This blog is a fanfiction of Elvis Presley's life, following both himself and his eventual lover(s) on their life journeys. Elvis himself was a very promiscuous man, and was also known to go for younger women. He was explosive, aggressive, violent, and abusive. At the same time, Elvis, too, experiences abuse. The following mature themes will be present in this rendition of his life:
Alcohol/Drug abuse
Smoking
Sexual assault/abuse
Cheating
Implied sexual experiences with minors
Violence
Emotional abuse
Swearing
Depression
Suicide
Gambling
If you are uncomfortable with any of these subjects, please do not continue on. I do not condone any of the depicted behavior.
If you are struggling, please contact these hotlines:
National Sexual Assault Hotline 1-800-656-HOPE (4673)
Exploitation of Children 1-800-843-5678
Drug Abuse National Helpline 1-800-662-4357
Suicide Hotline 1-800-SUICIDE (784-2433)
Sex Addicts Anonymous 1-800-477-8191
S.A.F.E. (Self Abuse Finally Ends) 1-800-DONT-CUT
Compulsive Gambling Hotline 1-410-332-0402
National Domestic Violence Hotline 1-800-799-SAFE
(18+) An AU where Elvis never met Priscilla. Please review the overall content warning before proceeding. This chapter is PG13.
The Future
Word Count: 486 **note: the story picks up during and following Elvis' infamous Russwood park concert. Here is the depiction by the 2022 ELVIS movie.
Her face haunted him.
♫ If you're lookin' for trouble ♫
A pair of wide, terrified eyes, glinting hazel.
♫ You came to the right place ♫
Once rosy cheeks were drained, thin red lips flaked and cracked.
♫ If you're lookin' for trouble ♫
A tall, blonde man yelled into her ear; gripping her with firmness but affection. She heard nothing.
♫ Just look right in my face ♫
Elvis met her gaze. Sweat dripped down from his greasy locks, stinging his eyes; he dared not blink.
Her lips, delicate and slightly parted, quivered with an unspoken anguish. Heavy eyelids, burdened with disbelief, struggled to conceal the raw pain that emanated from within her. In that moment, her face bore the weight of betrayal, as if all the trust in the world had been cruelly snatched away in an instant.
Chaos erupted around them, a tempestuous whirlwind that engulfed their very beings. Car doors slammed shut, their resounding echoes a poignant reminder of the fractured bond that once held them together. And amidst the cacophony, Elvis found himself standing alone, abandoned by the solace of companionship and left to confront the aftermath of his own actions.
With each passing second, the rhythm of his heartbeat intensified, reverberating through his chest with an unyielding force. It surged within him, an untamed beast desperate to break free from its confinements. The thumping grew louder, as if the pulsating cadence sought to drown out the clamor of the chaotic world around him.
A disorienting buzz filled his ears, a dissonant symphony that swallowed the very essence of sound. The tumultuous surroundings faded into insignificance as his senses became consumed by this relentless hum.
His head rolled back, surrendering to the torrent of emotions that surged through his being. In the midst of this internal storm, the external world appeared eerily serene. Above him, a celestial canvas was set ablaze by red fireworks, their vibrant hues painting the darkness with silent explosions of color. The inaudible booms reverberated through the air, harmonizing with the deep rumblings that resonated beneath his feet, the same rumblings he succumbed to.
...
In a hushed, trembling voice, he sputtered the words, "I love you, Mama," his unmistakable southern drawl infusing each syllable with a touch of nostalgia and warmth. Those hazel eyes could not be brought to meet his gaze again. Sorrow hung between them.
Graceland lay in a stillness broken only by the faint crackle of a fire. The flames danced and flickered, casting ethereal shadows that danced upon the walls, revealing glimpses of forgotten stories and untold emotions. In this quietude, the fire's gentle glow illuminated four silhouettes.
On an untouched sofa sat Elvis, a mere semblance of his performance only an hour prior. In his hands, he cradled a guitar, its polished wood gleaming softly in the firelight. It was a testament to the artistry of an unknown craftsman from nowhere. His mouth was taught, teeth silently grinding in frustration.
Mama's voice quivered, a delicate tremor betraying her disbelief and sorrow. "No…" she spoke, her words laced with an intricate tapestry of emotions. "There's no way my baby is going to Germany for two years." Her voice cracked like fragile porcelain.
"It's either the army or jail," the colonel uttered, his voice carrying the weight of a difficult decision. With a contemplative gaze fixed upon the dancing flames, he cradled a drink in his hand, its contents swirling within the glass. In that moment, time seemed to suspend as he delved into the profound implications of his boy's future.
"They know of your Daddy's jail time," he stated, his gaze meeting Elvis' unwavering eyes.
Elvis, his voice a delicate blend of authority tinged with a subtle undercurrent of trepidation, responded with conviction, his words quivering with a mix of strength and vulnerability.
"We don't have anything to be ashamed of," he declared, his voice resolute.
With each purposeful step he took toward the hearth, toward the colonel, his determination grew, resonating in the resounding echoes of his footsteps. He walked with unwavering purpose, his voice dangerously low.
Elvis's hand, filled with the tender strength of a son's love, firmly gripped his Daddy's shoulder. Beneath his outward display of affection, even Elvis himself harbored a flicker of uncertainty, a trace of doubt that lingered within his own heart.
Elvis shifted his attention towards his Mama, a mixture of concern and determination etched upon his face. "You know I don't like you drinkin'," he whispered, gently taking the half-empty glass from her hand. His voice carried a hushed plea, tinged with a sense of urgency. "Promise me, Mama. Promise me you won't drink."
Kneeling down before her, their gazes locked, Elvis sought to convey the depth of his earnest request. His eyes, reflecting a kaleidoscope of emotions, met her hazel eyes with unwavering intensity. With a tender touch, he delicately blotted his mother's cheek with a handkerchief.
"Promise," he firmly hushed. In that moment, he yearned for her to understand the weight of his plea, to recognize the importance of his request.
His Mama was silent, but her eyes softened. Elvis took her hand in his and kissed it softly before pushing himself back up.
"Wait for me, Mama"
♫ I was born standing up,
And talking back...
My daddy was a green-eyed mountain jack, Because I'm evil...
My middle name is misery.
Well I'm evil,
So don't you mess around with me ♫
