging or afraid. No, a kiss like this from you means only one thing:

It’s an answer.

A promise.

Or it’s a goodbye, you idiot.

The horror of that possibility squeezes his throat, threatening to choke him, but he pushes it away fiercely.

When the sweet kiss breaks, he finds himself winded even though he shouldn’t be, his head bowed and pressing into yours. He threads his fingers through yours over his wildly beating heart. Anything to keep you tethered to him.

Not one kiss out of the hundreds he’s had in his life has ever knocked him flat quite like this.

“You don’t have to do this, Elvis. You are offering me so much—too much—and I don’t know how much I can give you in return…I—,” you whisper, voice wavering.

“You’re enough,” he manages to get out, not wanting to hear the rest. And it’s true. God help him, it’s true.

You breathe in a little gasp of air, one that makes his heart flip. Then your crystal eyes raise to meet his.

“Then, yes, Elvis Presley, I’ll marry you.”

 *

TW: physical illness (fainting, vomiting), dissociation, Gianni and references to previous sexual assault, lots of cussing, unplanned pregnancy due to sexual assault, brief allusions to abortion

*

Thank you for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! It means the world! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[lime-ether]

Why the , fuck are you blocking your fans? They just repost artists that are Russians, and it’s not their fault that their Putin attacked you

I didn't want to write something like this on this blog but damn. I wanted to close this topic once and for all. There's quite a lot of text here but I'm just tired of being called guilty for the fact that I'm still alive

Ahem, The most important

Don't talk to me in Russian. Do I understand it? Unfortunately, Yes. But I don't want to see it here in my safe space. There is UKR/ENG in my description for a reason.

Maybe when you come to this blog, you think that I am a friendly creator who treats everything neutrally, but no.

If you repost, draw, promote any content in Russian or Russian projects - go away, I'm not happy for you here.

Imbeciles who have never experienced real thought and learn about the world solely through fandom love to tell you wrong with the certainty of a gnat. They relax in their armchairs, scroll through TikTok, think poverty means not owning a house, maybe an iPad, and maybe check one article a day on Twitter/ X — only if it's about pop culture. Then they slide in a news of someone who survived the bombing, acting like they're the moral police. If you know nothing and your understanding is woefully shallow, at least try to resist the urge to write all kinds of nonsense

"bUt wHy cAn't I tAlK aNd sPrEaD fUnNy rUs mEmEs" or "LANGUAGE CAN'T HARM YOU" of course. but the people who use it have killed my neighbors, my parents friends, my uncle, Friends and EVEN A NIECE WHO WAS NOT EVEN A YEAR OLD and many more than just my family.

destroyed other people's houses and my plans for the future

They wish death on each of us every day and the saddest thing is that I grew up with this I don't remember what it was like to live without war, do you think it was three years? 10 years? No. It was practically always like that

So you know they organized the Holocaust–Or famine , made 'fraternal' wars between Ukrainians, simply KILLED OUR NATION EVERY TIME, but we manage to resurrect ourselves almost every time, And every time they try to break us again. It's not just Putin who comes and kills everyone, it's a whole nation that steals, kills and erases important things from history, it's a nation that comes and steals and abuses and steals our children, or do a crimes to women or men.

The most big thing

I hate when westerns joke about 'soviet'

But what I hate most is when they hypocritically repost pro-Palestinian posts and are completely calm about Russians who post what a good day they are having after bombing another residential area

If you are a western that somehow supports Russians and reposts their work, arts, animation, game's, Creation

you are a bad person for me, I'm disappointed in you, get out of here, And don't you dare come back here.

Because Is it THAT HARD for you to at least try to understand what other people might be feeling? It's so hard to check that the person you follow pays taxes and continues to support the nightmare?

[calisources]

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑼𝑫𝑶𝑹𝑺. all sentences have been taken from the showtime drama, the tudors. change names, locations, pronouns as you see fit. this is a redo of another meme.

“Without knowledge, life is not worth having.”

“I have come here to die. I die a Queen, but I would rather die the wife of Culpeper.”

“One day I shall lie beside you again, I promise and we shall sleep together for eternity.”

“Your Majesty's life is far too precious to be put at risk against such a common rabble.” 

“Of course, if you choose to go, you'd be like a lion among wolves.”

“My friend, if all ambassadors were beautiful women I'd be serving my country day and night.”

“You hate him like a scorpion. And why? Because he would not satisfy your ambition.”

“Diplomacy is nearly always settled by such proximity.”

“I call Mary my English mare, because I ride her so often.”

“You are a poet as I am a woman. Poets and women are always free with their hearts, are they not?”

“There's something deep and dangerous in you, Anne, those eyes of yours are like dark hooks for the soul.”

“As a humanist I share your opinion. As a King, I'm forced to disagree.”

“Though I love Your Majesty and I'm loyal to you, in every way, I cannot disguise my distress and unhappiness.”

"I should only ever tell the king what he ought to do, not what he could do. For if the lion knows his own strength, no man could control him."

"Blessed lady, Queen of Hearts, there will be even greater crowds than these to welcome you when you return to London."

"For every scholar that votes for you...I could find a thousand who would vote for me."

"You and I are both young, and with God's grace, boys will follow."

"You have no one to blame but yourself for this.”

“I was a true maid without touch of men. And whether or not it be true, I put it to your conscience.”

"Seduce me. Write letters to me. And poems, I love poems. Ravish me with your words. Seduce me."

"I have never known another man....and nor would I ever want to."

"If I had to choose between extreme sorrow and extreme happiness, I would always choose sorrow, for when you are happy you forget about spiritual things, you forget about God.But in your sorrow, He is always with you."

"Chastity? You talk to me about chastity when you have a mistress and two children, your Eminence."

“This, I vow, that my eyes desire you above all things.”

“As a humanist I have an abhorrence of war. It's an activity fit only for beasts yet practiced by no kind of beasts so constantly as by man.”

“What if the King doesn't know what's in his best interests?”

“If you want to keep the love of a prince, this is what you must do: You must be prepared to give him the thing you most care for, in all the world.”

“Lady Anne is so beautiful, it is the duty of every man to love her. Of course I loved her, but from a distance.”

“You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me.”

“My only satisfaction is that in frustrating you I hasten your fall from the King's good graces, an outcome I desire above all others.”

“Mistress Boleyn, you should not abuse the Queen's honor with such language!”

“He was a lion in my defense. Now he will die ashamed and alone in a prison cell.”

“Then here's the truth. You must shut your eyes and endure  like your betters have done before you!”

“Don’t you know that I can drag you down as quickly as I raised you?”

“I am more convinced than ever that he is the agent of Satan. If I could, I would strip him from the King's side- and burn him.”

"I know of no Queen of England but my mother. And I will accept no Queen but my mother."

“If the King's mistress would intercede with him on my behalf, then I would be grateful."

"Lady, you must know how beloved you are to the people—as was your mother before you, God rest her soul."

“I'm a lot older than I was when I first knew you. And wiser.”

“have no heir. The Tudor Dynasty, all my father's work, finished, and it's MY fault!”

“He will tire of you, like all the others.”

“You know perfectly well what the King desires and what he shall have.”

“You can't have 3 people in a marriage!”

“I am surprised to receive such a request from such a wise and noble man as you.”

“ I am but a poor woman, lacking in both wit and understanding. How am I supposed to respond to such a request made to me out of the blue?”

“I know what you are trying to do, but do not think to take the King away from me. Let him play with you. Let him give you gifts. But he cannot give you his true heart.”

“I make you this promise. When we are married, I will deliver you a son.”

“I was wondering if you'd like to become my mistress.“

“The brat is now officially a bastard.”

“Everything will change for her. That kiss is her destiny and fortune.”

“People of England, your King is unharmed!”

“An important question, whether it is better for a king to be feared or loved.”

“I do imagine there are some at court who would like to see the Queen replaced.”

“Lady Bryan, if I cannot please the King, will he kill me?”

“For he who possesses the heir to the throne will very soon possess the throne itself.”

[brothermoth]

the left wing of the ostrich

You know what? This is the fault of young people being so fucking stupid and unable to educate themselves with the vast fucking resources they have available. I don't give a shit how good or bad your formal schooling was. The internet is free and you can learn these skills entirely on your own by simply not being a goddamn reactionary fool.

You're not a fucking anarcho-communist or a Marxist leninist feminist or whatever the fuck y'all are spouting now. You're an uneducated shitheel who thinks calling yourself the most left sounding thing is going to make you better. You've never read Marx or Engles and I doubt half of you even understand the theory you claim to follow.

I'm not blaming this on anyone with a learning disability who has difficulty accessing educational materials by the way. This is about people who make a willful choice to be radicalized online. This is about people who do not have the common sense to pull their head out of their ass.

Gen z (I fucking hate generation labels but it is largely people 18-30 that this problem comes from) is one of the least educated groups of people with some of the lowest reading levels since public education became widely available.

These are people without an ounce of fucking kindness or goodwill in their heart who feel so much apathy toward any one group of people that they are not even willing to do anything but stare like a fucking fool and let shit happen.

Radfems get off your high fucking horses—you had a hand in this. If your feminism isn't based on basic human fucking empathy then you're nothing but a shill doing absolutely fuck all for women or anyone else for that matter. You're a bastardization of feminism and you should be fucking ashamed.

Anti voting cunts? Genuinely I want you to sit and spin. Your fake empathy is pathetic. You don't get to put myself and everyone I care about in front of the bus so you can get on your moral pedestal about being against genocide. Your hands are stained with fucking blood. You're an idiot and your stupidity and your silence is murderous. You had a chance to get off your ass and DO something that fucking mattered for the people in your own community and you basically told us we are not worth it. The man who wanted to shoot protestors will absolutely be beneficial for Gaza. Right.

You're such lukewarm activists that you believed misinformation about Kamala Harris that was so easy to just fucking verify. (No she did not imprison people for weed. She was in fact supportive of lessened sentences and education for prisoners so they can find jobs when they're free. She has done a LOT for people and she was put in a very difficult position where she could not risk losing the large pool of moderate voters.)

Hey "activists"! Do you know how your own fucking government works?

THE VICE PRESIDENT CANT DO SHIT. KAMALA HARRIS HAS LITTLE TO NO SAY ON WHETHER OR NOT WEAPONS GO TO ISRAEL.

Hell, BIDEN doesn't have much sway over that decision. Congress is red and they make the majority of foreign policy decisions you fucking stupid cunts.

Trans Americans will never forgive you. Black Americans will never forgive you. Poor Americans, disabled Americans, Latino Americans, Native Americans, Asian Americans and all the others.

I hope you regret the choices you made. Christ, I hope it fucking haunts you. Trump voters were always going to vote trump without hesitation but you? You had to play leftist and call every marginalized person who pleaded with you a liberal. You're pathetic. If I could spit on you via internet, I would.

Put your fucking head back in the sand. You can stop pretending to care now.

[greenroom2015]

So people talk about how Harry and Kim’s t4t relationship is important for both of them and that’s awesome! But I also think that the only way that Harry could ever meaningfully move forward in her development as a trans woman and a feminist is by having an important relationship with another trans woman.

Like, the in-game interaction Harry has with another heavily trans woman-coded character is with Klaasje, right? And it’s the first time that she feels that frisson of recognition, the do-I-want-to-fuck-her-or-be-her, but there’s no way for them to have an actual relationship. It’s no accident, I think, that her hair is the same color as Dora’s; like Dora/Dolores, Klaasje figures in Harry’s cosmology as a star to follow. And, like Dora, Klaasje is someone that Harry can never be cool to because she’s not a new person. The way they meet is as a trans woman in a precarious legal state and a male cop. There’s no way Klaasje doesn’t feel it too— there’s this clear vibe between them that Klaasje herself seems surprised by, and then there’s the infamous Half-Light dialogue about how Harry “know[s] how it is,” but Klaasje is closing herself off to it; she can’t risk it, making herself vulnerable to someone who is likely to hurt her, who has the power to hurt her very badly, and whose own gender shit is the opposite of a guarantee against that harm. And she’s right to! It’s no trans woman’s responsibility to mother a baby trans through this kind of helplessness in the first place, let alone at such risk to her own person. It’s even in the text that Harry is dangerously close to threatening her with the law or hurling violently misogynistic language at her and that choosing not to goes against every RCM protocol, every patriarchal protocol, even her own tired set of misogynist behaviors, because like a lot of rotten eggs Harry did some really fucked up shit while she was doing conversion therapy on herself and old habits die hard. Learning and growing, getting right with the world by living out a feminist politic, is what the game overtly frames as a crucial element of what a second chance in the existing world looks like. But, it cautions, you can’t make real live women into your arena for growth. Klaasje and Harry part ways, and that’s the way it should be. There’s no other way that could go.

But, well. You know how it is. Self-criticism is important and the only way to grow, the game has a proper grasp on the Marxist theory of knowledge in this way, but it’s also astute in its presentation of Harry’s Sorry Cop tendencies. Through Jean, through Dora, we learn that Harry has apologized over and over pre-amnesia and it never meaningfully changed anything. Succumbing to a deluge of self-loathing isn’t the same as ruthless self-critique because if you’re critiquing yourself you’re expecting to grow from it, not to shrink or die. And just as in our world it’s so, so easy to turn trans women’s guilt and shame over “male socialization” into a cudgel to get them to self-police and become more open to manipulation and abuse, Harry would be so easily convinced that apologizing for just being herself is the only way to make the, well, everything about her remotely okay. She would hate herself for desiring Klaasje, for desiring women generally, for the awful things she did in her past, for the way she looks, for things she thinks are her fault and were in fact things that were done to her, and thus her underlying semiconscious assumption would be that she doesn’t really deserve womanhood or solidarity or intimacy with other working women. 

It’s true that Kim’s presence in her life will be very important in helping her learn to love her body and be less afraid of that part of herself, but stopping there misses something very crucial: if the only person in Harry’s life who validates her gender is a man, especially one who is her boyfriend, that’s not a good thing! The trans women I know who are the most secure and confident in themselves are those who have important relationships with other trans women; woman cannot live on het t4t alone. My ideal candidate for this woman is someone who lives on the other side of the fence from Harry, who had some bad experiences with men in her past and copes by semi-consciously viewing herself as a cis lesbian who’s adjacent to a lot of trans people, and with whom Harry can simultaneously start healing (and have hot lesbian sex ofc). One day maybe I’ll fully flesh out this OC and write a fic but for now this text post will have to do.

[essence-inked]

I feel like a lot of discourse could be solved by the notion that the following statements can all be reasonable and accurate at the same time:

People who've been hurt are not responsible for the actions of those who mistreated them, and when they are inevitably upset about being hurt, that does not mean that they are at fault for any additional actions taken by the people mistreating them due to being called out for causing said hurt. Responsibility falls on whoever is taking the action in question.

Being mistreated doesn't give you the right to mistreat others; there is a difference between being upset/defending yourself or others and flipping things to become the person doing the harm/bigotry/etc. yourself.

Actions have consequences - avoiding bigots (read: people who are actually explicitly bigoted, not people who are in a privileged group) in order to not be hurt again, being open and honest about harm caused, and being vocal about a problem (yes, this includes loud and disruptive protests) are all pretty reasonable reactions.

Harmful systems often do behave like cults, and the damage they do is very real. Discounting that doesn't solve the problem and it needs to be analyzed, but getting taken in by a cult doesn't count as a free pass for everyone to be cool with what you did while in said cult - forgiveness is not mandatory, and people are allowed to bow out of talking to someone who hurt them or others. Hell, people are allowed to bow out of talking to someone just because they feel like it - "because I don't want to" is a complete explanation.

What needs to happen to create change is situationally dependent. Sometimes it's more effective to be kind to people even though they're massive raging assholes, and win them over with compassion. This is especially true if the person is a victim of a cult (yea, victim, because someone can be a perpetrator and a victim at the same time, and those things don't cancel each other out). Sometimes it's more effective to be harsh and make someone understand that bigotry and hate will not be tolerated. In whichever case, you are responsible for your action, and need to own it, just like the people you're dealing with are responsible for their own.

It is simultaneously not your job to take the blame for other people's actions, and also this does not relinquish you from your ability to work to make things better. And how you solve things is going to depend on the specific circumstances (though as far as I'm concerned, "do no harm, but take no shit" is a pretty solid approach).

Like. I really can't believe I need to say this, but the discourse about women driving men to the alt-right is getting bonkers out there.

Please, guys. Can we not do the infighting here for once, and actually work to solve the problem?

[ceilidho]

Ah, the hate anons strike again 😔 I used to be in the yandere visual novel community and you wouldn't believe the amount of nasty people sending innocent creators the most heinous awful messages on anon, to the point all of my friends (and me) turned off anon on our blogs :( it even got to the point where a dear friend of mine had to threaten to sue these people for harassment because they almost got doxxed... I hope you and Bo don't have to get to that point but if you do, it's not your fault!!

Speaking from experience I think the best thing you can do is just block those anons (I think you're able to do that, I'm not sure tho) and just not give them attention, because that's exactly what they want :/ anyways I wish you and Bo and other COD darkfic writers the best in this situation <33

Yeah I’ve had people in my comments on ao3 tell me I must’ve been raped as a child, that I must hate victims and women, that there’s something wrong with me. And like! They’re saying that to a real person behind a screen!

I know for sure they just want attention and tbh I just deleted the majority of the asks I got because I also know that there’s no way I’m going to get though to some people. Again though that’s fine; everyone is free to decide who to follow or block. I just also want to be open and transparent about the hate that I’ve personally gotten for my own writing. It’s not fun! There’s a reason I moderate my comments on ao3 and I have for over a year. For a while I didn’t even allow anon comments because of the frankly disgusting messages I’d get from people.

[lovemyromance]

I have a little rant lol.

In general, the entire acotar fandom is immature and toxic (I honestly think its gotten so bad since nesta's book came out). Most of these people are grown women and men arguing back and forth about characters and ships. It's bad enough that its been going on for years that its sad. "I'll laugh at the elriels or gwnyriels or the eluciens if their ship isnt endgame" Do the people who say that realize how embarrassing they are? Many people are going to have good and terrible theories but bashing people and harassing people over fictional characters is just immature. I also hate when they say "its that [insert ship] the one who is being the most toxic and weird" NO. its all of you. None of us know who is going to be endgame no matter the theories you have or anything. YOU DONT KNOW. So, please, can we stop this already? its getting annoying and weird. This fandom has made it incredibly difficult to know who the next book is going to be about when its right in front of their eyes. Sarah has not made it impossible to know who the next will be about and I think thats why shes been so quiet about because everyone is being so aggressive about this ship war. I just know the moment she announces the couple, she'll get a ton of hate when its not even her fault because people love to twist her words on paper and thinks she's probably doing that but it could mean a whole other thing. Yall have let theories get to your head and twisted words so much that I think it's incredibly unhealthy for all of you to be acting this way. Stick with who you ship or love and of course, you can have beautiful theories, but toxicity is not necessary. No need to go back and forth about who is the real "endgame".

I mean yeah this fandom is insane. Sometimes as I'm aggressively typing out a reply to an anon who calls me a delusional psychotic bitch bc I made an Elriel post they didn't like, I genuinely just blink and think what the fuck am I doing?

It's partly why I didn't want get involved. At all.

I still try to keep to myself. Only even entertain the antis if they come to my posts. I stick to my own tags.

But there are people - and you're right they are from both sides, as I have also said multiple times on my blog -that go out of their way to start a fight on posts they know aren't meant for them.

These are the people that are making this fandom so toxic. Like I understand, no one person can be responsible for a fandom's collective behavior, but you can be responsible for yourself at the very least.

I have always made it clear what i believe acceptable behavior for discourse in this fandom is and isn't. It's not something I can personally enforce for others, but I can follow myself.

It really is crazy how out of hand this fandom has gotten because other people can't control themselves. If I see an anti Elriel post I don't like (and I don't follow any tags, actually, so I see ALL the ships posting), I have the self control to ignore it and keep scrolling.

This fandom has been overrun by childish adults, intent on being louder than the rest. It's crazy how many disgusting things have been said over just fictional characters, it makes me wonder what these people are like in real life.

At the end of the day - there's going to be a book and one side is going to be proven right. It's not worth all these vitriol that's been spewed across all sides just to "be right". I at least, would be perfectly fine to read an Elucien book. If Elriel does happen, I'm certainly not going to lord it over anyone's head and laugh.

Not worth my time. Not worth my energy.

[horizon-verizon]

Why do you think they made Aemond a victim of sexual assault as a young 13 years old boy and by an older woman no less? I'm talking about the brothel scene in 1x09 in which he recalls Aegon taking him there when he was 13. Is this some sick way for the writers to establish his future interest in Alys who is also much older than him? Maybe this is another reason why certain parts of the fandom find it hard to believe that he would ever be capable to take a woman as his war prize and it is because he was a victim himself, although being a victim and a perpetrator are not mutually exclusive things.

HotD Episode 9 Scene referred to:

Aemond: Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk on my 13th name day. It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was. At least that's what I understood him to mean.

Criston: I don't follow.

Aemond: He said, "Time to get it wet."

Criston: Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence. (to the Woman) Sometime last night, we misplaced our drinking companion. Knowing that he has been, in the past, a patron of your fine establishment, we thought to inquire here as to his whereabouts. And describe him. That is a delicate matter. You see, the man we seek is the young Prince Aegon. I may trust, I hope, in the discretion of your trade.

Woman: The Prince is not here. Has he been here? Earlier, perhaps? Quite a bit earlier. Years ago, in fact.

Criston: But more recently?

Woman: He does not frequent the Street of Silk. His tastes are known to be... less discriminating.

Criston: Meaning what?

Woman: I wish you luck, good Ser. And my best to your friend. (to Aemond) How you've grown.

Aemond: Hmm.

I would put the major fault of Aemond getting close to a sex worker on his brother Aegon than the sex worker.

As for the specific woman in the scene you're talking about, I think because of this very fact of Aegon's male privilege and status as prince, that that woman was supposed to tease or mock Aemond, seeing how Show!Aemond was so....reluctant to acknowledge her? Is that the right word for this?

But to actually answer the question, yes this is absolutely a way for the writers to set up his relationship with Alys Rivers...

Even though it is very clear that even though Alys is around a little like 20 years older than Aemond in the book, she would have been violently raped or murdered (and a person in her position would have felt this was a strong possibility) if she had seriously resisted Aemond -- the boy-man with fighting skills trained into him since he was at least 10, a foul temper (book version), too up in his own privilege, and a whole ass army behind him. Alys was his war prize, his "reward" and "claim" of power.

For the writers to then show this encounter to emphasize Aemond's vulnerability and show none of, or reduce his evil (in several other ways that I wrote about) is to rewrite and victimize him into an accountable-lessness state. They should not be mutually exclusive, but the show, by god, will make it seem that way.

You will hear green stans telling everyone that we should feel sorry for Aemond getting preyed on by his own war prize, uwu, and how this is still somehow such a morally positive romantic relationship at the same time.

So "we" (they) hated Daemon for supposedly grooming Rhaenyra, but not Aemond for raping a woman because we think that her being older than him changes everything. That his being a prince, a warrior, having a dragon, having killed every single male Strong (adults and children) himself publicly in front of all the survivors, and an army does not matter at all.

This is similar to what happened to the Criston-Rhaenyra thing where people totally discounted how Rhaenyra, being a woman, has less advantages even as heir, Viserys actually being Criston's authority, AND Criston actually had more room to say no than a woman in his position. Because no woman of any class or religion ever was and is not a Kingsguard (since women can't even be knights).

By the way, love that Criston says that all women should be respected and are "images of the Mother" and talks to the woman in the scene as if he does respect her (except the "fine establishment" part) yet in episode 6, he calls Rhaenyra a "cunt" in front of Alicent, freely.

So there is a loose condition on his "respect" for women. some women are more "sacred" than others. Rhaenyra chose to have extramarital sex and had children out of it, who are all great people, yet he thinks she is a "cunt" and a slut. This woman that he speaks to in episode 9 is clearly a sex worker, and while there's nothing morally wrong with being a sex worker, this is not the modern era where we're loosening judgment and this is not a man who has any sort of compassion for people who his society marginalizes or vilifies.

Hypocrites stay hypocrites.

[minthe-lover]

I think we are in an era of confusion here. People try to cancel everything some don't agree with them. Isn't it though common sense to respect a different opinion? Didn't our parents and school taught us that? Like it's basic polite behaviour, also more democratic.

But no entitled people on the Internet try to force their opinions by calling you slurs if you don't agree. They play with emotion and ignore the facts. In LO they try desperately to make the series look good and even the author herself sides with them, like they are a little mean girls group.

Also the author herself doesn't take criticism well. Of course i have trouble with criticism as I am a little sensitive but i would try to improve. But what does an author with million readers of her work does? Creates a toxic fandom...no wonder many are leaving then the series is that even logical? For her work to have people not supporting her anymore?

People have a very screwed sense of scale, there is difference people media with bad story, media with bigotry and a bigot piece of media. There are very much media that is just a bigoted piece of shit that should never have been made, alot of which are still being made and given support (just look at the movie the whale.. that story is just fatphobia and ableism)

There is alot criticism that is unfounded and often bigoted, um go watch hbomberguys analysis of rwby he has a section that makes good points about this that I am just fully stealing. Where yeah alot of bigots use the excuse of criticism as a shield to hate of media which again is shitty behavior that should be called out... And then blocked but there is also alot of good faith criticism out there. Authors shouldn't waste their time on bad faith criticism, they often step over people making good faith criticism to either just point out bad faith criticism or use that to paint all critic as horrible.

The honestly surprising thing about lo.. is just how little actually bad faith criticism is. I'm sure it exists, it is the internet and their is alot of people who would be mad simply by a women talking in a comic but like 90% of the critics and doing it cause they do enjoy lore Olympus. Most of them used to be fans, alot are still in the fandom. We're making art and stories, we have a community around lore Olympus.. it's just not fully blind praise.. and that's okay.

People need to have a better scale, and understand that just cause a piece of media you enjoy has something bad in it doesn't make it's all bad. People can enjoy media ironically or critically and that is okay, it's fun to have discussions like this... It can be alot of fun!

It's also important to know that on the internet, you will see things you don't like. It isn't the fault of the person posting it, you have to curate your own experience. Block tags, block people don't go into discourse or discussions you aren't ready for. Block over the smallest thing.. doesn't matter if it's just a single post that you find a bit annoying. Like Christ I've block probably ten times more that I've followed, your on tumblr.. this is the best social media to truly curated your own experience... So do it-

[artcalledwind]

Tha Greatest of Now Leaders

In a male’s point of view

I’m sorry for the forwarded to those spouses

You kill the World

To all whatever they call themselves

You wives of them

Are the next to Leadership Failures

Blimey, manager or executive officer

Bloody blame assistants

Well Ladies

The balls were fore-d in your court

By me

I don’t hold ovaries

Or let alone two boobies

I have a dangle between

Me legs

It’s all your faults, women

Can’t guide just succumb to the Man

Your man in control

Over you

And them and all of us

Their reaches reach there too

And the Men follow suit

Or want one

I blame you in 2024

All Women of the World

You figures in America

Men’s Abortion Rule

Who named it

Who voted on the name

Not you

Hold or mis carriage on your own

Or the matters of facts

Or you may know a guy

Could be a group of ‘em

The treasures of greatest now

Our Leaders

Keep that delivery

Male delivered

Know matter the matters

Know matter the female

Know care for new Mother

They control you and a whole lot of lesbians and trans in what ever biological setting

You

Are not even up with It

You wearing dunce caps

For thee obvious design in Female

Not my choice if I knew what I know before birth

I would have picked male

Give me the prick

It hangs daily

I was born 1974

You have been way older in histories

Always dumped

Dumped upon

You Dumpster as through histories

Ladies

Women

Girls

Female

You can call out different

Well I was born male flaccid but when aroused hard

You’re mostly likely married to a Now Leader

It’s thee offensive

I’m tasting

From my days of

Wash or not

That gave me a 50/50

But leadership wives

You all suck at marriage

You all suck mostly at job

Keep him from killing others

And you failed but have money for spending

All days over and over again

That gash

With power

Over the World

No one see’s

Dripping all day in money Bitches

I’m not really

Ah um ha oh

Not a sexist

I just know of powers smartly not utilized

But the World is as

Well it should of been better already

Who’s the knocked from behind

I live 2024

Don’t get mad at me, I’m 50

I would state

Dumbshits

No matter ur gender

Are you top?

Or Bottom?

Maybe in between?

Depending on years there

The same crisis

Are here now

And females should now have some better kind of male control

But they don’t

Matter of the World

More controlled

Blow me in the morning

Or blow me while I’m eating you

Abuse me in the afternoon

Say you love me in the evening

Then fuck me goodnight

I’m a could be leader

Your job

Was

Now I gotta kill people in war corporate it don’t matter woman

You could’ve made a difference

With in a War in Gaza

Ukraine still goin on

Immigration

Clean water

And leaderships spent its time with

Oh like a Trump

Money can pay for not being here

Ask a Wife?

All problems

A Female

The greatest of Leadership Now

You females in positions

Does your man guide as those woman should?

Whatever gender

You all mostly doing all wrong

Or just continuing

That’s sinister also

See I’m not sexist?

Fucking spouse’s of Leader’s around a Globe

Most know the Globe or is it gloop

Gloop those all whatever sex of lovelies

Beholding our Leadship

Failing

Compromised Upon Earth

Its a WOMAN ‘ s Fault

Man made fallout

to this destruction on the 2024 after Christ years it April late month have you or not missed your period dear female controlled Planet

All men should know when ovulating

Where a period

We may not hate you so much

In your irredisregard

On the Planet

It’s you that control us the Leaders!

Stimulating

Not vibrating news

It’s not about you, Females

It’s for the sakes of all people on the World

The people on the Moon

I don’t think really care

We can’t know what there waiting for

Get it together that’s my whole complaint

I’m a male here on Earth dominated by Men

But I know I feel on the inside and those sitting on the Moon are waiting on same assholes

I don’t want the people of the Moon to come down here to set things straight

What I want wish regard as in this life

Are for these Damn Females too

I’m blaming all outlooks on them

Those so near the leadership

Classes I showed seek

For such talks

Its relative human

Way longer than necessary

Way longer then

Necessarily speaking upon

The greatest of our time now

I’m crying while thinking

I tear so believing

In all Nixon so later characters

He helped them WOW

Whoah

I never wanted to plug her

You What ! say too much!

[mithliya]

"but i disagree with ur argument that it’s like. an accepted and normal thing. again, the majority of radblr are bisexuals, the ppl who were prejudiced against bisexuals in such a blatant way were always criticised and being called out and i know this bc i’ve been on here for years at this point and had personally called out many of those ppl who were already basically pariahs outside their own little radblr cliques."

what does it being mostly bisexuals have to do with anything? lots of bisexuals hate other bisexuals most of all. like that imdb person that said bi rape victims are just whiners trying to play 'most oppressed' if they talk about biphobia or that drpepperwoman that said bi victims of abuse shouldn't complain because she as het-partnered bi doesnt feel oppressed so the rest of us must be exaggerating or lying. And plenty of people encourage them and tell them how cool and awesome they are for "standing up" to other bisexuals. Lots of non-bisexuals encourage them.

I don't know how you can think it's not an accepted and normal thing because that is entirely different from my experience. plenty of people that were very friendly with the blackpills are still around and popular, like that like-a-ruby, tenko-irl, desisapphic, lesbian-king-kai and lots of people that reblog from them too less vocally. it's not like I now most of the names tbh only the ones I have seen repeatedly over time. Or like kronkk throwing a tantrum and saying she doesn't care about the blackpills and that they're right and she "loves mean lesbians" and then deleting all those posts when other lesbians started to react badly. or people like piqued-curiosity who say she disagrees with them but always goes out of her way to defend then and say they need compassion and healing, then passes around essays calling bi women dick worshipers and saying bi rape victims are just weaponizing abuse and she calls it insightful and smart, and that rape victims just need to learn critical thinking skills and not zero in on that because those aren't the parts that matter. No one seems to understand that we have every right to get mad at people like her that treat our abuse like an acceptable target even if they claim to disagree with it. And there's weird borderline shit like heterophobic saying she thinks most people are really bisexuals, and heterosexuals are also a sexual minority, basically saying homophobia is the fault of bisexuals because they are the majority and they enforce it. It can't just be that heterosexuals are manipulative and homophobic liars, it must be they are bisexual. Or her saying bisexuals don't experience the core of homophobia, so I guess when we're raped and abused thats some het bullshit that doesnt have to do with real homophobia. Or the lots of women that say weird shit about bi men, anything from that sports are homophobic only because of bi men, to saying bi men need to be exterminated because they hurt all other demographics. Bi women are not stupid we can see that's biphobia that will carry against us too if it was more acceptable.

and most of all maybe you don't see it because radblr is huge, it's not like just you and your followers, it's several circles with sometimes only tiny overlaps. I often dont see these lesbophobes or know who they are until you reblog them to call them out either but that doesn't mean I don't believe you that they're a problem in other circles. maybe you simply don't know the people passing bullshit around bi women all the time but that doesn't mean its not tolerated in some groups. And most of all just like lesbophobia, homophobia, and racism are still a problem I don't know why you think homophobia against bi people was magically solved. Of course its there just like all the rest.

okay after i read this message i now understand that the reason u don’t see them as a fringe group is bc you consistently read things said by both bisexual women & lesbians you disagree with in the most uncharitable and bad faith way possible bc i know some of the stuff you referenced and it wasn’t as you described it

[nicollekidman]

st patty's tipsy so that's my excuse but abby i am here and knocking on your door and spilling into your house to share a drink and green-tinged edible brownies with you and to talk about dogs and being kept. to say that for all the crimes of s&b (book and show) there is something about kazinej and malina. something like. they ard very different obviously. obviously. but. kaz is kind of murdery in a nasty way, like he enjoys getting silly with it (it= scaring the shit out of people. also murder). inej battling the allegations that she is a murderous wraith by being pious, by being selective about her murders and condemning kaz when he asks her to kill certain people but doing it for him anyway - the struggle to be Good matters soo much to her. men who calls themselves monsters with a kind of bitter pride and young women who are trying really really hard to be Good but are negotiating with what it means to sometimes have power over others andd who actually would/do kill violently under circumstances and sometimes even feel good about it!! and like kaz is not a good person but he Is. the darkling is not a good person but if kaz had lived a few hundred years before meeting inej he would easily be on that level of nasty. jessie serving horny alina when she uses her powers for the first time..... girls and knives and captivity and men who are insane simps for them. self-hating-but-not-really monsters obsessed with myth-making their own faults. myth-making their wraiths their sun summoners. nasty monsters who are Not Normal about women who try to be Good........

and then. And then!! they reach across the funhouse-mirror parallelism because of the knife. That Knife. you Give a Girl a Knife.....i am just saying thatt these are four people who love blood and gravity and drama and being psychosexually obsessed with their own and each other's saintliness vs monstrosity. also i think kaz and the darkling would like very badly to be kept as small dogs by these women. they are so Stupid. kings of phantom thread romance because they would love alina and inej to poison them and tell them to slow down a little. unrelated but if they were all fucking each other, the four of them i mean, there would either be so much collateral trauma and casualty that their relationship could feasibly be called a war crime, or it would calm all of them the fuck down and bring about world peace ✌️ here finish the wine, i gotta go home but text me later xoxo

you scared the SHIT out of me by accidentally typing malina but then followed it up with such a sexy message thank god. i will comment on this later but rest assured we are on the same wavelength! you get it!!