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tree-obsession · 3 months

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Gold and Red Text in Penacony

So, for some reason, I have decided to torture myself by creating a theory that will likely have some plot relevance??? but not totally sure. it has popped up a bunch of times and seems to confuse a lot of people, so I'm just putting together what I know! feel free to tell me if I missed something, as I haven't done many of the side quests yet...

Anyway, spoiler warning for 2.0 trailblaze mission and possibly some of the side quests?? idk proceed with caution! I don't read many leaks so I doubt there's spoilers for that but tell me right away if there are any!

Alright, so the first time we see different-colored text in this mission is during Acheron's first meeting with the Trailblazer. According to this twitter thread (credits to user mobnermal, NOT me) Acheron's dialogue will change, depending on the gender of the tb and how we respond to her queries. She also says towards the end of the convo something along the lines of "It feels like multiple different versions of you were talking to me, saying a different thing each time".

So, I'm not entirely sure why she's lying, or even if she's doing it intetionally. It does seem like there's some aspect of "different possibilities within the Dreamscape" happening- almost like the Dreamscape itself is changing the tb's answers/Acheron's questions. But again, we'll get a bit into the dreamscape later.

2. Aventurine's final convo with the tb, and then Black Swan later.

My screenshots were failing me so hard in this quest lol.

Anyway, as far as I know, these two are the only ones in this mission who use gold text. It's mostly used to highlight the word "truth", and according to the wiki and playthroughs I have watched this dialogue doesn't change- only Acheron's red seems inconsistent. I find it interesting Black Swan put quotations around it, and I have no idea what this could imply. I assume she knows something we and Aventurine don't about Robin's death, which seems to be what they were referring to during this part.

As to how that "upends everything"... I don't know what the implications of her death are. It's implied by the npc who raised Robin (can't find any screenshots- I didn't take any, but it's dialogue from an npc in the Golden Hour) and Sunday and Robin's dialogue in the very beginning- the one where they were "shades"- that Robin's voice may have some special quality that could mind-control/ brainwash people to some extent. This is a bit of a tangent, but may point out why the gold test is so important- the new Harmony trace mats match Robin's design very well, and are part of the Order. The Order's- Ena's- symbol is an eyeball, which can be found in a lot of places on Penacony, but most importantly Sunday's clothes. Judging from what we know of Sunday's control-freak-esque personality (sorry dude ):) it's possible he or someone else in The Family is using Robin's potential powers to brainwash the people of different factions. If you choose the alternate ending, everything wraps up a bit too nicely, and nobody seems to want to leave Penacony after that. Tb never finds out about Robin's death in that ending, either. There's a lot of implications there that I don't want to get into for this post, but basically- The Family is orchestrating something, probs pinned the blame on the IPC in the bad ending (since otherwise why would hoyo tell us that?) and then brainwashed everyone to never leave. Why? No idea! But it does explain why Robin's "truth" (in quotations, because Black Swan's dialogue does imply Robin's not dead) is so important to the plot.

That was a bit of a tangent, lol. Going back to the first sc, I find it interesting Aventurine is the one to tell us this, and if we're going with the idea that gold=truth, that just tells us Acheron's most certainly an Emanator, no matter what the Dreamscape does. Why they choose to have Aventurine reveal this, especially with the first instance of golden text- that's still up in the air. However, something I want to throw in is that there was a theory floating around Twitter comparing his eyes to the eye behind Ena in their official art. They are identical- even the gold outline on Ena's eye matches his eyeliner. Since it's implied in his conversation with Sparkle his eyes are a defining feature of his race, Sigonian, and that their civilization has been taken over (I'm not clear on details) or fallen apart somehow- akin to how civilizations under Ena's rule fell apart after their death- there may be some relation. Also, Aventurine was sent to Penacony specifically, which Topaz questioned- this may be why Diamond sent him. It implies a lot of plot relevance for him later, certainly!

3. The really, really ominous text you can get from a side quest.

If you go to the Reverie(Dreamscape) VIP lounge teleport beacon and head to the wall, you find a broken Clockie surrounded by purple bubbles. If you haven't done this quest yet- do it now, I really can't explain all this! search up a guide- there's a couple good ones on youtube. you do get a sticker!

anyway, some screenshots of the tape's text (cw for slight gore, explosions, screams, overall very ominous and vague tour-guidey stuff):

sorry for the text overlap lol, this was very inconveniently sized for screenshots.

anyway, yeah! possibly the most unnerving thing in the game so far (aside from those lost text stickers...). but, as you can tell, I'm gonna focus on the gold and red text. fair warning, I don't really know what to make of this, but I think there's some connection...

first, gold. this is, if we go off what I previously thought, the "truth". My current theory is that this gold is true of within or outside dreamscape- in other words, the dreamscape cannot alter that thing in the gold text. It's there, regardless of how the dreamscape screws other things up. The "truth" in the dreamscape isn't necessarily reliable, since dreamscape seems to fuck with everything, but gold is apparently truth, so we're sticking to that. That means that bloodshed, mind-opening (?), and pressure-releasing (???) is... true? It's kind of interesting- the other things in gold we've seen are statements with meaning, and this... kinda isn't. However, it could imply this is actually what's happening in the Dreamscape. Some kind of deranged, creepy thing that the dreamscape/ the Family is doing while everyone else is on this cool-looking vacation. I have no idea why that line, of all the lines, is gold, but it's certainly not something someone trying to make Penacony look good would say! That's all I know.

Not much I know about why the red one, specifically, is red either. Are the instruments/music fake? That's certainly a recurring motif in Penacony, between bands in the Golden Hour and Robin being a songstress, plus Ena's "Beyond the Sky Choir", their exclusive faction, which fell apart upon their death. Something about Ena being swallowed by XIpe will certainly be brought up later, I'm almost totally sure. It's also interesting it gets cut off by static, without even finishing the statement(I think). I have no idea what to make of these- I just needed to point out the similarities between this tape and the dialogue.

Also, the tape itself is suspicious. According to Woolesley, there are multiple, appearing all over the Reverie (Dreamscape) and sometimes even messing with the Dreamscape.

First of all, why the hell is he telling us this very classified-sounding info? Also, he literally might pop up next to you- it's inevitable that you give him the tape at some point, really showing how The Family is cracking down on these.

Also, who's making these tapes? Why are they leaving them around the Dreamscape if they know it'll be taken? What's with these side effects/corrupting? And what's the relation between the tapes, Acheron, and Aventurine/Black Swan- are those things revealed in the tapes things only those three are aware of, or care to tell tb? It's really weird, especially since they're apparently in Clockie statues? Also, why tapes even- the tapes themselves seem corrupted(or censored?) weirdly, judging from the lines, and also just... why would anyone make these? Someone against the Family presumably wouldn't do rebellion in such a way, and someone within would have no reason to create this at all- is the Dreamscape itself making it? it's the only thing using both red and gold text...

there's probably some connection to Clockie, since that's who is most likely talking in the tape... and that's the statue we found it in too. Clockie is sus in a whole host of ways- don't even get me started, but I'm not sure how they relate to this theory just yet.

I have no idea. The tape is super creepy, but things probably will clear up a bit in 2.1!

tldr/clarification(sry for rambling so much): red text = lie/subjective/ easily changeable, to the dreamscape at least

gold text= "truth", dreamscape is unable to change it(?)

ena probs will have some lore relevance along with Robin, who seems to be the center of this "truth" for the moment

the bizarre tape is very mysterious and questionable, with nothing solid that we know about it- however, it uses both red and gold text, which automatically makes it suspicious even beyond what it's saying directly

what the hell is the family cooking up? i don't know, but it's probably not good! (for us, at least)

thank you for reading this lightly-proofread, very rambling theory/speculation- you are an angel for making it this long!

edit: so number one- I've added a reblog to this post- plz check it out, it has some other details from the Chadwick quest. and also, there's this Youtube video that mentions the red text in the beginning! It has a very similar idea to mine, but the thing it mentions is not an option I made (I accepted Acheron right away lol, so I didn't grab this detail). And the entire vid is pretty cool, so you should see it!

#penacony #hsr #honkai star rail #trailblazer #hsr theory #honkai star rail theory #bizarre tape #hsr 2.0 #acheron #aventurine #robin #black swan #the family hsr #ena #xipe #the reverie #dreamscape #clockie #clockie hsr

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wildpeachfarm · 2 months

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dragging the conversation back to earlier: people absolutely start veering towards radfem ideology during situations like this, in no small part because feeling hurt/betrayed/scared are big factors for getting radicalized. i've seen some people in this fandom say they've caught themselves slipping towards radfem rhetoric, and

1) i'm glad some of yall are catching it when it happens,

2) one of the best things you can do to inoculate yourself against that shit is reading up on feminist theory that explicitly includes men in the discussion. you should read bell hooks in general, but for this discussion in particular, "the will to change: men, masculinity, and love" is my top recommendation. black feminism in general has been having this discussion for decades

3) the other best thing you can do is seek out the experiences of marginalized men. listen to trans men, and men of colour, and disabled men, and queer men, and intersex men. remember that gender is not the only part of identity that impacts someone's lived experience. maybe go watch kimberle crenshaw speak about intersectionality to make sure you understand the term as she coined it, not as the internet has bastardized it until we ended up with the fucking blizzard overwatch diversity charts

4) oh yeah, actually go read up on radfem talking points and dogwhistles. not terf (although you should learn those as well), but radfem. most terfs know they aren't gonna get you into the 'trans exclusionary' bit right off the bat, but they can and will get you on the 'radical feminist' bit. dont give them that foot in the door.

4) to paraphrase someone else: every large enough group of women has men in it, and every large enough group of men has women in it, both because of multigender people, and binary trans people (closeted, egg uncracked, etc). if you want to fully, properly keep yourself away from terf and radfem rhetoric, you need to make peace with this.

good read for anyone who was interested in the convo earlier about harmful rhetoric being used by twitter users lately and how to combat it!

#ask #anon #anti drummyache tag

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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Father Paul NSFT Headcannons

Pairing: Father Paul | Monsignor John Pruitt x reader (Midnight Mass)

A/N: I am literally insane, and I am literally feral. No thoughts, only Father Paul and Hamish Linklater. I am going to hell and you are all coming down with me. Writing this made me literally dizzy. Dedicated to the very lovely @jacknives who helped flesh out many of these HCs in unhinged twitter convos <3 I would not be back writing without you

Warnings: Sexual content, 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. Millie, who's Millie? Reader is written as gn! but also includes talks of menstruation (if it doesn't apply to you, or makes you uncomfortable just ignore! there are tw before the HCs including blood), blood kink, this is incredibly sexual. Feedback is always appreciated, trying to really get the feel for this character.

✧ He asks you to pray with him before the act. The irony is not lost on you -- almost like this will cancel out the evenings sins. Both your knees on the wooden floor beside his bed, hands clasps together. Your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Quietly mumbling under his breath, his wooden rosary wrapped around his fingers. The same ones that will be inside you in due time.

✧ Obsessive about making you feel comfortable and gets genuinely upset if you demean yourself. If you attempt to cover yourself up, or ask for the lights off Paul will insist for you to reconsider. He has a serpents tongue for such a holy man.

✧ "God has made you in His perfect image. Meticulously crafted from dust. I want to see you as He intended. To deny yourself is to deny God, is that what you really want? Show me. Show me all of you. And I will show you all of me."

✧ The kindest, sweetest, most affectionate lover that has ever graced the face of this Earth. He sees you as his own personal deity; and angel sent directly from God to reward him for years of devotion. The Catholic guilt eats at him from time to time, constantly there in the back of his head. But, the way your bodies intertwine perfectly together, how his cock deliciously stretches you out like it was made for you and you alone. It could never feel like a sin to him. And if God Himself made pleasures this strong, who is Paul to deny it?

✧ You have to be reasonably quiet. God knows that if anything sounds off or suspicious Bev will rear her nosy head into your private life. He'll use his mouth to quiet moans threatening to escape from you.

✧ Paul is a quiet lover to begin with. His noises consisting mostly of flushed, broken moans that get caught in his throat. He is quite talkative though. His mouth on yours, panting in between hushed praises.

"You can take it, just a few more inches. I got you. You're so strong for me. My good angel..."

"Look at me, please. I - oh god - I want you to look at me when you cum."

"I-I can't control myself when you touch me like that. Don't stop."

"Can you feel me inside of you? How deep I am? You take me so well."

"Tell me what you want from me. Tell me where you need me the most."

✧ Enjoys giving more than receiving oral; for Adam was also tempted by the delicious apple betwixt Eve's thighs. What he lacks in skill he certainly makes up for enthusiasm. He uses the flat part of his tongue to drink from you, your taste the holiest of nectars. He loves your reactions to his ministrations too. How your thighs squeeze around his head, your nails digging into his scalp. You can feel the heat radiating off of his ears, flushed pink. Paul especially loves when you pull on his thick, black locks. The perfect combination of pleasure and pain.

✧ The way he looks when he hovers over you, member thrusting into your hot core is almost indescribable. Sweat starts to curl his neatly styled hair, pieces becoming unruly and sticking to his forehead. The way his eyebrows furrow together in concentration, eyes half lidded in bliss. He will often forget his own strength. The angel blood which courses inside his veins has not only returned his youth, but given him a whole slew of other newfound abilities. His knuckles turn white as he holds onto the headboard of the bed, snapping the wood beneath his hand.

✧ Other times it manifests itself in bruises across your body - a bite too rough, a grab too strong. Being the sweetheart he is, Paul will profusely apologize for them when the post coital bliss had dissipated. But you love them, because they are proof that he was there. That you were in his bed. That his hands, his mouth, his body touched your skin. That he belongs to you, and you alone. Even if no one else knows.

✧ Loves it when you take the reins too. How his baritone register reaches up to a whine, breathy and high pitched moans as you edge him. And how delicious it will be later, smirking to yourself at mass while thinking about how easily you make him come undone. Watching this confident man deliver his sermon, know that he will be on his knees begging you to bring him the sweet release he craves just hours from now. If only the town knew...

✧ [tw // blood mention] It takes every ounce of his being to not give in to his most primal urges during sex. The mixture of pheromones and your natural scent makes his eyes glaze over, almost putting him into a trance. He'll bury his face into the side of your neck, leaving fresh bruises created by his mouth in his wake. How easy it would be to sink his canines into the soft flesh there, finding your pulse point. The sickeningly sweet concoction of iron and honey across his tongue, how he'd imagine your blood to taste.

This is your body, broken for the forgiveness of sin.

✧ [tw // blood mention] He will break this rule only sometimes. If you are someone who menstruates, he will have a strong fascination with period sex. As long as you are comfortable with it, of course. The disgusting need to see you covered with blood immediately makes his pants tighten just at the thought. While eating you out, the combination of your unique taste mixed with the tang of blood turns him into something you barely see. Your soft spoken pastor becomes an insatiable lust-driven demon.

✧ [tw: blood mention] Drinking the angel's blood straight from the cruet while taking you from behind, his thrusts sloppy and erratic. Blood running down the side of his mouth, his eyes wild. Your head looking over your shoulder, mouth agape as he pours the remaining contents directly onto the curvature of your back. He is an animal, and this satisfies the craving inside him as he licks it off of you.

✧ Once you are both fully spend and fucked out, he doesn't want to separate from you. He lets you catch your breath, both your hearts returning in sync. His large hand, pushing stray hairs off of your face and grazing his thumb against your cheek. You can still feel his heartbeat inside of you.

"Don't move, I want to stay like this."

✧ His cock still buried deep inside you, arms wrapped around your waist as you both drift off. Warmth. Comfort. Protection. Together you are one until the morning light. In which this perfect solitude will be once again washed away. From lovers back to secrecy in the blink of an eye.

Paradise lost.

#midnight mass 2021 #father paul x reader #monsignor john pruitt x reader #hamfam #hamish linklater #I am infiltrating your community

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olderthannetfic · 9 months

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The previous convos about sensitivity readers and purity culture in booktwit types definitely feels familiar. I'll never forget when I was querying agents a few years ago with a novel I wrote, and I was told my writing "caused discomfort," was "problematic" and could be seen as racist/anti-black and having a lot of instances of queerphobia and misogynoir. The novel was a horror-fantasy story that actually was based on the transatlantic slave trade but on a different planet (So, yes, I would hope that this kind of story would be disturbing and cause discomfort in the reader. Mission accomplished). The plot covered several generations of the captured aliens who were enslaved (a la A Hundred Years of Solitude), the fallout of their enslavement, and the mistreatment of the enslaved people as a result. Most of the agents who requested the full manuscript said they liked the story, but I was met with many intrusive questions about my identity, race, gender, and sexuality and urges to work with a sensitivity reader should we progress forward as agent and writer. I am a Black, femme nonbinary, bisexual person. This was all fine and dandy with them, so they wanted to make this information about my identity public for consumers to appease the Twitter crowd and dissuade callout posts from the functionally illiterate. I wanted to maintain my dignity and not disclose any personal information. (They assumed it was because I was in the closet or something. I was not then and am not now. My identity just isn't anyone's business if they want to read a book, simple as that. This was also especially because there are mentions of sexual assault of some characters, and that kind of information definitely isn't anyone's business to know about an author. Period.) I also didn't want to hire a sensitivity reader because they were advertised to me as someone who performed outrage at works for a living (It also didn't help that I was linked to a few sensitivity readers who were very vocal on YA book Twitter and SFF Twitter. No thank you.). This was, apparently, a problem. That was when I decided publishing may not be for me, at least traditional publishing.

Yeah, sadly, I feel there is an audience for that book, but you're going to have to find it yourself. Anything YA adjacent is too outrage-driven without the necessary nuance, but a lot of more oldschool SFF circles are too full of the kind of sensitive, delicate white guys who wouldn't get this book either. Maybe an indie black press? Somewhere with a more literary bent that thrives on controversial books? Depending on how horror-y it is, maybe there's an avenue to pursue there. Horror fans do include a lot of manbabies too, but those circles can be more open to actually dark stuff.

At least self publishing is easy now, but self publishing and then getting a significant number of people to buy and read the book is hard.

I promise that decent sensitivity readers exist, but the ones that crowd is going to send you to are... not equipped to deal with dark horror fantasy, in my opinion.

And as a writer, I wouldn't work with anyone I didn't know pretty well anyway. How are you supposed to evaluate the feedback of a rando? What if they fundamentally don't get your genre?

If you do decide to press on, I think I'd look for like-minded fellow writers to begin with. Start a club. Serialize your stuff in the same place. IDK. There are plenty of grown-ass adults who buy books and who like nuance. There's got to be some way to find your audience.

It would be a pity to give up just because publishing is full of cowards.

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daisychains111 · 3 months

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incorrect chb camper quotes but it's actually just my sister's quotebook from Twitter

Disclaimer: This post is gonna be LONG AF

Percy: "Ahh, die quieter"

Clarisse to Silena: "Do I look majestic?"

Will: "I live in America. Cultures?... casserole"

Nico: "At-home lobotomy"

Baby Nico to Clarisse: "You look like Harry Potter, You just need a scar black hair, different clothes, and to be a boy. "

Annabeth:"I don't know if I have enough sanity for 2 Holy books"

Leo: "I've seen titties before....not really in person, but yk"

Annabeth: "Do you have ears?"

Jason: "I kinda wanna work at Taco Bell"

Piper: "I've never been passive-aggressive in my life"

Will to Apollo: "There's no batteries in my butt Dad I'm not a robot"

Clarisse: "I'm not upset I don't hold grudges"

Ares to Clarisse: "I don't like your clothes it forces me to look at you"

Frank to Leo: "It's not 'drip' it's stupid"

Travis to the whole Hermes Cabin: "I'm the Rizzington bear... like Paddington bear but Rizz" (after his 1st date with Katie)

Nico: "I love Olive Garden, I wish Italians were real"

Rachel: "Come on, you guys stop trying to cockblock the view"

Katie: "If people can smoke weed in the middle of the day, then I can drink chamomile tea"

Rachel: "You don't want to piss me off I'm witewally a werewolf"

Piper about Jason: "All my friends are boys, and one just died... he would have made a great bridesmaid"

Frank: "I was doing a silly but the funny didn’t land"

Jason: "Why am I white"

Rachel: "I am not a whore, I am a celibate queen!"

Drew: "It's not the fashion statement that you think it is"

Nico about the Ares Cabin: "They're gonna call you a slur, but they're gonna be really nice about it"

Piper to Annabeth: "If we both think it, it's not bitchy"

Grover: "I'm just gonna write a paragraph or two about global warming"

Annabeth"I have like a 7th-grade reading level!!! (this is impressive when you're dyslexic)

Jason: "Dude I love yoga"

Will: "They say that Utah is the promise land"

Kayla: *explains what a text-fic is to grandparents (Apollo)*

Clarisse: "Put that on your Twitter!" *points knife at me*

Travis: "Do you eat?"

Katie: "...um yes?"

Travis: "Oh, I mean do you want to eat." (when he asked Katie out the first time)

Hazel: "That's not gonna change my heart. That's just gonna make me cry!"

Alabaster: "I wanna find someone somewhere to impregnate and then steal the baby......Where's your Twitter, that was kinda funny"

Percy about Leo: "I would spoon that man so hard"

Frank: "The closer I get to nature, the closer I get to being a werewolf"

Apollo: "I feel like Jaba the Hut"

Rachel: "It's because you ate girl dinner"

Apollo (same convo^)"I fell asleep, and I woke up, and I ate a girl dinner, and I didn't feel that good"

Percy: Don't mind me just cleaning the ocean" *hand angrily on hip*

Will to the Stolls: "Although my bellybutton was once my mouth I don't want soda in it!!"

Connor: "Look at how majestic I am"

Clarisse: *gasps* *throws uno cards* "This is communism at its finest, and I hate your life." *Is losing* "All I'm doing is humoring you now. There is no reason for me to play anymore." *throws cards* *again*

Nico: *passes out*

Will: "We need to take you to the doctor like right now."

Nico: "No fireworks are more important than my health"

Leo about Percy: "That's a pretty boy right there... if we were in prison, it's over."

Kayla when Will came out to her: "Slay motherfucker"

Annabeth: "I hope to not run over any old ladies...old men are fair game tho."

Percy: "Main characters get bullied, Jesus....yep!"

Leo: "What if I was an astronaut!!!!"

Travis: "Banana, Banana, Meatball"

Clarisse: "I am going to break your toe shut the hell up"

Katie to Connor: "I hope you get bullied in high school."

Clarisse about Leo: "This guy's a fuckin goober"

Clarisse: "What did you do to your sweatshirt? Did you get hungry?"-Grover: *sighs*

Nyssa (Hephaestus kid) to Leo: "Dont hurt me. I'm Batman!.... You better not tweet that"

Kayla to Apollo: "It's called multi-tasking Apollo! "

Apollo: "It's mother to you"

Clarisse: "I could fight God and win"

Percy: "So you wanna fight rn"

Clarisse: "No, I'm good"

Jason; "You look gang"

Leo: "What? I look gay!?!?!"

Jason: "You look straight, but nice"

Leo: "Oh... thanks!"

Apollo to Rachel"Lie, deny, cry, and for good measure be a raging slut."

Silena: "There's all kinds of nature out here"

Katie: "Live, laugh, love, low iron"

Annabeth to Piper: "Keep backing up...Cuz you have a fear of commitment

Lou Ellen to Katie: "Does your knee affect your shoe size... or are your feet just that small??"

Travis: "The amount of testosterone in me, peanuts are allergic to me!"

Leo: "I'm cracked up on feeling sexy"

Connor to the whole Hermes Cabin: "The "10" of us? our parents sp*rm pets"

Apollo about Athena: "OH gods, a single mom"

Apollo about Kayla's dad: "I cheated on myself with a man"

Malcolm about Athena: "She's a mom boogie woogie woogie"

Nico: "I cried at Chick-fil-A the other day"

Nico: "Live, laugh, lobotomy."

Drew about Thalia: "She has no friends and a dead brother."

Katie: "I wrote fanfiction on my i-pod touch"

Lacy to Leo: "Was it a tech? or was it a human?"

Will: "Live, laugh, love, tampons"

Kayla: "Die, cry, hate, condoms"

Aphrodite to Clarisse: "Do you like being a girl? You just always wear pants"

Percy: "Chill I know how to make conversations I have Rizz"

Will: "What! no! cow!"

Frank: "Fvcking knock it off seriously you guys are acting like children!!"

Travis to Lou Ellen: "Yesss pussy-pop you slayed"

Ashlyn (Hermes kid): "Chick-fil-A is mid, Taco bell is where it's at"

Percy during tlt: "You couldn't even buy a gumball with that shit (drachmas)"

Percy (same convo ^): "A quarter? You could buy a gumball with that shit"

Nico: "Your soul and your money!"

Tyson: "You've seen fishes, fishes move fast"

Leo to Frank: "What the fvck is a kilometer"

Leo making fun of Frank: "Mua ha ha ha I'm Canadian"

Percy: "Jesus didn't give up his life he gave up his weekend"

*as seen at 2am in the Apollo Cabin*

Gracie: "You're discriminating against me"

April (the token straight): "It's cuz she's gay"

Will: "We're all gay."

Nico: You don't have any slurs about you."

Leo: "No because I'm perfect"

this was fun to make lol....there will probably be a part 2 but like far in the future. if you made it this far I love you....also if you don't recognize names it's bc I deep-dived Wiki to find canon names for each cabin.

If y'all want one-shots based on these TELL ME I NEED STUFF TO WRITE ABOUT

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 13 (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: Spanking. Dom!Elvis and dom/sub dynamics. Rough sex. ANGST. Panic attack (sort of?). Jealousy. 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: 5,073

A/N: Woo baby, here we go again, ya'll! I know some of y'all were feeling lots of things after Part 12, so here's the hopefully-interesting conclusion to that particular encounter. But be warned, Reader and Elvis are very much still going through it with a lot of big emotions and reactions to those emotions.

(Also, the convo about the moon is real *sob*, though of course not to our reader originally.)

You will also notice the addition of the Pink Scarf Series Masterlist! I've pinned it as the top post on my page as well as changed it at the top of all the chapter parts. This will hopefully help end the confusing navigation issues that people were running into. I'm sorry it took so long. I will likely add some fun post links for the playlist and photos from the different eras referenced in different parts for funsies at some point!

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 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 Elvis Twitter, who stumbled into the Pink Scarf vortex and are now with us in the chokehold of '69 Pink Scarf Era Elvis and are supporting and sharing this lil' fic over there--I see you and appreciate you! 👀💋

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, though it's not all updated yet!)

Elvis rises from the velvet couch. He looks incredible, powerful, his tan face flushed, those electric blue irises blown black with rage and lust, a combination that sends fear and excitement like a bolt of lightning down your spine.

Your chest begins to heave as he undoes his belt. He is staring daggers into you as he does so. Jaw clenching, those pouty lips in a stern line, he unzips his fly, letting his tailored pants fall down over his narrow hips. Even though you know you can stop this at any time, the way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you pushed him too far indeed, and he is not going to go easy on you, and a part of you is glad for it. You look up at him, eyes wide.

“Open that dirty lil’ mouth for me, y/n,” he orders, one hand pumping his dick. Precum already glistens on the tip, and the way he says your name feels like an admonishment. Your legs go weak at the implication of what he is commanding.

You obey, mouth dropping open, and he guides himself in. Your eyes roll back at the salty taste of him as he fills you.

“No, no, baby, you look at me while I punish you. Gotta see that you’re learnin’ your lesson,” Elvis says, grabbing your hair and pulling up, forcing your eyes to open.

His words have more wetness pooling in your core and at this rate, you’re worried you’ll drip on the expensive, lush couch. You look up and Elvis looks positively godlike and gorgeous looming over you, his mouth popping open and eyes wild with desire as you widen your tongue over the bottom of his cock. You start to bring your hands up to fondle him, but he slaps them away, his eyes smoldering.

“No, you take what I give you,” he growls, then without warning, plunges deep, hitting the back of your throat.

Unprepared, you sputter and gag around his hot length, but he holds you still, his hand strong at the back of your hair. He moans and pushes deeper, and you begin to panic a little, tears stinging your eyes.

“Look at me.” You look up. “Next time you want to use this mouth on anyone else, I want you to think of my cock deep in your throat, just like this,” Elvis whispers vehemently. “I want you to remember that mine’s the only cock you should ever even think about choking on.” He pushes a little deeper for emphasis. You moan, the vibrations making him shudder. He pulls out, strings of your saliva clinging to his dick, and you can breathe again. You take in deep breaths because something tells you this is not over and that thought has your thighs quivering with need.

“Is that clear, lil’ girl?” he says, fingers wrapping in your hair and pulling tightly. He looks down at you like he could eat you alive, drunk with power.

“Yes, Daddy,” you concede.

“Gonna be good for me and learn your lesson?” he says, tapping his swollen head on your lips. You open wide and look up at him again through wet lashes, relishing in the way he makes you feel so small yet also like you’re the only other person in the world.

“There’s my good lil’ girl, so hungry for me,” he praises.

His words have you rubbing your thighs together, desperate for friction, as he pushes into you again. You are more prepared this time, but Elvis is still longer than you’re used to, so you gag around him. He groans low and long, those long dark lashes of his fluttering as his eyes drift closed, as though he is composing himself to continue. When he opens his eyes again, the lust in them is so palpable that it sends a searing heat rolling over you, spreading through your body like wildfire. He begins fucking your face unrelentingly, holding your head fast as he plows in so deep that the hairs at his base tickle your lips. He pulls out enough to let you breathe and checks in with you nonverbally before disciplining you again, his length sliding down your throat, filling you in a way you never imagined possible.

“Relax that throat, honey,” Elvis encourages you. “Doin’ so good, baby, taking your punishment,” he murmurs, looking down at you, eyes inebriated with you as he fucks your mouth.

You know you are a mess, tears streaming down your face, covered in spit, with absolutely obscene sounds coming from your mouth as he uses you in a way that no man has before. But you don’t care because all of Elvis Presley’s attention is on you, you are making him feel good, his dick is down your throat, and god, that makes you want to come undone.

His pace quickens and you feel him tense all over, his legs beginning to shudder, and you know he’s close. His lips tremble and curl as he grits his teeth, those bedroom eyes falling shut as his grip in your hair tightens and stills you.

“You’re gonna hold on to it for me, baby…aw, hell!” he cries out, eyes rolling back, and you feel him pulse, his warm salty cum hitting the back of your throat. You obey, trying not to choke as he fills you up, pumping his frustration and possessiveness into you. Holding his cum in your mouth, you wait patiently as he pulls himself out of you.

He catches himself so he doesn’t collapse on top of you, his gorgeous blues blinking slowly as he comes back down to earth, taking you in. You’ve never seen something so sexy in your life as seeing him come apart.

“Open your mouth,” Elvis commands, looking at you intensely and once seeing the pool of his desire there, he nods approvingly. “Swallow,” he orders, tapping your chin closed with his index finger, and you do, making a show of gulping it down. He grabs your chin, those still wounded eyes trapping you in their gaze. “You ain’t never gonna spit me out, are ya, baby?”

You know he’s referring to what you said you did with Jack. He’s still not happy about it, his voice both authoritative and hurt.

“No, Daddy,” you respond. You don’t want anyone but Elvis ever again, if you can possibly help it, though you don’t know how realistic that is. But you don’t want to think about that now.

He grunts and runs his thumb over your bottom lip. The heated way he looks at you lets you know he’s not done with you yet.

“Such a good lil’ girl for Daddy,” he praises, “Takin’ your lessons so well.” He runs his fingers through your hair, then effortlessly pulls you up to standing. You are so close to him, but not touching, reminding you of that moment a mere week ago in the bar the night of the opening of his show. How you had practically rolled up his body, the teasing tension between you thick but much more innocent than it is now. Now, his assertive essence envelops you to the point of dizziness, your physical need for him slick between your thighs and the rest of you needing him on a level you’ve never needed from anyone.

Elvis looks down at you, eyes heavy but alert, still brimming with passion but unwavering. You bring your hand to his chest, but he catches your wrist before you can touch him with a tsk and a shake of his head. You cannot help but pout, your need growing exponentially the more he denies you.

Instead, Elvis sits on the sofa, kicking off his pants, spread wide for you to see his half-hard dick between his lean, toned thighs. Tilting his chin down and looking up at you in that famously cocky and alluring way of his, he demands, “Take of your dress.”

You blink for a moment, then realizing he wants a bit of a show, you turn and unzip slowly, your dress falling into a puddle at your feet. Your panties are already tangled there, from when he took his hand to your backside, and you step out of them, turning towards him in only your bra.

He just looks up at you through those classic rebellious but boyish eyes, reminding you of a time long ago. You can’t help but see the petulant young man in him, the one that parents hated and teenagers fell over, as he lifts his hand to signal that he wants you completely naked for him. You shiver at the sudden thought that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve had him like this a long, long time ago. That he could’ve taken you in that booth in the diner or on the lawn at his house in the cover of darkness, his young and less experienced hands petting you, luscious lips soft on yours, making you fall apart for him in more innocent ways.

And out of everything that has occurred in the last hour, that is the thought that really has you feeling hot all over, the one that brings you close to shame and the blatant realization that maybe you two were headed here all along. That these games you’ve been playing didn’t start a week ago, but nearly 14 years ago. That as much as you came to love Jack, it might’ve been Elvis who you truly fell for first.

It nearly knocks the breath from you as you remove the last bit of clothing from your body, exposing yourself completely for this mesmerizing man who has the masses in the palm of his hand, who has you in the palm of his hand. He beckons you to him wordlessly; he doesn’t need words, and you go to him as if hypnotized.

You think you knew subconsciously then what you know consciously now—Elvis Presley cannot be contained. He is beyond any other man in that he belongs to both everyone and no one. Trying to tie him down would be like keeping an eagle from flight. Somehow you sensed that in 1955 and let him go before you could even dream to tie him down. And now, more than anything, you want to fly with him.

He stops you as you walk in between his legs, looking over you with controlled hunger. His fingers dance up your thigh, teasing up to the place you need him the most. You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips as his fingers flit over your mound.

Head tilted to the side, Elvis speaks again, his voice soft but commanding, “Are you gonna be a good lil’ girl for Daddy, or are you gonna be a brat?”

You ponder that for a second, because honestly both options are tantalizing, so you try to figure out what he wants. Does he want you to submit or to fight him?

Finally, you decide. “I’m gonna be a good girl, Daddy.”

That seems to be the right answer. His lip curls up in a half-smile. With that, he runs a long finger ever so gently between your legs, barely touching your folds. You mewl at the sensation, body shuddering, desperate for more.

“Christ, baby, you’re soaking and I ain’t hardly touched you,” he smirks, looking at your wetness on his fingertip.

You wiggle a little, needing friction, something, anything. He stills your hips and shakes his head. “Uh uh, I thought you said you’re gonna be a good girl. Good girls ask nicely,” he grins.

“Please, please touch me, Daddy,” you plead breathlessly.

He nods, lust filling his eyes, as he deliberately runs two fingers back and forth through your sopping folds before circling over your clit. The stimulation after so long has you moaning, knees weak, nearly falling over into him. Your hips start to rock of their own accord, but his hand stops again and you whine.

“No, tell me exactly what you want, baby,” he coos, eyes heavy lidded but alert.

“I…please…Daddy, I want your fingers inside me,” you whisper, begging. You barely recognize the breathy sound coming from your lips.

“Like this?” he asks, his left eyebrow shooting up as he slowly slips two digits into your pussy.

You groan and nod frantically, but once inside, he does not move them. Frustrated, you buck on his hand.

“Back to being a brat, huh?” he says in such a way that you think he’s glad for it. He spanks your ass, causing you to hiss in surprise, squirming and clenching around his fingers. “So goddamn hungry for it, huh? Didn��t you learn your lesson, baby girl?” His voice is husky and dark again, and you want him so badly it hurts. You’ve had enough of his teasing.

“I guess I fucking didn’t, Daddy,” you say belligerently, impatiently, with as much sass as possible. Being good isn’t getting you anywhere. No, you want him over the edge.

In one quick move he throws you face down onto the sofa. “Guess I’m gonna have to wreck this pretty little cunt of yours then, won’t I, baby girl?” Elvis snarls in your ear, his hand at your neck.

It’s exactly what you want. What you need.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you gasp into the couch cushion, the soft velvet creasing into your cheek, and you hear him groan as though helpless to contain it.

With a loud smack, he hits your ass again and before you can recover from the sting, he’s got his dick between your legs. He’s already hard again (the man’s stamina is unmatched), which you are grateful for as he finally plunges into your pussy, filling you completely.

You cry out in pleasure as Elvis begins fucking the hell out of you, seemingly taking out every frustration and insecurity he has on you in the best of ways. He yanks up your hips, drilling into you relentlessly, filling you, hitting every spot of satisfaction along the way with his length. Your eyes roll back as you clutch at the velvet fabric under your palms. The squelching between your thighs is punctuated by his thrusts and grunts and growls.

Elvis, needing more of you, pulls out and flips you over. His eyes are wild, too wild perhaps, but it doesn’t matter. Those soft pliant lips of his crash into yours frantically before dragging down your neck, teeth biting at your collarbone. You wrap around him, nails digging into his back, scratching into his scalp as those lips scorch into your chest, suckling welts into your breasts, claiming you as his.

When he enters you again, it’s as though he’s trying to consume you from the inside out. Like he wants every part of you at the same time. His beautiful face rockets from one emotion to another—possessive anger to boyish insecurity to passionate lust to unbridled fear—you can’t keep up. You are along for the glorious ride.

Your pleasure builds but it’s not just chasing the high that has you flying above the clouds. It’s that in this moment, he’s yours, all yours, and there is no doubt that you are his. You don’t care about Jack or anything else. It’s just him. It’s all Elvis.

The closer you come to unraveling the more frenetic he becomes. It’s as though everything is being stripped away, leaving him vulnerable and untethered, so he clings to you. This larger-than-life man clings to you and all you want is to get lost in him. But he won’t let you.

“I’m…close…” you stutter breathlessly, needing the release he’s promising, needing him to shoot you far up into the inky black of the night sky.

“Y/n,” he pants, “baby, look at me.”

You stare up into his endless blues.

“Are you mine?” The question is not possessive, or part of the game, or even leading. It’s so completely honest and innocent you almost forget what you’re doing, the cliff you are headed for.

You don’t even have to think about it, it just comes out. “Yes, Elvis, I’m yours.”

And then your climax hits hard, so hard you’re almost blinded, but the way he’s intimately staring into your eyes keeps you grounded as he rides you through it. Your body tenses and then it lets go, and you can barely breathe because everything you’ve been holding in for the last week seems to release from you all at once, in an overwhelming flood of sensation and emotion.

Elvis is so intensely focused on you that you feel as though you might drown in him, drown in all these feelings. Everything seems to collide within you all at once and suddenly you’re crying as you come down, sobbing as your body gives way under the pressure.

“Baby? Oh, god, did I hurt you, baby?” he asks desperately, sounding frightened.

You shake your head, your shaking hand coming up to cover your face. “No…no, it’s…not…that,” you choke out between sobs.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Satnin,” he whispers in your ear, rolling off you and pulling you into his arms.

Satnin…

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself truly fall apart without trying to cover it up to make someone else comfortable or to push it down and ignore it. You let it overtake you completely, letting yourself be carried away on the flood of uncertainty, of grief over your failed marriage, your inability to conceive, and the feeling that you’ve wasted so much time on all of it. Your fears about opening your heart up again just to be hurt once more also surface, and with them your love, your love for Elvis which has been growing since the day you met, the love you are finally admitting to yourself, which is absolutely terrifying to you because what if it means that everything else was a lie? Was your life with Jack born from a life you knew you couldn’t have with Elvis? And perhaps you are doomed to love yet another man who cannot give you his whole heart?

And then Elvis goes and looks at you like that and asks you if you are his, and of course you are, of course, of course, is all you can think, over and over. But you can’t allow yourself to get lost in another man, especially not this man, but you feel like you have no control. You are being swept away by Elvis, regardless of logic.

You don’t know how long you weep for, wrapped in Elvis’ arms as he pets you and murmurs in your ear, “Satnin, breathe. Breathe, baby.”

You feel like the world is collapsing in on itself, but you anchor yourself to the sound of his voice, that crooning, distinctly Elvis voice, and the feel of his arms around you and you breathe. In and out. In and out.

“That’s it, mama,” he coos, still holding you tightly. “You just get it all out. I’m here.”

He’s here.

That nearly makes you weep all over again, but you continue to breathe through it, through your panic and your doubt until you begin to relax.

Finally, you are able to look at him again, your body feeling strangely light and floaty. Elvis looks at you with a mixture of concern, fear, and protectiveness, trying to comprehend what is happening, but waiting to take your lead rather than asking himself.

“I…I’m sorry. That was…overwhelming,” you breathe out, wiping the wetness from your cheeks.

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?” he asks quietly, brow furrowed.

“No, it wasn’t that, that part felt good…it was more like the physical release somehow broke through a dam inside me and sent this flood of emotion through me,” you try to explain, trying to make sense and reassure him at the same time.

He nods and waits for you to continue.

“I…I’m going through some stuff, baby,” you stutter out, “and I’m rethinking a lot of my life and what’s led up to this, us. My marriage is in shambles, and I feel caught up in this whirlpool of emotions that I don’t know how to piece through.” Your voice wavers and you clutch at him, afraid to spin out again. You can’t tell him more than that, not yet, even though you know he is wondering.

Elvis smooths your hair, resting his warm palm against your cheek, his rings cool against the burning of your skin. You sense that he has things he wants to say, you can practically see his thoughts churning, but he holds them back, not wanting to overwhelm you with them. And for that you are grateful.

“Will you come with me?” he finally says, getting up, putting on a robe, and holding out his hand for you. Confused, you take his hand, glad for it, as you are a little dizzy and unsteady on your feet. He holds out another robe for you, wrapping it around you gently, and then pulls you with him.

He opens a door you’ve never seen, one that blended so seamlessly into the wall, you didn’t know it was even there. He takes you up the dark staircase, your thoughts now running with curiosity, and then he opens another door at the top. It reveals a rooftop patio, clad with lounging chairs and all.

You gasp at the sight of the Las Vegas skyline twinkling with neon lights against the darkness of the desert night sky. You are so far up, you feel like you could touch the moon, and it makes you feel more lightheaded than you already are. You clutch at Elvis’ hand, and sensing your awe, he brings you to one of the lounge chairs and encourages you to lie back. He pulls another right up against yours and lies next to you.

There is silence for a moment as you both take in the night sky. The light pollution makes it hard to see all the stars, but some are still there, twinkling in the infinite blackness.

“Keep your eyes on the moon, y/n,” he says quietly. “Do you remember?”

And suddenly, you do.

Memphis 1956

It’s a hot and sultry early July night, and you are glad for the new swimming pool here at Elvis’ house on Audubon Drive. Your swimsuit sticks damply to your skin, despite having been out of the pool for a while, causing you to practically peel yourself off the lawn chair you’ve been sitting in. You managed to finish yet another glass of sweet tea as you watch Elvis, Jack, and Elvis’ relations mess around in the pool, but as twilight turns into night, you feel like you need a moment away from the roughhousing of the boys and the tittering of the girls.

You grab your towel and find a quiet spot on the lawn, enough away from the fray that you can breathe, but not in view of the fans camped out in front of Elvis’ house, wishing and begging for a glimpse of their new idol.

It’s mind boggling how quickly he’s gone from hometown celebrity to near superstardom in a year. This is his first real stay at the new home he was able to buy for his parents in this upper crest Memphis neighborhood—a far cry from the projects he grew up in. You are so happy for him, but he has been going nearly nonstop since the turn of the year. In fact, this is his first vacation from the insanity of touring and television appearances and recording sessions since everything blew up for him.

As you lay down on the towel, head looking up to the stars, you think of just how much has changed in the last year. God, a year ago, you thought you’d be engaged to Ted. That thought makes you scrunch up your nose. And now, well, now there was Jack, who was quickly becoming much more than just a friend. And, of course there was Elvis, your handsome friend-turned-celebrity, playing sold out shows that ended in riots with the girls tearing off his clothes and causing an uproar amongst parents everywhere with his jiggling on national television. He was even starting his movie career out in Hollywood next month.

It was all rather overwhelming. It was a wonder he hadn’t forgotten you all back home, but while he had definitely changed in some ways, fame had not changed his unwavering love for his family or his friends.

Suddenly, water rains down on you from above as a tall and very wet-from-the-pool Elvis looms over you, bending down and shaking his wet hair over your face to get your attention.

“Elvis!” you squeal, throwing your hands up to protect your face, “Ew! Stop!”

He laughs that boisterous laugh of his, pleased with himself. “What ya doin’ all the way over here by your lonesome, doll?” he asks, plopping his wet body next to you on your towel. He’s close enough that the cool wet of his arm brushes up against yours as he leans on his side and looks down at you, those eyes of his sparking in the dark. “Ain’t you havin’ fun?” he asks with concern and honesty, with another shake of his head.

You laugh and wipe the droplets off your face, knowing that making a deal of it will just spurn him on and likely get you thrown in the pool. “Yes, I’m having fun. I just needed a moment away from the fray,” you say, looking up at him.

Elvis eyes wander over you curiously, quietly, and suddenly you feel very exposed in your two-piece bathing suit, lying here alone in the dark with this beautiful yet goofy young man hovering so close. Those eyes of his are so soulful sometimes, so watchful, like he’s taking in every little thing around him, and right now that is you. A warm flush comes over you and you are glad for the darkness.

You want to speak to break the silence, but you can’t think of anything to say, your mouth suddenly full of cotton. While you and Jack have started dating and you are quickly becoming committed to that, you feel very aware of why so many young women are literally throwing themselves at Elvis, why he seems to have a girlfriend in every county from here to Texas. Your heart flutters. You want to shake the thought and the feeling away, but as his too-long wet hair falls over his forehead and his pretty baby face looks down at you, you feel nearly entranced.

Finally, he seems to have gotten whatever he was looking for by staring at you and flings himself on his back with a loud sigh. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding and scold yourself for thinking about Elvis in any more than a friendly manner. He is still close to you though, the side of his damp body nearly pressed against yours, and for a moment, you feel a shiver of gooseflesh rise on your skin in response.

“Yeah, I get that,” he says, almost startling you, “the needin’ to ‘get away from the fray’ thing. I feel like I’ve been in the fray so constantly now that I’ve forgotten what bein’ out of it feels like.”

You are both quiet for a moment, just staring up at the stars. It’s not uncomfortable, the silence, but to you, it feels charged somehow. Maybe it’s just your imagination. Regardless, your heart still flutters in your chest.

“What a beautiful night,” he breathes out next to you.

“Yes, it is,” you say quietly, keeping your eyes to the stars.

“Keep your eyes on the moon, y/n,” he says, almost dreamily.

You look over at him, confused.

“Seriously, baby, keep your eyes on the moon, and you’ll see a glowing blue ring appear,” Elvis urges you.

“Okay,” you say incredulously, turning your head back to the sky. Silently, you both stare at the glowing orb hovering above you for what seems like minutes. You wonder if he’s lost his mind a little, or if he’s playing one of his tricks, but then you see it—a bright blue ring, pulsing with the beat of your heart. You gasp.

“Do ya see it? Now, let yourself totally relax, and just focus on the space between the moon and the stars,” he says, his voice almost hypnotizing. “Don’t think about anythin’, just let yourself float. If you can relax enough, you can go right up there with them.”

So you do. You lie there and let yourself float up between the moon and the stars. You feel increasingly strange but also free and unchained from the constant thoughts that usually race through your mind at any one moment. You are enthralled by the night sky, flying high.

“How long have you been doing this?” you whisper in the darkness.

“Since I was a little boy,” Elvis whispers back, eyes still on the moon.

You look over at him, his face full of an innocent wonder. Then, he turns his face to yours, so close in the darkness that you think you can feel his warm breath on your face. “Do you believe me, y/n?”

You nod. With Elvis, anything seems possible.

“I promise you, y/n, I’m serious. People think you’re crazy if you talk about things they don’t understand,” he says, offendedly, as though he has very real wounds from that happening before.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Elvis. I see it. I feel it,” you say, in wonder. In wonder not just at the night sky and your ability to float to the moon, but at the boy lying next to you, the one who is so much deeper than he appears.

He nods, giving you a vulnerable yet piercing look that shakes you. Then his cool hand grabs yours, as if anchoring the two of you together as you both turn back to float into the night sky.

“I remember,” you whisper, answering his question, looking into up into the same sky as before. It is years older and from a different vantage point but nearly unchanged in its ancient, endless beauty.

“Just relax and float, Satnin. Just you and me and the moon and the stars,” he whispers. Then he winds his fingers through yours, anchoring you together and you breathe. You try to let go of it all and just be, knowing that Elvis won’t let you float aimlessly away, lost in the sky forever.

Just you and me and the moon and the stars.

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