#going back to memphis

[jt1674]

[alliluyevas]

Was engaging in my favorite hobby of Curating Lists (specifically in this case of the states I have visited and the ones I have yet to visit) and was wondering…which state would you all most like to visit that you haven’t been to yet and what city/area/site would you want to go there for?

[seekingskywhales]

SLAY NOSTALGIA • YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK

Pattern challenge! Inspired by Memphis patterns and nostalgia marketing

This took forever and I never want to see another jazz cup in my whole life

[dotssu3]

Please take a break from drawing Derek if you need! I don't want you to end up hating drawing him, so if you need to take a hiatus from him you shouldn't feel bad for taking one. Also, will you be opening commissions back up anytime soon?

thank you so kindly anon! id hate to end up resenting him too....part of it is prolly that ive been too hesitant to experiment, i miss making weird stuff. my recent fallout fan art and the corporate memphis art are really interesting to me, so maybe it's just a matter of finding the right art direction for derek and his friends.

also!! i do want to open commissions again. last time i had a hard time keeping track of everything, so i wanna figure out a better way to manage and schedule them before i do it. if i open them, itll probably be late july or early august b/c im super busy this summer.

[hart-on-my-sleeve]

Have a vampire au Jimmy in December because I have no concept of time

(Vampire AU inspired by wonderful @/luxurysystems 💖)

[rustedpipe]

imagine being insanely jealous for years of a guy who had more success than you even though you have whatever weird nepotism you get from being the son of loudon wainwright and kate mcgarrigle. but he has a prettier voice and whatever weird nepotism you get from being the son of tim buckley. and then one day he personally holds up an amp for you during a failperformance and you realize you were being really stupid because this guy is actually really nice and you start to be friends and then like a month later he drowns. and then you write a song about him being your eurydice

[vvh0adie]

y’all when i tell you memphis weather is crazy

i wake up thinking i’m finna build the greatest snowman…

my bitch ass flip the blinds and the snow is sparse

HOW?

like when i tell you it’s dripping wet outside

i didn’t even get to touch the shit

i’m so pissed and i don’t know when we’ll get another chance like this

[fear-is-truth]

YOU AND REMMICK THROUGH THE YEARS.

contains: vampirism. drug use. cult themes. semi-public sex. era-specific references to real people/music. MDNI 18+

you’d been riding with remmick since ’32. stayed through the dustbowl droughts, the war years, the jolting highways of the ’50s and the psychedelic haze of the ’70s. there was a stretch in the late ’40s when you both lived out of a busted chevy parked off a forgotten road, where the grass grew tall and no one bothered you. there’s a dent in the ceiling from the last time you fucked in the backseat with your boots on.

by the ‘50s you were scoutin’ talent. bars in memphis, backwoods roadhouses in louisiana… every time you heard someone good—really good—remmick would stop moving; literally go still like a hound picking up a scent. he always insisted the right voice paired with the right chord progression and rhythm, could crack the veil wide open.

you discovered howlin’ wolf in a juke joint outside west memphis. the whole floor vibrating under your feet like it might crack open. remmick tells you that he thinks they heard it tonight. his fallen kin. yours now, too.

at that janis joplin concert in san francisco, you swore he teared up during ball and chain.

when remmick found a musician he deemed strong enough, he’d open the circle. sometimes it worked. sometimes it didn’t. but no matter what came through, he’d still hold you in his arms, kiss you, pry open your thighs, fuck you nice n’ slow while a bootleg tape whined in the background (bessie smith, bob dylan, muddy waters.)

by the time it was the ’60s, you owned a caravan and gained a dozen followers who called remmick brother. but to you, he was always just rem, or remmie in the dark, spread-eagle on a sheepskin rug while he kisses the inside of your thigh, he’d coo, “relax, sweet girl, s’just me,” and make you come so hard you see stars.

’67 was big sur, a hillside full of long-haired burnouts carrying guitars. you fed on the blood of starry-eyed teenagers, their veins steeped in weed resin and tabs of sun-printed lsd. it buzzed behind your eyeballs and lit up your spine, left you both high for hours. lying topless in the grass with your head on his thigh while he plucked the banjo, singing “black is the colour”. when it gets too monotonous, you make love again, on the caravan roof this time, under a big fat moon. when the first raindrops hit your back, you laugh, throwing back your head. he’s still fully sheathed inside you. he leans forward and kisses you, the sweet, metallic tang on his breath intermingling with yours.

you’ve got the music. you’ve got purpose.

you’ve got him.

it’s a good life.

[paper-mario-wiki]

Who are you?

My name is Scout! I'm an Anthropologist and a trans woman living in Seattle. I like playing Team Fortress 2, and cuddling with my dog, an Australian Shepard named Scarlet. I smoke weed with enough frequency to be considered a "stoner," and I tend to spend a lot of time by myself on the computer learning about things that interest me.

I enjoy collecting things like weird old corporate knick-knacks (viagra shaped wristwatch, t-mobile spatula, camel cigarette emergency flashlight), and vintage jackets. I lived in Japan for 3 years, where I went to school at Doshisha University in Kyoto, but came back to the USA due to isolation during the beginning of the pandemic making my mental health deteriorate rapidly, since it started after only 3 semesters of being there.

I used to be a livestreamer and let's player with a few different channels and podcasts, but a year and a half ago I stopped because I didn't enjoy what being a content creator meant. Today, I'm going to eat fried chicken for breakfast, and later on I'll probably record some Sans and Papyrus voice acting for an animation someone hired me for. I also used to do Undertale voice acting, which is actually how I got my start.

I've also been known as Clown Depot, Smaverage Joe, TheMGMjr, Googoo, and a lot of online handles as the years have gone by. You may have seen me in Real-Time Fandub as Memphis Tennessee, Mr. X the Librarian, Mikeiplier, Storm the Albatross, and Da Devil from Da Bible. You may have also seen some of my viral tumblr posts, like Genghis Kanghis, Music For Unproductive Zoomers, "a chess move called The Frenchman's Cumsock", "never ask a genie for raspberry crowns, because that's a type of wasp", "that's pretty con-fuckin-venient, I'm sorry for doubting you 7-eleven, have a good night", or a few others.

Hope this helps.

[wanderingelvis]

just thinking about what elvis would be like with you if you had a stutter or a stammer.

he’d be so patient with you, not everyone is, they get easily frustrated and fed up that you can’t get your words out properly but not elvis. he lets you take your time and it’s almost even more intimidating that someone is waiting for you to finish speaking.

but he won’t just say encouraging words to you, he’ll gently trace soothing circles into the small of your back. kiss your knuckles after rubbing them with the pad of his thumb, playing with the loose strands of your hair as he tells you “s’okay honey, y’doin’ just fine baby.” when you look to him desperately for comfort and reassurance.

he knows your prone to shutting up altogether when the nerves get the better of you but he loves nothing more than coaxing those thoughts out of you.

you’ll feel your mouth go dry as you try to manage a coherent sentence, getting all worked up and upset when you can’t do it but he never makes you feel bad for it.

you’ll sniffle through tears as elvis lovingly holds your hands and speaks to you softly but firmly, telling you that, “now, there ain’t nothin’ you gotta be upset about baby, you’re tryin’ your best ain’t you darlin’? hm? now i’m real proud of ya, tryin’ y’best like that, there aint no need for those tears now princess.”

and then he’ll let you collapse into his big hold, his arms engulfing you as he presses tender kisses to the top of your head, letting you get settled again as he soothes you.

and even if he tries to encourage you to speak and finish your sentences, sometimes he knows that ain’t always going to be the best thing for you.

like when you’re in a boutique, buying all them pretty dresses that elvis just loves to put you in, and the shop lady shows you something just gorgeous, and all you can do is try to get your words out.

“tha-a-tha-th-“ it’s on the fourth stutter that your eyes go all glossy and panicked, seeking out the big n powerful man like you’re just some little lost puppy searching for her owner.

and so he’ll step in, taking a hold of your little hand in his big coarse one and turning to the shop lady to speak on your behalf. “thanks honey, that’s awful kind of you to show us this. looks like it might just be the one that this little one is gon’ wear tonight.” he says fondly, the shop lady and elvis both looking at you with patience and a smile for you to swallow the lump in your throat and nod — that’s all you can manage for now but it’s enough. and sure, sometimes you feel like you’re four years old and unable to do anything yourself, not even speak, and the frustration gets to you, and the fear.

when you first began to date elvis, you’d wait for him to snap at you, the same way your parents would for embarrassing them in front of others, but elvis doesn’t do that — the thought wouldn’t enter his head.

no, elvis instead crouches down, whisperin’ “such a good girl,” to you. “such a polite, good girl huh?” he practically coos, knowing it’s hard for you, knowing how hard it is for you to even try to speak sometimes.

so elvis reminds you that you’ve tried and that is what matters most.

and elvis is always proud of you for trying. it’s okay if you can’t get your words out, he knows you and he understands you. and you love him, oh how you love him and how he look after you and takes care of you.

sometimes the stuttering makes you insecure, that elvis will get just as fed up as the memphis mafia do, or colonel tom does, but he doesn’t and he won’t.

he loves every part of you. stutter or no stutter, you’re his and he loves you.

note; had a bad week with my stutter, failed a test in a course i'm taking as it was part speaking and couldn't manage it, got rlly upset and rlly hating myself for it, so i thought writing down a lil about how elvis would be with me would help.

masterlist is here

request an elvis imagine etc here, i always love new ideas

love u all ❤️‍🩹

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

₂ i swear, next time i see you i'll be funny

memphis, tennessee. the road sign just appeared out of schlatt's peripheral vision, though he wasn't paying much attention. his hands were gripped tight on the steering wheel as the radio blabbered on about how tomorrow, december fourteenth 2022, a lady named cheryl would be winning a lifetime supply of chuck-e cheese tickets.

"can you shut the fuck up?" schlatt barked, slamming his hand into the console. not a great idea, he knew that— but there wasn't much else he could do. he was going as fast as he could without going 100mph, but that wasn't fast enough.

schlatt was a man with vices. whiskey, mostly, and snacking before bed. but his biggest vice was you, anything you asked— everything was thrown out the window. it'd come to bite him in the ass more than once, but anything for you. and he meant it when he said it.

so when you called, frantic and sobbing, all he had to say was:

"i'll be right there."

even though he was in the middle of a chuckle sandwich shoot, he had to run. ted even let him borrow his toyota tocoma (an honor which he rarely bestowed on anyone), but he knew it was an emergency. and notably, a sixteen hour drive. he drove all throughout the night, not even taking a second to breathe or blink as he made his way to tennessee.

eventually, the old truck made its way past the border of tennessee and into memphis. after a few illegal right turns, he made his way to your apartment. it was small. and it didn't take a genius to see it was also in an awful neighborhood, hell— he could hear police sirens echoing in the background.

which was fucking weird, because you had just shown the chuckle crew a photo of your new high rise you were going to purchase. it had looked nice as hell, eliciting an "ooh" from charlie, ted and even himself. and he was a man rarely impressed.

the whole apartment shook when schlatt knocked on the door, frantic. his huge, strong hands helped him out for once— besides opening jars of peanut butter and jelly or opening locks that were jammed. "hey, open the door!" no response, but he could hear little sobs and whines inside. he took a step back, bracing himself before jamming his elbow into the door, busting it wide open.

you were curled up in a blanket, sniffling and crying as you stared off into space.

in seconds, you were in his arms. your tears soaked his shirt, but he had hundreds of the same one— it didn't matter to him. his voice was hesitant, trying to soothe you. "hey, hey, sugar. nono, don't cry— don't—"

hysterical, you choked on your sobs and hugged him tight. "i'm sorry you came all this way, i didn't mean to bother you, i just—"

"no, fuck, baby. you're not botherin' me. i wanted to come, so i did. ya didn't ruin nothin', alright? cross my heart. pinky swear, whatever or whoever ya want me to swear it on, i do."

heavy, shaky breaths again. "but the drive here takes forever, a—and weren't you filiming a chuckle episode? gosh, don't tell me you left that early, jay..." you took a sharp inhale, voice wobbling. "my heart's beating real, really fast." you stammer.

"'kay toots, you're gonna listen to me now, alright? deep breaths. you can do it, know you can."

your eyes met his, and it felt like someone ripped his heart in half. "you can't just throw everything away to take care of me. what if one day you can't come save me?" you ask, voice quiet as a mouse.

schlatt shook his head, not even giving him a second to think about it. "i always will be," he insists.

"but, i—i am afraid i'll spend entire years— trying..." you stammer, getting all choked up again. "...trying not to need you."

"you don't need to worry about that." he assured you, his voice low and baritone.

and schlatt held you the whole way through. the entire night, coaxing you to stop crying, to at least have some water and have a bite to eat. he brought you hot cocoa with marshmallows and sat next to you on the couch in silence, until you drifted off to sleep.

the austin chronicle on november nineteenth, 2025, had their horoscope section on the second page, tucked into the bottom right corner. today, your horoscope said that old memories would come to light. you laughed and threw out the newspaper before glancing in your doorway to see a random stranger standing there, boxers low on his hips.

resisting the urge to rub your temples, you politely made conversation with the man (a hookup you'd already forgotten the name of, add him to the list.)

the door slammed.

you sighed, groaning and rubbing your eyes. another fucking morning. idly, you made yourself eggs and glanced over at the television. some person was crying to the reporter about a car crash that had happened. unfortunate, you mused. those kinds of stories used to make you cry just as hard as the person it had actually happened to, but now, you seemed impartial to it. just another thing in the walk of life, you supposed.

scrolling through your instagram feed, you got a message from one of your friends about going out tonight. why not, right? it's not like you had better shit to do. (you didn't.)

and in what felt like a blink to you, there were loud, flashing lights that felt like they were pounding in your head. but you didn't want to be the party pooper loser of the night and go home, you needed this, so you downed a few shots with your friends until you eventually loosened up.

your friends burst into loud, shrill shrieks. "ohmygosh!" one of them tugged on your arm, pointing across the club to—

fuck.

schlatt was standing right there, tall and broad as ever, dressed in a black turtleneck with a brown jacket thrown over it. he looked distinguished, and eerily out of place. in the same city as you. and partying in an outfit that looked like it belonged to a stuffy college professor more than your old friend jay who you hadn't spoken to in... jeez, it must've been three years now since you'd ran off from memphis, moved thousands of miles away, went no contact, and started anew. schlatt called so often, frantically worrying about your absence, that you had to change your number.

he met your gaze, and he immediately moved. it made your face blanch as he weaved his way through the crowd easily, not caring if he'd pushed someone or interrupted a makeout session.

"you." he breathed heavily, eyes wide.

a man of few words. your friends, perplexed at the fact he knew you (they had just seen one of his youtube videos once),

"big man!" you put on a big, fake smile like you were thrilled to see him. well, it's not like you weren't. just taken aback, you supposed. "guess one of us had to look better than before, and we all know it's not me." your friends burst into giggles at your self-depricating joke, your smile faltering a little. "you grew a little. how's new york, huh?"

"uh... good." schlatt's eyes were wide, and he opened his mouth to say something, but bit his lip. "good."

[arrolyn1114]

Omg, my trip to Memphis and Graceland was amazing in every way!! We had SO much fun and ate a ton of delicious food!

I got a new personal record in this race. The last half marathon I did was the Wilmington, NC half back in February and I did it in 2:32. I trained hard for months to improve my time and my goal for this race was 2:25. I did Memphis in 2:18. I legit cried at the finish line when I saw my time.

I feel like Elvis and Memphis magic were with me the whole way. I absolutely want to do this race again at some point. It was a great experience and the on course support was fantastic. And at mile 10 when they took us through the St Jude Hospital campus there were kids outside holding signs that said things like "because you run today I am alive" which of course made me and the other runners lose it and start bawling our eyes out while we are running. It was totally worth it though!

My first visit to Graceland two days after the race was everything I had hoped it would be and more. It was an amazing and emotional experience. Walking into the house was a really unique feeling, it's hard to describe if you haven't been yet. The house felt so warm and cozy and inviting, like he wanted you to feel right at home in his home. And his energy can still be felt, it's like he never really left. And Graceland all decorated for Christmas is truly a beautiful thing to behold.

We did a lot of other great things in Memphis too: Sun Studios, Edge Motor Museum, Civil Rights Museum, Rock n' Soul Museum, Stax Museum, saw the Peabody Ducks and Lansky Brothers at the Peabody Hotel, hung out with friends at a bar on Beale St and listened to live music. There's some things we didn't get to do on this trip and that's ok, there's so much to do in Memphis that you can't do it all in one week so we can do those things on our next trip.

I was SO sad to leave, I actually kinda felt like I was in mourning. I can't wait to go back. Memphis is truly a special place and I see now why Elvis loved it so much. ❤

Memphis St Jude Half Marathon!

Omg I can't believe how time flew! In 2 days I fly to Memphis and in 3 days I will be running the St Jude Half Marathon. I've been crazy busy the past few weeks with finishing up my training and getting ready for the trip. This is my first trip to Memphis and Graceland and I'm super excited! The starting line is at BB King Blvd and Beale St and around mile 10 we go through the actual St Jude hospital campus. This course looks like it's going to be amazing and I can't wait to run through Memphis.

I'm also excited that on this trip I'm going to be meeting some fellow Elvis fans that I have been talking to for just over a year now on a Discord channel I was invited to join by @deke-rivers-1957. I'm so thankful for that little community of fans from all around the world and all different ages. They have all been super supportive and have been cheering me on all throughout training and for that I'm super grateful and I hope they all know just how thankful I am. I'm so excited that some of them are able to come and cheer me in person: @shakerattlescroll, @peskybedtime, @moonchild-daniella, @leopardandstuds, @thatbanditqueen, @nemos-rapture

@vintageshanny helped me build an amazing training playlist a few months ago with one of her Elvis Top 3 posts and for that I am SO grateful and I know I already thanked you in the Discord this morning but I want to thank you again. That playlist was perfect and it got me through the toughest of my long training runs. It means the world to me.

This trip is going to be SO much fun and I can't wait!

And of course, I want to end this post with a pic of Elvis, here's my beloved Aloha E, my man of many leis. 🌺❤

[presleyslilbaby]

please a fic where the Memphis mafia walk in on elvis and reader having sex and they make fun of her for it ( repeating what she said during it )and elvis goes mental and basically just puts them in their place ! thankyou 💕

~Mockery~

(70’s!Elvis X Reader)

(Hi there! Thank you for requesting! So I have to admit, I'm not that good with the Memphis Mafia yet due to somehow being unable to find any information which is odd, but I did see a few other people saying that Red and Jerry would be the type to mock in a situation like this. This isn't my best work I don't think, but I tried my best and I hope you like it! 💜)

(TW: Rough sex, oral sex, Daddy used in a sexual manner, controlling Elvis-If you squint-, getting caught, potential misspellings, probably OOC M.M-)

"Oohhhh...!" You moaned loudly as Elvis stuffed his tongue deep in your pussy, eating you out with such fervor you were sure you were going to see stars. Gripping his hair tightly, you began to rut against his face, desperate for more of that delicious pleasure he provided you. "Ya' taste so fuckin' good, li'l Mama...I could eat you all night," He rasped, pulling his tongue out only for him to replace it with two thick fingers, pumping them in and out of you as his lips closed around your clitoris, sucking and giving that occasional nip or two. "S-S-So good, Daddy~!" You praised him, arching your back as your thighs closed around his head.

Elvis growled, snapping your legs back open as he looked at you with such a controlling expression. "Keep these pretty li'l legs open, Y/n. I wanna eat this cunt properly." He ordered before delving back down to drag his tongue over your clit in an agonisingly slow manner, causing your legs to tremble as you whimpered. "Sing for me." He chuckled, pushing your hips up and holding you by the waist to get a better angle of what belonged to him. "Oh god, yes!" You moaned, feeling your lower abdomen burning with white hot pleasure, your body preparing you for an orgasm. And finally, you let go. But you didn't have much time before Elvis positioned himself at your entrance, burying himself to the hilt with one powerful thrust.

"Fuck, Baby...Yes...So goddamn tight..." He groaned, tilting his head back in pleasure. One thing that you found over the course of your relationship was that Elvis was definitely the type to scream during sex. But you were always louder. Minutes passed, and he was fucking you with wild abandon, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with every erratic thrust, panting like a dog in heat as sweat poured down his face, dripping down onto your own sweat-drenched body. "Fuck! Yes, Daddy! Harder!" You begged him, moaning as loud as your lungs would allow with how much air was being knocked out of you. "Daddy's gonna go harder," He whimpered, trying to drive into you harder despite his already wicked pace. A shaking thumb found its way to your clit, rubbing it desperately in rough circles as he sucked on that sweet spot on your neck he'd marked over and over again. But just as you were close to orgasming for the second time that night-

The bedroom door came open.

There stood Red West and Jerry Schilling with expressions mixed with mortification and amusement, eyes trained on the show you were unknowingly putting on. You noticed the door had opened, and you screamed, trying to hide your body from the two Men. Elvis whipped his head up, unsure what was going on before he noticed Red and Jerry. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" He shouted, grabbing the blanket and swiftly covering the both of you, shifting himself as if protecting you. Just as quickly as they appeared, the two had shut the door and left, but the sounds of their mockery could be heard beyond that threshold. "'Oh, Daddy~!'" They mocked, laughing at your expense.

Elvis was fucking pissed. Disentangling himself from you, he hopped up from the bed and swiftly pulled on a pair of underwear, his face bright Red with embarrassment and rage. "E-E-El-" You tried to call for him, but it was too late. He was already barging out of the bedroom to set those two straight. "I am NOT going to tolerate whatever the fuck you're doin'! Mockin' my Girl- MY Girl, while we was havin' time together!" Elvis shouted at them. "And why the FUCK DIDN'T YOU KNOCK?! What are you, goddamn idiots?! You say another fuckin' word, and I swear to The Good Lord above you're gonna wish you ain't said anythin' at all!" And before they could utter another word, he stomped right back in the room where he slammed the door shut, locking it aggressively. Tearing off his boxers, literally, he turned back towards you.

"We ain't done, Girl."

[foone]

Your best guess is that you've been in this time loop for something north of 15 years. You've lived that day, April 9th, 1997, something like 6000 times. You think... The second most ironic thing about being in this time loop* is that you have ADHD, and time blindness has always been something you've suffered with.

The time loop hasn't helped. You'll really get into a book, and don't look up from it until it's yesterday. Or, earlier today? Or tomorrow, it's all the same day. You wake up in your bed at 8:27, having slept through your alarm, no matter what happens. You've had plenty of time to do all the classic time loop things: told everyone (they forget the next day), kissed everyone (a surprising number of people turn out to be up for itl), tried to run (you made it all the way to Memphis one day, but it didn't make any difference), tried to make everything perfect and right (harder than you'd think, and there's nothing obvious that needs fixing), and gotten yourself exploded and shot and run over. You even made it into orbit once, NASA still swearing at you on the radio the whole way up. You've robbed all the local banks, kidnapped the mayor, and stolen half the stuff in the town, just to see what people have. Why not? It's hard to have a sense of morality when there are no repercussions to any actions, at least none that last more than 24 hours.

You convinced a scientist to shoot neutrinos at you once, thanks to something you'd read in a book on time. Didn't seem to make any difference, though you could swear the next day felt different, in some hard to define way.

You've gotten into a rhythm of starting each day and just walking out your front door, to visit a different place in the city, and knock on their door. If they're home, you ask questions, then use the answers next time to get further. If not, you let yourself in and see what their house looks like from the inside.

Even their shocking crimes no longer can shock you. Mr. Stevens is a burgler, Jenny J. is halfway through murdering her husband, Alex over on 5th street has a basement full of photos they shouldn't have, and more neighbors than you'd think are cooking meth or growing cannabis in their little backyard sheds or closets.

You can go to the police, you can confront them, you can explose them, or you can get a weapon and go all vigilante on them... It doesn't matter in the long run (and for you, the long run is very short indeed). They'll be fine the next morning, back at it again like nothing happened.

You wake up that same Wednesday morning, put on some clothes, and walk out the door. You got into a gimmick of crossing the road with your eyes closed: you know where the cars are, and if you keep the same pace, they definitely won't hit you. Besides, if you do, you wake up back in your bed. Big woop.

But you don't make it to the road this time. You trip, falling on the hard concrete of the sidewalk. What the hell? Your arms ache from catching yourself, and you have to suppress the time-looper instinct of "I hurt. Restart the loop!",at least until you figure out what happened.

You look back and there's a sneaker sitting on the sidewalk. A perfectly normal shoe, just a little skuffed up. A bit down the sidewalk, there's another, the other foot presumably.

You have a moment of equal parts panic and elation. You're out of the loop? You're out of the loop! This might be Thursday.

You gather yourself from the sidewalk and run back up the path to your door. You open the newspaper... April 9th. This is still the same day. You look back at the road, seeing the patterns of crossing cars you've seen thousands of times before. You listen, and your neighborhood sounds right. You can hear Timothy down the road yelling about baseball, so it's not 9:14 yet.

This isn't a new day. This is the day. This is your day. So why is something different? What, a partial time loop? And almost time loop? Most things are the same, but not all? It makes no sense.

You hear yelling down the road. You jog towards it, as an out of place sound just doesn't happen in your day. Around the corner there's a police officer shouting at a woman who is rapidly disrobing and flinging her discarded clothes at the officer, who is shouting at her and his radio. So far, she seems to be winning, but she's about out of linen ammunition.

You realize you don't recognize her. She's not one of the people you know, and you know everyone. She's someone new, the very anthesis of what a time loop is about. That, combined with recognizing that charicatistic disdain for consequences makes you gasp. My God... She's another time looper. She's done this day before, and it's just repeated, and now she's doing everything to see what happens. You're not alone in this crowded city anymore! You run towards her, eager to introduce yourself.

* Themost ironic thing about being in this time loop is that every copy of Groundhog Day at your local Blockbuster is checked out.

[lustnhim]

‘birthday boy’ — elvis x reader fluff

note: fluff  / warnings: none really, could come across as a little sad though. / summary: taking care of elvis the way he deserves on his birthday. 

January 8th 1977. 

Forty-two. 42. Fordy too. Over and over in his head like a broken record. Elvis knew it was creeping up on him, age usually did creep up on people- but it was never a surprise to him. Each passing year, each candle added on to the cake, the loneliness was inevitable.  Elvis sat morose in an armchair, his eyes heavy with the weight of the years and the burdens they carried. As his friends and confidants milled about, their laughter and chatter filling the rooms of Graceland, Elvis felt alone. It was as if he was observing his own life through a frosted pane of glass, the world on the other side vibrant and alive, while he remained suspended in a grey haze of melancholy. The Memphis Mafia had planned a huge surprise party, decorating the house and baking the biggest cake he’d ever seen in his life– but that’s not what Elvis wanted. Elvis wanted someone to be there. To really be there.

Sitting in a haze of his own thoughts, cigar smoke pooling out of his mouth as people walked in and out of the room all coming up to him, wishing him a happy birthday, hanging around for a bit then heading back to the party that was supposed to be for him. Taking a deep inhale of his cigar Elvis let his head fall back, pushing the smoke up into the air before soft footsteps in front of him caused him to jerk forward. In front of him stood a girl, maybe in her twenties, he couldn’t quite tell, in a blue dress with a small wrapped gift in her hands. He hadn’t seen her around before, probably one of the boys' daughters or somethin. “Well hello there honey…You alright?” Elvis asked, and the girl stood there for a minute, as if awe-struck. Elvis watched as she stared at him for a minute before clearing her throat nervously. “I-I have something for you.” She said, her arms extending to present the box to him, wrapped in silver paper with a pink bow. Elvis looked at the box then back at her, uncrossing his legs and dishing the ashes of his cigar into the ashtray, letting it rest there. “Did ya now..? Well thank you very much, darlin.” Elvis said, taking the box from the girl's hands, noting how they were shaking. The girl stood there for a minute, and Elvis smiled at her, there was something about her…she felt…new. Elvis looked at the tag on the box, written in pen was, ‘Happy Birthday, Elvis. Love, me.’ Elvis couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “Love, me? I know that ain’t your name.” He said and the girl smiled, “I-It’s not…” She replied, taking her hands and holding them behind her back. “Well what is it?” Elvis asked and the girl shook her head, like her name was the biggest secret in this world. “Just open your present.” She said and Elvis cleared his throat, pulling the bow off gently and sitting it down on his knee. As Elvis tore away the shimmering silver paper, he revealed a small, carved wooden box. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the grain of the wood gleaming beneath his fingertips as he ran them over the smooth surface. Inside the box, nestled on a bed of  pink velvet, was a delicate gold locket. It was a simple piece, but there was something about it that caught Elvis' eye - maybe it was the way it seemed to catch the light or perhaps the initials engraved upon its surface. The initials 'E' and 'P', intertwined in an elegant script. Elvis had just about everything embroidered– but this…it was different. “Let’s go downstairs. To the Jungle Room. Just me an’ you.” Elvis says he feels like he’s being too bold, but his intentions are nothing more than wholesome. He just wants to be with her alone. 

Elvis picked up the locket, feeling the cool metal against his skin as he held it in his palm. He looked up at the girl, his eyes meeting hers, and in that moment, he saw a reflection of his younger self staring back at him. The same heart, the same unbridled passion and love for life that had once consumed him. "I have a note," the girl said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She handed him a small piece of folded paper, the edges wear and tear from what he could only assume was it being held close to her heart. Opening the note Elvis smiled at her handwriting, it was very loopy, very girly. The note was short and sweet, three simple words. 

‘I love you.’

Elvis read the words, his heart skipping a beat. He had heard those words, read them, said them a million times, but this. This felt different. In that moment, the grey haze of melancholy that had been weighing on him lifted slightly, replaced by a faint warmth that blossomed in his chest. He looked up at the girl, really looked at her, taking in the way her blue dress looked on her, the way her eyes shined with sincerity, the way her hair fell, how she stood, her presence. Almost angelic. He sits the locket back down into the box and sits it beside the pink bow on the table, the note still in his hand. “Here, come sit on my knee.” Elvis says, and the girl hesitates, looking around the room, not like she’s looking for someone, but like she’s pressed for time. “Okay…” She says simply, moving over and sitting on his knee, her body is tense and Elvis' body is too. Her legs are between his, she looks down at the ground, still shaking. “Why are ya so nervous, honey? It’s just me.” Elvis says gently, his hand reaching to touch hers and when it does she lets out a soft gasp. “That’s just it. It’s you…it’s really you.” She says with a soft smile on her face. Elvis is confused but he doesn’t press further. She’s obviously a fan, maybe that’s it. “I ain’t nothin’ special darlin’ not anymore.” Elvis says, his fingers intertwining with hers. Her hand feels so small, so delicate in his. “You’re so special. Even now.” She says and clicks her tongue, like she slipped up. “I wish you could see what's gonna happen..” She continues and Elvis clears his throat. “What do you mean, honey?” He asks, “I can’t say.” And that was it. Elvis wasn’t going to press any further, just like he didn’t before. 

“Where did you get that locket?” Elvis asks, and the girl blushes deeply at Elvis's question, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She looks up at him from beneath long, dark lashes, her eyes wide and uncertain. "I... I had it made," she confesses softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "For you. For your birthday." Elvis raises an eyebrow, flattered. "All fa’ me?" He picks up the locket, turning it over in his large hands, examining the intricate engraving. "It’s beautiful honey. The best thing I've been given in a long time." The girl smiles shyly at his compliment, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks. "Thank you. I wanted to give you something... special. Before I have to go." She says quietly. "Well I hope you ain’t leavin’ anytime soon." Elvis says warmly, his thumb brushing over the initials etched into the gold. He looks at the girl, really looks at her, trying to discern the enigma wrapped in blue. "I’m enjoyin’ your company an awful lot.” The girl's breath catches, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She looks away, suddenly self-conscious. "I just wanted to show you... that you're still special to people. No matter what they say about you." Elvis feels a strange tightening in his chest, an unfamiliar but welcome warmth spreading through him. He squeezes the girl's hand gently, "You shouldn't be spendin’ your time with an old man.” he murmurs, clearing his throat, sitting the locket back. “You’re a pretty girl. I’m sure you could be pourin’ your love into someone better.” The girl's eyes widen at Elvis's words, a flash of something intense and almost painful crossing her face before she lowers her gaze. "No," she whispers fiercely, her small hand tightening around his, "No one could ever be better than you, Elvis. No one."

She takes a shuddering breath before continuing, her voice low and intense. "You don't understand. I've... I've waited so long for this moment. Dreamed about it. And now..." She shakes her head, curls tumbling around her face. "I can't let it go. I won't let it go.” The girl leans in closer, her face mere inches from Elvis's. He can feel her warm breath feathering against his skin, smell the sweet scent of her perfume. "I love you," she breathes, her eyes blazing into his with an almost desperate intensity. "I love you in a way you can't possibly imagine. And I'm not leaving until... until I've shown you how much." Elvis feels a shiver run down his spine at the raw, unbridled emotion in her voice. It's been so long since someone has looked at him like this, with such naked, all-consuming devotion. He's used to the girls, to the fans who love the idea of him, the legend. But this girl... she's different. She sees him. He raises a hand to cup her face, his calloused fingers gently stroking her soft cheek. "Now honey," he murmurs, but there's no real conviction in his voice. "You don’t mean that." Despite his words, Elvis finds himself leaning in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He's tired of the hollow celebrations, the plastic smiles and empty toasts. This girl... she's the first genuine thing that's happened to him in years. He doesn’t want this party, this extravagance, all these people here- he just wants it to be him and this girl. “I absolutely mean it.” She says, her voice not wavering. Elvis smiles, it’s almost bittersweet in a way he can’t quite understand.

“I want everyone else to leave. I just want it to be me an’ you.” Elvis says, beginning to move. The girl gets up and watches as he walks out of the Living Room and into the kitchen. Elvis pushes his way through the crowd of people till he finds Red West. “Listen man, I ain’t feelin’ too good…you mind sendin’ all these folks out?” He asks, eager to get back to that girl. Red looked at Elvis with concern etched on his weathered face. He had known Elvis for years, had seen him through countless ups and downs, and he could tell that something was different this time. "You sure you want to do that, Elvis?" Red asked, his voice low and cautious. "I mean, this is your birthday party. All these folks are here to celebrate with you." Elvis sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know, I know. But I just... I need some time. Alone. With her." Elvis's gaze drifted back to the girl in the blue dress, who was now standing alone by the fireplace, her eyes still fixed on him. Red followed Elvis's gaze, a hint of understanding dawning on his face. "Ah, I see," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright then. I'll take care of it." Red clapped Elvis on the shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "But don't be a stranger, ya hear? It ain't every day a guy turns forty-two." Elvis just nodded, already starting to make his way back to the living room. The crowd hurried out within minutes as he approached the girl, the chatter and laughter fading into a distant hum. As he drew near, the girl looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mix of hope and trepidation. Elvis held out his hand to her, his usual bravado replaced with a newfound vulnerability. "Come on," he said softly, "I want to show you somethin'."The girl placed her small hand in his, and Elvis felt a warmth spread  through him at her touch. He led her out of the living room, past the grand staircase, and down the long hallway towards the Jungle Room. As they entered the opulent space, with its lush greenery and decadent decor, Elvis pulled the girl close to him. The doors swung shut behind them with a soft click, and suddenly it was just the two of them, alone amidst the tangle of tropical plants and plush furnishings. Elvis turned to face the girl, his hands resting gently on her waist. "I ain't never been much for crowds," he confessed, his voice low and intimate in the quiet of the room. "But I gotta say, I'm real happy you came." The girl looked up at him, her eyes wide and wondering. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long," she whispered, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. "I didn't think... I mean, I never imagined..."Imagined what, angel?" Elvis murmured, his head lowering so that his forehead rested against hers. "Tell me." The girl took a shuddering breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I imagined this. Us. Alone.” Elvis shakes his head, “You act like you weren’t gonna see me in my own home.” He teases, but the girl just nods. 

Elvis gazed down at the girl, his heart swelling with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. Her presence, her words, her touch... it was all so real, so genuine. He could feel the love radiating off her in waves, washing over him like a soothing balm. Elvis knew he should be wary, should guard his heart like the precious treasure it was. But there was something about this girl, something that made him want to let go, to surrender to the feeling blossoming in his chest. As if reading his thoughts, the girl reached up and gently cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing over the weathered skin. "You're thinking too much," she murmured softly, a gentle admonishment. "Just for once, Elvis... don't think. Feel." Slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away or object, Elvis leaned in closer. He could feel her warm breath mingling with his own, could see the way her pulse fluttered wildly at the base of her throat. He paused for a moment, letting anticipation build, before closing the remaining distance and pressing his lips to hers. The girl made a soft noise deep in her throat, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. Elvis let himself get lost in the sensation, in the warmth and softness of her mouth under his. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, trying to pour every ounce of emotion and longing into the single embrace. When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing harder, their eyes glazed with a newfound hunger. The girl leaned her forehead against his, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I love you," she whispered, the words tickling his skin. "All of you. The man you are now." Elvis felt tears prick his eyes. What was going on? He felt so…loved. So safe. So adored. He didn’t need the fans, the money, the fame…this was all he wanted. “I love you too, Angel. An’ I want you ta’ stay.” He says, and the girl takes a finger and wipes the tears from under his eyes.

“I’ll stay.” 

She says, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Happy Birthday Elvis.”

first off, happy heavenly birthday elvis presley. words cannot even begin to express how much better my life has been since i have begun listening to and loving elvis. i wanted to post this at exactly midnight but i also posted on my other platforms 😓 i also want to thank you all for 500+ followers, i cannot believe i have been blessed with this community- i love you all so very much.

taglist: @hooked-on-elvis @atleastpleasetelephone @lola-1013 @indiatuck @eptodaytommorowforever @suspiciousmindsxo @tupelomiss @myradiaz @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresley1956 @sisssygirl @your-nanas-house @callieselvisobsessed @eapep @auntbee22 @elvisiana @ladelinee @jhoneybees @elviswhore69 @sissylittlefeather @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @louisejoy86 @cherrycolaride @sloppyzengarden @daughterdelrey @iloveelvisss @theelvisprincess @fairybloodsucker

[nakedmusicscore]

Elvis with B.B. King

Kings quote on Elvis:

“When Elvis appeared he was already a big, big star. Remember this was the fifties so for a young white boy to show up in an all-black function took guts. I believe he was showing his roots and he seemed proud of those roots. After the show he made a point of posing for pictures with me treating me like royalty. He’d tell people I was one of his influences. I doubt whether that’s true but I like hearing Elvis give Memphis credit for his musical upbringing.

Back in 1972, Elvis helped me get a good gig at the Hilton Hotel while he was playing in the big theater. He put in a call for me and I worked in the lounge to a standing room only crowd. Elvis fans came in different colors but their love for good music was all the same. They were always a good audience.

Many nights I’d go upstairs after we finished our sets and go up to his suite. I’d play Lucille [King’s guitar] and sing with Elvis, or we’d take turns. It was his way of relaxing.

I’ll tell you a secret. We were the original Blues Brothers because that man knew more blues songs than most in the business - and after some nights it felt like we sang every one of them. But my point is, that when we were hanging out in the Hilton in the 70s, Elvis had not lost his respect, his ‘yes sir’, his love for all fields of music. And I liked that.”