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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 15 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

TW: Mentions of Blood/Miscarriage/Medical trauma. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: The ANGST is real, y'all, and I'm not letting you off the hook after Part 14, sorry! This one was a beast to get out of my brain and the block was real for so many reasons, but we made it! It's here! Just so y'all know, this part is very much a bridge to all the crazy stuff that is to come. Reader is going through it and taking all of us with her. And I promise that more smut is coming (if you are only here for that, you horny animals! LOL). Please make sure you read the trigger warnings for this part because there are some sensitive topics that carry over from Part 14!

Thank you for being so patient while I got this out. Unexpected life crap/emotions/writer's block killed me on this one, and I SO appreciate you hanging in there with me! I rewrote the beginning of this part no less than four times, and FINALLY it clicked so here we are! Hooray! Thanks for helping me get through this!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

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

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

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

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

No!

The scream catches in your throat as you wake with a start, clutching your belly in a panic, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you feel like it is attempting to flee your chest. It takes a moment to figure out where you are. The night is warm and the sky is vast, and you are so far up you feel like you’re still dreaming.

“Baby, are you okay?” Elvis sits up straight in his lounge chair and turns to you. You can see, or better sense, the concern in his eyes, even in the darkness. This sends a shiver of recognition down your spine as your dream (or is it a memory?) flashes back to you in fragments. His eyes are older now, but the look remains the same, feels the same.

“I..I..I…” you stutter, shaking your head, unable to be coherent. No, you are not okay. Looking down, you half expect to see blood pooling between your legs, but thankfully there is none. You feel stuck in the haze between reality and dreams, or reality and what you are afraid might actually be the past.

You feel like screaming, but the impulse sticks in your throat, strangling you.

There was a reason, you think, that you never remembered that horrible night from nearly a decade ago. That you’d only been able to piece together snippets of what really happened from vague accounts of the people you’d been with that night. Elvis, in particular, had been purposefully scarce on details.

And you had been fine with that, truly not wanting to relive your trauma in any way, shape, or form. You’d even been grateful when the doctor told you it was normal for your mind to protect you from your near-death experience, that you might never remember the details of that night, and you determined the memory loss a blessing.

When you’d woken in the sterile hospital, drugged and dazed, the doctor told you’d had an ectopic pregnancy, that the baby—no, the “fertilized egg,” he’d said—had gotten stuck in your fallopian tube instead of your uterus. Unfortunately, your fallopian tube ruptured as the baby grew, and you had massive hemorrhaging, nearly dying in that skating rink. They were able to do surgery and stop the bleeding, but the baby was gone, and you were told it never would have come to term.

It was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. The grief and heartache, the disappointment, the feeling like an utter failure that your body had betrayed you in such a way. No, you were fine not remembering the details. You’d wanted to forget all about it. It didn’t matter to you that the specifics weren’t there, that not everyone’s stories lined up or made complete sense. You just wanted to push it all away.

But now…this dream felt so incredibly real, at least the parts that you remembered. As dreams do, it begins to fade, leaving only a few missing puzzle pieces that start to slot into place. Desperately, you try to wipe it all away again, but it’s too late. You are trying to convince yourself it had to be a dream, that the flashes you are remembering (or more so feeling), couldn’t have possibly happened that way. Except many of the parts you do remember are true and really happened: Elvis’ coming home, how you’d been so inexplicably enamored with him, and how he'd been so concerned he’d done something to hurt you—all of that was real.

But the night of the Rollerdome is where things get choppy. Those parts of the dream are still but snippets and feelings, overwhelming ones at that, and you have no memories to compare them to. Could it be that you lost the baby and almost died in Elvis’ arms after he’d come to your rescue when…when…something else happened? You can’t grasp why he’d needed to come to your rescue or what led up to being in his arms on the floor—it all slips through your fingers like water through a sieve.

God, but the pain you are remembering right now…it is all so much worse than you’d imagined.

It’s like you can sense it happening all over again rather than simply remembering, your belly cramping and lightheadedness threatening your vision. The frantic panic of fearing the worst pours through your veins now almost as it did then. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.

Then there was Elvis, pulling you into his lap; you can feel the terror he tried so unsuccessfully to hide, how obvious it was in the shaking stutter of his voice as he was doused in your blood. Then, it fades again, leaving you with the distinct feeling that something important (other than losing the baby) happened on the floor of that roller rink, but it disappears into the ether before you can lock on to it.

“…Oh, God, don’t—”

All of it is too much, all at once.

You are barely conscious of the tears pouring down your cheeks, and you awkwardly stagger up from the lounge chair you’d fallen asleep on while traveling to the moon and the stars. Just you and me and the moon and the stars…You feel dizzy from getting up too fast, from the physical memory of it all and you sway, but your body overrides it with the need to flee, as if you can outrun the past.

“Hey, hey, hey! Honey, what’s happenin’? What’s wrong?” Elvis asks, confused, leaping up, grabbing your shoulders.

You tear yourself from his grasp, staggering for the door that will lead you off the roof and hopefully out of this hell your mind has sought to drag you into. Nothing makes sense. You feel trapped in a daze of psychic and physical pain, none of which is helpful or wanted. All the peace from your moment with the moon and the stars has evaporated in an instant. You reach the door and yank it open.

“Y/n, stop! Wait just a damn minute!” he says firmly, pulling you back to him, his cold rings digging into your forearm like chains.

“Elvis, let me go! You have to let me go!” you shout, trying to break free, but his hold on you is fierce. “Oh, god, I can’t do this,” you gasp, barely able to look at him.

You know you are being unfair to him in your reaction, but you feel betrayed. Betrayed by your body, betrayed by your mind, and betrayed by him, all at once. All logic is lost.

“Can’t do what, honey? I don’t understand what you’re goin’ on about,” Elvis asks in confusion, and you can tell by the roughness in his tone that he is frustrated but is trying to be patient with you. You don’t blame him. You must seem out of your mind, having a breakdown every other minute you are with him.

A deep part of you feels absolutely mortified at the entire situation. You’d had no idea that it was Elvis who’d found you and that something so horribly personal and tragic, your worst failure, was laid out before him so vulnerably. And to think he never mentioned it again makes you both grateful and angry. How could an experience like that be brushed under the rug, like nothing ever happened?

Suddenly all the beautiful bouquets of flowers he sent from afar in those weeks after it happened start to make a bit more sense, as does the distance that started to grow between you two. You had originally blamed it solely on him having to leave right away for Florida (he hadn’t even been there when I’d woken up in the hospital), then it was all the recording he’d needed to get done, and then just like that, he was out in Hollywood filming again. And when he was home after that, you remembered, he did not seek you out to spend any one-on-one time together. Now you wonder if he’d been purposefully avoiding you, and that makes you feel both offended and embarrassed.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to breathe somehow while still feeling like the world is closing in on you. The way your heart beats so quickly drives you to escape, but Elvis’ grip is like a vise, anchoring you to the spot. Everything hurts—a long-buried grief radiating through you like a tidal wave that has been held back far too long. Its icy flood consumes you, tightening your chest, and the healed scar on your belly feels like it’s being ripped open.

Finally, you say with shaking breaths, “I had a terrible nightmare. Or…or a memory, I’m not quite sure which…It felt—feels—so real, like it’s happening all over again.”

“What? What’s happening all over again?” Elvis asks with concern in his azure eyes.

“The baby. The night I lost the baby…god, there was so much blood. It was awful,” you choke out. “Were you really there? Was it you who found me, who held onto me?” you ask frantically, looking up at him for answers, for confirmation.

If you weren’t so consumed by the overpowering feelings rolling over you, you might catch the fleeting panic that flashes across his face before that unreadable mask he’s so carefully crafted over the years takes its place.

“What do you remember?” he asks evenly, calmly.

“Well, I…it’s all jumbled, flashes really. Being at the rink. Then suddenly blinding, horrible pain,” you grimace, arms wrapping around your abdomen, “and then I’m in your arms, bleeding everywhere, and everything gets distant and cold and numb and terrifying. And then it all fades away,” you whisper, looking at him for any sign of the truth of it.

You almost think you see relief in his eyes (why?), but it’s only for a second and then is gone. “That’s what you remember?”

You nod.

He continues, “Yeah, it was like that. I found you, baby. I held you until help got there. It was…awful,” he shudders, those almond eyes of his clouding, the memory obviously affecting him in some way.

“I…almost died,” you breathe. Of course, you logically already knew this to be true, but that was before you remembered how it felt.

“Yes, you did,” Elvis replies solemnly, his eyes churning with emotion, bringing his thumb to your cheek to wipe away the tears you have forgotten are falling.

“It hurts. Here. Now. I don’t know why,” you whisper. Though the pain has ebbed some, it still is intense, overwhelming. Perhaps it is because something about it still feels unfinished and hidden from you, like you are still missing some integral piece. You look at him as though he can give you the relief you so desperately seek, and you can’t help but feel that he is keeping something from you based on the look in his eyes.

“I don’t know either, but you’re safe now,” Elvis says, pulling you into him. He thinks he is good at shielding his emotions from you, and maybe he used to be, but now, after everything that has happened this past week, you can sense the turmoil beneath the softness of his pretty features. It sets you on edge. Enough secrets have been kept from you at this point in your life to recognize the signs, even if only intuitively.

Standing there on the roof, he rocks you gently, and the burning pain in your abdomen begins to subside, but is quickly replaced by unease, a rock of it forming in the pit of your stomach. Something is amiss and you can’t put your finger on it, but it has something to do with that terrible night. And with Elvis.

You watch him carefully as he leads you to the stairs, gingerly, like you might shatter into a million pieces. While you indeed felt that way only moments ago, worry and curiosity wind their way through your mind as you grasp at pieces of quickly-fading memories, searching for something, anything, that supports this intuitive feeling in your gut. You do not find it.

However, as you come back into his darkened suite, you are reminded of the fact that you should not be here, that your husband must be wondering where you got off to. It is nearly dawn, and you aren’t in your room.

And, oh dear lord, all the yelling and the noise that you and Elvis made earlier must have been overheard. Suddenly you are nauseous.

“Elvis,” you say, clasping his forearm in a panic.

“What, baby?” he looks at you, confused, concerned.

“We made a lot of noise earlier…”

A slow, wide grin spreads over his face, but that almost predatory darkness from before lingers in his eyes. “Oh, honey, I sent everyone away after that little stunt of yours in the bathroom with Jack,” he laughs, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He still isn’t happy about that.

Relief washes over you at the fact that your escapades remained private, although, you don’t know exactly who “everyone” is because his Mafia members were never too far from their master.

The unease is back, snaking through your mind. “I have to get back,” you say, “Jack must be wondering where I am.”

“He’s likely in the casino, and you, my dear, went back to Sandy’s room and fell asleep there.” The lie falls off his tongue so easily, and while you are grateful for the excuse, this ability of his gives you pause as you find the remnants of your clothes strewn about the room.

Everything feels off. It’s as though your dream-memory has exposed something, but you cannot put your finger on what, only that something about Elvis is itching at you.

Something important.

Your mind and your insides are still reeling from everything this night has entailed and uncovered. You shakily dress and try to clean yourself up before having to face the world outside of Elvis’ private suite. Between the wildly intense sex and the jarring memories your sleep unlocked, you are exhausted and wonder how you can possibly process any of this and still present “things as usual” to the rest of the world.

Finally ready to head out the door, Elvis stops you. “Wait,” he says, spinning you back to him and pulling you close. His luscious lips brush yours so sweetly, with such yearning, as if he hasn’t had you in nearly every way already tonight. You melt into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palms, the warmth of him solid and comforting. You forget all your doubts and questions for the moment, unable to focus on anything but the pillowy softness of his gentle kisses and the way his strong hands cup your jaw and pull you to him. The man has you fully under his spell, and right now, as his tongue laps at yours, you do not care about anything else.

When he pulls back, you whine at the loss of him, and being him, he senses your need, and gives you a cheeky smirk.

“Later, darlin’, I promise,” he says, brushing your cheek. “I want you backstage again tonight, okay?” It’s less of a question and more a gentle command.

You nod, getting lost in those endless blues of his. Then you shake yourself off and head out the door, shutting it quietly behind you in your best effort to sneak out, your mind beginning to whirl again the moment you are out of his presence.

Lost in a fog of thoughts, your focus is on the ground, so when you collide with another body in the hallway, you nearly jump out of your skin, flying backwards and catching yourself before you tumble to the ground.

“Well, shit,” a familiar voice intones slowly and with surprise as you look up.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Red.

Your eyes go wide as saucers as your brain tries to scramble up an excuse of why you’d be coming out of Elvis’ suite at this hour looking as you do, and you quickly realize that there is no other plausible explanation. Your mouth opens then closes aimlessly. And the smirk on Red’s face makes it quite clear that he understands the situation fully.

Your heart thunders in your ribcage as you stand frozen like a dear in headlights. This is very, very bad. Jerry is one thing—you have no doubts of his loyalty to Elvis and keeping his secrets. But Red, he is quite a different situation. He is loyal to Elvis, to be sure, but for a price. And he is friends with Jack and has been since the beginning. You had never taken to Red—something about him always irked you, but it was never truly an issue before this moment.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n,” Red tsks at you, a nasty gleam in his eye, “Now what kind’a trouble you been gettin’ up to?” It’s obvious he knows exactly what kind.

You finally find your voice. “Red,” you say in what you hope is a warning but considerate tone, “I’m sure we can both just forget this ever happened. We wouldn’t want to upset anyone.” There’s no need to say their names, you both know who you mean. But your voice is too shaky and even you can’t take yourself seriously.

“Hmm, maybe,” Red ponders infuriatingly. You want to wipe that smug look right off his face.

You both stand there staring for a minute before you finally straighten yourself. You desperately want to turn and go back to Elvis to plead with him to drop Red off somewhere in the middle of the desert, but you know E needs his rest and this conversation can’t happen now. So instead, you square your shoulders, dread pooling in your stomach.

“Excuse me, I have to be going,” you say a little haughtily.

Red just laughs, “I bet you do, sweetheart.”

The endearment is anything but, coming out snide instead. A cold shiver runs down your spine. Finally, you break the tension and push past him, trying to keep your gait steady and unhurried, when all you want to do is to sprint to the door. But you make it without doing so, holding your breath the whole way. Once in the hall, you pound the elevator button multiple times as if that will make a difference in how fast it arrives. Then you feel like you can breathe again, once tucked safely and blissfully alone inside the car, heading down.

You don’t trust Red. Not one bit.

Panic rises up from your stomach, an acidic, bitter bile. This is exactly what you’ve been afraid of. You can feel the rickety foundation of your lies begin to sway under your feet. Not only are you feeling unmoored because of whatever your dream-memory unlocked about Elvis that you can’t pinpoint, but this hits you where it hurts. You reap what you sow, and you have been sowing quite a bit.

All the doubt that Elvis washed away with his gentle kisses mere minutes ago comes back to hit you full force. You must end this, you’ve got to, and you know, oh god, you know it will break your heart, but you cannot live anymore with this fear that is eating you from the inside out.

You were never meant to be this person. You are not special, certainly not special enough to warrant true love from Elvis Presley. You are just a housewife from Tennessee whose husband is a liar and a cheat. You were bored and now you’re in over your head.

Get out. Run, as far away and as fast as you can! your mind screams at you. God, you can’t breathe. For the second time today, you feel as though the air has been stolen from your lungs and like the ground is crumbling underneath your feet.

You are not strong enough for this. You were not made for lying and cheating and sneaking around. The weight of it all feels untenable as you knock on Sandy’s door.

When it opens, she doesn’t even say a word. One look at you and she’s yanking you inside.

“Red knows,” you eek out before she has a chance to say anything.

“Shit,” she curses and brings you to sit down on the bed. Then she steals away, and you hear water running.

You don’t realize you are shaking until she hands you the glass of water and it nearly spills all over your dress. You gulp it down, suddenly parched.

“What the hell happened last night?” she finally asks, after you’ve downed the glass of water and manage to take in some slow breaths. “You disappeared with Jack,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose, “and then Elvis looked like he was gonna lose his damn mind and kicked everyone out, but you were nowhere to be found. Then, Jerry called and told me that if anyone asked, you were with me all night.”

Setting the empty glass on the side table, you put your head in your hands. “Oh, Sandy, I feel like every decision I am making is insane. I don’t even recognize myself.”

Sandy just looks at you with expectation in her eyes, waiting for you to explain yourself.

“Elvis and I had quite an…argument about me being with Jack. And then we had crazy, hot sex, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before,” you sigh and Sandy grins like an idiot. “Then he took me up on the roof to look at the moon, and I fell asleep and had this horrible—well, it was a nightmare, but I think it was actually a memory I repressed. Oh, it was awful.”

Sandy looks at you quizzically. “A repressed memory? What do you mean?”

“Well, you know I can’t have kids…but way back in ’60, I had an ectopic pregnancy that resulted in me miscarrying and almost bleeding to death on the floor of the Rollerdome,” you ramble out, the water you just drank making you feel sick to your stomach.

“Oh my god, hon, that’s terrible,” she says pulling you in for a hug.

“Obviously, there are reasons I don’t talk about it, but also, I didn’t remember any of it. The doc said my brain did it to protect me from the trauma. Until this morning, I didn’t have any idea of what really happened. But now…I had these flashes, these glimpses, of the horrible pain. It was like living it all over again. Like I could feel it happening, San,” you say, clutching your stomach. “And what I didn’t realize was that Elvis was there for all of it. He was holding me and watching me die. There was blood everywhere.”

“Jesus,” Sandy breathes.

“And he never told me that he was there! How could we go through something like that together and him not say a damn word? And I swear something else happened, something he’s not telling me. I just feel like he’s hiding something about it, something I still can quite put my finger on,” you add rapidly.

“Well, honey, maybe it was traumatic for him, too. And I’m sure he didn’t want to make you relive all that,” Sandy says reasonably, patting your knee.

“That makes logical sense, San, I know it does, but it’s not just that, I’m telling you…I’ve been having these dreams, these memories, come up since being with him, things I am just now remembering. I don’t know,” you shake your head, frustrated. “It’s like a puzzle that is missing pieces and I just can’t quite put it all together.”

“How can I help, hon?” Sandy asks, her eyes comforting and kind.

“You’re doing it, babe, by just listening,” you say, squeezing her hand. “So, when I woke up from the dream, E seemed closed off about what I was telling him. I mean, he confirmed he was there, and that he’d held me, but I could just tell he wasn’t letting me in on everything. I feel like I’m noticing just how well and how easily he seems to bend the truth to suit his needs, and now I’m doing it, too,” you say, ashamed.

“And how does Red fit into all this?” she asks, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, god, yeah. I literally ran into him coming out of Elvis’ room. You should have seen the smug look on his face, San. I am so fucking screwed,” you sigh, flinging yourself back on the bed.

“Just tell Elvis! He won’t let Red get away with anything,” Sandy points out.

“I won’t see him until tonight, and by then, everyone might already know!” You look at Sandy frantically, pleadingly. “I feel crazy, and I hate all these stupid emotions! Jesus, who even am I anymore? Am I this woman who lies and cheats and hides things, not just from everyone, but from herself, too?”

Sandy looks at you, pausing as she seems to gather her thoughts. “Have you thought that maybe, just maybe, you are finally breaking free of everything that’s been holding you back? That you are just scared of all of this because it’s new and different and a risk? Before this last week, when was the last time you even took a risk, y/n? When was the last time you actually allowed yourself to really feel anything? Hon, you’ve spent so much time pushing down everything that you are and could be because of Jack and what you think you have to be for him. Maybe all this is just you becoming…you. Making decisions for yourself, ones that make you happy,” Sandy says with the love only she could give you.

You choke back a sob, “But who I am is an awful person, Sandy. I can’t seem to do anything right. I’m a liar and a cheat, which is everything I hate about Jack. I’m stuck in this dysfunctional marriage that I’m dependent on, and I was the reason we couldn’t build the big family we both wanted. I’m in love with someone I have no business being in love with, a man who is so utterly beyond my reach, who could never love me the way I need him to. I…God, I can’t even trust my memories!” Your utter heartbreak at everything aches through your chest, a painful reminder of everything you lack. Shaking with tears, you curl into a ball.

“Oh, hon,” Sandy says gently. She grabs your shoulders and hauls you up. “Look at me.”

You force yourself to meet her gaze, tears leaking from your eyes.

“You have to stop beating yourself up, baby. You’re not perfect, none of us are, but you are certainly not an awful person, not one little bit. You are full of love and kindness and talent, and you’ve put yourself last for so damn long that putting yourself first feels wrong to you,” she says so matter-of-factly that you have no choice but to listen.

“But I’ve made such a mess of things,” you whimper.

“Yeah, well, Jack pushed you to it, hon. And Elvis, well, he’s Elvis, and resisting that man takes a fortitude of will that not many women possess. What I’m saying is, this is not all on you.”

But you still feel like a powder keg about to explode, all your anguish and self-doubt clawing its way out of you, ripping you to shreds along the way.

“No, no, no. I have to…I have to end this,” you shake your head, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. It feels like hell.”

Sandy purses her lips and gives you a look. “Did you even listen to a word I just said, hon? Let me make it clearer for you: You love Elvis. You don’t love Jack, not anymore. Leave the fucker and go be with the man you love, guilt free! Jack’s a big boy, he’ll survive.”

She makes it sound so easy, but it is anything but, at least to you, and you’re the one living it. “I can’t, Sandy, I can’t just do that! I’m dependent on Jack, who is dependent on Elvis. Without either of them, I have nothing. No job, no money, nothing. So tell me what happens when E gets tired of me, huh? Then I will literally be out on the street, Sandy!” you yell.

“God, you are just determined to be miserable, aren’t you? So determined that you are blind to the obvious!” Sandy shakes her head in frustration, then takes a deep, calming breath before lowering her voice to continue, “I can’t make you feel that you are enough—only you can do that, hon. But you are. You are enough for me, and certainly enough for Elvis.”

“You don’t know that, Sandy! Besides, Elvis is keeping shit from me, too! And I haven’t been enough for Jack for a long time!” you holler.

“Fuck Jack, y/n! Fuck him! He’s not worthy of you, not the other way around. You have to start to see that, hon!” she yells back, her cheeks reddening.

“None of that changes the situation! Red knows, and you and I both know he’s gonna make trouble, and it’s gonna all blow back on me. I’m trapped. I’m trapped in all of it, my marriage, this affair, the lies, this fucking insane world of Elvis’! I can’t…Fuck this shit,” you say, standing up, every nerve in your body flying on a horrible roller coaster than you can’t seem to get off of.

The only solution you can see is to remove yourself from the equation.

“I’m gonna say goodbye to Elvis, to Vegas, to all of it. I’m leaving on the first plane out of here tonight,” you say with finality, standing up. It makes you feel like you finally have some semblance of control over your life.

“Y/n. I don’t think this is the solution you think it is, hon—” Sandy starts.

“Look, I appreciate everything you are trying to do here, but I’m the one living this, not you, and it feels like hell right now. I need out. I’m going home,” you say harshly, swiping the tears off your face. It’s like you are pulling a steel door over all the turmoil you’ve been feeling, shutting out the pain so you can do what you should have done days ago.

You don’t want to relive the trauma of your miscarriage or remember all these fleeting and confusing moments with Elvis anymore. You don’t want to think about what Elvis is hiding from you, because you just know it’s something important and you can’t take another man you love lying to you. You don’t want to see Jack. You don’t want to completely upend everything you’ve known for the last fourteen years. You don’t want to be in love with a man who could never truly love you back the way you need him to. Because they never do.

And your heart aches in every way—for the baby you never met, for the man you used to love, and for the man you love now—it all radiates through you like poison, threatening to cripple you. You can’t stay like this. Anything to escape these horrible feelings, this seemingly unending wave of fear and uncertainty.

Sandy looks at you resigned and disapprovingly, shaking her head. “Fine. You do what you gotta do. But running away ain’t gonna solve anything.”

The hell it won’t.

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beezelbubbles · 2 years

Text

I posted 1,012 times in 2021

9 posts created (1%)

1003 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 111.4 posts.

I added 17 tags in 2021

#the locked tomb - 3 posts

#gideon the ninth - 3 posts

#old on the internet - 2 posts

#harrow the ninth - 2 posts

#no - 2 posts

#i literally told them that ultimately it's about what flag you like better - 1 posts

#have you heard the good news of our lord undying the necromancer prime? - 1 posts

#y'all need to watch mr and mrs smith - 1 posts

#i will accept nothing less - 1 posts

#maybe hbomax is a better home for it - 1 posts

Longest Tag: 102 characters

#i almost asked a library patron what service his very clearly not a service dog provided the other day

My Top Posts in 2021

Really trying to wring some serotonin out of my horrible brain and it is not working.

My husband got his dream job. Everything we've done, every choice for the last like... 16 years has been working towards this. We're moving back to our favorite city. We still have friends there. We're closer to family. There are so many opportunities for our kid.

And it just all feels like a trap. I cried happy tears like I haven't since my freaking wedding day. (No offense to my kid, the I'm a mom tears were different and totally wrapped up in complicated birth feelings and hormones.) But housing is a mess. HR is totally fucked and he probably won't get his first paycheck until the freaking end of September. He had to go and I'm packing the house up by myself. (Kid is great, but they are a young teen and in full eye-rolling omg I do everything around here yelling when asked to do 1 whole thing mode and I can't really rely on them. They've got their own things going on with school and pandemic.) And I've got to leave my job, which I freaking love so much but it's so niche in a competitive market that there's no way I'll get anything like it again. And my coworkers are the best. And I finally made friends here and I adore them.

What should be an absolute victory just fucking hurts so very much right at this moment. The worst part is I can't say any of this to my husband because I don't want him to feel at all bad. He shouldn't! This isn't me being the trailing spouse, as we're called in academia; I absolutely chose this and want this. He will blame himself and feel guilty and take way more responsibility for my feelings than he ought to. I'll be fine when this shit part is over. Just have to get to that point.

2 notes • Posted 2021-08-26 20:16:32 GMT

Alright Tumblr! I need to know where to buy a Bi pride flag and a Demigirl flag! Our local Pride celebration was pretty small, and while we saw plenty of people there *with* flags, we didn't see anyone selling them, so my kid had to make do with facepaint when they really wanted a flag cape. I'd like to avoid Amazon for this, and double points if I can support an LGBTQIA+ creator.

2 notes • Posted 2021-06-16 04:29:18 GMT

the crashing of the waves falling from their shoulders as they rise from the ocean and turn to their gaze to you, back muscled and straight, skin glistening, a rumbling demand: "buy me 40 red lobster cheesy biscuits, mortal." thunders across the rainy sky--how could you refuse? you like a boisterous and exciting date, but most importantly, someone who dwarfs you in height. you could probably be picked up by this monster and be perfectly happy with it. get ready to dive into some rough waters ;)

2 notes • Posted 2021-06-13 20:37:12 GMT

Cleaning Accountability/Done List Post

Okay so really it's more about cleansing in the magic sense? But that does start with cleaning. IDK. I feel like we've been butting heads with our house for a while. We're starting our third year here and we love it but it doesn't always feel like it loves us back. So cleansing bad energy and making space for good. But also just fucking cleaning up because how can the house be happy if the kitchen floor needs mopping?

Shit that needs done today: Dishes need doing Floors need sweeping and mopping (1812 is currently running, so that's a start. I'll go along and sweep up any bits he misses and then mop.) Windows and mirrors need cleaning All the trash needs to go out Laundry needs to be folded and put away.

I am going to be doing the UFYH 20/10s or maybe 30/15s. Otherwise I will just wipe myself out and that won't help anything. I'm getting really burnt out at work and I'd hoped to get some serious recovery in for my day off. Oh well. My space will be cleaner and that will help my mental state, even if I'm still physically tired. (Starting to think I'm just always gonna be physically tired.)

Once the mundane clean is done, I'll hit the magical. I'm staying away from smoke involved stuff because my lungs are crap and also fire has been an issue in this house (last renters did a good bit of fire damage), so it just seems like not a great peace overture to make. Need to figure out what exactly I'm doing. New moon is Friday, so I'd like to have it worked out by then.

8 notes • Posted 2021-07-04 17:09:28 GMT

Life and the Locked Tomb

Spoilers for Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth

H'okay so I've been listening to the audiobooks for months, swapping off between them. And there are a LOT of things that have stuck out at me, but one of the biggest is the repetition of giving up your life.

At the beginning of Gideon the Ninth, Gideon tells Aiglamene, "I gave her my whole life." as she unsheathes her blade for the fight with Harrow. which is fascinating to me, because on the indentured servant front, no she didn't. She was raised by the Ninth. She's spent her whole life trying to run away from the Ninth. That doesn't sound a whole lot like giving her life to Harrow.

But then later, when she is literally giving her life to Harrow during the second challenge in the facility, Cytherea!Dulcinea says (bolding mine), "Gideon, Gideon... you're so young. Don't give yourself away. Do you know, it's not worth it ... none of this is worth it, at all. It's cruel. It's so cruel. You are so young--and vital--and alive. Gideon, you're all right ... remember this, and don't let anyone do it to you ever again. I'm sorry. We take so much. I'm so sorry." It hits very different when you know it's a Lyctor speaking. Cytherea knows what's possibly coming.

And of course in the epilogue, Harrow throws herself before the Emperor and says, "I will never ask anything of you, ever again, if you just give me back the life of Gideon Nav." Which of course he can't, because Harrow so irrefutably *has* Gideon's life that it can't be withdrawn from her.

So I need to go through Harrow a little more closely, but of course there's the iconic bit when Gideon breaks through, "I gave you my whole life and you didn't even want it." A perfect echo of that first time in GtN. Gideon gave and gave and gave herself to Harrow. And of course Harrow wanted her. The first thing she did was ask the Emperor for it. The tragedy to Harrow was that she completely and totally *had* it. But Gideon didn't know that, and I don't know that she could bring herself to believe it if she would have. In a book about death, of course we have a lot touching on the value of life.

11 notes • Posted 2021-11-04 22:31:38 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #oh no #I guess I should make more original posts #i'm just so tired y'all

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