#I know some people don't like him as Elvis

[obscureother]

ok one of the two horsemen of the f/o-pocalypse.

What do your f/o's hugs feel like? tight toO TIGHT- but i love them. Very protective hugs. Theyre spooky ghost hugs -v- he doesnt want anyone else to have the hugs but him either. he is stingy for love.

What are your favorite dates to have with them? riding horsies through the forest :D or halloween dates!! i love those <33 keeps him from beheading people or getting too bothered by other demons who mock him sometimes.

What are their favorite dates to have with you? i think he also likes to just go wandering through the forest. he prefers the quiet time together. . doesnt necessarily have to be on horseback, he likes going for walks together on foot. he just prefers, wherever they go, for it to be nighttime, quiet, and no one around for some far ways away that he and his partner can be themselves.

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you? well, the headless horseman song, obvi 👀 all the variants i have and hold for the headless horseman song are all for him. but outside of that. . Elvis "Pocketful of Rainbows" has a lore behind it for him. I would like to find more songs for him tho. . Bing crosby ones maybe, cos thats the guy who narrates the whole thing.

What's the height difference between you and your f/o? with or without the head? /j (sorry i like to goof on him too. dfsd0-)if he had his head tho, i would think he's right below 6-foot, so maybe 5'11" or so. That would make him 8 inches different. His stump is right above eye level for me and s/i 1.

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you? Aethelwolf is very private about affection. . I would say like. . 4/10, cos he'll hold me or s/i 1 so others know not to come close but he won't really be very "affectionate" other than polite gestures like helping off the horse or opening doors before going in after us. Arm around my waist, standing close to me. . sometimes i can get him to hold hand, but ill save that for the later question.

What's your favorite feature about your f/o? i like his laauugghh <33 i set his laugh as my alarm, my ringtone, my notification sound, brr. . i love his laugh so much.

What do you think they smell like? forest -v- like pine trees. . and dust. and dead leaves that are wet. :)) probably horse sometimes.

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love. he is very quiet overall, but he can be very tender in how he holds you. him being gentle in any way is his love language, and giving little things like flowers in your hair or silent good hugs that you know are him trying to tell you "i love you" but he cant get the words out so he squeezes you instead. He also would trust you with his horse. . cos his horse is his beloved. Her name is Rose, she's very sweet <: somewhere in there, there is sort of. . knightly behavior. he will scoop you up and whisk you away into the forest of spooks to take care of you.

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them? Aethelwolf doesn't sleep normally lol. He stands guard. Once in a while he will lay down and rest his exhausted ghost energy from riding horses. Where he used to slump by his horse, he now leans on the door frame of the room to keep me or s/i 1 safe, but he does come over to s/i 1 on the bed if she wants to cuddle with him or hold him for a while. he'll hold her until she falls asleep, and then goes back to his self-made "post."

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o? that he carves pumpkins for himself or leaves them for the one he loves or cares about. -v- he's really good at them. he can either slap something together scary, or he'll make very intricate carvings that are like freaking sculptures man. . its so cool. that and he also has a secretly very nice singing voice. . one you could, say, compare to old crooners. . but he doesnt use it hardly ever other than with s/i 1 or through very blue moon occasional humming to them. ok one more- his cape acts as expression for him. it will perk up, deflate, stiffen, etc. . ghost magic lol.

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have? he's sort of. . guardian ghoul to me or s/i 1. quiet, stoic, spurned protector. . and then there is baby. s/i 1 who just thinks he is so cool and spooky and goofy, and the only one he lets tease about his headlessness /sometimes/ because she will kiss his stump. he's the "very temperamental" who gets the "soft cuddlebug" s/o to keep him from blowing his top.

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day? he's very quiet comfort. . he helps un-stimulate, if you will, lol. He'll take me outside to sit under one of the trees and hold me while i empty thoughts or go deeper into them, fiddle with sticks on the ground, sometimes he hums to me. . sometimes he'll get rose to come over to pet her or love on her, brush her mane, things like that. Rose would be the greatest emotional support horse tho.

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like? ah, this. . ok. so, Aethelwolf expresses physically because that is kind of the only way he can. He cannot give kisses or nuzzle into you, so he does hold around your body. Holding hands, tho, is a little. . soft for him. He doesnt mind it, but he's a little awkward to. He gets used to it over time with only s/i 1 or me, but for a very long time and even then, he is not used to having his hand. . held. its been forever since anyone held his hand even when he was alive. Sometimes he fumbles of which way to hold, but once its settled, then so is he. You can feel his nervousness in his grip, but he can be gentle and usually is. Unless he gets mad, then you can feel it getting too tight. . but he doesnt mean to. He gets very soothed if you run your fingers over his knuckles, it kind of. . slows him down before he can get aggravated at whatever is over there.

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc) He would give kisses if he could sometimes, i think. What he does instead is make a little. . muppet mouth with his hand, and he'll hold it up to touch on face, my hand, or on occasion to lips. . If he "kisses" hand, he is more vulnerable to holding hands then even tho he is kind of bashful about it. He was very awkward the first time he did this as he felt rather silly. . but because s/i 1 got what he was trying to do and ended up "kissing" him back, he kept going with it. should s/i 1 have not done that, he would have never done it again and probably been embarrassed about it for the rest of his undeath hsbjksf-

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them? i love to give him kisses on his stump, but you gotta be gentle on him there cos its very sensitive. he got his head blown off by a canonball after all. but he loves the stump kisses, they make him soft and mushy -v- I also like giving kisses to his hand, especially if he does the muppet kisses. They make him flustered sometimes when i do it first to him even tho he's used to it a little bit now. i also give him lots of chest and shoulder kisses, sort of like how one would the front of or side of the face if he had one. i do give him kisses when he has a pumpkin head. i kiss him everywhere on the pumpkin head. he gets a little exasperated by it, but in a good way even tho sometimes it knocks it off his shoulders then he has to pick it back up again. 💜

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o? i also like to carve pumpkins with him or we eat candy :0 i can poke the little ones down his throat. its odd, but we make it work. i also like building little twig forts with him outside :0 he gets me outside the most i think tho. . or we collect leaves and show them to each other, or things like that. fall is our time bro. .

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one? he does get very fixated on. . faces, and things like hair. part of it is his own longing for a head yes, but he focuses on them in general. he's oddly very sweet about it when he talks about things, caressing very tender and just. . very lovely. he's not one for words, but they somehow come to him when he is being entranced by one's features. i like the little German pet names he calls me, those are cute. . something different from what i normally hear, and he calls me them more often than Conrad does even though Conrad tends to be the "more German-sounding" of the two in his outbursts. He calls me things like "my fox" or "my vixen," though in German. He does this more often towards s/i 1 personally tho.

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them? i like to call him pumpkin uvu he gets soft about it, sometimes even a little embarrassed, but he doesnt mind it. given i cannot focus on his face like he does me, i usually talk about how good he is with his sword or his horsey, tho sometimes. . i do mention his very black, very fitting outfit. . on occasion. . uvu

I want everyone to have the chance to ramble about their romantic f/os, so I'm gonna make a reblog game where yall can answer the plethora of questions I'm gonna toss down. Any of the questions you want to answer, as little or as much as you'd like!! I'll read them all. PR.O.SHIP DNI!!! AT ALL! GET OUT-

SO!! SELFSHIPPERS! RIDDLE ME THIS:

What do your f/o's hugs feel like?

What are your favorite dates to have with them?

What are their favorite dates to have with you?

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you?

What's the height difference between you and your f/o?

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you?

What's your favorite feature about your f/o?

What do you think they smell like?

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love.

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them?

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o?

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have?

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day?

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like?

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc)

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them?

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o?

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one?

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them?

Okay I can't wait to see some answers!! Feel free to reblog as many times with as many f/os as you want. ANYONE CAN PARTICIPATE! SEEING THIS POST IS AN INVITATION FOR YOU!!

People I'd like to see answer this off the top of my head (but don't have to!!): @moxanji-real @one-winged-dreams @lovesickvalentines @graveluvr @clawingatmy-enclosure @starshakez @jpeg-indulgence @everynya @tropgothships @selfshipping-tboy @amelielovesamaris @pixel-comfort @fl0ralsxgar

[devonjwerkheiser]

growingupwithdevon “Did you know @austinbutler was on Ned’s? Big congrats on his Best Actor Oscar Nomination announced this morning for his portrayal of Elvis!

Tune in to this weeks full episode w @spencermusic now!

#austinbutler #nedsdeclassified #oscarnominations 

#growingupwithdevon #devonwerkheiser“

[bayetea]

seeing non-black people critique rick's portrayal of black characters is interesting sometimes. only like 30% of the critiques I see make any sense to me to be honest

[undying-love]

John and Paul on each other: A Compilation

John:

"He [Paul] looked like Elvis. I dug him."

"I'm like everyone else, Harry. I fell for Paul's looks."

"..an old, estranged fiancée of mine called Paul."

"Paul...you're so well-built." (X)

"Groups like this are normally not friends. They’re just four people out there thrown together to make an act. There may be two of them who sort of go off and are friends, you know...Strictly platonic of course."

"Oh, I've had him, he's no good."

"I was riding on a boat called Paul, and now I'm riding on a boat called Yoko."

"I've compared to a marriage a million times and I hope it's… understandable. For people that aren't married. Or any relationship. It was a LONG relationship. It started many, many years before the American public, or the English public for that matter, knew us. Paul and I were together since he was 15, I was 16."

"Nobody ever said anything about Paul's having a spell on me or my having one on Paul! They never thought that was abnormal in those days, two guys together, or four guys together! Why didn't they ever say, "How come those guys don't split up? I mean, what's going on backstage? What is this Paul and John business? How can they be together so long?"

"Well, Paul had met Linda before [the Apple press conference], you see. I mean, there were quite a few women he'd obviously had that I never knew about. God knows when he was doing it, but he must have been doing it."

"I don’t even think about Paul unless somebody brings him up. Or if some song comes out or something happens, they’re in the newspaper. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t just leave him alone—I haven’t really seen him in ten years. I can talk about him forever because I know all about him, but you see, there’s nothing much to say."

[Studio chatter] Paul: I will be overpowering this time. John: Oh good. I like it when you’re brutal. (X)

Paul:

"John was really my only male friend, if only because of proximity."

"[While playing live] John was to the left or to the right of me, so I never got to sort of see him perform so much. Except in the film [Get Back]. And there he is in massive closeup. I can study everything about him.”

“I’ll just sit around and hug him forever, because that’s the depth of my feeling for him."

"And I would often sketch John when we worked together, often without him knowing it. It was so easy doing John because he had glasses, those sideboards...and that long, aquiline nose."

"When I painted him recently, I found myself saying, ‘How did his lips go?"

"I can still see John now: checked shirt, slightly curly hair…I remember thinking, ‘He looks good - I wouldn’t mind being in a group with him."

"James reminds me very much of John in many ways: he's got beautiful hands. John had beautiful hands."

"If I'm going to see a face in a painting, it's highly likely to be his."

"I still remember his beery old breath when I first met him that day. But I soon came to love that beery old breath. And I loved John."

"I’m often thinking of him. I dream of him."

"Delicious boy, delicious broth of a boy."

"John and I used to hitch-hike places together. It was something that we did together quite a lot; cementing our friendship, getting to know our feelings, our dreams, our ambitions together. It was a very wonderful period. I look back on it with great fondness. I particularly remember John and I would be squeezed in our little single bed."

"There's a song I do called Here Today which is specifically written for John. That sometimes catches me out. I realize I'm telling this man that I love him and it's like I'm publicly declaring this in front of all these people I don't know. I sometimes wonder what I'm doing."

"We are individuals— all different. John married Yoko, I married Linda. We didn’t marry the same girl.”

"Please Please Me was a John idea. John liked the double meaning of “please”. Yeah, “please” is, you know, pretty please. “Please have intercourse with me. So, pretty please, have intercourse with me, I beg you to have intercourse with me.” He liked that, and I liked that he liked that."

"[John] was a wild and woolly genius who it was my pleasure to work with, walk with, talk with and occasionally sleep with. "

Q: If John Lennon could come back for a day, how would you spend it with him? Paul: In bed.

"Then also [me and John] were like married, so you got the bitterness. It’s not a woman scorned this time, it’s two men scorned — probably even worse. And I had to make way for Yoko. My relationship with John could not have remained as it was and Yoko feel secure.”

"I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away."

[sissylittlefeather]

Heartbreak Hotel

A/N: Whaaaaaaat a smutless one-shot? Never have I ever lol. No, but really. This idea came to me and @ccab and I couldn't not write it. This is Elvis during the filming of King Creole and a very shy reader.

Warnings: kissing, an erection, some sexy thoughts, and a foot rub

Word count: ~2.7k

"Y-you want me to do what?" You hold your clipboard to your chest and shake your head nervously. Surely your boss isn't asking you to do what you think he is. You're not even sure how you ended up working on the set of King Creole anyway. Your father must've had something to do with it.

"Go to the hotel and bring Elvis back to the set. I know we told him we were done for the day but we really need him to try on his wardrobe for tomorrow and the costume people just finished it." You understand the logic behind the request. That's not the part that confuses you.

"But why m-me, sir?" You anxiously chew on your bottom lip. It's been hard enough for you to work here with Elvis wandering around. Walking up to him directly is about the last thing you want to do. It's not that you don't like him. Quite the opposite, in fact. You love him. But you've always been a little mousy and shy and unsure of yourself. The idea of talking to him makes you want to crawl into a hole.

"You're young and cute. This assignment is going to really piss him off. We figured you might soften the blow. He can't very well yell at you." You blink several times and your eyes go even wider. The fact that it won't just be Elvis, it'll be angry Elvis, really makes your heart race like a rabbit's.

"W-what if he won't come?"

"Not an option. Convince him. Now, just go." You consider quitting your job right then, but you know that's not realistic. Sighing deeply, you turn to walk from the small office.

"Y/n!"

"Yeah?"

"Clipboard."

"Oh... yeah..." You hand him the clipboard and cross your arms tightly on your chest.

"Y/n. Please try not to look like you're about to cry." You nod your head and try to rearrange your face, but you are about to cry.

******

Somehow, the next thing you know, you're in the lobby of one of the nicest hotels in New Orleans.

"Can you please call Mr. Presley down here? I-I-I need to speak to him." The receptionist nods and calls up to his room. You don't hear the conversation, too distracted by looking around at the fancy decor.

"Alright. I'll let her know." You turn back to the receptionist. "He says you can come on up. He's in the penthouse. Just push the button with the "p" on the elevator."

You stand there with your mouth hanging open and she turns away to do some other task.

No. He was supposed to come down, not you come up. You look at the elevators and swallow deeply. Then, you walk over and push the button.

Once you're on the elevator, it dawns on you that you're going to be walking into what is essentially his home. That thought hits you like a freight train and you feel like you're going to throw up or pass out or both. Just when you decide you're not getting out of the elevator, the doors slide open and there's a quiet ding. The room is carpeted and you see him sitting on a couch.

"Hey, honey, come on in." He hollers without moving. You feel like you're about to die, but you inch your way into the room anyway and the doors close behind you. He leans forward a little and gestures for you to walk towards him. "C'mon then, I won't bite."

You take a few steps into the room and then try to speak. All that comes out is a quiet squeak, though and you shake your head, frustrated with your own incompetence. He can tell you're struggling, so he stands up and walks towards you. That does not help. He's even taller, more attractive, and more intense up close than far away.

"What is it, honey? They send you to fire me or somethin'?" You look up at him and squeak again. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and strokes your cheek gently. "You're a shy little thing, ain'tcha?"

"They want you back on set." You breathe a sigh of relief that you were finally able to talk.

"Back on set? No, I'm home for the night." You blink a few times, not really sure how to respond as he shakes his head.

"Please..." It comes out of you as a whispered plea and you want to scream at how pathetic you sound. He smiles softly.

"Okay. But only because you're too damn sweet to say no to." He squeezes the top of your arm and then encourages you toward the elevator with his hand on the small of your back. You really hope he can't feel how sweaty you are as he touches you.

You get back on the elevator and he pushes the button for the lobby. The elevator begins its descent and you stand next to each other in silence. A breath of relaxation washes over you. It's almost over.

Then it happens.

Somewhere between floors 5 and 6 the elevator screeches to a grinding halt. It knocks you off balance enough for him to have to catch you in his arms, your hands on his chest to steady yourself.

"Woah, honey, you okay?" You look up at him frozen in fear. He holds you for a few seconds too long and then stands you back up. His hands stay on your upper arms and you swear it's like he doesn't want to stop touching you.

And he doesn't. He rather enjoyed the feeling of you pressed up against him, your eyes wide and seeking reassurance. But he can't just move in and kiss you like he normally does with other girls. You might actually pass out. So instead, he leans his back against the wall of the small elevator and tries to smile at you in the sweetest way possible.

"Do I make you nervous, honey?" You look over at the elevator buttons like pressing one might get you out of this nightmare, but probably not. "Nobody else here. You're gonna have to talk to me."

You reluctantly look up at him and try to breathe steadily. You're finally able to whisper a response.

"Yes." His face breaks into an amused smile.

"Why?"

"Have you met you?!" It comes rushing out of you before you can stop it.

"I'm not sure how to answer that, sweetheart."

"I mean... I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize. I'm just not sure I know what you mean is all." For some reason, it's getting a little easier for you to talk to him.

"You're ridiculously famous. You have a presence. And you're unbelievably attr-" You stop yourself and look at the floor, blushing. He steps forward off the wall and tips your chin up, so that you have to look into his face.

"Unbelievably what?" Part of you wants to slap the cocky smirk right off his face, but you'd die before you did that. Finally, you squeak it out.

"Attractive." He steps forward again almost closing the gap between your bodies.

"You know, you're not so bad yourself."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, I'm serious, honey. I'd letcha eat crackers in my bed." Without thinking about it, you burst into a fit of giggles. "It wasn't that funny..."

"I'm sorry; it's just the image of me sitting in your bed eating crackers. Like that's what I'd be doing if I was in your bed." He runs his finger down the side of your face and moves just the smallest bit closer to you.

"What else would you be doing in my bed?" All of a sudden, you're not laughing anymore. Now you're thinking of all the things you might be doing and it makes you blush an even deeper red than you have before. Your heart is going so fast it feels like it might leap out of your chest. He senses your anxiety and backs up a little. "You don't have to answer that, honey. I'm sorry."

He's not used to how delicate you are. It's endearing. Like you need him to take care of you. It's a job that sounds better and better the longer he's on this elevator with you.

You nod and stay quiet, but you kind of miss how close he was to you. His presence, albeit intimidating at first, is comforting.

He turns and slides down the back wall to sit on the floor of the elevator. Then, he pats the floor beside himself. You decide there's not much else to do and he actually seems pretty harmless, so you sit down next to him on the floor and lean back against the wall. It feels good to sit down. You wore new shoes to work today and your feet have been killing you for hours. A small whimper falls from your lips as you try to stretch your feet a bit. You're dying to take the heels off, but you don't want to freak him out.

"What's wrong, honey?" He hears you whimper and his eyebrows come together with concern.

"Oh, nothing. My feet just hurt from these new shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Really? You don't mind?" He chuckles a little.

"Not at all. There's no tellin' how long we might be stuck in here. Get comfortable." Normally, you'd never do such a thing but your feet do hurt really badly and he's right. You're trapped. You reach down and slowly pull the shoes off of your feet, wincing in pain. Your hose make it look like you have webbed feet, but you really don't care as you gingerly wiggle your toes. He watches you, dying to kiss you. You might be the cutest thing he's ever seen and your feet are so small and pretty.

"Do they hurt bad?"

"Yeah. I shouldn't have worn these today." You tap the shoes together in your hands. "I suppose beauty is pain, though."

He laughs and then an idea settles on him. He's not sure how you'll respond, but it's worth a try.

"You want me to rub 'em?" You look up at him suddenly for three reasons. First, you can't believe he said it. Second, it sounds amazing. And third, there's a hint of something in his voice that almost sounds like uncertainty.

"I couldn't let you do that."

"Why not? I really don't mind and what else are we doin' right now?" The vulnerability on his face melts you and you know you can't say no. You smile bashfully and turn to lean against the other wall and put your feet in his lap.

"Well, alright then. Thank you." He smiles a very natural and relaxed smile and then goes to work massaging one of your feet. You'd be lying if you said it didn't feel amazing. His hands are strong and he seems to know what he's doing. You moan a little louder than you intend to, but your feet were so sore that the relief is almost overwhelming. He looks at you when you moan and bites his bottom lip, thanking God that your eyes are closed as his gaze travels down over your figure. If you weren't so shy, he'd probably already have you half undressed. But he kind of likes that you're shy. It's cute and he can't complain about the added challenge. It's almost getting too easy to get girls to say yes.

You spend the next twenty minutes or so like this. He switches feet halfway through, but you sit in silence, moaning and whimpering every once in a while. What you don't know is that you're driving him absolutely crazy with the sounds you're making. If you're this vocal with a foot massage, how might you be in bed? The thought sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine and he shifts to keep your feet away from his erection. Surprisingly, you're the one who breaks the silence. You look up at him and he's looking down at your feet while he works. You can see his eyelashes and for some reason that makes him seem more real.

"What's it like? Being famous?" He takes a deep breath before he answers, not looking up from your feet, like he's trying to decide how honest he should be. He looks up into your eyes intensely.

"Lonesome. I was trying to think of a nicer word, but that's all that comes to mind. Don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful for everything that's happened. I wouldn't change any of it. But it's really very lonely, not knowing who loves you for you and who loves you for who they think you are."

By the end of it, his voice is thick with emotion and you don't think, you just act. You move back to sitting next to him and entwine your arm with his, taking his left hand in both of yours. He looks down at you as you settle your head onto his shoulder. Something inside him flip-flops and he doesn't feel so alone all of a sudden. He presses his lips to the top of your head gently.

You feel him kiss your hair and are overwhelmed with the need for him to kiss you more. He seems to sense this and tips your chin with his other hand, so that you're looking up into his face. There's only a few inches between his lips and yours and you notice his eyes flicking down as he leans in slowly.

"Can I...?" He asks quietly practically against your lips. This time your whisper is appropriate.

"Yes." He doesn't wait another second to dive into a kiss. It's sweet at first, but before too long, you part your lips and his tongue slides into your mouth. He holds the side of your face and you both sit up and turn towards each other as the kiss deepens. His hand drifts down to your hip and he squeezes it, pulling you towards him gently. You start to lift your leg to climb on top and straddle him, but just as you do, there's a soft ding and the elevator doors slide open.

You gasp and scramble back, wiping your mouth and shoving your shoes back on your feet. He looks at you dumbstruck with how quickly you shifted gears. He's still in the mindset that you're about to crawl in his lap.

"Honey, wait?" He rushes to his feet and tries to smooth his clothing. There's nothing he can do about his massive hard-on, though, so he turns and shoves it up under his belt. He feels you touch him near his hip, but he's too focused on what he's doing to acknowledge it.

By the time the doors open all the way, you're both mostly presentable. He's ushered out of the elevator by a group of his friends and family, led by his manager. You watch as they fuss over him and he makes eye contact with you through the crowd.

He'd give almost anything to be back in that elevator with you to finish what he started. But more than that, he already misses the feeling of companionship. The heavy weight of loneliness is starting to settle in his chest again. He looks down and back up and you're gone.

******

You wipe the tears from your face as you make your way back to your car outside the hotel. If only the doors hadn't opened. What might've happened? Oh well. You'll never know. It's up to him now.

******

Elvis manages to keep it together long enough to assure everyone he's fine, do the wardrobe check, and get back to his hotel. He stands in front of the elevator when it opens and seriously considers taking the stairs to the penthouse. But he doesn't. Instead he steps onto the elevator and slides his hands in his pockets as the doors close.

He gasps softly.

Out of his pocket he pulls a small silver bracelet. It's not his. It must be yours. You must've slipped it into his pocket while you put yourselves back together when the doors opened. He turns over the little silver pendant and finds your first and last name in script.

He smiles widely and kisses the bracelet. Looking up, he whispers.

"Thank you."

He's not sure if he's talking to you or God. Maybe both. Either way, now he can find you. He steps off the elevator and heads into his bedroom.

The pieces of his heart start to come back together and he sets your bracelet on his nightstand.

Tomorrow. He'll find you tomorrow.

******

The End?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley

[monzabee]

chronically online (social media au) - dr3

masterlist || series masterlist ||

Summary: The one where everyone's favourite couple is chronically online during winter break.

Pairing: daniel ricciardo x actress!reader (model used: dakota johnson)

Warnings: none other than some cursing?

Request: "hi ! i loveee ur smaus !! i was wondering if u could write some more daniel x actress!reader? maybe like interacting with some of her friends/costars? thank youu have a nice dayy &lt;3"

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

ynverse

Liked by danielricciardo, rileykeough, sydneysweeney and 934,746 others.

ynverse: proof that we can go without checking our phones for like twenty minutes.

user: we love you mother, even if you are glued to your phone

user: if you told me we'd be seeing daniel on her profile a year ago i would've laughed but here we are

danielricciardo: fucking carolina

ynverse: i fucking hate social media detox

user: i love how they are not serious at all

sydneysweeney: need any cars fixed?

ynverse: will make sure to hit syd's garage!!

user: okay but why is daniel on a tractor

user: girl i don't think that is a tractor

view all 435,269 comments.

danielricciardo

Liked by ynverse, scottyjames31, redbullracing and 763,829 others.

danielricciardo: in nyc with the missus.

rileykeough: when did you guys get a fucking cat?

ynverse: do you want to know her name?

rileykeough: with that reaction? no

danielricciardo: but you have to know the name

ynverse: yes riley, you have to know the name

rileykeough: is it elvis

danielricciardo: of course not

ynverse: it's graceland

rileykeough: you named a cat graceland?

danielricciardo: happiest place on earth, baby

user: when did they change countries and how did we not notice??

view all 52,735 comments.

user: am i the only one who thinks they are in new york for something big??

ynverse: yeah

ynverse just posted a story!

ynverse

Liked by taylorswift, danielricciardo, f1wagss and 873,540 others.

ynverse: crazy night with a crazy bunch of people, thank you to everyone at snl and thank you to daniel who had to deal with at least 10 panic attacks and had to get me copious amounts of coffee.

user: okay but it's so cute that they support each other

user: girl they are in a relationship... that is like the bare minimum thing to do

user: i just know daniel was laughing his ass off during her monologue and i love that for him

taylorswift: i'm obsessed!!

user: i can imagine the chaos these two must have brought to the set... god

ynverse: okay but why hate outside of the club when you can't even get in

user: mom and dad taking over the entertainment industry step by step

landonorris: a shoutout might've been nice

danielricciardo: stop whining

ynverse: that was kinda hot

landonorris: ew

view all 73,928 comments.

[hotvintagepoll]

hotvintagepoll Hot Men Tournament rundown thoughts

I promised a final recap post and here it is! I'll try to cover the questions I saw the most as we closed out the bracket, reveal my ✨secret faves✨, and talk about the biggest surprises and turnarounds I saw in the brackets.

Yes, this will get silly.

ROUND 1

As I've mentioned before, I worked off submissions for who to include in the bracket, so if your fave was missing—that's why. I used submitted pics when I could, but many submissions didn't have one, so I tried to find decent ones in the couple of days I had to prep the first round (I didn't always succeed). By decent, I mean pics where 1) I could see the hot man's face, so not too much moody lighting, and 2) hopefully conveyed something about his vibe, even if it was a funny thing (yes, I showed Howard Keel in full Shakespeare get-up—I'm not beyond putting up a pic because I think it's funny). I didn't know all of these hotties going in, so some I had to guess with, but when I could I tried to pick shots that had a touch of the humor, class, or genre of the hot man.

For Round 1 and Round 2, I grouped the hotties by each decade, so only '60s actors ran against '60s actors, '50s against '50s, etc. Male beauty standards shifted pretty dramatically over the sixty years this tournament covers, and I didn't think it was fair to pit dramatically different styles of beauty against each other immediately.

I pitted hot men against each other based on opposing energies—hot vs cold, elegant vs rough, comedy vs drama, etc.. I wanted the polls to be interesting and I've never liked brackets where everyone is clearly in different "lanes" until the finals! I also wanted to make polls where I couldn't tell which way they would swing, so by setting matchups that felt opposite but equal, I got to be surprised by the bracket results too.

The only reason we had any three-way matchups is because the amount of men submitted didn't round to a nice bracket number. I don't like them generally and find them really hard to balance.

Secret faves from Round 1—I am a James Coburn girlie and knew he would die immediately, so that was not a shock but a bummer. I similarly knew Robert Preston is only magical to people who have seen him do His Little Dance Routines in That One Iowa Musical, but it would have been nice for him to last longer.

Surprises—Jeremy Brett was a last-minute add and I didn't think he really had a shot, so I put him in as a third wheel on the Sean Connery/Dean Martin matchup. Little did I count on the Granada girlies. (Always count on the Granada girlies.) The Elvis/Peter Falk poll was the first one to gain any momentum—Elvis was winning for the first 24 hours but then, my god, did Peter fight back. I didn't expect the Tab/Toshiro poll to make that bad a mincemeat out of Tab—people have different tastes, and I thought the people who like blonde sunny All American white boys might turn out for The Blonde Sunny All American White Boy. Sorry, Tab. I hope you've peeled yourself off the sidewalk by now. And, of course, I was SHOCKED and APPALLED that James Cagney would be obliterated by, of all people, Mr. Bing Crosby.

SHADOW BRACKET

The fervor of the Harold Lloyd and Fredric March people inspired the shadow bracket, and I couldn't be happier at the way it's gone. You were right, the original photos I had for them did suck. Cunty Harold Lloyd in his little life guard uniform was a revelation.

ROUND 2

For Round 2 I'd gotten a better sense of who was doing well and who was not, so a little of that came into play, but I mostly paired on vibes again. (I genuinely think this is a good way to make a fun, challenging bracket.)

Secret faves—Noooo not hot dilf Dick Van Dyke don't take my hot inventor dilf away uwu!!! (He was up against Marlon Brando. I would have been shocked if he'd won but for a minute there, a glorious second, it was possible.) I am also a big old softie for David Niven's particular brand of repression to the point of volcanic rupture, but he is one of many hotties who does not look good without moving and speaking so I figured he would be going.

So much beef—hey! hey you. I ran a poll asking if we are horny for dancers. Yes, was the resounding poll response. Where, then, did all the fucking dancers go? This round we lost Donald O'Connor, Fred Astaire, Harold Nicholas; Sammy Davis Jr., Danny Kaye, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby all sneak into this category as well, by token of having been in the kind of big MGM bang-a-pan-and-put-on-a-show beloved bedlams we all watch at Christmastime. Round 2 voters HATED musical matchups. Except for one.

The one—SOUND OF MUSIC, the voters said, WE LOVE SOUND OF MUSIC. we will KILL the man responsible for salad dressing because of the SOUND OF MUSIC. every other dance man can die but THIS man dances a FOLK DANCE with JULIE ANDREWS in a GARDEN. I did not go into this poll with strong opinions about Christopher Plummer or Paul Newman but my god did I leave having heard all of them.

Surprises—James Edwards/Anthony Perkins matchup was a nail biter! Conrad vs Oscar kept me up at nights. Surprised to see Basil Rathbone survive against Sabu Dastagir—both very fetching, but Sabu had some top-tier propaganda. Cesar Romero put up a surprisingly stiff fight against Cary Grant (an omen for things to come).

Oh horrors—horror heroes surprisingly fell all over the place. I was sure either Bela Lugosi or Turhan Bey would sweep their three-way matchup, but Michael Redgrave of all people carried through; Boris Karloff went down against Johnny Weismuller (while holding hands with fellow fallen hottie Fred Astaire), but at least we got his guacamole recipe before he went. Delighted to see that the Venn diagram of the coalitions who support horror hero Vincent Price and funny lil guy Donald O'Connor is a circle.

Secret faves pt 2—oh yeah, I fucking love Danny Kaye and Donald O'Connor. RIP funny lil kings.

ROUND 3

For some reason this was the hardest one to make matchups for. Oh no, all the men are hot.

Secret faves—Michael Redgrave i love you SO much you're SUCH an idiot, how did you make it as far as round 3. I want you to sweep the whole thing but you should NOT be surviving this. I love you, here's a kiss, go home.

Surprises—Marlon Brando is gone! Errol Flynn is gone! Christopher Plummer exhausted himself beating the organic oreos man to death and goes out with a whimper. Beginning to actually see the roots of #mifunesweep as Tyrone Power, a hot man very different from Burt Lancaster, who was in turn very different from Tab Hunter, also gets swept under the wheels of the unbeatable toshirobus. Conrad Veidt finds that no amount of purring svelte eccentricity compares to the people who will fuck a young Lt. Columbo.

SHADOW BRACKET 2

Cannot believe it but Veidt loses this one too. Perkins sweeps and becomes Prince of the Shadow Realm!

ROUND 4

At this point I've set a formal bracket that I'm following.

Secret faves—this isn't secret anymore, but losing Jimmy Stewart hurt.

Surprises—The Gene Kelly/Jeremy Brett matchup was the diciest one all round, moving back and forth between the two by sometimes .01%. Far more surprising, however, was Cary Grant getting eliminated before the quarterfinals. Grant has never been my type, but he is famous for being THE type, so while the writing had been on the wall the whole tournament—how on earth did Michael Redgrave even get 36% in his matchup?!—seeing Grant go down was a SHOCKER. Other fallen hotties included Gregory Peck, James Dean, Harry Belafonte, and Sessue Hayakawa. Peter Falk finally met his match in Omar Sharif.

QUARTERFINALS

Secret faves—I don't know if it counts as a secret fave, tbh, as my horses in the race really went out with Stewart, but I do have a soft spot here worth mentioning. Here's my childhood dog, Keaton.

The resemblance is truly striking, and yes, he was short, fast, and not prone to smiling.

Surprises—I couldn't predict how any of these matchups would go down, but I was most interested in Keaton vs Sharif, as they are both SO hot in SUCH different ways.

SEMIFINALS:

This was such a good batch of semifinalist contestants. By this point I think we could all tell Mifune was unstoppable (though I thought Sharif might give him a run for his money), but I really didn't know which way Robeson vs Poitier would flip.

FINALS:

I wanted Sidney Poitier to pull a last-minute sweep out of nowhere, but alas, Toshiro is just THAT GOOD (maybe. I will admit that I find Toshiro's domination a little hard to believe, given the variety and hotness of all his competitors; the man is hot but all these men are hot). I'm still happy with how the tournament went.

FINAL MEDITATIONS:

Biggest shock of a dropout: the loss of Paul Newman

Biggest "you people have no taste": the loss of James Cagney

Biggest victory: Paul Robeson making it to the semifinals over often-assumed champion Gregory Peck

Biggest coalition who deserve justice: dancing men

Biggest ask character: vents anon (currently eating Laurence Olivier)

Biggest, uhh, anything: how many of you are here! I genuinely thought it would be me and 10 other people voting for the whole tournament. I'm thrilled it took off like this!

I think that's everything, but I'm happy to answer addl asks. And THANK YOU to everyone for your tags, rants, impassioned propaganda, beautiful pics, and love for the hot men! See you for the ladies!

[splatashahowlett]

sharing is caring

logan howlett x reader (inspired by @keigohawks <3)

you've been a teacher at xavier's school for gifted youngsters for a decade now and you loved everything about it. the kids were wonderful, the place was amazing and the other teachers (that you were lucky enough to call your friends) were the sweetest people on earth. nothing was missing.

well, if you wanted to go into details: settling into a routine was pretty hard for you. you were used to going on adventures, meeting new people everyday, feeling the thrill of getting caught when you where somewhere you weren't supposed to be. so waking up everyday at 7, eating breakfast with ororo and jean, teaching your class all morning, eating lunch with ororo and jean, teaching your class all afternoon, eating dinner with ororo and jean and then going to sleep after showering was draining. again, you loved your life here and wouldn't trade it for anything, but you got used to it. and that was the worst thing that could have happened.

so when he came along, you saw the perfect opportunity. logan howlett was the new P.E teacher and to say that you two got along very well would be an understatement. you loved the dynamic between you two, you were constantly bickering over who the kids liked more (the obvious answer being you) or who could run the fastest considering you had a very similar mutation as his, you could also fight (read flirt) over who knew more about elvis presley biography.

the whole school was waiting for you to get together already. it wouldn't be that big of a deal anyway taking into account that you both already acted like a couple. you would go together at any type of meeting/social event. logan would stand very close to you without even noticing. you would always have each others back when one of the students complained about the other. charles would assign you two on missions together cause you were the only one who could handle him. even a blind lawyer could see the way you were looking at each other.

but of course, you would both deny it.

"logan is just a friend! nothing more!" you would say to jean

"there's nothing between y/n and I, well not in that way" he would say to rogue

and everybody would roll their eyes...

given you were an art teacher, the art studio was probably your favorite room in the mansion. and you loved to spend time with the people you cherished there. so on a sunday afternoon, you decided to bake some cookies, make some tea and paint with scott, ororo, hank and logan who would just watch everybody else (his stubbornness could be seen as a lifestyle at that point). charles and jean couldn't come but you promised to save cookies for both of them.

the afternoon was spent laughing and smiling, you would take quick looks at logan from time to time and your heart will stop when you'd realize he was already looking at you each time. the hours passed and everybody left, except logan who stayed to help you clean up the mess you made.

"you don't have to do that you know?" you smiled, touched by his kind gesture.

"it's the least I can do, you planned everything" he answered, washing brushes.

"you didn't even paint or ate anything" you retorted

"yeah, I was busy looking at you" he joked (flirted?). your cheeks blushed, shy and flattered. before you knew it you were scooping paint from a plate and throwing it on his back. you acted like a fucking teenage girl around him.

logan froze and slowly turned around, a smirk on his face. with the brushes still in his hand he walked toward you while you were stepping back, grinning from ear to ear, and rubbed the still full-of-paint brushes on your face, grabbing you by the waist so you couldn't escape. you laughed and reached for the glass of water you used to paint and threw it on his face. he gasped.

when he opened his eyes he looked at you intensely. logan grabbed a whole paint tube and threatened you with it. you ran on the other side of the room (so not too far away) and raised your arms before you as a shield. you were both moving in circles in the room, smilling and laughing like kids. it was your turn to grab a tube of paint. logan ran toward you and tackled you against the bookshelf. you squeezed the paint in his hair, knowing it would be impossible to get off (you would help him anyway).

"you little shit" he screeched, when he tried to step back, his feet slipped on some paint and he fell on his back, dragging you with him. you landed on top of him and immediately asked if he was fine, worried about his head hitting the ground.

"logan are you okay?" you gasped. he didn't answer.

"logan?"

"logan!" he didn't wake up. you were considering calling someone for help when he burst out laughing and squeezed his tube of paint right into your face. you screamed, both surprised and angry at him for messing with you. but only seconds after you laughed together, on the ground, covered in paint.

"thank you for helping me clean up" you joked, getting up. logan pulled you back to him.

"with great pleasure" he replied, your faces closer than ever. your hair were falling on his paint covered face. you thought he looked beautiful

"you look beautiful" the words didn't come from your mouth but his. you looked away, embarassed. "don't hide your pretty smile from me bub". so you looked at him lovingly.

"come on, I have to get the studio ready for tomorrow" you said, knowing you would need a great excuse for him to let you go. and he did, reluctantly.

you finished cleaning the studio (without any paint fight this time), while chatting, smiling and accidentally touching from time to time.

you were shuffling around in bed. after about an hour of fighting yourself into sleeping you gave up. you sat up, remembering the dr pepper you hid in a fridge of the back kitchen where none of the kids were allowed to go. no one knew of this secret of yours but you didn't feel guilty about it. the worst feeling is definitely feeling your mouth watering at the idea of a soda just for someone to steal it from you.

so you put on some pants and huried into the kitchen. you were met with logan seating at the kitchen isle, reading the newspaper. you walked past him without even giving him a second glance and went to your secret hideout. but you were meyt with pure horror. the last dr pepper was missing. your mouth opened and you audibly gasped.

you could hear logan asking if everything was okay and decided on going back to the kitchen, defeated. you sat down next to logan, sighing. he put his paper down and looked at you. you looked up and widened your eyes.

"where did you get that?" you looked at the dr pepper in his left hand, still full.

"in your secret hideout, why?" he acknowledged nonchalantly.

"how do you even know where my secret hideout is?" you furrowed your brows,

"you go there each time we're in the kitchen together" he chuckled and looked down at the glass bottle. you were also looking at it, pounting unconsciously. he slide it over to you with an amused look.

"no, keep it, I'm fine"

"you clearly aren't"

you smiled and stood to grab two glasses. you poured the soda in both glasses and gave one to logan.

"I don't usually share my dr pepper" you clarified.

"I know" he smiled and added after a moment of silence: "I don't usually let people in".

you grabbed his hand and stroke it with your thumb, a sign of gratitude, support, love?

he placed his other hand on the nape of your neck.

"I'd like to let you in just a little bit more, if that's alright with you" he whispered.

"I'd love to"

logan closed the space between you two, your lips meeting in a delicate kiss. none of it felt weird or strange, you were already used to intimacy with logan, even if it never went that far.

it felt familiar.

it felt right.

[eee-lordy]

Hiiii! Can you write about jacob elordi x fem reader who is in charge of the makeup and outfits on saltburn or elvis?

Maybe there is a video going viral where he is looking at her (WITH THOSE PUPPY DOG EYES HAHSHAJDVDSJ IM GONNA EAT HIM) while she is doing his make up and she is clueless, yk those videos where the music is lana del rey and the caption is like "me when im literaly obsessed with her" or "when hes completely in love with u>>>>>"

And when that goes viral, the cast teases him and they go on a date?

Idk i think its cute :3

───※ ·❆· ※───

You were never one to get star struck. In the year and a half you'd been professionally applying makeup to the mugs of many stars, you'd been unfazed by celebrities captivating auras. You hardly blushed when Chris Pine tried asking you out as he sat in your makeup chair. You'd laughed in understandable assurance as Billie Eilish apologized for almost knocking your powder kit from your grasp; when her brother burst in the room to surprise her. You saw your clients as just that, people who trusted you to properly apply blush and fake scars.

But all the composure you'd been proud to claim went out the window when you'd been assigned to work with the cast of Sofia Coppola new film. You hadn't expected to lose your cool. In fact, you'd been rolling your eyes as the hair stylist that shared your caravan had droned on and on about this new Elordi fellow and how dreamy he was. Some of the other workers in the hair and makeup department parroted her yearning for the guy. But you were certain you'd remain calm and cool in this supposed deities presence.

And then he sat down in your chair. And he looked up to you with an intriguing set of droopy dark eyes. And you knew Jacob Elordi was about to be a real problem for you.

It wasn't his fame. You weren't swept up by his essence because of the collective crowd on the internet drooling over the guy. It wasn't even his magnetism. Because he did have a lot of that, you wavered it was necessary to survive fame. But it was more the way he would look up at you from that make up chair. With those dumb stupid big beautiful eyes.  And his smile that followed. And then the infuriating way he'd start conversations with you, those first few days on set.

"What'd you have for breakfast this morning?" Jacob would wonder, watching as you readied a sponge. You would answer and ask for his in return. He would mention stopping by a cafe earlier and go on to ask you where you grew up and if you liked it there and what the best book you've ever read was called. 

"You've got to stop chatting away, makes it hard to do your touch up's." You'd smile, reaching out to adjust Jacobs perfect fucking face so you could work on his brows. 

"Sorry." He breathed out, seemingly genuinely guilty. He went on explaining himself still, slowly as you continued to do your job. "Don't like awkward silence. Or bullshit small talk. Getting to know you seemed like the safest route. Since you'll be covering the dark circles under my eye's this whole shoot."

You laughed in understanding before announcing that you got it, and waved over the hairdresser on site today. 

"Wait, before you go, that book you mentioned..." Jacob pointed your way as you turned for closing up your kit of brushes. Then you watched as the guy wrestled his cellphone from his jacket pocket. "Here," Jacob said, extending the device your way. "Write the title in my notes app. I will forget, but I don't want too. It sounded properly readable."

"Oh." You turned your lips down in a twisted grin of surprise. As you took the device from Jacob's grasp, you felt a surge of gratification that the guy trusted you enough with his phone let alone wanted to read a book you mention not having read since uni. 

Not missing the way the hairdresser rolled her eyes, you grinned and found Jacobs notes app with ease, straining not to glance beyond your means. With the press of a few buttons you wrote down the title, and fought off the impulsive urge to include your very own phone number as well. That would be embarrassing, knowing full well this man would never call or text or probably even dare to glance your way beyond the makeup chair. 

///

The next few weeks went by the same. Jacob would yammer away until you almost had to hold his mouth shut to finish his makeup. And you would fill the silence by telling stories of your own, because he'd mentioned he wasn't fond of silence and you knew your job went beyond applying lip liner, it was also to keep celebrities happy as royalty.

And all the while you blinked away thoughts of how funny he was. How beautiful Jacob was. You wouldn't let yourself realize he was exactly your type. You wouldn't let yourself dream that you might be his. You simply relished the times you made him laugh. Once you made him laugh so hard he cried, tear tracks ruining the powder you'd only just applied. 

The hairdresser who was the leader of fawning over Jacob as soon as he left the room had taken to frowning in your direction most days. You reckoned it was because she'd never been able to make him laugh that hard, or at all, ever. And the stories she told him when he asked her to seemed to lose his interest halfway through every time. Try as Jacob might, you saw his eyes glaze over as the hairstylist droned on about her retirement plan or the grocery list she'd put together that day.

After acknowledging her sorry excuse for conversation Jacob would stop you from packing up and heading to lunch so he could ask you for more books to read, more films to watch, more stories from you. Then his assistant would interrupt, or he'd be called to set and you'd be left to head to the craft table with dangerous feelings of lust and intrigue to push away. You would not let this boy break you of your career long streak of professionalism, damn it.

///

One night, in the middle of a week break from set, you spent an evening scrolling mindlessly. When a tiktok with Jacob's name in the tags popped up, you scrolled away at the speed of light. You didn't let yourself linger too long on posts with him there, not wanting to know anything good bad or otherwise so long as you were assigned to work with him on this project. But it wasn't long before another tiktok popped up featuring the guy in a very familiar setting. He was too famous at this point. You watched as you saw leaked footage from behind the scenes of Priscilla, but weren't too shocked. The stars of the film were occasionally being interviewed by publicists between takes to document their experience, beginning to promote the film.

And maybe you let yourself keep watching out of a sense of entitlement, you'd been working on this set. You could watch a video of Jacob from work, right? You couldn't tear your eyes from him no matter how hard you tried now anyway. You watched as the person holding the camera zoomed in on the guy while he adjusted his suit jacket. You watched as he seemed to talk to the costars at his side. You watched as he looked up and smiled. And you couldn't help but melt a little at the sight, he seemed so happy, so at ease. And then you watched as Jacob's grin widened as he waved someone closer. And much to your horror, you saw yourself step into frame. 

You remembered that day, where you waited on the side lines to fix Cailee's eyeliner. While the director was storming up a new camera angle, Jacob waved you over to mention the last chapter of your favorite book he'd almost finished reading. He was laughing over a bit that you'd warned him about the week before. And you were laughing over how excited he was about it, finally having someone to gush over your favorite plot with.

Now, huddled beneath the blankets of your bed, you slammed your phone down at your side, bewildered to know someone had caught your interaction on camera. Raddled to have just seen Jacob lighting up at the sight of you. Angry at yourself for hopping you'd read his body language in a way that suggested he really liked you that much.

When you picked your phone back up, you watched the candid moment over and over, trying to debunk Jacob's smile. Trying to convince yourself he was only being friendly, only cared because he had to find someone to mingle with during down beats. 

And then you read the comments. 

"If Jacob smiled at me like that, I would die."

"Imagine making him laugh like that she's so lucky."

"Who is she??" One comment read. "Her last name will be Elordi if he hasn't married her already, calling it." Someone replied.

You shouldn't have read the comments.

///

When you were due back on set you swallowed away the excitement bubbling up in you at the prospect of seeing Jacob again. This was so unlike you, to be awaiting the arrival of your client with an embarrassing giddiness. As you reminded yourself that this was your job and Jacob was simply a guest in your makeup chair- the man himself eased into the caravan, ready to get ready for the day.

"Hey, you! I had a bunch of points earned up to get two free coffees so I brought you one. I remember you said you like almond milk so I asked for that." Jacob was all smiles as he extended a latte to you. Awe fuck. 

"Thank you, Jacob." You struggled not to sigh with angst as you accepted his very generous surprise. Luckily, he seemed none the wiser that you'd answered through gritted teeth. He just kept smiling as he headed to your chair.

"Oh, me first today lovie. Need to start your dye straight off, you're little makeup girlfriend will have to wait." The hairdresser announced, daring to grab Jacob by his sleeve, yanking him toward her end of the trailer. The other workers around rolled their eyes, sick of her endless commentary. You bit your tongue as you leaned against the counter, shaking your head when a coworker scoffed in the hairdresser's direction. Luckily, Cailee waltz in, ready for you before anyone else. You thanked God for the distraction, readying your brow pencil and chatted to the girl about her break from set. 

All the while, your least favorite coworkers voice demanded to be the loudest in the room. She made everyone listen to some boring ass story and practically whinnied when Jacob got up to trade Cailee places. 

"No offence, you're fine and all, just don't have hair as silky smooth as Jacob's." The hairdresser told Cailee but made sure her comment was loud enough for everyone to hear. "Oh wait, silly me," 

As Jacob settled in the makeup chair and began to ask if the drink he'd brought you was good, the hairdresser of your nightmares shoved her way between you and the person you were meant to be working on. 

"I left of a bobby pin, how'd I forget," She droned in an annoying pitch, nearly shoving you over in her attempt to get closer to Jacob. 

"Can you please get out of my space?" You called, annoyed that she was pushing you away from your station without a single polite excuse.

"Can you please stop being such a jealous bitch?" The hairdresser whipped to face you with a manic smile.

"Oh my God?" You almost laughed in shock at her comment when another coworker dared to reach out and pulled her away, and out of the trailer. Another hairdresser apologized to the room for the previous girl's behavior and stepped up to lead charge of Cailee's wig.

With no time to shake the rage that had been born in you, you pushed it down, biting your lip hard as you went about finding the right sponge for Jacob's foundation. 

"Are you okay?" He asked, seemingly worried. And that pissed you off too. Why'd he have to act like he cared so much? Why'd he have to be so damn wonderful?

"I'm fine. Thank you again for the coffee, it...is kind of bitter but it was a really sweet gesture, I swear. Close your eye's please." You responded as calm and cool as possible.

"Bitter... sweet..." Jacob winked, just for you to see. It was the best thing you'd ever witness. And the worst all the same. You were sure you blushed. You tilted his chin and struggling to suppress how much you'd miss when you didn't get to be this close to him. He stayed quiet as you finished his face, and so did you. When his makeup was done, almost everyone else had left the trailer. The last remaining beautician was walking out as you'd closed the case to your kit. 

"I thought you didn't like awkward silence." You dared to mention, as Jacob stood to leave. It wasn't like you'd thought to ask. It was just a thought that ended up blurted out. And then you were bold enough still to look up and right at the guy with those perfectly shaped eyes to find he'd already been staring right at you. 

"S'not so awkward with you."

You really wish he hadn't said that. You really wished you'd never prompted him too. You really wished he wasn't still standing there looking across the features of your face like he was waiting on you to respond. There was a knock on the door just in time, and a voice calling for Jacob to hurry to set. 

"I'll see you after lunch, right?" Jacob wondered as he moved toward the door. You muttered something like "Yeah sure," as you turned to start collecting your things. As far as Jacob knew you were headed to the craft table. But as your feet started marching out of the trailer, you found yourself headed toward the manager of the crew you'd been hired in with. You explained to her that you really thought it was best you turned in your resignation. 

You'd never dared yourself to tread the line during work. Never been so enamored with someone you were meant to be professional with. It wasn't in your best interest to see how far this went. And it wasn't in Jacobs best interest that you kept lingering around distracting him with stories and novel suggestions.

So, on a decided whim, you packed your things, swallowed frustrated tears, and headed home for good.

///

You let yourself be mad once your front door was shut and locked. You threw away the stupid coffee Jacob bought you. You turned the telly off and tossed the remote toward the hardwood when Euphoria came on. You muttered and cursed and slammed cabinets as you made a carb heavy comfort meal and called your best friend. 

The day went on and turned to night as you tried to stop feeling sorry for yourself. You began getting ready for bed, talking yourself into sleeping off all the weird feelings and events that had transpired today. Tomorrow, you'd find a new job and make sure to decline any with that one awful hairdressers name on the list of beauticians. 

As you sat on the edge of your bed and set a reminder for yourself to job hunt tomorrow afternoon, a notification interrupted your typing. 

Instagram was alerting you that one certain Jacob Elordi was sending you a fucking message. He'd followed you a couple weeks ago, when you handed him your phone to show him a picture of your beloved childhood pet. He scrolled away from it and found your handle to promptly pull up on his very own Instagram, following you with a smile.

Your eyes widened and your thumb worked faster than your brain, clicking the popup before you could talk yourself out of it. Oh, shit now he was going to know you opened his fucking stupid ass message. You really wished you hadn't met this boy. He wasn't even here and he was torturing your every thought. 

"You were NOT there after lunch as promised. Call me? xx"

Before your eyes displayed a row of numbers that if pressed would call Jacob Elordi's cell phone. You tried really hard to talk yourself out of it. But being away from him for the last ten hours had really done a number on your heart. It missed him more than your brain was afraid to admit. Your thumb clicked the numbers. Your phone started to ring. 

After one buzz he answered. 

"I got off set to hear you'd quit and left me to bear that horrid hairdresser without you? Was the coffee really that bad?" Jacob's voice crackled through the line, soft and saccharine. You chuckled morosely at his coffee joke before responding.

"No pleasant greeting. What if it wasn't me calling? What if it was some crazy fan girl?" You dared to venture. 

"Are you saying you're not a fan of mine?"

You wanted to assure him that you were probably his biggest, but sighed in place of a response, struggling to choose your words. 

"What happened? That hairdresser should be fired. You shouldn't've left." Jacob spoke, as you watched the traffic out your window and relished the sound of his voice in your ear. 

"It..." You couldn't help it. You couldn't hide it any longer. "It wasn't really her. I quit because of you, Jacob."

"Me? I- I'm sorry I thought we-" He sounded too worried, and you realized you'd spoken a little too cryptically.

"Not because you did anything wrong." You hurried to explain, interrupting his unnecessary apology. "It's me, not you." 

"Is this a break up? I never even got to ask you on a proper date." He laughed a humorless laugh.

"That's the thing." You said. "I like you way more than I should've ever let myself. It's too unprofessional for me to work with you and have these feelings. I'm sorry, I shouldn't even be telling you this. Everyone treats you like a piece of meat, I hate that I-"

"So... what I'm hearing..." Jacob's voice rose a bit as he interrupted you, catching your attention off guard. "Is that I can actually ask you on a proper date? And this doesn't have to be a break up at all."

"Oh! I- wait are you joking?" You blurted, shocked by the tone of his voice and the fact that it seemed like Jacob Elordi was asking you out. 

"I like you too, dummy. I've been doing my damnedest to make that clear. You know I don't just follow every wardrobe artist on Instagram and bring camera men cafe treats. I used my free coffee on you! I'm so sorry it was no good though." 

"It wasn't the worst coffee ever." You smiled, feeling a calm and hopeful buzz wash over you. 

"Well, let me take you on a proper date, for a proper cup of coffee, and talk you back on set." 

"I can date you, or be your makeup artist, but I will not allow myself to do both. I have a very strict moral compass as a working lady." 

"I'll choose the first option then by a long shot." You could hear Jacob's smile in the tone of his voice. You let him ramble a little longer about the day he'd had and how bad he felt that you'd been moved to quit. He asked you to meet him at the cafe across from the set during lunch tomorrow, and you promised you would in fact show up without a doubt this time. 

Fuck finding a new job tomorrow. You were going on an absolute dream date with Jacob. But you were most definitely ordering your own coffee.

[bellesdreamyprofile]

sad days with y/n - 1970´s elvis

You've never experienced long-term happiness before. You've had great days that even turned into happy, delightful weeks - which you were thankful for as you were finally able to spend your energy on the people you loved. But when those happy days turned into sudden pits of endless sorrow, you felt guilty and as powerless as ever.

Why did you feel like this? You thought of a necklace and the love of your life bought it for you without batting an eye. Business class, shoes, hair, makeup and even an entire room with every book that your little heart desired.

Why did you feel like this?

You sighed as you gazed out of the large window, shiny Las Vegas lights blinked every now and then. People's chatter mixed with loud thoughts running in your head. You couldn't even concentrate on what the wives were saying, let alone at the grand entrance Elvis made in the room after another one of his magnificent shows.

"—and Joe kept complaining at the pair of shoes I bought the week before we departed for Vegas.", Joanie tapped her cigarette on the ashtray. Patty nodded in understanding and lit up her own cigarette.

"Red's been the same.", she rolled her eyes. "Like I haven't given him a son just months ago. That's the excuse I like to use anyways."

The chit chat went on for another hot minute and you couldn't help but sigh.

"How about you y/n? You and Elvis thinking of having a couple?", you blinked at Joanie's words.

"Sorry?"

"I meant if you were thinking of having kids.", if it weren't for your pitiful mood you would've blushed.

"We never talked about it, no.", you shook your head. "Now that he's started performing again a-and with the tours... I wouldn't wanna do it on my own.", you gave a brief explanation. Joanie and Pat exchanged a look, making you frown a little.

"You really think that Elvis would take some time off to stay with you?", she asked with irony laced in her voice.

Your lips parted. "When the baby comes, yes. I'm not expecting him to be 24/7 with me all throughout my pregnancy.", you said honestly.

"Oh, honey.", Patty shook her head and took a sip of her drink. "A man like Elvis Presley would never leave the luxury of a Vegas hotel and the love of thousands of fans for — don't take it personally — for a baby."

At this point your night couldn't take a worse turn. You hadn't been feeling your best and now they were trying to convince you not to have a baby with Elvis. Like the baby would've been neglected by a man like him. It secretly made you wonder if your dreams of Elvis being a wonderful and caring father would ever come true.

"You're telling me that Red didn't take some time off to be with you and your baby?", you raised an eyebrow.

"Honey, he's Elvis' bodyguard. In no universe would he have been by my side.", she said, nodding. Her eyes wandering outside as if she was reliving every single thing she went through. "Giving birth alone, taking care of the baby alone, feeding the baby alone... It's a lonely life."

"For the wife of the Mafia.", Joe added in. "But for the wife of the King..."

"It's even lonelier.", Patty finished off and sighed, her now finished cigarette on the ashtray. "Shame you don't smoke y/n, it's a great stress reliever.", she stood up and dusted off her skirt. "I'll back in a sec.", she exchanged a knowing look with Joanie, who reluctantly stood up. They knew what happened if they left the King's wife all by her lonesome. But they had already screwed up the moment they started talking.

"Yeah, I'll go grab another drink.", Joe offered you a tightlipped smile. "You want anything, y/n?", you shook your head and gazed outside the large window once again. You sighed and gulped as you felt salty tears form in your eyes. You let out a few shaky breaths and then decided to stand up and leave the party. Grabbing your purse and wiping the fallen tears away, a voice interrupted your actions.

"Hey honey.", it was him. It almost made you want to burst out in tears. You turned around and automatically smiled at the pretty face looking back at you.

"Hey my love.", you placed a hand on his cheek and tenderly kissed his lips. "Great show, like always.", you complimented, offering the best smile you could muster. But it seemed like he had already caught up on the glistening tears in your eyes.

"Thank you baby.", he said lowly and placed another kiss on your lips. Elvis gently took hold of your hand. "Let's go somewhere quieter for a moment, yes?", you simply nodded, not understanding why he would leave his own party. Jerry was quick to approach him, but Elvis waved him off.

"I'll come back later.", he justified and led you both in another room. "Go sit on that couch, honey.", you followed his words and sat down on the couch facing the large Vegas window. You sighed once again and that's when you realized he was going to confront you as to why you weren't as socially active as every other wife was.

Or perhaps he was going to compare you to the other girlfriends he had.

"What's the matter with you, lovie?", his finger gently moved your chin in his direction. You sighed, not being able to meet those baby blues. "Mhm? Honey?", another shaky sigh escaped your pink lips.

"C'mon baby, deep breaths for me.", Elvis grasped your hand and squeezed it — that was when everything started crumbling.

"It's been— It's been so hard lately, Elvis.", tears were now rolling down your cheeks as the built up tension was suddenly released. His hand was no longer on yours as your body was now engulfed by his own. How could you have doubted this man?

"I feel— I feel so fucking sad all the time I-I don't know what to do.", you confessed through your sobs. Though Elvis chose to remain silent and let you continue. "Then the girls said— The girls said that if we had a baby... You would leave me to care for it on my own.", that was when your gaze met his. "I can't raise a baby without you, Elvis. I can't.", you buried your face in his chest, desperately seeking for his familiar warmth.

Elvis' hand rubbed up and down your back, bringing you impossibly closer to him. His thoughts brought him reminders of the couple of days where he wasn't able to check up on you as he usually would. He was aware he was your comfort person and yet he chose to prioritize his career over your wellbeing. Elvis knew you would never resent him for that — you were his very own cheerleader. Yet he couldn't help but feel like he let you down — to the point of little, glistening tears rolling down your usual rosy cheeks.

And those women letting you believe he wouldn't be there for you when your little bundle of joy would eventually come along? They were going to pay. But there was a warm, fuzzy feeling in his tummy at the mention of you two having a yittle baby of your own. A little baby that would be the perfect mix of you and him. Those women were able to turn something so beautiful into something so fearful to you.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Satnin.", his finger grazed your teary cheeks. "With the new tour and the death threats— I just wanted to keep ya safe—"

You jolted up, giving him a confused look. "Death threats? Elvis!", but his eyes remained in yours, now proud you were finally able to look at him.

"You're telling me you would've been able to handle that information, baby?", Elvis raised an eyebrow and you lowly huffed, muttering a little "no".

"But still. You should've told me. I could've helped.", you justified and wiped a tear away. Elvis still gave you that look.

"Yeah because little miss over here was also open enough to tell me what's going on in her pretty head.", he tapped your temple, making you look down. "Little one, look at me.", another finger brought your chin up once again. "You need to understand that your emotions are in no way too much or not enough to tell me. You'll feel so much better afterwards, don't you?", you nodded and sighed, realizing that all of this could've been avoided with an honest conversation.

"I love you.", Elvis said firmly. "And it hurts seeing my best girl like this.", he placed a tender kiss on your lips, your eyes fluttering shut at his action. "Promise me you'll tell me everything from now on?", he showed you his pinky, making a small grin appear on your lips.

"You're silly.", you said in a light tone, but your words made his heart soar and his lips smile the biggest smile.

"Only for you, honey.", Elvis hooked your pinky with his and brought them closer to his lips, placing a small kiss on top. He suddenly furrowed, remembering a topic he forgot to mention to you. "Y/N?"

You looked his way and softly hummed.

"You do know that those bitches know nothing about you and I, right?"

You complained at the choice of words. "Elvis—"

"When the time comes for us to have a mini us...", he trailed off, mindlessly playing with the rings around your fingers. You fought back a small smile at his anxiety-led actions. "I would take off all the time we need. There ain't no way you're raising our child on your own, honey.", his eyes searched for yours and his honesty touched your heart.

It should be a given for a parent to take care of their child — but with Elvis and the world he has created for his fans, family and friends, it was a little more challenging. That's why you appreciated his words. Though only time will tell.

"Thank you, baby.", you said, letting your finger wander on his jaw. You placed your lips on his and then pulled away, feeling your heart as light as a feather. "I don't know what I would've done without you.", you confessed and he pouted.

"What would I do without you, honey?"

MASTERLIST elvis masterlist part 2

elvis presley digital 2025 calendar

[whoops-all-jennas]

Past Lives pt 4.

Wednesday x witch!reader

"I've got this strangest feeling."

"This isn't our first time around."

Summary: Wednesday takes you with her on her investigation, eventually helping to investigate Rowan's old dorm room.

My footsteps fill the halls as I take quick steps back to Wednesday, Enid, and I's dorm, a book in hand about different outcasts.

I opened the door to find Wednesday sitting on Enid's bed, quickly tearing her hand away from Thing.

Wednesday stares into my eyes for a moment, concern for her vulnerability in her eyes.

"I uhm." I cough before getting I start approaching Enid's side or the room, opening the book in my hand trying to find a specific page.

"I have a few theories." I sit on Enid's bed, meeting Wednesday's gaze before focusing back on finding the page.

"Theory number one." I point to the page showing a walking decaying person.

"Rowan's a zombie." I met her eyes before continuing. "I think this is least likely, but just getting my brain working you know?"

Wednesday watches intentively while I start flipping through the pages.

I open to the page with a picture of an unattractive baby. "Changeling. Again, not so likely. They usually replace babies."

I find Wednesday watching me with all her attention. Making me a bit nervous as I found my last idea.

I point to the page of a person who's face is contorted, half of the face different from the other.

"Shape shifter, this is my last idea."

Wednesday's eyes continue to make me more nervous as I continue.

"I think this is the most likely, someone is pretending to be Rowan. Who, I don't know. But this also implies that there are multiple people involved in some way."

I bring my attention to a certain passage in the book.

"Most shape shifters can either turn into different animals, or can only take the appearance of a person. It's not recorded of someone to be able to do both."

I close the book before leaning a bit closer to Wednesday.

"If this theory is correct, than the monster and the person pretending to be Rowan are separate. Or extremely likely at least."

Wednesday pauses for a moment, her eyes softening for a moment.

"You do actually believe me." She states, relief slightly heard in her voice.

"I mean yeah, like I said you're not the type of person to lie for attention."

Wednesday looks to the side for a moment before meeting your gaze again.

"Thank you. For your belief, and your theories."

I find myself feel a little warm under Wednesday's acknowledgement. Wednesday stands from the bed with her perfect posture and stoic face.

"I'm going to go get Enid situated on being our decoy."

Wednesday says, looking down on me as I'm still sitting.

"Go wait by the gate, I'll meet you there."

Wednesday goes to leave the room, her foot steps taking over the new silence. I watch as she leaves, still dazed at her gratitude.

The crunching of leaves fill the silence of the woods as Wednesday and I navigate the trees. Our eyes glued to the floor in hopes of finding any shred of evidence.

We both heard a noise, turning to see the sheriff with his search dog.

Wednesday and I are yanked back, a hand covering our mouth.

We're now behind a tree. To avoid being caught, I opt to trying to kick whoever is behind me instead of making noise.

"Ow, shit. Y/n calm down." I hear Tyler whisper behind me after I kicked him in the shin.

Tyler let's go of our faces after the sheriff passes, Wednesday and I turn around to meet Tyler's face.

"Sorry, I didn't want Elvis to pick up on your scent."

I hate that the deeper we get into this it seems I see Tyler appears more and more often.

"Thanks, how'd you throw them off?" Wednesday states flatly. Tyler pulls out a bag from his jacket.

"Coffee grounds?"

Tyler puts the bag back in his pocket.

"Deer-hunting hack. One of the perks of being a part time barista."

I start to look around for evidence as Tyler and Wednesday talk, trying to find some way to be useful.

Their voices fading behind me as I make more distance.

"What on earth are you doing out here?" An older, scruffy voice meets my ears.

My eyes were glued to the floor, seeing Rowan's glasses before meeting Sheriff Galpin's stern gaze.

"I was just going for a walk." I quickly lie.

He looks around before meeting my gaze again, sighing. "Can I ask you a few questions about the night of the Harvest Festival?"

"Yes sir, here or?" I ask, he takes out a notepad and pen.

"Here is fine."

There is a moment of silence between us, I feel Wednesday's eye digging into my skull.

"So, what happened the night of the Harvest Festival."

"I don't remember much, I mostly remember being with Enid most of the time."

There is another moment of silence. "Is that all you remember?"

His eyes are like needles into mine, looking for anything in my expression.

"That's all I remember. I probably forgot a lot of it due to my head injury. Sorry I couldn't be of more help."

He looks at me a second longer. He sighs, putting away his notepad and pen.

"You're not supposed to be out in these woods until further notice." He looks at me like I know that.

"Go back to school, now." He points a finger past me, indicating me to leave.

"Yes sir." I turn around to start walking back, Wednesday peaking around a tree with Tyler.

I take a glance back to see the sheriff has turned around, continuing his search.

I look back to where I saw Rowans glasses, the cracked lenses reflecting the little light of the cloudy day.

"Accio." I hold out a hand, my palm open, towards the glasses. The glasses fly towards my hand, catching it in my palm.

I quickly turn, finding my way back to the tree concealing Wednesday and Tyler.

"I found something." I hold out Rowan's glasses to Wednesday.

"These are Rowan's, I knew this was a coverup."

She grabs the glasses. She falls backwards head first, her eyes rolling back as she enters another vision.

I instinctively go to grab her. This vision must've been shorter than others or something because she was back a moment later.

"You okay?" I let her stabilize herself as she comes back to reality.

Wednesday's gaze meets mine. "Let's go, I know where to search next."

"You said it was a purple book?" I look back to Wednesday from looking at a bookshelf, Thing moving along the bookshelf also searching.

Wednesday had a vision of a purple book that the drawing is from, so we're searching in the library for it.

Wednesday nods to me, looking at Thing tapping on a book.

"The cover was darker, more like a day-old contusion. Keep looking."

Footsteps from the stairs fill the library, causing Wednesday and I to turn around to see who it is.

"I don't usually find students in here looking for actual books." Ms. Thornhill says, descending the stairs.

"Most sneak in to make out."

My face flushes red, reading what Thornhill said as an implication. Wednesday notices my blushing face, her eyes on me before meeting back to Ms. Thornhill.

"I uh-"

"We walked in on two vampires fanging." Wednesday says, interrupting whatever embarrassing thing I was likely about to say.

"I can't unsee that."

"Is there something I can help you girls find?"

My face returns to its normal color, a little embarrassed that I misinterpreted what Ms. Thornhill was saying before.

Wednesday reveals a paper to Thornhill, the paper having a picture of some sort of symbol with a skull. "Have you seen this before? Its a watermark for a book we're looking for."

For some reason I find myself smiling when I hear her say 'we'.

"I think it's a symbol to an old student society. Um, the Nightshades."

"Like the deadly flower." Wednesday lowers the picture. "Color me intrigued."

"I was told they disbanded years ago."

"Any idea why?"

Ms Thornhill shakes her head. "Sorry."

Ms Thornhill looks towards me with a smile. "Can I talk to Wednesday alone for a minute Y/n?"

I look at Wednesday for a second, seeing if I can read anything in her still face. "Sure." I nod before I start to leave.

"I'll see ya later Wends." I don't know where the nickname came from, but by look on her face it doesn't look like Wednesday approves of it.

I am on my bed when Wednesday walks with purpose in our dorm, heading straight to me.

"Hey Wednesday, uh what's up?" She grabs my wrist, dragging me to my feet.

"We need to investigate Xavier and Rowan's dorm." She's practically dragging me across the room.

"I uh, I don't know if I'm up for that."

Wednesday stops and turns to me, her same usual face meeting my unsure one. "All you need to do is hangout with Xavier, you two are friends correct?"

Wednesday continues walking, letting go of my wrist expecting me to keep up.

"Yeah, but how are you going to investigate with him still in the room?"

Wednesday turns to me again, handing me a folded piece of paper.

I unravel the folded piece of paper to be met with the instructions for the disillusionment charm. It makes the caster or castee transparent. So not quite as good as an invisibility cloak, but will at least help you camouflage into your surroundings more.

"I uh-"

I look up to see Wednesday already ten feet away, continuing the increase the distance.

"Wednesday!"

I quicken my pace to catch up.

We're near hall Xavier's dorm is in, Y/n is holding their wand out.

"Are you sure about this?" She has an uncertain expression on her face.

"Just be quiet and do it already." Her expression worsens, but she nods.

Maybe I shouldn't have been that abrasive.

Y/n casts the spell on me, pointing her wand at my head and gently guiding it down to point it at my feet. My body fades to become clear.

Y/n holds out her hand, I met her gaze with a look of confusion that she can't see.

"It'll be safer if we hold hands till we get to Xavier's room, we don't want to lose each other on the way."

I reluctantly take her hand, a moment later she's casting the spell onto herself.

We quietly sneak past the house master, our fingers interlocked until we reach Xavier's dorm.

I usually hate physical contact, but there is something different about Y/n's touch.

Something familiar, something safe.

Y/n cancels the spell on her self, turning to me but not quite looking at me.

"You ready?"

I nod, soon realizing she might not be able to see it.

"Yes."

She knocks on his door, met with Xavier opening it.

"Hey Y/n, what's up?" He meets her friendly gaze.

"I just wanted to see if you wanted to hangout for a bit tonight, we haven't seen each other in a couple days."

Xavier's face lights up, seemingly happy that he wasn't forgotten in my presence.

"Yeah totally!"

He opens the door wider to make room for Y/n. She purposely trips over her own feet, the door slamming into the wall.

She gave me a window to enter the dorm room.

"Are you okay?" I sneak behind Xavier to the other corner of the room.

"Yeah I'm fine, thanks." I see Y/n give Xavier a kind smile.

Xavier closes the door and starts to walk towards the bathroom. "I'm was gonna take a quick shower before you came, I hope that's alright."

"Yeah that's cool, I'll just chill out here for a bit."

"Cool, I won't take long." He says while closing the bathroom door behind him.

Y/n takes out her phone and raises the volume. I'm assuming she has her phone that loud to try to mask any possible noises I make.

I start to investigate, looking for any sign of that book.

I take a moment and flip through Xavier's sketch book, soon met with a pencil drawing of you.

Something stirs inside me for a moment, I push it down to focus on the investigation at hand.

I go to Rowan's side of the room, underneath his bed to find a hidden compartment. Opening it to find a masquerade mask with fake feathers decorating it.

Rowan is full of surprises.

I make my way back to Xavier's side of the room before there's a knock on the door.

I quickly hide under Xavier's bed, not expecting to meet you under there. Our shoulders barely touch due to the cramped space.

"What are you doing?" I ask, confused about why she's hiding as well.

"What if it's the housemaster?"

I hear the bathroom door swing open, seeing Xavier's feet pass from under the bed.

"You're not supposed to be here." Xaviers voice fills the silent room

"It's good to see you too." I recognize the voice as Bianca. Maybe I'll learn more than I bargained for.

Xaviers feet pass the bed towards his desk. "How'd you get past the housemaster? Use your siren powers?"

"Not while I'm wearing this." Bianca puts her hand over her necklace.

"Would it kill you to not think the worst of me for once?"

Bianca is now approaching Xavier as he rests on top of his desk.

"What do you want, Bianca?"

"To see how you're doing. I'm sorry about Rowan. I know you guys use to be close."

"Since when did you give a damn about Rowan?" Xavier's voice sounds more sour than before.

"You were the one afraid he'd do something to Wednesday."

You turn your head to look at me for a moment, or at least try to.

"Speaking of Wednesday, Y/n and Wednesday seem to be getting pretty close."

"So?"

"Aren't you afraid you'll lose your already zero chances of getting with Y/n to Wednesday?"

Xavier stands to move a bit further away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please, it's obvious you have a thing for Y/n."

Bianca starts to approach Xavier, glancing at the picture of you on Xavier's desk.

"What, do you have a thing for lesbians who are attracted to tragic goth girls with funeral-parlor fashion sense?"

I look to Y/n's face again, her eyes a bit wider and her face flushed red.

"Maybe it's because she hasn't tried to manipulate me."

"I make one mistake, and you can't forgive me. She clearly has zero interest in you and you can't get enough."

"I only see her as a friend." He says, lying through his teeth.

"Why are you so fixated on Y/n?" Xavier desperately tries to change the conversation.

"Its because she clearly likes Wednesday!"

Bianca takes a step back, giving Xavier more space. Y/n is now covering her face with her hands, as if that'd hide anything.

"I just don't see what she sees in her." Bianca mutters. "She thinks she's better than everyone else."

I focus more on the conversation, hearing her comments on me.

"I can't wait to crush Ophelia Hall tomorrow and watch their werewolf roommate crumble. Its gonna be a Poe Cup finale to remember."

"I hate to think what you've got planned."

"My game's already started." Y/n and I glance at each for a moment.

"I like to win. Is that so wrong?"

"And you wonder why I broke up with you." Xavier says with a hint of venom in his voice

"You use to love my killer instinct. We were good together, Xavier."

"Were we?" Xavier looks away for a moment until meeting Bianca's eyes again. "Or is that just how you wanted me to feel?"

Bianca backs away from Xavier, slowly going to the door. "Trust me, Y/n Y/l/n is the not the girl of your dreams. I would say she's the girl of your nightmares, but she's not scary enough to be."

Bianca leaves, closing the door behind her.

Y/n starts crawling out from under the bed, the absence of our shoulders touching makes it feel cold.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that." Xavier says with a worried look on his face.

"Don't worry about it." Y/n's gentle smile reaches Xavier's face.

"I might want to cancel our plans. That conversation kinda brought me out of it."

"No I get that, me too." She starts to approach the door, pulling her wand out.

Xavier opens the door for you. I quietly crawl out from under the bed, seeing the opportunity to escape. I sneak past behind you.

"Just so you know, I do only see you as a friend."

"I know, maybe we can hangout some day soon?" You could probably hear someone say the worst thing to you and still return it with that patient smile.

"Definitely, Goodnight Y/n."

"Goodnight Xavier." You wave to him before he closes the sound of the door closing fills the hall.

You cast the disillusionment charm on yourself after I find your hand again, finding our way back past the housemaster.

We found our way to sneak back into our dorm room through Wednesday's window. Before we enter I grab Wednesday's attention.

*Hey uh, I just wanted to say can we ignore some of the stuff they said about me. Y'know, the uh." I have a worried look on my face

"I don't know what you're talking about." Wednesday meets my gaze with her face as neutral as ever, turning to the window to open it.

"Cool." I felt relief rush through my veins.

We walk into the scene of Enid crying, I quickly rush to go comfort her.

"Enid what's wrong?" I go to put my arms around her but I'm interrupted by her sudden movement to meet Wednesday and I's eyes.

"Where have you two been! I'm literally having a heart attack right now!" Enid starts to pace around the room. "Yoko is in the infirmary!"

"What happened?" I ask, I look to Wednesday for a moment to see her eyes following Enid's movements.

"Garlic bread incident at dinner. She had a major allergic reaction. She's out of the Poe Cup. I don't have a co-pilot."

I was about to say some comforting words, beaten to speak by Wednesday.

"It wasn't an accident, Bianca's behind it."

There's a moment where no one speaks.

"How do you know?"

"It doesn't matter. You and I are going to take her down tomorrow."

Enid stops pacing, meeting Wednesdays eyes. "Wait, you're joining the Black Cats? You're willing to do that?"

Enid takes a step towards Wednesday followed by her taking a step back.

"For me?"

"I want to humiliate Bianca so badly that the bitter taste of defeat burns in her throat."

I find myself smiling at Wednesday's conviction.

Enid stares at Wednesday for a moment. "Yeah, but mostly you're doing it because we're friends right?"

Wednesday turns to the the window on my side of the room, the moonlight highlighting her face.

"Tell me how she keeps winning."

"It's a real brain cramp. The past two years no other boat has made it across and back without sinking."

"Sounds like sabotage."

"There are no rules in the Poe Cup, and she is a siren making her a master of the water."

Wednesday turns to meet my gaze before meeting Enid's.

"Then we just need to beat her at her own game."

Part 5.

Past Lives Masterlist

[middlingmay]

So I rewatched Elvis and have we done canon-ish era music star Gale yet?

Gale has terrible stage fright, but music was an escape for him growing up. The ethereal beauty in the voices of Billie Holiday and Eartha Kitt. The sweet crooning of the Ink Spots and Ella Fitzgerald (ol' blue eyes Frankie Sinatra could only dream), the visceral, soulful sounds of B. B. King that reached into a fella and just yanked at that something under the naval and made him have to move with it...

Mother told him he had a good voice all his life. But the idea of getting on a stage terrified him, that he thought it was never going to happen. Until it did.

He vomited before hand an alarming number of times. But as soon as the lights went down and the band started up Gale floated away, and King Cleven took his place.

Gale could never nearly remember any of it afterwards, no matter how often he went up there. Something just came over him whenever he got on stage.

So maybe he goes overseas to entertain the troops. He knows they prefer the female acts - the singers, dancers, comediennes and the like - but his songs had made it on the radio and everyone was having a good time. Some of the fellas had demanded that he teach them how to dance like that and all he can say is,

"Hell. I don't even know how I dance like that. How the hell am I supposed to teach you?"

He feels eyes on him. When he's on stage one of the men in particular watches him. Not his performance. Not his wild, uncouth dancing. Him.

After, when most of the fellas have crowded closer to the stage, that same fella joins him at the bar. Wide shoulders. Curly hair. Thin moustache. Thick neck to match his waist.

A Major, his uniform betrays him.

He looks at Gale. In a way he'll never become accustomed to getting looked at. It always makes him uncomfortable and defensive and peevish.

But for once, he wants to look back, at this man who slowly grins and spreads his legs cocky like when he takes the stool next to Gale.

Or! Maybe it's post-war and John is feeling listless after the army. He seeks out every good time he can possibly find and none of it does anything to quieten his head, help him sleep, calm his heart, or fill the rotting, crumbling core of him.

He hears of a show for this new up and comer making all kinds of waves, good and bad. Dancing in ways that offends folks but singing like he has both heaven and hell in him. John can't resist seeing it for himself. Music is his biggest joy and is the one thing the war didn't take from him.

A friend points the fella out when they're buying drinks. John watches him smile at the people vying for his attention and can see the sharpness. He tosses a frankly terrible wink that people seem to love, but John can read the darkness swirl behind his eyes - that of a cornered man. He looks calm and suave and composed, but John can see the tremor in his leg and the nervous twitch of his hand.

What a strange mix of contradictions is Gale "King" Cleven.

On stage, he transforms into something else entirely. He's all soft melody and belting vocals, rasping and crooning in turn. He's wild hip swings and loose hands and feet that can't stop moving.

He's hypnotic. Erotic. And every person man or woman at that show wants at least some small piece of him after watching him perform.

But it's John he sends that shitty wink to every time he catches him looking.

John has to go for a smoke afterwards. He feels like he's just experienced something transformative. Like there was John before this and John after this.

Except, fuck him and his life, because Gale Cleven pours himself out into the alley after him, shaking and laughing lowly to himself, until he catches sight of John and freezes.

John winks at him this time. And Christ Almighty a man who has spent most of his night feeding the fantasies of the masses with his gyrating, blushes. Cute as a button. Demures, even. And John is in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.

[mymanyfandomramblings]

Any headcanons for toh?

Oooooh. I have several, including an entire section dedicated to my love of the terrible Blight family dynamics. Here we go:

Luz and Gus both love Hamilton. Amity does not love Hamilton, but she tolerates it.

Amity's music taste is either 'the softest, lightest, saddest pop music' or 'heavy metal'. all happy songs on her playlist were added because she associates them with Luz or her friends, not because she listens to them.

Luz is convinced that Elvis is alive somewhere on the Boiling Isles.

All of the Hexsquad are the type to call each other in the middle of the night because an idea occurred to them. it's usually Willow who ends up being called.

Willow has tried--and failed--to understand the hype with either The Good Witch Azura or Cosmic Frontier. She however does know so much lore about both, and is so good at pretending, that her friends have yet to figure out that she doesn't care about their fandoms beyond 'you're really happy talking about it'.

Edric and Emira see Gus as their unofficial little brother

Darius makes Willow's wedding dress, when she gets married.

When Hunter and Willow get married, Gus is a combination of best man/man of honour and Luz is a combination maid of honour/best woman. Amity's just a bridesmaid, but her feelings are unhurt by this.

Hooty writes terrible RPF

Lilith likes Raine just fine but she will not let them know this.

Luz and Gus will corner Hunter at some stage and be like 'listen, we know you like Willow. If you're going to date her you have to treat her like a princess. Spare no expense, leave no stone unturned. when you ask her to Grom you must do a big romantic gesture."

Willow does not like big romantic gestures nearly as much as Luz and Gus do.

Gus helps Luz and Amity plan their big dramatic Gromposals, so that they both ask at the same time, with equally massive fanfare.

Amity is not naturally a big romantic gestures person, but Luz is, so she has adapted to a big romantic gestures person.

Eventually Gus and Luz will figure out that neither Hunter or Willow are 'big romantic gestures' people. it will take too long for them to figure this out.

Camila and Darius are appreciative of each other for raising Hunter. Beyond that, they don't actually mesh all that well. She doesn't understand his dramatics.

Darius is occasionally prone to calling Raine and Eberwolf in the middle of the night to drag them on sidequests.

Back when Lilith was head of the Emperor's Coven, Eda used to go to wherever the coven heads would meet, and she'd sit under the window with a boombox and blast the Boiling Isles equivalent of 'You May Be Right' and 'Everybody Loves Me Baby'. This stopped after Lilith left the Emperor's Coven, but a little while later, Scooter Crane resigned, Raine Whispers ascended to head of the bard coven, and Eda and her boombox returned.

When Hunter starts attending Hexside, he isn't sure what he wants to study, and with the track system being far more flexible--and him being very traumatized and not very well-socialised--Principal Bump lets him have a blank schedule and go to whichever classes whenever. This often ends up with him spending much of the day in Plants, where it's peaceful. or at least he says it's because it's peaceful.

Grimwalker physiology is pretty similar to witch and human physiology, however it has some strange and inexplicable quirks. One of these things is a complete and utter lack of a detectable heartbeat.

Eda and co. would not all have survived high school without Raine there to keep the peace, and rein in the more stupid ideas.

Also, my incessant headcanons about the Blight family:

Odalia's family used to be one of Bonesborough's richest and most eminent families, however either thanks to a bad business deal or a scandal they lost most of their fortune and repute while Odalia was a child, and by the time she started Hexside, she's been living in genteel poverty for years. This has given her high-class trappings, memories of having wealth, and a desperation to regain it.

Darius was the one to originally introduce Odalia and Alador. he eventually regretted this.

Odalia wasn't always a terrible person. She was always unscrupulous, sharp-tongued and a social climber, but she is also capable of genuine pleasantness.

Odalia and Alador once did like each other--or at the very least were attracted to each other originally. This soured over years of an unsuccessful marriage.

They got married very young. Odalia was keen to lock down the last heir to the Blight fortune as soon as possible, and Alador thought she was pretty, and a good business woman.

Everything started falling apart when the twins were born, and properly fell apart when Amity was born.

Odalia's pregnancies have never been easy on her, and she experienced bad bouts of post-partum depression after both.

Alador is most definitely autistic. and also undiagnosed. among the things he finds overstimulating are a) children and b) Odalia when she's in a bad mood.

so when Amity was born and suddenly there was a crying baby, two chaos twins, and a very irritable post-partum Odalia, Alador's response was 'spend as little time in the house as possible.'

This is about when any last love between Odalia and Alador left the marriage.

Back to general headcanons, Edric gets bad asthma attacks

Emira is like a very immature mother to her siblings. they'd be lost without her.

Amity is unambiguously the favourite child. not that this gets her preferential treatment from her parents, but it does foster resentment among her siblings.

it took the twins much too long to figure out that Mittens has other emotional needs beyond 'an ego check'.

Alador just...gives them their inheritance when they asked for it. Amity put hers into saving, Emira uses it to be the hot rich single aunty to her nieces and nephews, and Edric spent his all at once on something like a waterslide for his house.

Edric needs budgeting lessons ASAP. he's not very good at it.

Post-divorce the twins joke incessantly about the fact that their mother is in jail.

That's all I can think of right now.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

YoHi could you do more 50's Elvis fanfiction with other men and make it smutty if you don't mind I love your work

A/N: Of course! I thought Nick Adams would be a fun option for this, so it's set around '56. I hope you enjoy!

Hold on tight

Pairing: Elvis x Nick Adams

Word count: 1.6K

TWs: Smut, smut, smut! There's a hint of internalised homophobia but I've tried to keep it light.

It’s the millionth time this week that Elvis has seen Nick Adams, and it’s starting to piss his girlfriends off. I say girlfriends, because Elvis never was good at choosing one girl and sticking to her - he might have a main squeeze but there were always others, backups and backups of the backups… but lately they were all getting pushed out because of how much time he’s spending with Nick. The two of them just get on so well, and it’s easy for Elvis to talk to him in a way he doesn’t find it easy to talk to the guys in the Mafia. Probably because he doesn’t feel the need to be quite so macho in front of Nick, to pretend that he’s fine when he’s not. 

They’re on his Harley, driving around Memphis in the early hours of the morning when there’s no-one around to recognise them. It’s one of Elvis’ favourite things to do right now. After the success of Love Me Tender things have been getting more and more intense. Everywhere he goes now there’s a crowd of reporters and he’s surrounded by women pulling at his clothes or writing their numbers on his car. He likes it, but he also likes the escape of speeding along the empty roads on his motorcycle. Girls will go with him, but he always feels like he has to be a little more cautious when they do, to go a little slower with such precious cargo. Not so with Nick, though. With Nick he throws caution to the wind, like he’s doing right now, the other man’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist and holding on for dear life. The adrenalin courses through his veins as he accelerates even faster, riding with reckless abandon.

Nick presses his chest against Elvis’ back, heart pounding from more than just the speed of the ride. Elvis is exhilarating on his own, never mind the motorcycle. He has a kind of wildness that reminds Nick of James Dean. And, if he’s honest, he gets off on hanging around with people coming up on fame. Gets some kind of second-hand high from it, like a vampire searching for youth and power and drinking them down. Elvis hangs a left and Nick grips onto him, leaning to the right and praying he manages to stay on the Harley. He hears the other man laugh and knows it was a deliberate move to scare him a little. And it worked. He’s sitting on the back of the bike, scared and aroused. Just how he likes to be. Or is it how Elvis likes him to be? They're almost too similar. Birds of a feather. 

They finally come to a stop in one of Memphis’ many parks and tumble off the bike onto the grass, laughing together, that kind of shaky laughter that comes from time spent doing something that makes you fear for your life. 

“You ride that thing like a maniac, Presley.”

Elvis grins, wickedly. “Yeah. You love it. Clingin’ on to me like some kinda limpet.”

Nick pushes him in the side playfully. “I just don’t want to die young.”

“Dyin’ in a motorcycle crash with Elvis Presley is exactly the sorta thing you want.”

Elvis’ eyes are sparkling with amusement as Nick launches himself towards him, the pair of them rolling around on the grass, wrestling and laughing. He lets Nick win, enjoying being held down maybe a little more than he should. They’re both flushed and breathless from the play-fighting, and as Nick looks down at the other man beneath him he thinks, not for the first time, just how beautiful he is. Not handsome, or plain attractive, but actually beautiful in a way Nick didn’t think a man could be before they met. Cautiously, carefully, he leans down until his lips almost brush against Elvis’. Then he stops, afraid. Afraid of rejection, and worse than that, afraid of the death of their friendship if this isn’t what Elvis wants. 

“Aren’t ya gonna kiss me?”

The playful words break him out of his reverie and he reacts without thinking, closing the tiny gap between them and kissing his friend. His first thought is how soft Elvis’ lips are. His second thought is wondering why he didn’t do this sooner. It seems like Elvis wants it as much as he does. His lips part to let Nick’s tongue into his mouth and his strong hands pull the other man’s torso down against his own. They both feel the other’s erection at the same time, hips grinding against one another as they moan and sigh. 

Elvis’ heart is hammering in his chest. He’s wanted this for so long, but he’s been afraid. Not of what Nick would think, so much. He’s caught the other man looking at him with lust-filled eyes when he thought he wasn’t being observed. But he’s afraid of what it means, wanting another man like this. It’s against God, and nature, and absolutely not what his Mama would want him to do… but right now it feels so damn good he doesn’t care about any of that. The question of what happens next echoes in the back of his mind, floating about and trying desperately to get to the surface above all the other desperate thoughts of needing more contact and wanting to cum. 

He gasps as Nick pulls away, on his hands and knees above him now. Gasps from the shock of the sudden lack of contact. His hips buck needily and he sees a greedy look in the other man’s eyes. Nick bites his lip, drinking in the sight of that young body writhing and wanton beneath him, desperate for touch. The sudden rush of power makes him feel giddy. The realisation that he knows what he’s doing and Elvis doesn’t, and Elvis wants him just as much as he wants Elvis. With a little smirk, he moves to lie on his side, propping his head up on an elbow. 

“Turn over,” he instructs. “With your back to me.”

Elvis does as he’s told, and the other man feels him tremble as he puts his arm around him, pressing his chest into his back like they’re back on the Harley again. He kisses Elvis’ neck, tasting the salty sweat from the hot summer night. 

“N-Nick…”

“Can I touch you?” Words purred into Elvis’ ear. 

“P-please.”

Nick is briefly surprised to find him naked beneath his pants, but his surprise soon gives way to unbridled lust at the size of it. As he moves his hand up and down it feels different, and shifts slightly so he can get a look. He hasn’t seen many uncut dicks but it doesn’t phase him, if anything it’s easier not to have to worry about lubrication. Not that there’s an issue with that, precum freely leaking from the tip already. The whole thing is making him stupidly excited and his dick is positively aching. Without thinking, he shifts again, pulling Elvis’ pants down to his knees, using his other hand to direct his dick between the tops of the other man’s thighs. He tries not to get distracted by the perfect roundness of the ass in front of him, tries not to want more as he rolls his hips into it. 

Elvis stifles a moan as the hand wrapped around his dick speeds up and the other dick slides back and forth between his thighs. Is this what usually happens next? He has a feeling there’s something else, but pleasure crowds all other thoughts out of his mind. The feeling of a big, rough, experienced hand on him instead of the usual small, soft, cautious one making him feel something primal. 

“Oh God,” he mumbles, knowing he’s just a stroke or two away from ecstasy. 

Nick stops worrying about himself for a second and concentrates on Elvis, his hand in the other man’s hair, pulling his head back and exposing his perfect white throat. He runs his tongue from Elvis’ jaw to his collarbone, tasting him as he cums all over Nick’s hand with a guttural moan. Fuck. His face is so beautiful when he cums. Nick lets go of his hair and his dick at the same time, going back to the desperate pursuit of his own high, his hand gripping Elvis’ hip as he ruts against him, dick sliding between those perfect thighs, slick with precum. 

Elvis lies there, floppy as a ragdoll, letting himself be used for Nick’s pleasure until he hears his friend groan his name out loud and feels the spurt of the other man’s release on his skin. Drowsy with ecstasy, he turns over so they’re facing one another and grabs Nick’s face in both hands, kissing him passionately. They groan into one another’s mouths as their legs tangle together, oversensitive dicks rubbing against each other in a confusion of pleasure and just a little hint of discomfort. 

“Shit,” Nick mumbles against his lips. 

“What?” Elvis mumbles back, drunk on the other man’s touch. 

“You’re almost ready to go again.” 

To illustrate his point, he moves his hand to squeeze Elvis’ half-hard length. Elvis’ eyes roll back in his head at the feeling. 

“You want to?” He asks, breathlessly.

“Mhmm.”

“You wanna do it in a bed?”

Nick giggles. “Might be nice. You gonna take me back to your place?” He bats his eyelashes coquettishly. 

“Only if ya promise not to say anythin’ about my driving this time,” Elvis teases back. 

“I promise.”

Elvis looks at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Make sure you hang on though,” he tells Nick, lips grazing the other man’s ear. “Nice and tight.”

***

Taglist:

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[hooked-on-elvis]

I'm shocked (not really, but it's shocking to hear this anyway) to learn that at some point in life Priscilla sued Marty Lacker for a money Elvis gave him. She dropped the lawsuit when Marty counterclaimed it. Marty says "She messed with the wrong guy, but she was trying to use me as a test case against the other guys. She is a lovely person."

(1) February 25-26, 1965: Elvis signing autographs for fans in Nashville while he was in town for the recording session for the "Harum Scarum" movie soundtrack. Marty Lacker is seen by Elvis' side.

YOUTUBE - INTERVIEW WITH MARTY LACKER BY JOE KREIN PART 3 (out of 4) (go to 30:00 to listen his story about the lawsuit by Priscilla)

Now, this is just my personal comments on this but for all I've learned about Marty Lacker so far I believe he had the best interests at heart concerning Elvis. He helped EP with his music career A LOT. The way he puts it, it seems he worried with Elvis' name in the business because: 1. Marty knew EP had so much to offer (as everybody else knew), so much talent to go to waste on unworthy movies and its soundtracks and on general commercially weak songs, and 2. I bet it wasn't funny to see people mocking his friend for the kind of music and movies Elvis was making. Marty, as well as some other Memphis Mafia guys, worried about Elvis' personal satisfaction and well-being for multiple reasons... maybe not all of them being selfless but I still believe they did care about Elvis as a friend and human being even if they had hidden interests and whatever was the nature of them.

Now, all of those guys (all the people) around EP were seeing him killing himself little by little while trying to numb the disturbing thoughts in his mind and the sorrow in his soul... they were witnessing all of the sad incidents happening over the years where Elvis would end up hurting himself or almost dead. Marty was one of the few people that would go against Colonel Parker when he convinced Elvis to try something new for his career, something that would end up giving Elvis a great refreshing moment in his life, something he was hoping for deep down but somehow couldn't imagine how to make it happen himself and the ones who were in the place to advice him were too busy with their own personal agendas to care about the King's aspirations for his career.

Marty was the one to manage getting Elvis into the American Sound studio (later at the Stax too), and Marty was also the one to recommend the Sweet Inspirations to work on Elvis' concerts. Just by that alone, ALONE, could you really think Marty deserved a lawsuit for a money Priscilla didn't even need? I mean, where is the gratitude to some of the close friends of the man she allegedly says she loved?

As he said in the same interview, Marty was no saint… he wasn't a leech either. There was a time when Elvis lent him some money and Marty paid him back some time later, so Elvis was deeply touched by it because normally no one would pay him back ever! That shows something, right?

Maybe I don't know enough yet because I'm relatively a new born in the Elvis fandom, and I absolutely don't agree with every statement I've listened/read coming from Marty but in general I see him as one of the good guys from the Memphis Mafia bunch. I mean, every story has two sides. Maybe Priscilla sued Marty after being counselled to do so by some lawyer she had, like she was when she decided take Elvis to the court again in 1973, asking for more money after the divorce settlement had been set in 1972 - and by this I mean she could've been convinced to sue Marty instead of having the idea herself, which at least would make things a little less awful. But any reason she had to do that, I mean... why? There's things in life we just don't do. Even if she didn't personally liked the guy (and we know from Elvis' friends the ones she really liked were Joe Esposito and Jerry Schilling), she had to admit Marty was a great contributor to the Elvis Presley estate from which she benefits until today. I think for all Marty did for Elvis' career it's reasonable to think that any money he could've borrowed from EP would have already made its way back into the Presley's bank account in other ways. Maybe a little bit of gratitude and respect to him wouldn't hurt. I mean, I'm not totally against Priscilla... in some ways I can understand her, I really can, but not on this. Not when it comes to her greediness.

I just wonder what would Elvis think.

(2) The Presley's wedding day, February 1, 1967. Marty with Elvis and Priscilla.

FURTHER INFO: On July 17 1973, "in the papers presented to the court Priscilla's new attorney seeks to set aside the original divorce settlement." - Excerpt from 'Elvis Day by Day' by Peter Guralnick and Ernst Jorgensen. Now in addition to what has been agreed on the August 1972 divorce settlement, from the 1973 new settlement Priscilla would also receive, among other things, Spousal support, additional $625,000 (in cash) to the original $100.000 agreed and 5% of Elvis' royalties.

[sissylittlefeather]

If You Talk In Your Sleep

Chapter 1

A/N: I wouldn't be me if I only wrote one series at a time. So here is Elvis x reader in Vegas in 1969. It's going to get dramatic, so hang on tight, friends. Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: 18+ minors absolutely DNI, smut, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, also a tad bit of angst and mentions of domestic violence (not Elvis)

Word count: ~3.8k

The only thing that glitters more than Las Vegas in 1969 is you. Your dress, your shoes, the insane amount of jewelry you're wearing, even your purse shimmers under the lights. It's almost like you're trying to catch someone's attention. And truthfully, you are. Your husband is a cruel man and although he keeps you dripping in diamonds, you'd be lying if you said you weren't lonely. He's what they call a “Casino Boss”. You're not exactly sure what that means, but you know it's hard and violent. It must be pretty stressful too because he yells at you constantly. He's never hit you, but he has pushed you and grabbed your face and you do everything in your power to keep him happy. Despite his anger issues, he swears that he loves you more than life itself, so he always comes back to you with presents after he's particularly harsh. Still, you're tired of it. Tired of walking on eggshells. And as much as he says he loves you, it's more like he loves the idea of you. He never listens to you or treats you like anything beyond a pretty little trophy that he can smother in jewelry and ignore. It's not an ideal existence, but what can you do?

Most nights you dress to the nines and sit somewhere in a casino waiting for someone to see you. In the beginning, your husband made you come to work with him, but as time has passed, he wants you near him less and less. You're not sure if he's messing around or if he's just secure in the fact that you aren't going anywhere, but you spend most of your time alone. Men approach you all the time, but they've never been interesting enough to tempt you into anything dangerous.

Tonight, you sit here in a gold dress, your hair in big waves as it cascades down your shoulders. You swirl a straw in your drink and take a sip, bored. It feels like you might suffocate if you sit here for another second, so you stand up and walk away, headed for a back door to get some air. As you walk, the reality of your life overwhelms you, you feel the tears start to gather, and by the time you make it outside, they're running down your face. You wrap your arms around yourself and sob. It's cold in the desert at night and the emptiness is overwhelming.

Elvis sits at the blackjack table surrounded by pretty girls and all of his best friends. But even with all the company, he stares at his cards and soaks in the loneliness. His career has finally started to take off again and on stage he feels like he's found himself. But when he's not on stage, he feels trapped. Trapped by a marriage he didn't really want, forced into curated friendships with people that seem to like their paychecks more than they like him. He somehow feels completely unseen, despite the constant attention.

“Sir…?” The dealer asks him hesitantly. He shakes his head and slides his cards forward. Then he stands up and half of the men at the table stand up too.

“Where we goin’, boss?” Several of the girls stroke him and whine that he's leaving so soon. Their hands feel cold and all he sees is dollar signs in their eyes.

“Bathroom. Don't follow me.” He turns from the table and walks away. Several of the men try to and he dismisses them. He heads down a hallway, but doesn't turn into the restroom. Instead, he heads for a door to the outside. He doesn't even care if he'll be able to get back in as he pushes it open aggressively and steps out into the darkness.

You try to wipe your eyes and fade into the shadows, praying he won't see you. But of course he does.

“Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Is this spot taken?” He smirks playfully and then notices your face. His eyebrows come together in concern and he takes a step closer. “You okay?”

“Oh, I'm just peachy.” You shiver and wish you had a cigarette. He pulls a cigar out of his pocket and lights it, watching you closely.

“You don't look peachy. I mean, you look beautiful, but not happy.” He takes a drag from the cigar and you look into his face. You know who he is, but you're not in the mood to acknowledge his celebrity status. You need a human.

“Well, thank you. But no, I'm not happy.” As you say it, more tears slip down your cheeks. His heart breaks a little for you and he reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a white handkerchief with “EP” embroidered on it in dark blue.

“Here, doll.” You take it and dab at your eyes and he notices how you shiver. He has a thought to take his jacket off, but he can't. “I'd give you my coat, honey, but I've got nothing on under it. Here. C’mere.”

He holds the cigar in his teeth and reaches for you, running his hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm you up.

“That better?” You smile a little, but you're still freezing.

“Thanks.”

“I'm Elvis.” He smiles and holds his cigar in his fingers as he continues rubbing on your arms.

“You don't say.” You giggle and he chuckles. Then, emboldened by your drinks and the privacy of your location, you gesture to his cigar with your head. “Can I get some of that?”

His eyes widen in surprise, but he nods.

“Sure, honey.” He hands it to you and watches as you take a few drags and exhale slowly. After you do, you shiver again and he clicks his tongue. “You're still freezing.”

He flicks the cigar, there wasn't much left anyway, and unbuttons his jacket. When he holds it open for you, exposing his naked upper half underneath, you blink several times.

“Get in here. I'm warm, I promise.” You look at him in awe and wonder if he's noticed the ring on your hand. It's 7 carats, so it's hard to ignore. “I won't bite ya, honey.”

You look around and realize that no one would ever know. Then, you decide you don't care if they do and step towards him, sliding your arms around his waist. He wraps the jacket and himself around you.

“Ain't that better?” You nod against his chest. He really is warm and it feels so nice to have him around you like this. Add to that the way he smells and you're practically swooning. “You wanna tell me what's got you so upset?”

You take a deep breath and try to decide what you should say.

“I really don't.” He nods and looks down at you.

“I understand that, honey. Better than you know.” For a minute it looks like he's going to kiss you, but he doesn't. Instead, he sighs deeply. “I should go back inside.”

You nod and start to pull away from him, but he squeezes you tighter.

“Just a second. This is nice.” He doesn't say how badly he needs the affection, but you can sense that he needs something from you, so you snuggle into him again. “What's your name, doll?”

You tell him and he whispers it back to you. To your utter shock, he kisses your forehead before he backs away.

“Okay. It's probably time.”

You nod and pull away as he turns back to the door. But there's no handle and he stares at it in disbelief.

“How were you plannin' on getting back in?” He asks, still looking at the door. You miss his arms around you, but you shrug.

“No idea. Hadn't thought that far.” He chuckles and then takes your hand.

“We better head around to the front of the casino.” He guides you back to the entrance of the building and then stands there with you in front of the doors. After a few beats, you pull out his handkerchief and try to hand it back to him.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“You keep it, honey.” You stand there for another couple of seconds.

“Well, I guess I should go back inside–” As you say it, his crowd of followers busts through the door and there's a flurry of activity as they fuss over him and scold him for leaving them. You think to yourself that he seems like a child being admonished for running away. When your eyes meet his, they're full of bitterness and he shrugs.

“I'm fine, y'all. Let's just go.” He calls for his car and you turn to make your way into the hotel. “Wait, honey.”

He jogs over to you at the doors and takes your hands in his.

“Come with me.”

“Elvis, I can't.”

“Why not?” You hold up your left hand for him to see your ring.

“Yeah, I saw that. Something tells me you need to take it off for the night.” He looks at you, his blue eyes piercing your soul. For a second, you wonder how he knew, and then you don't care anymore, not one bit.

“That would be nice.”

“I thought so. Come on.” He slips the ring off your finger and into his pocket and then takes your elbow, leading you towards his car. A bunch of the other guys pile in with you, but they don't say anything about the fact that you've joined them. You ride along in silence with his arm around your shoulders, his hand intertwined with yours. It doesn't take long at all to get back to the International hotel. At the elevator, the guys try to come with you expecting a party like they've had almost every night, but he shakes his head. That's all it takes for them to stay behind. Once the doors close, he turns and leans against the wall of the elevator. You know he's married too, but you hate to bring it up. Instead, you smile awkwardly.

“C’mere, honey.” He holds his arms out to you like he did behind the casino and you go to him, wrapping your arms around his waist again. You stand like that, snuggled together, until the doors slide open and he guides you into his suite with his hand on the small of your back.

“You wanna drink?” He asks, walking to a bar at the side of the room. You've never cheated on Carl before. A drink would probably help.

“Sure.”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you have.” You hear him put ice in a glass and then pour some things in it. He brings it to you and you immediately recognize it as a screwdriver. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome, honey.” He watches as you take a small sip. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No.” You shake your head. “The situation does. But you don't really.”

He smiles warmly and then settles himself next to you on the couch.

“Please talk to me. No one ever talks to me.” He looks over at you with a look somewhere between bitter and sad.

“You have so many people–”

“They talk at me and about me. No one ever talks to me. Not really. Not about anything real.” You take another big gulp of your drink and then turn to face him, kicking your shoes off and tucking your feet up under you.

“I don't wanna be married anymore. My husband is not… nice. And I miss being a person.” He looks into your eyes with more understanding than you expected.

“My wife is cold. She wasn't before we got married, but after? She's just… cold.” You lean forward and push your fingers into his hair.

“You seem like the kind of man that needs warmth.” He nods.

“I really am. So I guess what I'm sayin’ is I understand not wantin’ to be married.” He sits in silence for a bit, reveling in the feeling of your hand in his hair. Then, he looks at you again. “Does he hurt you?”

You pull your hand back and move away, but he gently grabs you and pulls you almost into his lap.

“Sometimes. Not bad. No bruises or anything.”

“Honey, he doesn't have to leave marks on you to hurt you.” He grits his teeth a little, obviously angry that anyone could ever hurt you. “What's he do?”

“He's the Casino Boss at the Flamingo.”

“Oh.” Elvis understands that means he's dangerous. But he doesn't let go of you or anything. Instead, he buries his head in your neck and leaves soft kisses there. He continues pressing his lips to your skin, moving down your chest.

“Elvis…”

“Yes, doll?” He asks between kisses on your breasts.

“This could only ever happen once.”

“I'm not known for my faithfulness to women.” He murmurs and you take that as him understanding what can and cannot happen. You pull away from him and stand up, his eyes wide as he watches you. Then, you push the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and let it fall into a shiny pool at your feet. This leaves you in just your panties, so you turn and walk towards what you assume is the bedroom. It doesn't take him long at all to stand up and follow you. At the doorway, you turn and wrap yourself around him. He leans down and kisses you deeply.

“Tonight is a vacation.” You whisper.

“Viva Las Vegas…” He whispers in return before grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifting you into his arms. You whimper as he carries you to the bed and lays you down on the satin sheets. His jacket and pants are off before you even know what's happening and then he's on top of you, pressing his lips to every inch of you that he can reach.

His mouth finds your nipple and he teases it with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth. He moves to the other one and gives it the same attention. You haven't been this turned on in years and your body responds as such, making a damp spot on your panties. He continues to kiss down your body and then rolls your underwear down your legs and off, leaving you completely exposed to him.

“Need to taste you, doll.” He moans softly, dropping hot kisses on your hips and thighs. You spread your legs for him and he groans at the sight of your glistening pussy. He settles his body into the space between your open thighs and teases your slit with his fingertip. “So wet for me, honey. Such a pretty pussy.”

Two fingers slide inside you and you gasp at the sensation. When he lowers his mouth to your clit and begins to lick you, you damn-near pass out. Carl hasn't gone down on you since before you were married. And even when he did, he wasn't this caring or skilled.

“Oh God, Elvis…” You moan, your hand grasping the front of his hair.

“That's it, baby. Let me give you what you need.” He growls against your sensitive flesh and you tremble with desire. You feel the edges of your orgasm as it starts to approach.

“I'm gonna cum…” You whimper and roll your hips against his face as he eats you. He groans and nods, looking up at you with his face buried in your pussy. His tongue moves so fast that you'd swear it was detached from his body. But it's not and the delicious sensation of him working you with his tongue has you so close you can almost taste it. “Fuck! Elvis!”

You scream as your climax washes over you, filling your body with electricity as you pulse around his fingers, curled just right to hit your g-spot. He licks you until he feels you relax and then pulls back, his lips and chin shiny with your arousal.

“You taste like heaven, doll.” He whispers as he presses his lips to your body again, rolling his hips against your thigh. His cock is rock hard where it presses into you and you moan softly when you feel it.

“I wanna make you feel good, baby.” You murmur to him as he makes it back to your mouth. He kisses you deeply as your hand trails down his chest and you take his member in your hand.

“Mmm, honey, just like that.” He moans softly as you pump him, sliding his foreskin back and forth.

“Please fuck me, Elvis. Please.” You moan and nibble on his earlobe. He groans and nods.

“That what you want, doll? You want this cock?”

“Yes, please.” He hovers over you, lining himself up with your entrance. You whimper as he slides his tip through your folds. Then, he slowly starts to push into you.

“Fuck, honey, you're so tight. Breathe for me.” You take a deep breath in an attempt to relax, but all you can think about is the fact that Carl will kill Elvis if he ever finds out about this. “You okay?”

He lifts his head up and looks down at you with his eyebrows pulled together in concern.

“I-I'm scared.” You whisper.

“Of me?” He pulls out and settles beside you.

“No. If my husband ever finds out… he'll kill you.” Elvis sighs deeply and runs his hand through his hair.

“So he won't find out. Do you not want this?” He gently runs his fingertips up and down your body as he speaks.

“I do. I really do. I'd just hate to read about you being found in a hole in the desert.” You turn your head to look at him and he smirks.

“Honey. I'm Elvis Presley. You think I'm afraid of your husband?” It dawns on you that he has no idea who he's dealing with and what it would mean for anyone to find out about you.

“Elvis, my husband is a dangerous man. And he works with a lot of dangerous men who live to beat people with baseball bats. I'm not sure you want to do this.” He moves his hand up to your cheek and looks you in the eye.

“Honey, listen to me. I'm not scared. I have a lot of bodyguards and I know how to protect myself. If you don't wanna do this, I understand, but if you do, you’re safe.” He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and then kisses your cheek softly. There's a strange amount of intimacy between the two of you, considering you've known each other less than 6 hours. You look into his eyes and think to yourself that it's not you you're worried about. But his eyes are so reassuring that you decide you'll cross that bridge when you come to it. For now, you need him.

“I want this.” You whisper as you roll him onto his back and straddle his hips. Again, you drag the head of his cock against you and then sink down onto him. It takes a bit for you to slip all of him inside you, but it's worth it. When he fills you fully, you moan in unison, throwing your head back in pleasure. “Oh God, Elvis.”

As you begin to move on him, his hands go to your hips and he guides you, moaning. He rolls you deep and slow, rocking you back and forth like a ship on the ocean. The speed, depth, and angle of his movements have your eyes rolling back in your head.

“That's good, doll. Fuck, that's good.” He moves you on him with more speed and more pressure as he races towards his high. You feel another orgasm start to gather in your belly and lean forward onto his chest as he starts to fuck you from underneath. He punctuates each thrust with a soft moan. “Cum for me again, honey. I wanna feel you.”

It doesn't take much more for you to do exactly as he asks and tumble over the edge into another climax, your pussy squeezing him just right.

“Oh, fuck.” He fully intends to pull you off of him, as he always does with his one-night girls, but something keeps him right where he is and he cums deep inside you, his cock throbbing with his release. You relax into each other, panting and sweating and he wraps his arms around you. What is it about you that's making him like this? After several minutes in this position, you peel yourself off of him and start to get dressed. “You have to leave so quick, honey?”

You glance at the clock on the wall. It's almost three.

“My husband gets off around four. I have to be home when he gets there.” He tries not to sigh too deeply. For some reason, he had kind of hoped you'd stay and sleep with him.

“Where do you live?”

“The Flamingo. We have a suite.” He nods and watches as you put yourself back together again, walking to the living room to fetch your dress. You walk back into the bedroom fully dressed and look at him in the bed.

“Elvis, I told you. One night only. This can't be a thing.” He nods reluctantly and holds his hand out for you to walk closer and take it. You do, kissing his knuckles softly.

“I know, doll. But it was fun while it lasted.” You sit on the bed and he pulls you into his arms, not wanting to let go.

“How long are you here?” You ask quietly.

“As long as I want to be. But it doesn't matter. Does it?” He asks with a sliver of hope in his voice.

“No. It doesn't.” You stand up away from him and move towards the door. “Goodbye, Elvis.”

“Goodbye, honey.” He watches as you disappear through the bedroom door and then listens for the front door of the suite to close. He lays back, looking up at the ceiling for a while, missing you. On the street, you hail a cab and make it home just in time. You're in bed, almost asleep when you hear Carl open the front door. He doesn't disturb you, but instead gets undressed and slips under the covers. Every single part of you wishes he was Elvis and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears from falling.

Back in his room, Elvis tries to go to sleep without thinking of you, but he's wildly unsuccessful. There's something about the way you seem to understand his loneliness that makes him wish he could see you again.

Still, you both lay in your respective beds trying to go to sleep. But the sun comes up on both of you still awake.

Elvis sighs deeply and drags himself out of bed, resigned to the fact that sleep is not happening. He walks to his jacket, picking it up off the floor and shaking it. Something falls out and hits the floor with a small thud.

“What the…?” He picks your ring up and holds it up to the light, a sly smile spreading across his face. Now he'll have to see you again.

******

Do we need more?

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