#Taylor St. Claire

[gallery-blue]

Taylor St. Claire and her human horse sex slave.

From Leg Show magazine

[citizenscreen]

Mal St. Clair (holding a megaphone) directing Ruth Taylor and Alice White in GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES (1928).

[ridleyandthebeast]

You can't tell me that The Prophecy by Taylor Swift is not Will and James coded from Dark Heir! The longing, the acceptance of fate, wanting to be better but held down by the constraints of their past lives. Every time I hear this song I think of one of them and then I wanna cry out in anguish at the cruelty fate has dealt them both!

How will they change the outcome! How will they change what has already happened! The dominos have already fallen and the inertia will continue to push them both towards the already written narritive of their doom from past lives and haunting ghosts.

[demifiendrsa]

First footage of Peacemaker season 2.

Season 2 of Peacemaker will premiere on Max in 2025.

[magazinewankersworld]

Sweet, Number 2, January 1996

[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have Hotel Exotica 1998

[theshortangrylesbian]

So I might actually be stupid😂

The other day, I had been rewatching Atypical as one does. That night, I wanted to rewatch Riverdale's Men Of Honor because Toni in that episode was amazing. ANYWAYS, I'm looking at Nick all, "Huh... both him and Nate look similar." I'm thinking there no way, because why would this man play two douches?

But in the end, low and behold, Graham Philips plays both Nate and Nick.

And I only figured this out recently.

[sesamestreep]

Don/Sloan, 20

20. I’ve been looking sad in all the nicest places (from this prompt list) I don’t know what this is, honestly. I wrote a whole other fill for this prompt and decided I hated it and couldn’t finish it, then wrote this instead in like half a day. I don’t know. It’s a Good Place AU, I have next to nothing for it built out besides this snippet, that’s basically it. much love and bone apple teeth or whatever…

Sloan is on her fifth straight minute of willing her legs to work and take her back to the party—her own damn party, for Christ or whoever’s sake, she’s not really sure at this point—when someone nearly trips over her. In their defense, she is sort of hiding behind a topiary in a dark corner of the lawn, so there was no way they could have seen her, but she still finds it in herself to be annoyed.

“Could you please watch where you’re going?” she exclaims.

“Uh, sorry,” the man says, fumbling with something in his hands. “Though I don’t really see how it’s my fault that you’re sitting on the ground, in the dark. You’re basically asking to be tripped over.”

Sloan’s legs work just fine then. She stands up, straight as a pin, and throws her shoulders back, getting ready for some variation of the “I’d like to speak with your manager!” conversations she had almost daily back when she was alive.

“Here’s a tip for you,” she says, instead, with as much indignation as possible, “don’t go around accusing women of ‘asking for it’.”

The man winces. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as it was out of my mouth. That was, uh, poor form.”

The easy admission of wrongdoing shouldn’t surprise her here, where she’s allegedly surrounded by the best people ever, but it still somehow does. It helps that this guy doesn’t give the appearance of backing down from fights easily, which makes it all the more impressive that he’s doing so now.

“It’s fine,” Sloan says, backing down too. “No harm done.”

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Don Keefer.”

“Sloan Sabbith,” she says, accepting the handshake.

“Oh, the Sloan Sabbith,” he replies, as he puts the item he’s been shuffling between his hands—a cigarette, it turns out—between his lips. He doesn’t sound impressed. She’s not sure how he sounds, but it’s probably not good.

“I suppose so.”

“This is your house,” he points out.

“Ah, yes. That Sloan Sabbith.”

“I mean, I knew you before,” Don says, and then corrects himself, “Sorry, I knew of you before. I lived in New York, when I was alive.”

“Oh, right.”

“Your name was always in the society pages.”

Sloan shrugs, not sure if humility is the right move here. She’s not certain Don would buy it. He pulls out a lighter and moves to light his cigarette.

“I guess you didn’t see the amount of fundraising I did for the American Cancer Society,” she says, frowning.

Don laughs, but he still brings the flame to the tip of the cigarette. “Sweetheart, it’s the afterlife. Lighten up.”

“I don’t like the smell.”

“Won’t be a problem,” he says, waving the hand with the cigarette between his index and middle fingers around a little bit wildly. “Neither do I. I got that robot assistant woman, uh—”

“Jenna,” Sloan interjects, over-enunciating the name for his benefit.

Jenna, of course, materializes with a soft tone at that moment, making her jump in surprise. How long does that take to get used to?

“Hi,” she says, brightly. “How can I help?”

Don looks at Sloan expectantly, and her face heats with embarrassment and irritation. She pointedly looks away, as if she hadn’t accidentally summoned the neighborhood’s virtual assistant and made a fool of herself.

“We’re good, Jenna. Thank you,” Don finally says, all charm, when it’s clear Sloan isn’t going to be helpful.

“You bet!” There’s another soft tone, slightly different, as she disappears.

“That is going to take some getting used to,” Don says, as if they’re buddies or something.

“You’ve never had an assistant before?” Sloan sniffs, aware that it’s a deeply snobby thing to say and not very concerned about it.

“Not like her.”

She whips her head around to glare at him. “Don’t be gross!”

“I meant because she’s literally omniscient,” he says, looking bored of her now. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Good, because I’d hate to feel any worse for your soulmate than I already do.” Just as she’s winding up to really lay into him, she suddenly smells something strange. It smells like salt water and…something else. Something she can’t put her finger on. She steps closer to Don and inhales. “Do you—what is that?”

“I told you the smoke wouldn’t bother you,” he says, holding the cigarette aloft proudly. “When I asked Jenna for cigarettes earlier, I was worried the neighborhood would have, like, a ‘no smoking’ policy, kind of like the ‘no swearing’ thing? But she told me that, since we’re in The Good Place, the smoke wouldn’t irritate anyone, and when they smelled it, it would remind them of their most cherished childhood memory, if you can believe that.”

Sloan wouldn’t have two minutes ago but now, she’s certain she’s smelling the boardwalk in Santa Monica that she went to constantly with her family when she was young. She hasn’t been back in years, and she supposes now she never will. Suddenly, she feels tears welling in her eyes.

“Thank goodness the tobacco industry didn’t have Jenna on their side,” she says, stepping back and trying to pull herself together.

“True. Though I imagine those guys would have trouble getting into The Good Place anyway.”

“That’s a…good point.”

“So, what does the magic cigarette smoke smell like to you?” Don asks, and then shakes his head. “There’s a question I never anticipated asking anyone. Not sober, at least.”

Sloan laughs, despite herself. “It, uh, smells like the Santa Monica pier. I grew up in the Bay Area, but my cousins lived in SoCal, and we’d visit them on school breaks or vacations whenever we could. The pier was always my favorite place to go.”

When she looks up again, she finds Don smiling at her in an unguarded way she finds…unsettling. Not because it’s creepy, but because it’s familiar. She doesn’t know what that means, but she knows it’s probably a sign of trouble.

“What about you?”

“Well,” Don laughs, looking down at his shoes, “that’s sort of a funny story. You see, I gave up smoking when I was in college, after my grandad died of lung cancer. I’d like to tell you it was because I was being smart and healthy, but the truth is, the smell of the smoke reminded me too much of him. I spent a lot of my childhood with him, because both of my parents worked, so he watched me for them. He was my favorite person, and my reference point for everything, and my moral compass. After he died, it felt like I lost a piece of myself.”

Don pauses, and then shakes his head. “I don’t know why I told you all that. The important part of that story is that he, uh, smoked like a chimney and his whole house reeked of tobacco all the time. His clothes smelled like it, his car smelled like it, everything.”

“Oh, no,” Sloan says, when the penny drops for her.

“Yeah, see? You got there before me,” he says, smiling sadly. “These forking magical cigarettes, they smell like his house, his clothes, his car.”

“It just smells like tobacco to you,” she supplies, and Don nods. “And the smell reminds you of him. And it makes you sad, which is why you stopped smoking in the first place.”

“It’s like some kind of Sisyphean torture loophole,” Don says, still smoking. “You can’t make this shirt up.”

“I mean, they could,” she says, thinking of her first meeting with Will, where he had the file for her entire life, down to the most minor of details. “They’d know about you and your grandpa from your file, right? And you said that Jenna’s omniscient, so she’d know too. That’s…weird, right?”

Sloan glances over at him to find Don staring at her, not smiling this time, but with an expression of barely suppressed horror. She can tell just from the look on his face that he’s running through everything that’s happened since he got to the neighborhood in his mind and looking for more strange occurrences like that.

“Have we,” he asks, hesitantly, “met before?”

“I don’t think so,” Sloan says, but not with as much certainty as she would have a few moments ago. “You mean, when we were alive?”

“Yeah,” Don says. “I guess that’s what I mean. You just feel familiar, in some way.”

“You did say you knew my name from the press.”

“I know, but I don’t mean familiar like that. I mean, familiar like I’ve known you for a long time.”

“We just met,” she says, as firmly as she can manage, though it feels like she’s trying to convince herself it’s true too.

“So, it’s just me?” he asks, and it’s not accusatory so much as disappointed.

Sloan feels so utterly thrown by this, she can hardly cope. It doesn’t help that in backing away from him earlier, she didn’t get nearly far enough away. She can still smell the Santa Monica pier—the sunshine and the sea air and the food stalls—but she can also smell what she suspects is Don’s cologne or soap or maybe just him—this clean, warm boyish smell—and now those two things are going to swirl together in her memory forever, and she’s going to be confused why she thinks of summer vacations whenever she’s near him. Not that she will be again anytime soon, she hopes. This has been too much for her.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she says, still too close to him and not backing away.

Don laughs, softly, and she thinks she can smell champagne on his breath. There was plenty at the party, she remembers, even though it feels like an age ago now. He doesn’t seem drunk, though.

“I don’t know what I want from you either,” he says, watching her closely. He’s not that much taller than her, so it’s pretty easy to gaze deeply into his eyes, unfortunately, and that’s what she ends up doing.

The cigarette falls from between his fingers, and lands harmlessly, already extinguished, on the grass beneath their feet. It vanishes a second later, and a daisy sprouts in its place, which figures. This place is too good to be true, she thinks, and then catches herself. Is it? Has she been thinking that all along?

She looks back up at Don to find his gaze still riveted on her face. “Something’s wrong,” she whispers.

He steps closer to her. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but something is definitely wrong here,” she says, and it really sounds hysterical but it’s the truth. She can feel it. “Something is not right.”

“Maybe we’re just cynics,” Don offers, with a halfhearted smile.

“Maybe.” Why hasn’t she stepped away from him yet?

“We should…get back to the party.”

“My party,” Sloan says, nodding. “Yes. We should.”

“Our partners will both be looking for us, I’m sure.”

“Right. Yes.”

Neither of them moves, not even a fraction of an inch. Sloan’s hands, seemingly of their own accord, settle on the button placket of Don’s crisp white shirt. She runs a fingertip over a button. His hands come around to rest on her elbows, holding her in place.

“You do feel familiar to me,” she says, in the direction of the button, because she’s not brave enough to say it to his face. “I don’t know why. I don’t understand…how that’s possible.”

“Neither do I, but I’m not—it doesn’t feel like a bad thing, does it?”

Sloan shakes her head, and risks lifting her gaze to his again. He’s still watching her cautiously. She feels herself lean in, and then she feels him reciprocate. They’re only a breath away from kissing when they pause, and whether it’s hesitation or savoring the moment, she’s not sure. She’s watching his face for any sign of second thoughts and finds none, which gives her the courage to lean in that last bit, to close the distance between them.

“Don,” a voice calls in the distance. “Don, are you out here?”

They break apart instantly, putting a laughable amount of distance between them as quickly as possible, as Don curses under his breath. Or tries to, at least, despite the neighborhood’s swear filter.

“Don!” the voice shouts, closer now.

“Over here,” he calls back after a second.

“Where?”

“Here! Follow the….Marco!”

“Polo!”

This, thankfully, only continues for a few moments before a petite, adorable blonde woman rounds the corner. She’s wearing a sensible cocktail dress and has a drink in one hand.

“There you are!” she says. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“I was just getting to know our host better,” Don says, indicating Sloan with a wave of his arm in her direction.

The woman’s gaze swivels to Sloan and her expression opens up even more. “Oh my god, Sloan Sabbith, it’s so nice to meet you! You have such a nice place here!”

“Thank you,” Sloan demurs. She’s not sure how to behave around someone whose soulmate she almost just kissed. She’s not even sure there is protocol for that scenario. It’s probably just something you’re not supposed to do.

“I’m Maggie, by the way,” she says, eagerly. “I should have started with that.”

“Maggie was a professor of ethics and moral philosophy,” Don adds, draping an arm casually around her shoulders as she nestles into his side.

“Wow,” Sloan says. She wants to punch him so much.

“Oh, don’t be impressed,” Maggie says, humbly. “I’ve spent all night talking to people who are way more inspiring than me. And, obviously, my soulmate is this guy, so…”

Don makes a pained face at Maggie’s compliment, which Sloan finds both satisfying and odd. “What’s so impressive about Don?” she asks, coolly, and doesn’t miss the way his gaze flicks over to her sarcastically.

“Oh, he refuses to brag about it, but he was this super important human rights lawyer,” Maggie replies, putting a hand on his chest proudly. “I mean, if there was a cause you cared about, I’m sure he did some legal work to advance it when he was alive!”

“Sloan is a noted humanitarian and philanthropist, Maggie,” Don objects. “I doubt she’d be impressed by my work.”

“Right, sorry,” Maggie says, looking chagrined. “You’re, like, famous!”

“I guess so.”

“No wonder you ended up with Jim Harper as a soulmate! You must feel so lucky!”

“Yes, I certainly do,” Sloan says, with false cheer. She likes Jim. He’s cool. But she only just met him today. She doesn’t know where Don and Maggie get off being so coupled up and settled down already. It’s annoying.

“You guys didn’t know each other when you were alive, did you?”

“No, it’s weird. We somehow never crossed paths.”

“I loved his music when I was alive,” Maggie gushes. “I got a chance to talk to him at the party and he seems really nice!”

“He is,” Sloan insists for what feels like the tenth time. “Actually, speaking of Jim, I should probably get back to the party and, well, make sure he’s doing okay and the guests have everything they need.”

Maggie nods, enthusiastically. “Of course! It was so nice to meet you!”

“Yes,” Don says. “Very nice.”

Sloan has to concentrate very hard not to scowl at him, so she focuses most of her attention on Maggie, who she despises for totally different and completely undeserved reasons. “You too! Always a delight to meet one’s neighbors.”

“Oh, right! You should stop by our place sometime,” Maggie says. “It’s not as grand or as big as your place, obviously—”

“Nothing in the neighborhood is, as a matter of fact,” Don interjects, pointedly. Sloan’s eyes water from the effort of not glaring at him.

Maggie, meanwhile, thumps him lightly on the chest. “Don,” she says, playfully offended. Or maybe not playfully. It’s hard to tell with Maggie. Her smile is just a little too wide and bright to take at face value.

“Don’t listen to him,” she continues. “Our house is the one with the yellow door and the round window at the front, it’s just—”

“Two doors down, of course,” Sloan says graciously. “I did wonder who lived in such a cutesy little cottage and now I know!”

Maggie’s smile falters a bit, and she adopts a more serious expression. “Yes, well, I like it a lot, so…”

“I will be sure to stop by sometime,” Sloan says, trying to be more soothing. She’s a bitch, not a monster, after all.

“We’d love that,” Maggie replies. “Right, Don?”

“Absolutely,” he answers, with a thin smile in Maggie’s direction. To Sloan, he adds, with a significant look, “Don’t be a stranger!”

Sloan nods in acknowledgement and then gets out of there as quickly as possible. She has a feeling, though, that she won’t have much of a choice in terms of Don and Maggie’s invitation. For whatever reason, she suspects she might be stuck with them now.

[getyouanearthygirl]

While reading Its in His Kiss, I kept picturing Gareth as Aaron Taylor Johnson in Anna Karenina. I mean look at him…

He’s a rake.

He’s described as undeniably very handsome ✔️

Golden hair ✔️

Unsettlingly blue eyes according to Hyacinth ✔️

I’m sure he won’t look how he’s described in the book for the show but just let me enjoy myself!

[wexhappyxfew]

ATTDC OCs as Taylor Swift Songs (just AHHHH)

[mainly because this post has been in progress for ages and recently i've been doing a lot of listening to taylor swift so here we are....let's just say the accuracies are THERE for these ladies!]

Esther Armstrong — The Archer

Combat / I'm ready for combat / I say I don't want that, but what if I do? / 'Cause cruelty wins in the movies / I've got a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you

Mercy Codona — You’re On Your Own, Kid

'Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned / Everything you lose is a step you take / So make the friendship bracelets / Take the moment and taste it / You've got no reason to be afraid / You're on your own, kid

Margareta Geringher — mad woman

And there's nothing like a mad woman / What a shame she went mad / No one likes a mad woman / You made her like that / And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out / And you find something to wrap your noose around

Lucy Gardner — mirrorball

When they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns / I'm still on that tightrope / I'm still tryin' everything to get you laughing at me / And I'm still a believer, but I don't know why / I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try / I'm still on that trapeze / I'm still tryin' everything to keep you looking at me

Rolande Pelletier — Anti-Hero

It's me, hi / I'm the problem, it's me (I'm the problem, it's me) / At teatime, everybody agrees / I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror / It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Mildred Carter — Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve

If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? / Years of tearing down our banners, you and I / Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts / Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first

Yvette St. Clair — champagne problems

How evergreen, our group of friends / Don't think we'll say that word again / And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls / That we once walked through / One for the money, two for the show / I never was ready so I watch you go / Sometimes you just don't know the answer

Jeannie Deschamps — my tears ricochet

And I can go anywhere I want / Anywhere I want, just not home / And you can aim for my heart, go for blood / But you would still miss me in your bones / And I still talk to you (When I'm screaming at the sky) / And when you can't sleep at night (You hear my stolen lullabies)

Mitzi Kasatkina — The Great War

It turned into something bigger / Somewhere in the haze / Got a sense I'd been betrayed / Your finger on my hairpin triggers / Soldier down / On that icy ground / Looked up at me with honor and truth / Broken and blue / So I called off the troops / That was the night I nearly lost you / I really thought I'd lost you

Padmavati Solanki — this is me trying

They told me all of my cages were mental / So I got wasted like all my potential / And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad / I have a lot of regrets about that / I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere / Fell behind on my classmates, and I ended up here / Pouring out my heart to a stranger / But I didn't pour the whiskey

[gurumakakari]

I am undecided whether I will be telling a sequential story or providing brief little interludes featuring these characters. Probably a mixture of both as the mood strikes me, which may make organization chaotic. But that's how it goes. Enjoy!

****

Prologue

It had been nearly 18 months since the allegations of systematic hazing had rocked the Remix Wrestling Federation, otherwise known as RWF. And in that time, Evelyn Taylor had devoted herself to cleaning up the locker room and ridding her company of the bad faith actors who had nearly destroyed the organization from the inside. At least, that's what it looked like to the outside world. In truth, Evelyn knew that the girls liked to have fun with one another. For the most part, it was harmless games and casual hook ups, and it wasn't so much hazing as it was…well, she still wasn't quite sure what to make of all of it. She had never seen what went on behind closed doors all that closely because she wasn't interested in prying into the personal lives of her talent like that. Being the CEO of a major wrestling promotion carried a massive set of responsibilities and challenges, and that meant Ms. Taylor simply couldn't be everywhere at once.

She had settled on a plan of action that certainly appeared to have solved the problem for good, but those in the know had an inkling that it might not be too long before the issue reared its head again. After all, the games the roster played with one another were hardly innocent, and Evelyn knew that. She also knew, however, that putting a stop to the practices entirely would cause her to have something of a mutiny on her hands. "Keep it away from my doorstep. That's all I ask," was the decree she had handed down after making her sweep of the company. In the end, a few talents had been shown the door. It hadn't been an easy decision to make, especially considering she'd ended the contract of one of the more accomplished veterans on the whole roster. But the hard decision was often the right one in her estimation, and the results appeared to have spoken for themselves. There had not been another public scandal or even an accusation of something untoward since that fateful week.

The day started like any other for RWF's CEO. She awoke at 4:30 in the morning after just under five hours of rest. The morning hours were the only ones she could operate without a guaranteed interruption of some pressing issue or another. After arriving at the office around 5:30, she settled in and began working her way through the day's to-do list. By the time her assistant arrived at 7:30, Taylor had already managed to secure the venues for their upcoming tour of Japan and strike up a new merchandising deal that would allow RWF to release a limited edition line of bobbleheads before the end of the year. In short, it was an amazingly productive morning, and she was in good spirits.

It wasn't altogether surprising when her assistant buzzed in to reminder her of an upcoming appointment with one of the talent. Various members of the locker room would wander in and out of the RWF office complex on days when there was no show to be run. Taylor was their boss after all, and naturally, it was usually beneficial to score a one on one sit down with the woman who signed the paychecks. The name she heard over the intercom, however, gave her pause. "Just a reminder, ma'am, that Kiki Fischer is due to arrive in the next 10 or 15 minutes."

Evelyn and Kiki had not been on the best of terms since the scandal had originally broken. Kiki's best friend at the time was someone Taylor and her investigators had deemed one of the main culprits of the so called illicit activity. And she fit the profile. As a long tenured veteran, Victoria Carter had held sway over the younger women in the locker room merely as a sign of respect and all that. It hadn't been too surprising for Evelyn to discover that the esteem Victoria had once held wasn't entirely a natural happenstance in the end. Carter's release had been the bombshell announcement that got the media off Taylor's back, but it had also led to a fissure between management and a certain sect of the locker room.

Fischer and Taylor had been cordial in passing since the fateful day, but there had been absolutely no private contact between the two. To hear that Kiki was on her way to see her had Evelyn a little flustered. But then again, she had expected this day to come for nearly this entire stretch of time. Without her tag partner and confidant, Fischer had been directionless in the locker room and on the shows. Her contract was set due to expire, and just about everyone in the know was predicting that neither RWF nor Kiki would seek an extension.

Evelyn spent the interceding minutes haphazardly rearranging some of the items on her desk. It was a nervous habit, one meant to center her and calm her down. Indeed, her heart had stopped racing by the time Fischer was set to arrive. Taylor took one final shaky exhale and turned off her monitor, intent on giving Kiki her complete and undivided attention. It was something many women under her employ had told her they appreciated about their meetings. Taylor didn't multitask, didn't dismissively wave off suggestions or concerns, and showed genuine concern for any and all topics of discussion. It was important to her to ensure Fischer felt comfortable and heard during this meeting, especially if it was to be a mutual parting of the ways.

The CEO waited for the buzzer to signify that Fischer had arrived in the waiting area. Five minutes passed. Then another three. Feeling antsy, Taylor pressed the intercom button. "Bridget, has Ms. Fischer arrived?" There was no response, which was quite unlike Bridget St. Clair. Her assistant was devoted to the position and rarely wandered off without alerting Evelyn to the possibility that the waiting area would be unsupervised for any period of time. Taylor anxiously drummed her fingers on her desk, annoyed that her assistant would be so careless. This was definitely worth a demerit.

But just as Evelyn moved to buzz in yet again, the door clicked and slid open just a little ways. "She's here," said Bridget in a lilting, breathy tone that honestly didn't sound anything like her. Then again, St. Clair was fairly prone to flirting with the talent when they stopped by to visit, and Taylor had to admit that Fischer wasn't wholly without her charms. Evelyn rolled her eyes and chuckled to herself. That silly assistant of hers!

"Alright, send her in." Evelyn put her head down to make a note on her daily ledger that she needed to have a quick sit down with Bridget before the end of the day. It wasn't a crime to enjoy yourself at work, but when it comes at the expense of the CEO's precious time, it's an issue that needs to be discussed. She heard the heavy footsteps moving across her carpet, indicating platform heels of some kind. Taylor snorted derisively to herself. These girls always putting fashion ahead of comfort and common sense. But when she looked up, that last little moment of normalcy evaporated.

Evelyn's eyes widened, and then her brow furrowed. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her visitor said something. A word? A phrase? Taylor wasn't quite sure. All she knew was that the world was spinning. She fought against the rising sensation, but everything was fading away. It was familiar. Warm. Comfortable. Everything. She knew she had to resist this while she slumped back in her chair. This was not a situation becoming of the CEO of a major wrestling promotion. But as her fingers struggled to even maintain a grip on the armrests to try and ground her to reality, she felt an oncoming desire to do one thing and one thing only. Evelyn squirmed in her chair in one last attempt at bucking this.

And then she smiled.

[gatutor]

Ruth Taylor-Mack Swan "Los caballeros las prefieren rubias" (Gentlemen prefer blondes) 1928, de Malcolm St. Clair.

[rose-of-oz]

There’s SO many OCs of yours that I love!!! I must say that my favourites include: your Star Trek babies, ALL your Glee babies, Rosaline, Esther, Cat and Greta!! 💖

@dancingsunflowers-ocs 💖💜💙

AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH, ALEXANDRA!!! It literally means so much that so many people love so many of my babies, I can't even (🥺).

Some cookies for you: ��🍪🍪🍪

anonymously (or not) tell me which of my ocs is your favorite!!

[howardhawkshollywood]

behind the scenes of the lost silent version of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1928) with Ruth Taylor and Alice White directed by Malcolm St Clair.

[kara-night-light]

Hyacinth and Gareth (Hyareth) - It’s in his Kiss

- Paper Rings - Taylor Swift

- Night Changes - One Direction

- Infinity - Jaymes Young

[magazinewankersworld]

Best of MacDaddy 5th Anniversary Edition