#Hollywood Guestlist

[jourdepluie91]

Inside Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs’ Infamous White Parties

The rapper's White Parties gained a legendary reputation in the '90s and '00s...

Sean 'Diddy' Combs, 54, was arrested on 16 September and charged with sex trafficking, racketeering and transportation to engage in prostitution. Prosecutors alleged that he also engaged in kidnapping, forced labour, bribery and other crimes, which he has pleaded not guilty to. It comes after a string of allegations of gang rape, sexual assault and other accusations over the past 12 months, which Combs has denied.

His annual white parties, with their star-studded guest lists and extravagance, became legendary amongst Hollywood circles over two decades. Anyone who was anyone would be invited – you knew that you had made it if you secured one of those coveted 1,000 invites, which would be your golden ticket into these elite circles.

The era-defining white parties were lavish affairs. All guests had to abide by a strict head-to-toe white dress code, with the bash set in all-white surroundings. ‘I wanted to strip away everyone’s image and put us all in the same colour, and on the same level,’ Combs told Oprah Winfrey in 2006.

The tradition started in 1998 when Combs generously decided to show off his new Hamptons home by inviting more than 200 glitterati to a barbeque. He wanted to integrate the world of rap and hip-hop into the echelons of the mega-rich. ‘I had the craziest mix [of guests]: some of my boys from Harlem, Leonardo DiCaprio after he’d just finished Titanic. I had socialites there and relatives from down south. There were 200 people sitting out here, just having a down-home cookout,’ he said of that inaugural party.

That initial do led to Combs being described as ‘a modern-day Gatsby’. He relished the comparison to F Scott Fitzgerald’s character who threw extravagant parties to impress his wealthy neighbours, boasting, ‘I am the Great Gatsby.’

The guestlist of Combs’ white parties read like a who’s who of the ‘90s and ‘00s. An invite meant you were someone worth knowing and cemented your A-list status, across entertainment, business, finance, fashion and technology. Movie stars mingled with singers, socialites and entrepreneurs, with frequent guests including Leonardo DiCaprio, Jay-Z and Beyonce, Kevin Spacey, Naomi Campbell, Mariah Carey, the Kardashians and Paris and Nicky Hilton.

Jennifer Lopez, who dated Combs from 1999 to 2001, attended some parties too.

There is no indication that the celebrity guests at Combs’ white parties were involved in any wrongdoing.

Former music industry insider Tom Swoope has claimed that the parties were separated into ‘tiers’ of access, with ‘general admission’ and an ‘inner sanctum’ where drugs and sex were reportedly available.

What happened at the white parties?

Champagne was freely available, with guests served ‘champagne from heaven’ by models dressed as angels.

Photos show Combs pouring Veuve Clicquot champagne over two topless women at the 1998 party while two half-naked women were pictured cavorting in the swimming pool and then pouring champagne into the open mouth of a male guest at the 2008 party. Another image showed two topless women straddling someone in the pool.

Combs himself had even told Entertainment Tonight that he felt one day he would be arrested for his 'crazy parties'.

Another term used to describe Combs' events is 'freak off' or 'freak out' parties. When Combs' house was searched by Homeland Security in March, they seized 1,000 bottles of lubricant and baby oil which were allegedly used at his 'freak off' parties.

Prosecutors claimed that during the 'freak offs,' Combs would allegedly sedate women and men and force them into sex acts. The parties were described as 'elaborate and produced sex performances,' in which Combs allegedly booked hotel suites and hired sex workers while distributing drugs including cocaine, methamphetamine and oxycodone to keep partygoers 'obedient'. Afterwards, his staff would allegedly arrange for travel and IV supplies to help those involved recover.

[subliminalbointext]

Fleur-de-lis #1: An Orientation

Samara smiled as she studied the crowd gathering on the veranda. There wasn’t another supermodel in sight. She had told her guests that it was a housewarming party, but Samara had a lot of homes in a lot of cities. What was so special about this one? The last few years had been fraught with personal drama: the press hounding her for details about her private marriage, the birth of her daughter three months before the Confidential Fashion Show, the unbelievable grind to get her body into shape in time for the event, and her highly publicized divorce that followed shortly after. Modeling had once been a kind of escape into a fantasy world where she was its goddess, but these days even her career was a stressful mess of one-sided feuds and questions about her looming retirement.

That’s why Samara needed tonight. She’d only invited a handful of guests. Personal friends outside of the industry. It turned out that there wasn’t a lot of them. Most of her non-modeling friends had been her husband’s, and after wrapping up that saga, Samara had sworn off baseball people entirely.

She floated in and out of conversation with her guests until she spotted a woman standing at the railing, overlooking the Los Angeles skyline.

“Excuse me,” Samara approached her. “Are you with somebody?” She didn’t mean to sound rude, but she had been strict about the guestlist and she hadn’t expected to find strangers at her own party, on her own property.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The woman asked, her eyes trained on the lights dotting the landscape. “I’ve always loved this skyline. Pardon me,” she turned her attention to Samara and extended a hand. “Elena Maxwell.”

Samara reluctantly took the woman’s hand, her head cocked slightly to the side. “I don’t mean to be rude, but do I know you?”

“Perhaps,” Elena replied. “I used to model, actually.”

“I’m sorry,” Samara slowly shook her head. I’ve never heard of you.”

Elena returned a bitter smile and said, “I’m on the business side now. I’m a friend of Cat’s.”

Samara frowned. Though she was friendly with the other Confidential models, Catlin Caldwell was an exception. Cat was the type of woman who only saw colleagues as competition. Samara Alves was a challenge to be conquered, not a friend. For sixteen years Samara had been the proud face of Confidential; the perfect model and spokeswoman. At the height of her popularity, she’d made the late-night talk show rounds, hosted Confidential grand openings across America, even made an appearance at the Super Bowl XLVI pregame show while being featured in that year’s most watched ad. Now as Samara approached the heart of her thirties, she’d stepped back from the spotlight to mentor the younger Confidential models—not because she was expected to, but because it was what was right for the company. It was a level of generosity that Cat could never comprehend.

“I didn’t invite Cat,” Samara coldly whispered.

“Oh, I know,” Elena replied. She had a breezy way of speaking, as if every syllable was time wasted when they could be doing business. Samara noted an affectation in her voice, the ghost of an accent long dropped from years of vocal coaching. She sounded like a golden age Hollywood actress. For some reason it intimidated Samara.

“Actually, I invited myself,” Elena continued. “My people have been trying to reach you for months and we haven’t heard a word from your agent, so I just had to see you personally. I’m the CEO of Fleur-de-lis lingerie, and I think you’d be a great fit for our growing roster of models.”

“Excuse me?” Not only had this woman invited herself, but now she was talking business, trying to pull Samara away from the company that she was so loyal to. These were the kind of shifty deals that made her want to escape the fashion world.

“It’s no secret that Confidential has begun phasing out their more experienced models. Confidential is the largest lingerie brand in America thanks in no small part to your contribution for the better part of twenty years. It’s simple, Samara: I know value when I see it. At Fleur-de-lis, you’ll headline every major line. We’re only lingerie right now, but we’re launching a sportswear brand next summer and casual wear is just around the corner.”

Samara’s head was spinning. “Stop,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you’re intruding. I need you to leave.”

“Of course, of course,” Elena smiled, placing a cold hand on Samara’s shoulder. “I understand that your loyalty goes deeper than any amount of money or publicity I could offer you. I guess I just had to see if you were as beautiful in person as you are in all those commercials.”

Samara was finished with this conversation. She spun around, signaling for her bodyguard to escort Elena out.

The large man was on Elena in a second. “Okay then,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender as his giant fist gripped her arm. Elena was calm as she walked with the man toward the exit, digging into her purse to retrieve a pair of sunglasses. She pressed her free hand to her ear and whispered, “Alright, bring the lights.”

A canned “Roger that” echoed in Elena’s earpiece.

The sudden sound of helicopter blades cut through the quiet night sky, silencing the voices of the party as it approached the hillside mansion.

“What is this?!” Samara shouted before the veranda was flooded in a bright, piercing glow from the helicopter’s spotlight.

Samara knew instantly that there was something wrong when she looked up into the light. A warm, tingling wave washed over her. Her body was numb, and her mind soon followed. I need to look away, Samara thought. Everyone needs to look away. She tried to communicate this to her guests, but her mouth didn’t budge as she stood vacantly among the transfixed crowd.

Elena smiled as the bodyguard’s grasp loosened, his arm falling harmlessly away as she jerked free.

Samara’s world narrowed. She lost focus on everything around her. The light, that was all that mattered now. She could hear someone approaching, but she couldn’t turn her head to see. There was a small part of her, whatever part that was left fighting, that hoped someone had arrived to save her. And then she heard that strange affection in her ear. Elena’s words echoed in her mind as if they were her own thoughts. Surrender to the light. Surrender, sleep, and fade away.

And she did. Elena took Samara’s hand, and as she led the mesmerized model from her home, a half dozen of Elena’s men slipped in behind to handle the remaining guests. By the time they awoke in the comfort of their own beds, they would have no memory of the night’s bizarre turn of events.

As reality returned to Samara, the world faded in around her like an old television set booting up. Though she should have been alarmed to wake up in a stranger’s bed with no memory of how she’d gotten there, she felt comfortable. She had questions, but her mind wasn’t there yet. Her eyes were too heavy to keep open, in fact, Samara felt too weak to do anything at all but lay there and breathe that sweet smell in the air and listen to that soft music. Music? Yes, there was some kind of music playing, but if there were any words she couldn’t say.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a familiar voice asked. Samara wasn’t alone. Someone else was curled up next to her. She mustered the strength to force her eyes open and she was greeted by the sight of her colleague, Cat Caldwell, her naked body pressed against hers. It was enough of a shock to jolt Samara from her hazy daydream.

“Cat! What’s going on?” Samara demanded as she shot up. The blanket slid down her body and she realized that she’d been stripped down to a pair of lingerie. “I wasn’t wearing this earlier.” she breathed.=

“No, you weren’t,” Cat replied, her hand running over Samara’s tight stomach.

Samara took a deep breath, inhaling a thick concentration of the odd fragrance that only made her dizzier. “We have to get out of here, Cat.”

“What’s the rush?” Cat giggled. “It’s so sexy, isn’t it?” she said, her fingertips tracing the lace of the brazier. Her hand traveled to the edge of the bra and slipping underneath. Cat moaned hungrily as she groped Samara’s breast.

“Stop,” Samara protested. “I feel so weird…”

“She does that to you,” Cat replied coolly, moving closer in, placing soft kisses on Samara’s neck. “Everything about this room is designed to make you feel that way. The smell, the noise, the ambiance. But it will feel so good when you surrender to it all.”

“Get off of me!” This time Samara managed enough strength to shove Cat away. She shot up from the bed and for the first time saw the room clearly. It wasn’t a bedroom at all, but something more like an interrogation room disguised as a bedroom. To the side of the bed was a nightstand where two candles burned, polluting the air with their invasive aromas. While the fumes disoriented Samara, the music playing from a speaker overhead disarmed her. The walls were solid, gray brick. A giant mirror on the wall opposite the bed reflected Samara’s and Cat’s images back at them. She could feel Elena’s eyes watching her on the other side.

“Welcome to your orientation, Sammy.” Cat said unfazed. She scooted back in, holding her hand on Samara’s chin, drawing her focus into the mirror. Samara looked deep into her own fading eyes. “Don’t you see? We’re halfway there. I know you’re thinking. ‘That woman can’t be me.’ But you know deep down that’s all you ever were. Empty, obedient.” Cat’s hand floated down Samara’s body, sliding under the elastic of her panties. “Every fashion show, every promotional tour, every empty answer to an interviewer’s question…it’s all been in service. So what difference does it make who you serve?”

“No…” Samara moaned as Cat’s fingers found her sensitive clit.

“I felt that resistance too,” Cat continued. “Those fleeting thoughts that you have the strength to fight it. I admit I didn’t want this at first either. But I feel so much better now. There’s no point fighting it, Sammy. We already have you.”

Samara sunk into the plush headboard. There was nothing she could do now. That mindless woman staring back at her wasn’t some illusion. It was her reality. And it was a reality that she found herself wanting. She released a satisfied moan as her hand gripped Cat’s wrist, her fingers still buried deep in her pussy. It wasn’t a gesture meant to force Cat to stop, but one urging her to keep going.

“I can’t fight it,” Samara whispered, her eyes closing shut.

“That’s right,” Cat nodded. “You can only accept it.”

“I can only accept it.”

“You can only obey.”

“I can only obey.”

On the other side of the mirror, Elena Maxwell smiled, pleased with the work of her young thrall. “That’s good, Cat,” she spoke into the microphone, a slight rattle in her voice. Watching Samra had worked her up. “Finish up with her and meet me in my office,” she said. “No need to get dressed.”

[hiphopnewsonline]

D’USSÉ Cognac’s Opulence Ball Lights Up Hollywood with Star-Studded Guestlist

D’USSÉ Cognac’s Opulence Ball Lights Up Hollywood with Star-Studded Guestlist

[thehiphopunderground]

D’USSÉ Cognac’s Opulence Ball Lights Up Hollywood with Star-Studded Guestlist

D’USSÉ Cognac’s Opulence Ball Lights Up Hollywood with Star-Studded Guestlist

[geeyogurt]

The Ultimate Guide to Planning a Hen's Party in Sydney.

Its your comprehensive resource for creating an unforgettable pre-wedding celebration in the vibrant and diverse city of Sydney. This guide is your go-to source for inspiration, tips, and ideas to ensure that the bride-to-be and her squad have a fantastic time. From luxurious spa retreats and winery tours to thrilling adventures and chic city nightlife, we cover it all. Discover the best venues, activities, and fashion trends to make the hen's party an experience to remember. Whether you're a local looking for fresh ideas or planning a destination hen's party in Sydney, this guide has you covered.

Choosing the Perfect Venue

Planning a hens party Sydney starts with selecting the perfect venue, and in this section, we'll explore the diverse options available. Sydney boasts a wide range of venues, from rooftop bars with stunning skyline views to cozy beachfront cottages. We'll delve into the considerations that go into venue selection, including budget, group size, and the bride-to-be's preferences. Whether you're leaning towards a luxurious spa retreat in the Blue Mountains or a stylish cocktail lounge in the heart of the city, this guide will help you make an informed choice that sets the tone for a fantastic celebration.

Creative and Fun Activities

A hen's party is all about creating memorable experiences, and Sydney offers a plethora of creative and fun activities. From cocktail-making classes to coastal hikes and scenic paddleboarding, this section will provide you with a myriad of ideas to keep the group entertained. We'll also highlight some unique and offbeat experiences like flower crown workshops and yacht charters, ensuring that the hen's party is a one-of-a-kind adventure tailored to the bride's tastes and interests.

Dining Delights in Sydney

Sydney is a culinary haven, and in this section, we'll explore the city's gastronomic delights. From waterfront seafood feasts to trendy brunch spots and hidden gem restaurants, you'll discover a variety of dining options to suit any palate. We'll also delve into dietary preferences and the best spots for vegetarian, vegan, or gluten-free options, ensuring that everyone in the group can savor the culinary delights of Sydney.

Fashion and Styling Tips

Looking your best is a must for any hen's party, and Sydney's fashion scene offers a wealth of inspiration. In this section, we'll share fashion and styling tips to help you and your squad look and feel fabulous. From trendy outfit ideas to makeup and hair tips that withstand Sydney's climate, you'll be well-prepared to make a stylish entrance at your chosen venue. We'll also touch on the latest fashion trends and where to shop for that perfect hen's party outfit.

Navigating Sydney's Nightlife

Sydney's nightlife is legendary, and it's an essential aspect of any hen's party. This section will guide you through the city's dynamic nightlife scene, from the iconic bars and clubs of Kings Cross to the sophisticated cocktail lounges in the CBD. We'll provide insights into organizing a safe and enjoyable night out, including transportation options, guestlist access, and tips for a memorable evening of dancing and celebration.

Thematic and DIY Ideas

For those looking to add a personal touch to the hen's party, we've got you covered. This section explores thematic and DIY ideas that can elevate your celebration. Whether you're interested in a vintage-inspired tea party, a beachy boho vibe, or a glamorous Hollywood theme, we'll provide practical tips and resources to help you bring your vision to life. From decor and games to themed cocktails and photo booths, your thematic hen's party in Sydney will be a hit.

Practical Planning and Budgeting

Successful hen's party planning in Sydney also requires practical considerations, such as budgeting, timelines, and logistics. In this section, we'll break down the steps to create a comprehensive plan, including setting a budget, creating an itinerary, and managing RSVPs. We'll also share valuable tips on how to avoid common planning pitfalls, ensuring that your hen's party is a stress-free and seamless experience from start to finish. With the right planning strategies in place, you can focus on making memories and celebrating the bride-to-be in style.

Conclusion:

Planning a hen's party in Sydney can be an exciting and memorable experience, and is your trusted companion on this journey. With the insights and suggestions provided in this guide, you can tailor the celebration to match the bride's personality and preferences while exploring the beauty and excitement of Sydney. From start to finish, this guide offers valuable insights and ideas to ensure that the hen's party is a resounding success. So, gather your squad, refer to this ultimate guide, and get ready for a fabulous pre-wedding celebration in the heart of Sydney. Cheers to a memorable hen's party filled with laughter, love, and unforgettable moments.

[nightowlguestlist]

Berg at Avalon Hollywood – September 15, 2018

https://nogl.at/2vEblK6

Night Owl Guestlist Berg at Avalon Hollywood – September 15, 2018

  Berg  at Avalon Hollywood // Tickets & Guestlist Saturday – September 15, 2018 Tickets  [Use code: NOGL for 10% off tickets!] Berg Israel-based artist Berg—a.k.a. Shlomi Berg—has entertained hundreds of thousands of followers around the world. His performances encompass a half-dozen of the world’s most acclaimed—and massive—dance parties, including Brazil’s Tribe Festival and Experience Festival, Mexico’s […]

Berg at Avalon Hollywood – September 15, 2018 Night Owl Guestlist - Tickets & Guestlist for Academy LA, Avalon, Exchange LA, Time OC and more!

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[raveloop]

View this post on Instagram

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[subliminalbo]

Fleur-de-lis #1: An Orientation

Samara smiled as she studied the crowd gathering on the veranda. There wasn't another supermodel in sight. She had told her guests that it was a housewarming party, but Samara had a lot of homes in a lot of cities. What was so special about this one? The last few years had been fraught with personal drama: the press hounding her for details about her private marriage, the birth of her daughter three months before the Confidential Fashion Show, the unbelievable grind to get her body into shape in time for the event, and her highly publicized divorce that followed shortly after. Modeling had once been a kind of escape into a fantasy world where she was its goddess, but these days even her career was a stressful mess of one-sided feuds and questions about her looming retirement.

That's why Samara needed tonight. She'd only invited a handful of guests. Personal friends outside of the industry. It turned out that there wasn’t a lot of them. Most of her non-modeling friends had been her husband’s, and after wrapping up that saga, Samara had sworn off baseball people entirely.

She floated in and out of conversation with her guests until she spotted a woman standing at the railing, overlooking the Los Angeles skyline.

“Excuse me,” Samara approached her. “Are you with somebody?” She didn't mean to sound rude, but she had been strict about the guestlist and she hadn't expected to find strangers at her own party, on her own property.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” The woman asked, her eyes trained on the lights dotting the landscape. “I've always loved this skyline. Pardon me,” she turned her attention to Samara and extended a hand. “Elena Maxwell.”

Samara reluctantly took the woman’s hand, her head cocked slightly to the side. “I don’t mean to be rude, but do I know you?”

“Perhaps,” Elena replied. “I used to model, actually.”

“I’m sorry,” Samara slowly shook her head. I’ve never heard of you.”

Elena returned a bitter smile and said, “I’m on the business side now. I’m a friend of Cat’s.”

Samara frowned. Though she was friendly with the other Confidential models, Catlin Caldwell was an exception. Cat was the type of woman who only saw colleagues as competition. Samara Alves was a challenge to be conquered, not a friend. For sixteen years Samara had been the proud face of Confidential; the perfect model and spokeswoman. At the height of her popularity, she’d made the late-night talk show rounds, hosted Confidential grand openings across America, even made an appearance at the Super Bowl XLVI pregame show while being featured in that year’s most watched ad. Now as Samara approached the heart of her thirties, she’d stepped back from the spotlight to mentor the younger Confidential models—not because she was expected to, but because it was what was right for the company. It was a level of generosity that Cat could never comprehend.

“I didn't invite Cat,” Samara coldly whispered.

“Oh, I know,” Elena replied. She had a breezy way of speaking, as if every syllable was time wasted when they could be doing business. Samara noted an affectation in her voice, the ghost of an accent long dropped from years of vocal coaching. She sounded like a golden age Hollywood actress. For some reason it intimidated Samara.

“Actually, I invited myself,” Elena continued. “My people have been trying to reach you for months and we haven't heard a word from your agent, so I just had to see you personally. I'm the CEO of Fleur-de-lis lingerie, and I think you'd be a great fit for our growing roster of models.”

“Excuse me?” Not only had this woman invited herself, but now she was talking business, trying to pull Samara away from the company that she was so loyal to. These were the kind of shifty deals that made her want to escape the fashion world.

“It’s no secret that Confidential has begun phasing out their more experienced models. Confidential is the largest lingerie brand in America thanks in no small part to your contribution for the better part of twenty years. It’s simple, Samara: I know value when I see it. At Fleur-de-lis, you’ll headline every major line. We’re only lingerie right now, but we’re launching a sportswear brand next summer and casual wear is just around the corner.”

Samara’s head was spinning. “Stop,” she said. “I'm sorry, but you're intruding. I need you to leave.”

“Of course, of course,” Elena smiled, placing a cold hand on Samara's shoulder. “I understand that your loyalty goes deeper than any amount of money or publicity I could offer you. I guess I just had to see if you were as beautiful in person as you are in all those commercials.”

Samara was finished with this conversation. She spun around, signaling for her bodyguard to escort Elena out.

The large man was on Elena in a second. “Okay then,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender as his giant fist gripped her arm. Elena was calm as she walked with the man toward the exit, digging into her purse to retrieve a pair of sunglasses. She pressed her free hand to her ear and whispered, “Alright, bring the lights.”

A canned “Roger that” echoed in Elena’s earpiece.

The sudden sound of helicopter blades cut through the quiet night sky, silencing the voices of the party as it approached the hillside mansion.

“What is this?!” Samara shouted before the veranda was flooded in a bright, piercing glow from the helicopter's spotlight.

Samara knew instantly that there was something wrong when she looked up into the light. A warm, tingling wave washed over her. Her body was numb, and her mind soon followed. I need to look away, Samara thought. Everyone needs to look away. She tried to communicate this to her guests, but her mouth didn’t budge as she stood vacantly among the transfixed crowd.

Elena smiled as the bodyguard's grasp loosened, his arm falling harmlessly away as she jerked free.

Samara's world narrowed. She lost focus on everything around her. The light, that was all that mattered now. She could hear someone approaching, but she couldn't turn her head to see. There was a small part of her, whatever part that was left fighting, that hoped someone had arrived to save her. And then she heard that strange affection in her ear. Elena’s words echoed in her mind as if they were her own thoughts. Surrender to the light. Surrender, sleep, and fade away.

And she did. Elena took Samara's hand, and as she led the mesmerized model from her home, a half dozen of Elena's men slipped in behind to handle the remaining guests. By the time they awoke in the comfort of their own beds, they would have no memory of the night's bizarre turn of events.

As reality returned to Samara, the world faded in around her like an old television set booting up. Though she should have been alarmed to wake up in a stranger’s bed with no memory of how she’d gotten there, she felt comfortable. She had questions, but her mind wasn’t there yet. Her eyes were too heavy to keep open, in fact, Samara felt too weak to do anything at all but lay there and breathe that sweet smell in the air and listen to that soft music. Music? Yes, there was some kind of music playing, but if there were any words she couldn’t say.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” a familiar voice asked. Samara wasn't alone. Someone else was curled up next to her. She mustered the strength to force her eyes open and she was greeted by the sight of her colleague, Cat Caldwell, her naked body pressed against hers. It was enough of a shock to jolt Samara from her hazy daydream.

“Cat! What's going on?” Samara demanded as she shot up. The blanket slid down her body and she realized that she'd been stripped down to a pair of lingerie. “I wasn't wearing this earlier.” she breathed.=

“No, you weren’t,” Cat replied, her hand running over Samara's tight stomach.

Samara took a deep breath, inhaling a thick concentration of the odd fragrance that only made her dizzier. “We have to get out of here, Cat.”

“What’s the rush?” Cat giggled. “It's so sexy, isn't it?” she said, her fingertips tracing the lace of the brazier. Her hand traveled to the edge of the bra and slipping underneath. Cat moaned hungrily as she groped Samara’s breast.

“Stop,” Samara protested. “I feel so weird…”

“She does that to you,” Cat replied coolly, moving closer in, placing soft kisses on Samara's neck. “Everything about this room is designed to make you feel that way. The smell, the noise, the ambiance. But it will feel so good when you surrender to it all.”

“Get off of me!” This time Samara managed enough strength to shove Cat away. She shot up from the bed and for the first time saw the room clearly. It wasn't a bedroom at all, but something more like an interrogation room disguised as a bedroom. To the side of the bed was a nightstand where two candles burned, polluting the air with their invasive aromas. While the fumes disoriented Samara, the music playing from a speaker overhead disarmed her. The walls were solid, gray brick. A giant mirror on the wall opposite the bed reflected Samara’s and Cat's images back at them. She could feel Elena’s eyes watching her on the other side.

“Welcome to your orientation, Sammy.” Cat said unfazed. She scooted back in, holding her hand on Samara's chin, drawing her focus into the mirror. Samara looked deep into her own fading eyes. “Don't you see? We're halfway there. I know you're thinking. ‘That woman can't be me.’ But you know deep down that's all you ever were. Empty, obedient.” Cat's hand floated down Samara’s body, sliding under the elastic of her panties. “Every fashion show, every promotional tour, every empty answer to an interviewer’s question…it’s all been in service. So what difference does it make who you serve?”

“No…” Samara moaned as Cat’s fingers found her sensitive clit.

“I felt that resistance too,” Cat continued. “Those fleeting thoughts that you have the strength to fight it. I admit I didn't want this at first either. But I feel so much better now. There’s no point fighting it, Sammy. We already have you.”

Samara sunk into the plush headboard. There was nothing she could do now. That mindless woman staring back at her wasn't some illusion. It was her reality. And it was a reality that she found herself wanting. She released a satisfied moan as her hand gripped Cat’s wrist, her fingers still buried deep in her pussy. It wasn’t a gesture meant to force Cat to stop, but one urging her to keep going.

“I can’t fight it,” Samara whispered, her eyes closing shut.

“That’s right,” Cat nodded. “You can only accept it.”

“I can only accept it.”

“You can only obey.”

“I can only obey.”

On the other side of the mirror, Elena Maxwell smiled, pleased with the work of her young thrall. “That's good, Cat,” she spoke into the microphone, a slight rattle in her voice. Watching Samra had worked her up. “Finish up with her and meet me in my office,” she said. “No need to get dressed.”

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Lenny being protective of midge?

Truth time.

I've been slowly working on more Fashionable People (Very Blue Rooms)

Here's a snippet.

Lenny paces the kitchen, eyeing the two women sitting at the table. 

"Leonard, if you have something on your mind, just say it," Rose tells him. 

He blows out a breath and runs a hand over his hair. "Look, I get that this whole wedding planning thing is a dream come true for you both. Big budget, Hollywood guests. Fine. Okay." 

"Lenny," Sally implores. "You know I never want to make you unhappy."

"This isn't about me, Ma," he explains. "It's about Midge."

"Miriam seems fine with it," Rose points out. 

"She agreed to this to make you happy, Rose," Lenny says. "She was crushed when you stopped speaking to her."

"If the two of you had just stuck to the plan, instead of running off for a cheap courthouse wedding-" Rose argues, but stops when Lenny holds up a hand. 

"Beyond that," he says. "The pressures of an enormous wedding are enough to drive any bride out of her mind. Midge's health issues add more complications to that equation."

Sally looks away guiltily, obviously having forgotten.

"I'd like my wife to live through this ordeal," Lenny says pointedly. "So there will be minimal stress on her. No starving to fit into dresses. No tug of war over her opinions on flowers or what knife we use to cut the cake. I mean it. The second she starts showing signs of ill health because you two want to plan a party, I am pulling the damn plug."

Rose takes a breath and nods. “We will make this as stress-free as we possibly can.” 

“Midge won’t have to sweat over a thing,” Sally adds quickly. “And neither will you.” 

“Cut down the guestlist,” he orders. 

“Go fuck yourself, sonny.” 

Rose gasps. “Sally!” 

“If we’re plannin’ it, then we’re plannin’ it,” Sally tells him, ignoring Rose.

[risingsiren-blog]

Tonight! 1.14.18 #technoboyntuneboy Bit.ly/2COAshw for tickets 747 227 4736 text for #guestlist #academyla #insomniac #insomniacevents #basscon #hollywood #hollywoodnightlife #grandopening #sunday #sundayfunday #sundaynight (at Academy LA)

[the-empress-7]

By the Hollywood party, do you mean the private reception that was held for the US donors of Tusk, a wildlife conservation charity of which William has been Patron since 2005? The only celeb I remember is Reese W at that party but then again my memory is terrible. - Hollywood series of parties and receptions held in 2011 when Kate and William visited LA. Old Hollywood A-listers eg Barbara Streisand and New Hollywood A-listers eg Reece, Kidman, JLO laid out red carpet. Tickets were coveted. 1/2

2/2 It was funny how much Hollywood as a whole clamoured to meet the couple. LA Bafta had the best guestlist that year as far as turning out Hollywood at one of their events. I suspect Meghan thought she'd get a similar welcome when she returned to LA with her trophy, i mean Harry.

====

Appreciate the additional context and history.

[deppsessed]

Good Luck Charm

Hollywood Vampire Series part I

Pairing: Johnny Depp x Reader

Summary: Your lifelong dream to meet your favourite actor, Johnny Depp has finally come true. What happens when you finally come face to face with and manage to impress him?

Feedback is much appreciated

Johnny Depp. Even thinking about his name makes my heart skip a little beat. I’ve been a fan of his for years, seen just about every single one of his movies (and know just about every word in them too). When the Hollywood Vampires had announced their latest world tour a few months back, there was no doubt about me trying to get VIP tickets, but I’d somehow managed to end up with something better. My best friend, Alex, works at the concert venue, and for my birthday, had given me an ‘access all areas’ pass for the show. Not only would I be seeing the concert, but I had full access to backstage. But the thing I was still trying to wrap my head around was the fact that I’d be meeting Johnny Depp.

I’d been thinking about it for months. What was I going to wear? What was I going to say to him? Or would I find a way to make a complete idiot of myself?

Today was going to be the day that I’d finally find out. After days of planning out my outfit, I’d decided on something a little grungy, a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a Jim Morrison t-shirt (to maybe grab Johnny’s attention), leather jacket, and a pair of Dr Martens boots. With it being a Hollywood Vampires concert, it only felt appropriate to dress up a little vampy.

“Y/N! Hey! Hi!”

It’s Alex, and she has her arms open ready to hug me.

“How do I look?” I ask once I pull back and give a little twirl to show off my outfit.

“Like you’re about to catch Johnny Depp off guard and take his breath away.” 

I snorted. “Very funny.” 

“Don’t act as if that wasn’t the answer that you were wanting!”

I have to hand it to her, she knows me well, but she has been my best friend since we were kids.

“I hardly slept last night thinking about it…”

Alex laughs and shakes her head. I know she’ll find it amusing and pretty typical of me.

“But now you’re here, I can give you the whole backstage tour. Come right this way.” 

She ushers me towards a door with the lettering “Artists and personnel only”. After a couple of minutes of walking down one corridor, it opens up to a giant concrete looking area. I’m shown places like the wardrobe room, where all of the band's clothes are already hanging up, ready for the show later. The band's green room, where there are bottles of alcohol ready to be opened. The highlight had been seeing the rack of Johnny’s guitars and better yet, the marked out dressing rooms for the band members. The pre-show buzz was starting to take hold with people running about the place in all sorts of different directions.

By the time that we’re done, it’s time to go to meet and greet. Alex escorts me back down the long concrete corridor, to the meet and greet hall. 

“Good luck! And promise you’ll tell me everything later.” 

The room is already teaming with a couple of hundred fans, all waiting for Johnny, Alice and Joe to come on through. I’m not feeling nervous, but instead, excited. The room erupts into a fit of screams as the band enters the room. My eyes instantly look onto Johnny. He’s wearing one of his usual edgy Hollywood Vampires outfits with layers of jewellery. He’s even more handsome in person. It doesn’t even bother me that I’m at the back of the line, it means more time to be able to look at, and soak up the feeling of being in the same room as him. It’s endearing watching him interact with his fans because he takes his time and indulges every single one of them. I know that when he eventually gets to me, it’s going to be worth it.

Needless to say, when I’m next (and decidedly last) in line, he’s looking a little worse for wear, as if he’s between needing a good drink, a cigarette and a nap… or maybe all three at once, somehow. I hadn’t figured out what my first words to him were going to be, but I wanted to be memorable. Not just for being the last fan. But for not fitting into all the other conversations that I’ve been overhearing him having. I’m not going to be starstruck, he’s only another person.

“You know, if you want to take a moment for yourself to smoke a cigarette or have a drink, you can. I’m not going to go screaming from the rooftops about it.” 

Right away, he’s raising an eyebrow at me, as if he’s uncertain by the invitation. 

“Honestly, it’s fine. I’ve got all day.” 

I can see the little bit of reluctance disappear from his face, and while he doesn’t take up the offer of a drink right away, he does reach into his pocket for his rolling tobacco -- despite all of the no-smoking signs around the room, nobody is going to be telling him off. 

“Do you smoke too?” He asks, offering me the packet. I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. 

“I wouldn’t put that stuff into my lungs willingly.” I can see his eyebrow-raising again, he obviously isn’t going to retaliate with anything. I let him light up his cigarette and move for the next subject change. I’ve overheard people telling him how much they love the album, and the fact that they do a mixture of original stuff and covers.

 “I love the album, you know, Heroes is my favourite cover because you get to sing…” What I haven’t heard once is the suggestion of other songs. “School’s Out is good, but Poison would sound amazing with you and Joe on guitar. I keep thinking how something by the Rolling Stones would sound cool too, like, ‘Paint it Black’ or ‘Sympathy for the Devil’, kind of feels like it would be Alice’s kind of aesthetic.” 

I’m not sure where the apparent confidence is coming from, but I’m happy to run with it, especially when Johnny seems to be visibly impressed by it. His lips pull into a grin, clearly amused by the last part of my statement and what I’m trying to get at.

“I wouldn’t be too fooled by the gothic exterior, he’s a softie, deep down.” He pauses to take a drag on his cigarette. “I’ve always wanted to do something by The Doors… A vamped up version of Light my Fire or something.” Ah, so he has spotted the t-shirt.  

“Good choice.” I’m hardly going to tell him that there are plenty other songs out there that I think they could do better, but then again, maybe he’s secretly testing me and wants me to. “Break on Through to the other side would sound even better.” 

He’s impressed, the way that his eyes light up really shows it. I can see his mouth open, ready for a response for me, when one of the band's security interjects and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Johnny, I’m sorry, but we’re already running ahead of schedule here-”

He scowls, evidently irritated at the fact he’s being told to move things along. 

“I’m sorry,” He pauses and pushes his hand through his hair. “But what are your plans after the show? I’d love to see you at the party and maybe buy you a drink...”

Is this a dream? I’ve got to be dreaming. This isn’t happening.

“I’d love that.” I’m trying to keep my composure and not show my excitement, or the fact I’m freaking out on the inside. 

“Great -- what’s your name?”

“Y/N.” 

He holds his hand out to me to shake. “I’m Johnny.” 

--- 

The music is loud, or maybe my ears are still ringing a little bit from the concert. The band had been simply incredible! I swore that Johnny had been looking right at me at a few points, and even going as far as to wink. Tonight was shaping up to be something.

Johnny had stuck to his promise and put my name on the guestlist for the show after-party. I was still trying to get my head around what was happening. I was at a Hollywood Vampires after-party, and it was everything that I had imagined it to be. The place was decked out in black and red decor, and fittingly playing old classic rock from the speakers. I feel like I’m standing out a little bit. Everyone seems to know each other one way or another and are engrossed in some kind of conversation. 

“You made it,” The voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin. Johnny Depp is standing right behind me. “I didn’t have any other invites,” As if I would have been anywhere else. “The show was amazing, by the way, you were great.” He’s probably had people coming up to tell him all night, but it still feels appropriate.  

“How do you feel about meeting the band and then I’ll buy you that drink?” My widened eyed expression is enough for him to laugh. “I’ll introduce you, come on.” 

The Hollywood Vampires are standing at the other side of the room, laughing together like a bunch of teenage boys. “Guys!” He holds his hand up to try and get their attention. “This is y/n, the girl I was telling you about from meet and greet.” 

He’d been talking about me. 

“And the reason that Johnny was almost late!” The band start to laugh in unison and Johnny shakes his head and lets out a defeated sigh. 

“This is Tommy, Joe and I don’t think that Alice really needs an introduction...” I shake hands with them all in term, but when it comes to Alice, he’s glaring at Johnny. “Hey!” He objects and again, the band are just about on the floor laughing. Making fun of each other in turn is a thing, it seems. 

“I feel like I should be offering to buy you all a drink, what an amazing show you pulled off.” 

“Thank you, darlin’, really glad that you enjoyed it.” Alice replied, “But we’re buying you the drink.” We stand and talk for a little while, mainly about music, before Johnny buts into the conversation. 

“Now if you guys wouldn’t mind excusing us, I do believe I promised the lady a drink.”  

I can feel a blush rise into my cheeks at the realisation that he’s talking about me. “It was nice meeting you guys, good luck for the rest of the tour.” We say our pleasantries and goodbyes. The group disperses, leaving just me and Johnny standing.

“Another admittance on my part, I don’t enjoy these after-parties, they’re too loud for my taste.” He scratches the back of his neck, as if he’s a little nervous . “I know I’m being bold, but would you like to come back to the hotel with me for that drink?”

Pinch me.

Johnny Depp’s hotel suite is bigger than my entire studio apartment. It shouldn’t be a surprise to me that it’s that extravagant, but it’s straight-up like something out of Pretty Woman. It’s a little hard not to stare with your mouth open around the place. Plus the fact, I’m in his hotel room. 

“Pick your poison,” He gestures towards the rooms mini-bar, “Or if none of this is suitable, I can call for room service.”

I shake my head, “A bottle of beer is fine, you don’t need to order a bottle of champagne on ice on my account.” Johnny laughs and grabs a bottle of pass over to me, which I twist the lid from and bring it up to my lips for a taste. 

“You’re an easy girl to impress.”

 I scoff, there are plenty out there that I’m sure would say otherwise. “Somewhat.” 

He, too, grabs a bottle of beer and sits down on the bed. We start to talk, he wants to know about my life, my job, my friends... And while I’m more than certain of the fact that I’m boring the pants off of him, he’s listening as if he’s absorbing and holding onto every word.

When I tell him about my love for poetry, his eyes light up in curiosity. “Who would you say is your favourite poet?” 

I want to set out and impress him, tell him the name of somebody he hasn’t heard before, but I go with my heart. “Oscar Wilde -- I know, it’s a typical answer but there’s just something about his writing which resonates with the soul.” 

“I’d agree, actually-” He pauses to bring his beer bottle up to his lips. “There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it’ is one that’s always stuck with me.” 

“I can resist everything but temptation.” I grin at him and shrugged my shoulders, always a quote that I’ve related to.

I look back at him, to notice where his gaze is, right at my lips. Before I have a second to comprehend what’s going on, he leans forward, his lips brushing against mine. It takes me by surprise. Johnny Depp is trying to kiss me.

“I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry. It’s just-” He starts to hastily explain. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I thought-” 

He doesn’t get his last word out because I bring my lips back onto his to return the kiss. It’s soft, slow, and tender. I feel his tongue trace along my bottom lip, as if asking to deepen the kiss.

I’m kissing Johnny Depp. Johnny Depp is kissing me. 

I don’t know how to comprehend it.

Or how I’m even going to begin to tell Alex when she texts me tomorrow.

[ingek73]

‘I’ve never been wrong’: has a C-list Hollywood blog scooped the world with royal news?

Stuart Heritage

Secret protocols have long been in place for how the death of the Queen will be revealed. Or they were until ‘sources close to the Royal Kingdom’ got chatty

Published: 13:42 Wednesday, 23 February 2022

Five years ago, this publication’s Sam Knight wrote a long read entitled ‘London Bridge is down’; a sombre, forensic examination of what will happen in the immediate aftermath of the death of Queen Elizabeth II. Knight explained that the news will break in an orderly, frictionless way. First to government officials via codeword, then to the BBC and the Press Association and finally a black-edged notice pinned to the gates of Buckingham Palace. When it happens, it will be well rehearsed and highly organised.

What Sam Knight didn’t predict, however, was that the news of the Queen’s death would be exclusively leaked to a celebrity news blog run by a man best known for having a bit-part in a spin-off to a VH1 reality hip-hop dating show. But, hey, nobody gets everything right all the time.

To be clear, as far as anyone in the world knows at the moment, the Queen hasn’t died. But that didn’t stop Hollywood Unlocked – a blog run by Love & Hip Hop star Jason Lee (not to be confused with the Jason Lee from the Alvin and the Chipmunks movies) – from announcing it on Tuesday night. “Socialites,” the offending post began, “it is with our deepest regret to inform you that Britain’s Queen Elizabeth has died. Sources close to the Royal Kingdom notified us exclusively that Queen Elizabeth has passed away. She was scheduled to attend the wedding of British Vogue editor Edward Enninful, but was found dead”.

Now, clearly, there’s a lot to unpack here. The claim that the Queen was “found dead”, as if she wandered off into Hyde Park to be discovered by a dog walker, suggests a lack of expertise on the subject. As does the phrase “sources close to the Royal Kingdom”, because that technically describes anyone who lives in or around the UK. Last, it seems fairly unlikely that the Queen was headed to Enninful’s wedding, since most reports claim that the guestlist for that event is reserved for all the myriad Beckhams and Delevingnes.

Nevertheless, Lee is sticking to his guns. On Instagram, in the wake of Hollywood Unlocked’s post, he uploaded a note reading: “1. I’ve never lied. 2. I’ve never been wrong. 3. I trust my sources. 4. I have yet to see an official statement from the palace saying otherwise. 5. I’ll be at the Donda concert tonight with Ye.”

And this sets up an extraordinary battle between the might of the British monarchy and a blogger who nobody knew about until 18 hours ago. If he’s wrong, his reputation will be in shreds. But if he happens to be right, an entire constitutional handover decades in the making will be derailed from the off. It will mean that the British population will have to entirely recalibrate its expectations for major events. If Queen Elizabeth’s death really was broken on a C-list celebrity blog, then what can we expect next? Will we learn about the death of Prince Charles through a sequence of emojis on Snapchat? Will it be exclusively revealed by a novelty cat account on TikTok? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

And what of Buckingham Palace now? Does it have to officially deny a blogpost on the internet? Will we soon be greeted with the image of Queen Elizabeth doing a thumbs-up next to a copy of today’s newspaper to demonstrate that she’s alive and kicking? You’d think not, because that would set a ridiculous precedent. Anyone could claim that she had died, and the palace would be forced to deny everything. It isn’t a very dignified way to spend the winter of your years.

In fairness to Lee, if you’re going to pick anyone to be the subject of a spurious death hoax, a nonagenarian with Covid does seem like the safest bet. However, all signs currently point to him being wrong. Which isn’t to say that should completely discount Hollywood Unlocked, of course. If you want to read stories about teachers who fed students cupcakes laced with semen, it remains a rock-solid news source.

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Lorcan,” snapped a sharp voice. He groaned into his pillow, screwing his eyes shut at the threat of sunlight. 

“What do you want, Maeve,” Lorcan bit out, not in the mood for his aunt’s conniving bullshit this early in the morning. He was here as a favour to his father and nothing, nothing more. “I’m sleeping.” 

“It’s almost eleven o’clock and Miss DuBois will be here at noon,” she hissed, trying to rip his duvet away. Lorcan swore and pulled it back, just remembering that Maeve was forcing him to take Remelle DuBois of all people as his date. He turned onto his back and sighed through his nose. 

“So? The fucking thing doesn’t even start till one, let me sleep,” he protested, flinging his arm over his eyes. “You lost, Maeve. The title is Elide’s.” Neither missed the fact that he said ‘you’, further confirming that his stake was not as… passionate in his aunt’s cause. 

Maeve scoffed dismissively, glaring out the windows into the gardens where workers were setting up for the garden party. The guest list was filled with Terrasen’s elite, all joining to celebrate Elide and Fenrys’ upcoming nuptials. “It’s not over until she puts that damned ring on his finger, the little sneaky bitch.” 

“Don’t call her that.” The words escaped him before Lorcan’s brain could catch up with what Maeve was saying. She paused, looking at him curiously. Lorcan rolled his eyes and got out of bed, “I’m going to change now so do you think you could possibly fuck off?” There was no lost love between nephew and aunt. 

“We are not finished here.” 

“Get out of my room.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Fenrys kicked his feet as Elide sat patiently. Lysandra chastised the man, who was already dressed in a grey suit. His tie and pocket square matched her sage green tea dress. It had flutter sleeves and a modest v-neckline. The dress cinched at the waist before the chiffon skirts fell elegantly to just beneath her knees. 

Philippa pinned Elide’s old school, Hollywood curls so they tumbled down one shoulder. She stepped back after applying a light layer of hairspray to ensure it would stay in place during the afternoon. “Now, you’re all ready for the party.”

Elide chuckled. She stood, slipping her hand into Fenrys’ elbow, “You’re a true artist, Philippa.” 

“Oh,” the older woman waved her hands, “nonsense. I had a beautiful subject to work with.” Philippa handed her a lace fan, a sage ribbon hanging from it.

“That you did,” Fenrys said, dipping his head to kiss his fiancée’s cheek. He grinned at Elide’s blush when she pushed him away. 

“Stop flirting with me.” 

“Ugh, I love it when you tell me I’m not allowed to flirt with my betrothed.” 

Elide rolled her eyes and turned on her white and strappy heels. She tugged Fenrys along, shouting a ‘thank you’ over her shoulder to Philippa. Fenrys kept her laughing the entire way to the garden with witty jokes and snarky comments. Elide snorted, trying to keep her composure when they turned the corner and ran into her uncle. 

“Your Grace,” Fenrys said, bowing. Elide curtsied a bit, murmuring his name. 

“Lord Marama, I see you’re still here.” 

“Well, yes, sir. I wouldn’t abandon my fiancée three weeks before the wedding,” he answered smoothly, slipping his arm around Elide’s waist and resting a somewhat possessive hand on her hip. She suppressed the shiver, shuddering for all the wrong reasons, even though Elide knew it was all for show.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” 

Elide nodded, nudging Fenrys towards the doors, “We’re leaving now, uncle. I hope you enjoy the party.” She grabbed the hand Fenrys had on her hip and pulled him away. 

“I doubt it,” Vernon called after the pair as Elide pushed the door open. 

Feeling Fenrys stiffen, Elide dug her white painted nails into his hand, “Leave it. He’s a senile old man.” She glanced back at him, staring him down until he nodded, the muscle in his jaw clenching. “Hey.” Elide stopped short, gripping his chin, “Fenrys, I have lived with him my entire life. You have known him for a week and a half. Don’t, for a single second, think you know what is best for me and how I should handle my abuser.” His eyes broke and she softened, “Fen, I know you have a good heart and that you want to protect me and I-I love that. Really. But, please, don’t try to do what only I can do for me.”  

He nodded, his full lips quirking up at the corners, “Yes, ma’am.” 

Elide clicked her tongue, “Come on, we have a garden party to host.” They walked powerfully to the entrance of the gardens. Before they turned the hedge that would put them in full view of the guests they could hear chatting lively, Elide paused. 

“Hey,” Fenrys said, his brows - lightened to match his hair - furrowed, “are you alright?” 

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, closing her eyes for a second. “Just need a second. I’m fine.” 

The blonde man nodded and slid his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited. A few silent moments later, Elide plastered on a cheery smile that he cringed at, “For fuck’s sake, that’s so scary.” He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, pasting on an equally jarring grin, “Ready, honeybunch?” 

“Let’s knock ‘em dead, sweetie-pie,” Elide chirped, giggling like she had gone mad. Fenrys held out his elbow again, graciously leading her around the bend. 

Someone announced them and they spent what seemed like an eternity smiling, waving, and thanking people for coming. Elide’s cheeks were burning from the strain of her beam when they had finally wrapped up the greetings. 

“Drink?” 

Turning to the bright voice, Elide sighed in relief to see Lysandra there. Aelin and Rowan were standing a few metres off, speaking to some elderly couple - no doubt royals of some kind. “Yes, gods, please,” she said, taking the champagne from Lysandra's hand. She had the grace to not chug it like she wanted to and sipped politely. 

A server passed by with a tray of smoked salmon and cream cheese cracker bites. Elide took one, about to pop it in her mouth when Aelin and Rowan walked over. A flurry of something caught her eye and she peeked around Fenrys and Rowan to see who it was. “Oh, he did not just do that,” Elide cursed, narrowing her slender eyes. 

“Who,” Aelin said, turning to track her cousin’s gaze. When she saw Lorcan standing at the entrance, she figured that was the only thing to set her off. But then a pale skinned, pale haired, and pale eyed woman stepped out from the shadow of his broad frame and Aelin went red in the face. “Remelle? He brought Remelle?”

The boys coughed, quick to turn and stare. Lorcan caught their gazes and sent them a pained look, subtly indicating Maeve, who was standing at a table with a smug look on her face. “Oh, well, that makes more sense,” Fenrys muttered, nudging Rowan, who nodded in agreement. 

Lysandra frowned, scrolling through her iPad. The woman never went anywhere without it, “Maeve… did not tell me who Lorcan’s date was. And I made sure everyone knew who was not permitted and Miss DuBois is–” 

“Lys, please, don’t worry about it,” Aelin assured her dear friend. “It’s not your fault, you’ve done an exceptional job, as usual. It’s just… Maeve being Maeve.” Lysandra nodded, but quickly excused herself. As she left, they all heard her speaking tersely into her earpiece, wanting to know who exactly had been at the entrance when they arrived. All security details were required to know the guestlist. 

When Remelle looked their way, Rowan quickly turned away, his skin crawling as he felt her predatory stare burn into the back of his neck. The king consort twined his fingers through the queen’s, tilting his head to the side, “I’m sure there are more stuffy lords we haven’t said hello to yet. Let’s go do that now.” 

Aelin nodded, flashing him her signature golden smile, “Of course.” She looked at Elide, who was still glaring at Lorcan, who was smiling back at her. To the untrained eye, it would look like a smirk, but Aelin knew Lorcan a bit better than that. His eyes sparkled with delight and affection. 

She glanced at Fenrys, sharing a look with him. Have fun with… that. 

He rolled his eyes, shooing her away, ���Go, enjoy yourselves, kiss a bunch of old white guy ass for me.” 

“Oh, I will, I know it’s your favourite, Fenny,” Aelin quipped. With a flourish, she marched off, pulling a somewhat reluctant Rowan behind her. 

+*+*+*+*+*+* 

Hellas, she looks amazing. 

“There’s the little cripple girl,” Remelle said, waving her fingers vaguely. 

Lorcan rounded on her, pulling his attention away from Elide, “Excuse me? Don’t say shit like that, what is wrong with you?”

“Oh, testy, aren’t we,” she purred, reaching a slender hand up to tweak something about his hair. He moved, his reaction swifter than her motion. Remelle rolled her icy blue eyes, huffing slightly and looking down at her sharp nails, “Are you still anal about your hair? It’s just hair.” 

He didn’t even deign to respond to her, knowing she would never get it through her dense skull. Must be all the bleach damage, Lorcan thought to himself. There was no way someone’s hair could be that white, naturally, at her age. “I need a fucking drink,” he muttered, not bothering to see if Remelle wanted anything before stalking off to the bar. 

His aunt was waiting for him there and Lorcan pointedly ignored her as he ordered a whiskey sour. “Lorcan,” she hissed, his name sounding like a curse on her tongue, “why aren’t you with your date?” 

“Because she’s an unbearable cunt of a human being,” he grumbled, thanking the bartender and digging out a green twenty for the tip. He had worked shit jobs like serving and knew how stingy the one percent was. “Thanks, man.” 

“You’re welcome, sir,” the bartender said, smoothly putting the tip in his pocket and turning to the next guest. 

Lorcan took his drink, taking a long sip before addressing his aunt, “Maeve, what do you want?” 

Her dark, creepily dark, eyes flashed dangerously, “Boy, get yourself in line. She came here as a favour, got it?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Lorcan saluted her sarcastically, his gaze jumping over her head when a vision dressed in gentle green caught it. Elide glared at him, pointing with her closed fan to a path in the hedges. This would be fun. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters at hand, auntie.” 

He stepped around her, striding through the partygoers to Elide. “And to what do I owe the pleasure for this?”

Elide glared up at him, actually having to tilt her head back to even look him in the eye. It was cute, even if the glare was murderous. Elide turned neatly, walking angrily into the path. Lorcan followed, biting back his smile. “Are you going to murder me, sweetheart?” 

No answer. They came to a fork in the road and Elide turned left, leading him to an opening with a bubbling fountain. There, she whirled, “You brought Remelle as your date?!” 

“Why, yes. She’s a fine young lady,” he said, delighting in the way he was able to provoke her so easily. 

“She’s a heinous bitch,” Elide spat, beginning to pace back and forth. 

“Why do you care who I bring as my date?” 

She paused, deciding to step onto the stone lip of the fountain. There, now she was almost eye-level with him, “I don’t.” 

Lorcan raised his brows, looking at her in disbelief, “Seems that way.” 

“Well, you seem to care a lot about my relationship, it’s only fair that I care that much about yours.” 

He scoffed, draining his drink and putting the empty glass down on the edge of a bird bath. “Your relationship with Fenrys is no more real than mine with Remelle.” 

The fan caught between her hands was gripped so tightly Elide’s knuckles were white. Still, her voice was calm, collected, “Fen told me you were friends. I was surprised.” 

He looked at her suspiciously, willing himself not to look at her lips and hold her gaze, “Is there a reason for your surprise?” 

“Well, it seems to me that if he were your friend, you would support it. You know,” she shrugged, her smile saccharine sweet, “for his happiness.” 

Cool anger flowed through his veins and he didn’t bother thinking before he spat words he might’ve come to regret, “You couldn’t make Fenrys happy if you were married to him for a hundred years. I told you already, he will never love you.” Elide would never love Fenrys either, but Lorcan didn’t bother telling her what she no doubt already knew. 

In her eyes shone hurt that was quickly replaced with heated rage. Elide hit his shoulder with her fan, “I loathe you.” Her face was centimetres from his, he could smell the intoxicating scent of her elderberry and cinnamon perfume. The delicate and spiced fragrance had haunted him for weeks now. 

“Well, I loathe you,” Lorcan murmured, the tone too low and too enticing for it to be anything but a bedroom voice, "sweetheart."

Elide’s breath hitched and in that moment, Lorcan would’ve done anything she commanded of him to make her do it again and again and again. Her eyes flicked to his lips before dancing back up to his. Neither knew who moved first and neither cared as Elide’s arms slid around his neck and Lorcan’s slipped around her waist. 

The kiss was hungry and biting, but a perfect harmony anyways. She tasted like champagne. Lorcan swore he could get drunk off her embrace as Elide nipped his lip, her tongue flicking over the small sting to soothe it. 

Lorcan pulled her closer, craving the feelings of her feminine curves and softness against his harsh contours and planes. She sighed delicately, melting into his hold before she realised what they were doing and tried to push herself away. 

Only, on the ledge, Elide didn’t have anywhere to go and she fell backwards, not relinquishing her hold on his charcoal suit. Lorcan was pulled into the fountain with her, their clothes and hair instantly sopping wet. 

“You kissed me! You- you can’t go around kissing engaged people, Lorcan. Do you have any sense at all,” Elide whispered harshly at him, quickly standing to climb out. He went to stand up, but Elide pushed him back down again, her hands on his chest. “You’re just trying to make me like you so that I won’t marry Fen and you’ll get the throne! You- oh, you’re evil.”

With an indignant huff, Elide Lochan marched off, throwing him one last glare as she turned the corner and disappeared from his sight. 

Lorcan was so, so, so fucked. 

+*+*+*+*+*+* 

Elide kept her head high as she walked back to the palace. She managed to avoid the garden party, but caught Rowan slinking around the bushes, no doubt trying to avoid a certain someone.

“Elide?” 

The delicate fabric of her dress clung to her skin and she shivered despite the warm sun. Elide nodded, waving vaguely as she passed him. He scrambled after her. “Ellie, do I want to know what happened?” 

“He happened,” she snapped, picking up her pace. A quick glance down told her that her dress was indeed rather transparent. Elide swore, crossing her arms over her chest. Rowan quickly shucked off his suit jacket, draping the large garment over her tiny frame. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” 

“Well, it’s not.” Elide closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. All she could think about was the kiss and how she had never felt anything like it. An unwarranted thought of if and when he would kiss her again popped up in her mind. Elide shook her head, desperate to forget about it. “It’s nothing. We just fought again and ended up in the fountain.” 

He held in his snort and they arrived at the side doors. Rowan opened it for the woman, letting her pass before he shot a suspicious glance around them and closed it. They didn’t need any more media attention and certainly not with Remelle in the vicinity. “Good thing that Aelin is wrapping the party up now. You can go warm up and hide out in your room.” 

Elide flashed him a grateful smile and slinked off to a hidden stairwell. It used to be used solely by servants and the staff, but now it was used by anyone who wanted a discreet escape to the private wings. 

Rowan smiled at her as well, keeping the pleasant look on his face until she had disappeared from view. Then, he let it fall, gritting his teeth as he seethed. It seemed that he needed to have another little chat with Lorcan. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“El?” The door of her bedroom burst open and Fenrys appeared, looking concerned. It didn’t fade when his eyes fell on her curled up in a nest of blankets. A cup of tea sat on her nightstand, steam wafting from it. “I just saw Lorcan, are you ok?” 

“‘m fine,” she muttered, turning her eyes back to the show she was watching. “Just cold.” 

Fenrys smiled, “Mind if I join you?” Elide grinned, scooching over slightly. The dark skinned man made quick work of divesting himself of his shoes, jacket, and tie. He popped a couple buttons open, sighing as he flopped down next to her. “What, I don’t get any blanket?” 

Elide rolled her eyes and flipped a few of them back so he could cuddle under them. Fenrys wrapped his arms around her, “You’re freezing, El.” 

“I know,” she chattered, her teeth still clicking together. “The chef said she’d make me something warm to eat.” Elide leeched Fenrys’ body heat away, burrowing herself deeper into the mattress. After a few minutes, the warmth made her drowsy and Elide slowly drifted off. 

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Hello, Rowan. Lovely party that was,” Lorcan replied evenly. He glanced in the mirror. Rowan was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his jaw set and ticking. “Can I help you with something?” 

“What are you doing to her?” 

There was no reason for him to say who he was talking about, they were both well aware. “I’m not doing anything to her.” 

“You drive her fucking crazy, Lorcan,” Rowan said, moving out of the way when Lorcan stalked out of the toilet. 

“And?” 

Rowan sighed, shaking his head. “Lorcan. Just- fuck. What is going on with you two?” 

“Nothing is going on with me and Elide,” Lorcan answered, pulling on a hoodie. It might’ve even been one of Rowan’s, he wasn’t sure. 

“You told me you would never lie to me. Don’t you dare start now.” 

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Lorcan looked up at Rowan, but all he could see was Elide’s face the second before they kissed. “Ro…” He gestured vaguely with his hands, unable to articulate his swirling thoughts. “It’s just what it is. I can’t explain. We’re just- someone is pushing us together, I can’t stop it.” I don’t want to stop it.

“Oh,” Rowan breathed, his stark green eyes wide like saucers. His mouth dropped open and he gaped at Lorcan, blinking once in shock. “Oh. Oh.” 

“What,” Lorcan snapped, his hackles rising. He had a premonition that he knew what Rowan was going to say. “Spit it out, bastard.” 

“You’re falling for her.” 

“No, I am not.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

Lorcan just fell back on the mattress, looking up at the ceiling. He sighed, his voice completely unconvincing, a little dreamy, even, “No, I am not.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide slinked into the kitchens, smiling thankfully at the chef who passed her a bowl of xaimoko, a Blackbeak rabbit stew. It was her favourite comfort food. She remembered once, when she was young, after being disciplined by her uncle, the old cook, a kind woman, had found her hiding in a corner. She had spoken in Blackbeak to Elide, coaxing her to the kitchen for a nice dinner. Vernon had ordered that she wasn’t to have dinner, but the cook had served her a bowl of rabbit stew and fried cornbread anyway.

Ever since then, the cook, who had retired a couple years after, had made sure every chef in the castle knew how to make it. 

Elide ate as slowly as possible. Lysandra had texted her, telling Elide that Aelin wanted to see her after she had eaten dinner. After her nap, Elide had spent her time avoiding Aelin but it had seemed like her luck had run out. 

She washed her own dishes, stowing them away in the cupboards. Gaze downcast, Elide made her way to Aelin’s temporary office, just set up for her time in Perranth before she and Rowan returned to Orynth. 

Elide knocked reluctantly on the door, wishing Rowan or at least Fenrys were with her. The meeting was only to be with Aelin, though, so she wasn’t hopeful. 

“Come in,” the queen called, her voice muffled through the heavy doors. 

Elide pushed the door open, softly closing it behind her. Aelin’s face was set, her lips tightening as she folded her hands atop her desk. “Elide. Sit, please.” She glanced at Lysandra who was sitting in the other chair. 

She felt like a schoolgirl in trouble with the principal. Elide sunk down in a chair, keeping her gaze down. 

“Elide,” Aelin sighed, clearly not happy with her cousin. “What is happening with you?” 

Elide shook her head, looking down at her hands, “Nothing.” 

“That’s not true.” 

She nodded, “Yes it is. Nothing is happening with me.” Elide finally dragged her eyes up to Aelin’s. “I’m fine.” 

The blonde sighed, drumming her fingers on the desk, “Elide. I know we aren’t the most traditional country and you have more liberties than most, but you can’t do stuff like this.” 

“Stuff like what?” Her voice cracked and her bottom lip trembled. “I’m not doing anything.” 

“Elide, you are engaged. You can’t hide in closets with people who are not your betrothed and you cannot climb out of a fountain, dripping wet, with the same person who is not your betrothed!” 

“Aelin, why don’t we–” 

“No, Lysandra. Elide is not some high school girl, who gets to run around doing whatever she wishes! She is a royal and is expected to act like one.” 

Elide flinched, shrinking back at the volume and sharpness, “I’m sorry.” If Aelin had noticed how Elide reacted, she would’ve stopped immediately, but the stress of battling parliament and the media were wearing on her. “I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, I know, you didn’t mean to.” Aelin’s hands dove into her hair, gripping the strands on either side of her head. She laughed humorlessly, the sound icy and hollow. “I am trying to save your crown, do you get that, Elide?” 

Elide stayed silent, willing her body to keep her tears to herself. Unconsciously, she started scratching a nail up and down her forearm, over and over and over until blood was drawn. It was a habit she had picked up as a child and years of therapy hadn’t undone it. 

However, Lysandra noticed and she reached over to take Elide’s hand subtly enough so that Aelin didn’t see.

“I’m sorry.”

Aelin looked at her for a moment and glanced away, “Just tighten up, Elide. You can’t afford to be doing things you don’t mean and if you think you can… you might as well give Lorcan the crown already.” 

“Can I go now?” Elide asked, her voice trembling. In shock, Aelin’s eyes snapped back to her, as if realising the memories she had resurfaced for Elide. Lysandra held a hand out to Elide, but Elide moved so Lysandra’s touch fell short.

“Ellie–” 

Elide stood up abruptly, “If there isn’t anything else you have to say, can I go, your Majesty?” 

Aelin nodded meekly and Elide left. The halls were empty and because of it, Elide ran back to her rooms, locking the doors behind her. She managed to keep from letting the tears fall until she was in her bedroom. 

Bear looked up at her from her bed as Elide crawled into hers. The dog stared at her for a moment, laying unmoving. Elide wiped her cheeks, chuckling tearfully, “Oh, are you mad at me too?” 

Bear just turned her head, tucking her nose beneath her tail.

Elide felt her heart crack in two and cried harder, hiccuping as she buried her face into her pillow. In the darkness of her room, Elide slowly cried until she had exhausted herself into a deep sleep.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: omg !! royal scandal sksksks !! 

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @ladyverena @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse  @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed​ @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @minaidss @superspiritfestival @sanakapoor @ireallyshouldsleeprn @spyofthenightcourt @januarystears @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @magicalunicorngypsy @elriel4life @sensitiveillyrian

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