callieselvisobsessed - Tumblr blog

callieselvisobsessed · 10 months ago

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Heaven

I wanted to do something for Elvis on the anniversary of his death, and I'm not a poet or someone who can make video edits, and I'm also not great at writing down my feelings. But I can write stories. So here you go. This is angsty sappy fluff that everyone can read.

Pairing: Elvis x the whole fandom

TW: None really, obviously quite a bit of talk of death but that's about it. Don't read it if you don't want to be sad, I guess.

A/N: Please ignore anything about this concept that doesn't make sense, or fill in any gaps with some magical thinking.

Elvis had always said no when the angel asked. Every year, on the eve of the anniversary of his death, the angel would ask if he wanted to look down at Earth and see what people thought about him. He’d never wanted to. Well, that’s not quite true. He’d always been tempted. But he was so afraid that the answer would be that people thought nothing at all that he didn’t want to find out. Until this year, that is. This year he finds himself pausing before his usual sharp “no, thanks” and wondering what it would be like to say yes. Something about 2024 is appealing to him. Maybe because the numbers add up to 8.

“Yeah. Yes please.”

The angel nods. As the sun rises over the first countries to wake on 16 August 2024, Elvis sits on the cloud indicated to him. The people of New Zealand and all the other little islands around there start to wake up. He sees them looking at computer screens, there are some pictures of him. This must be the internet. Amy Winehouse had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to explain the internet to him, and he was still mostly baffled by the concept. He’d bonded with her when she arrived in 2011, she had a great voice and they spent a lot of time singing spirituals together, when he wasn’t bothering her about modern technology and what had happened in the world since he left it. He never asked about himself though, he made a point to tell the people he met that he didn’t want to know. Sometimes they let slip the odd thing, but he’s still pretty confident he’s more of a niche interest down there.

Australia and Russia are next, and he sees some of the same things, although a lot of people are looking at him on smaller screens. Bowie had told him these were mobile phones. He understands the concept of a phone you can move around, he had a car phone after all. But it all starts to get confusing again when the internet comes into it, and Bowie is trying to explain social media and “likes”. Elvis has got fond of the Thin White Duke over the years they’ve been here together. He used to think he was an absolute weirdo and hadn’t wanted to speak to him at all when he’d first arrived. But Bowie is nothing if not persistent. And there was a lot to be said for someone sitting next to you one day after the other, telling you how much they inspired you and singing your songs back at you. Basically, David wore him down. And now he kind of likes him, finds him entertaining, good for a laugh.

“You can zoom in, you know.”

Speak of the Devil; Bowie appears on Elvis’ left-hand side, gesturing with his hand on one of the phones in Australia. He flicks his fingers out and suddenly the screen is massive, and Elvis can see himself on it. He pulls a face.

“What is that?”

“Tik Tok.”

“What tock?”

Bowie giggles. “It’s an app,” he holds his hand up to stop Elvis from immediately asking for about the hundredth time what an app is. “People put videos on there. Chrissy explained it to me the other day.”

“But… what is that?” Elvis asks, frowning hard at the series of flashing images of himself.

Bowie does something else with his fingers and suddenly there’s sound too. It’s a series of clips from the Comeback Special, which sort of melt into one another. And the music isn’t his, it’s some kind of electronic thing he’s never heard before, with… very dirty lyrics.

“Someone made it,” the other man explains, patiently.

“Why?”

“Because they like you?”

It’s been particularly hard for Bowie to honour this rule about not telling Elvis how many people actually love and admire him. How incredibly famous he remains, even in death. He might not have seen TikTok himself, but as a lover of technology he grasped the concept quickly when Chrissy McVie explained it to him.

Elvis frowns and asks him to put the screen away again. He carries on staring down at the countries and the people, and zooming in occasionally. There’s more to see in some places than others, and as time passes he realises what he’s really waiting for is to see if he’s remembered in America. He can’t quite fathom this whole internet thing, it doesn’t make sense to him and he’s not sure how he can tell how many people are involved. He sees himself on screens a lot but he’s not sure what it means.

He sees more as the day continues, his face is still on t-shirts in Europe, there’s even some of his music playing in some of the African countries, which surprises him. So many places he could never visit in his lifetime. When the UK wakes up he gets a sudden shock.

“Dave!” He shouts.

Bowie reappears next to him. He’s never let anyone else call him Dave, but he couldn’t say no to Elvis.

“What is that?!”

Bowie snorts. “That, my friend, is an Elvis Impersonator.”

“A what now?”

“Well, you know, they were around when you were alive weren’t they? Guys that pretended to be you?”

Elvis’ eyes are like saucers. “But I… what… there are so many of them!”

“Wait til you get to the States,” Bowie says, under his breath. Out loud he replies, “yeah there are quite a few. Something we enjoy over in dear old Blighty. Usually at the seaside with our fish and chips.”

Over the years Elvis has just about got used to Bowie’s Britishisms, but he still frowns in confusion about the seaside.

“What am I doing by the sea? I mean, no… what are they doing, being me, by the sea?”

Bowie struggles to contain his laughter. “I’m gonna get Amy.”

Between Bowie and Amy, they try to explain the concept of the British seaside to Elvis, who looks increasingly baffled. It’s hard to tell him that he’s sort of tacky, but at the same time very beloved. And that in certain places he’s very popular, and there are festivals for him. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“This is hurting my head.”

“You know, things would’ve been a lot easier if you’d just let us talk about it,” Amy tells him, frankly.

Elvis pulls a face. “I just assumed I’d have been forgotten, y’know. I never did anything worth remembering. So I just… thought I’d rather not know.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Never did anything worth remembering.” She reaches over and with another gesture she’s somehow made everyone listening to any of Elvis’ records in the UK show up. He can see all of their faces, some of them joyful, others sad. So many people are listening to him today, he can’t believe it. “You’re still basically the best selling artist of all time. Some people say it’s Taylor Swift but those early sales weren’t properly recorded anyway…” she trails off, taking a drag on her cigarette.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to tell him things!” Bowie is panicking, not wanting to end up on Elvis’ bad side after the weeks of work it took getting him to stop shaking his head and calling him a little freak every time he saw him.

“I think that ship has sailed,” Amy replies, gesturing back at Elvis and his viewings. America is finally waking up.

If Elvis had been shocked by the UK, he’s astounded by America. Over the course of the next few hours he sees people watch his movies, sing his songs, buy all manner of things with his image on, and people are at his home, at his graveside mourning him. He looks away, overwhelmed by emotion. Tears streak down his face. They hadn’t forgotten him. They really hadn’t forgotten him.

Bowie gives him a tentative stroke of the shoulder and Elvis turns and grabs him around the waist and pulls him bodily into his lap, crying into the other man’s chest.

“Dave, th-th-they remember me…” he sobs.

Bowie strokes his hair gently and looks up at Amy, mouthing “go get Lisa.” To Elvis, he just says, “well, we did try to tell you.”

It takes some persuading for Lisa-Marie to go with Amy to see her father. He’d been so devastated when she’d arrived, knowing she died young too and feeling somehow responsible, that they’d barely spoken. And it didn’t help that he wouldn’t hear anything about what people thought about him. So she struggled to know what they could talk about. She felt like every time she opened her mouth it was to say something he didn’t want to hear. And he felt confused and upset that he’d missed all those years of his daughter’s life. He’d watched a little to begin with, of course, but it had been so painful. Sometimes he would look out on Earth and see what people were doing there, he had the odd glimpse into his daughter’s life… but mostly he just tried to live life in the moment, in heaven. He’d been sure his faith had told him that heaven was a lot more… well… heavenly than this. There was an angel, sure, but he was pretty grumpy and barely said a word to anyone. And there were fluffy clouds, and unlimited supplies of whatever you wanted to eat and drink. Things happened kind of magically - usually if you wanted someone you just had to say their name and they’d turn up. But it was still full of people. And those people could be just as frustrating, annoying, upsetting, tiring, needy… as everyone was when he was alive.

“He’s been looking at everyone, he knows, Lisa. He knows the effect he had on the world. Or, he’s starting to get an idea anyway. I think you should go and see him.”

Amy is chain smoking, something you can do in heaven with no ill-effects, obviously. But it still stinks. Lisa wrinkles her nose at the smell. She’d been trying to give up.

“He has? Hmmm.” Lisa fiddles with her sleeve. “You think he wants to see me?”

“Obviously he wants to see you. You’re his little girl.”

Lisa sighs. “I was his little girl. Then he died and I had to grow up without him. Now I’m just some woman.”

Amy shakes her head, impatiently. She never had any patience in life and she sure as shit doesn’t have any in the afterlife. “C’mon,” she says, grabbing Lisa’s arm and making her stand up. “Stop this whining, go and see your dad.”

Lisa is surprised by the scene that greets her as she appears next to Elvis. David Bowie is sitting on his lap and they are talking in animated terms about… Tumblr… and… fanfiction?

“So, they just write a load of dirty stuff about me? And people read it?”

“Yeah it’s not just you. If you can think of it, someone has written about it.”

“Huh. And so… have you read any?”

Lisa decides she really doesn’t want to know the answer to this question, so she interrupts. “Hi Daddy.”

Elvis almost jumps. He’d been so engrossed in his conversation with Bowie, which, he reflects, he really needs to come back to later, that he hadn’t noticed his own daughter standing there.

“Yisa!” He exclaims.

Bowie takes the opportunity to get off his lap before he’s turfed off. Elvis stands and puts his arms around his daughter, reflexively. She hugs him back.

“People do remember me,” he whispers into her hair. “They’re all… they’re listening to the records and they’re even watching those damn stupid movies…”

Lisa giggles. “Of course they are. I could’ve told you that, but you wouldn’t let me.”

“I’m sorry honey,” he pulls back to look at her properly. “I just didn’t wanna know if people had forgotten me. Or they all hated me. And I wasn’t expecting you here… so early.”

Lisa nods. “I know.”

They look at one another for a while longer, and then Lisa breaks the silence. “Do you wanna carry on looking?”

Elvis nods eagerly. He can’t believe he’s been missing out on this for all these years. They sit together and look at people, Elvis asking questions and Lisa explaining what feels like the whole of the past 47 years to him.

“Is that woman really, deliberately, watching Clambake?”

Lisa giggles. “Yeah people do that all the time you know. Plenty of them don’t think that’s your worst movie.”

“They don’t?”

“No. There’s even, uh, a podcast about it.”

Bowie leans over. “Don’t say things like podcast. He gets confused. You’ll be there for the rest of the day trying to explain the internet to him.”

Elvis shoves him, laughing. “I’m getting it. I understand it. Kinda. Leave me alone.”

They all laugh, sitting together and watching Elvis fans all over the world celebrate his life and mourn his death. Elvis can’t believe he waited so long to do this, but at least he’s doing it now. And now he has the rest of eternity to spend with his Yisa. He smiles. It’s not so bad in heaven, really. Even with all the people.

***

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