#boutique dress-up studio

[meiko333]

Monster High Transparents

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[mariocki]

Jacqueline Pearce guest stars as fashion model Leonie Peters, but it could be she's mixed up in bank robbery and murder in New Scotland Yard: The Banker (1.10, LWT, 1972)

[cumikering]

Barista Keegan x reader

4.8k | fluff The barista at your campus library had the prettiest icy blues, striking against his black leather jacket

It was ten minutes to your next lecture. You gathered your laptop and notes off the table and took the last sip of your coffee – bland now because the ice had melted.

On your way out, you placed the dirty glass on the counter as you mumbled a thanks. The barista, always the same one with the prominent blue eyes, turned from the machine and nodded wordlessly over his shoulder.

The class was always slow, but the coffee helped you to not doze off. Besides, you had something to look forward to after. Outside the lecture hall, your best friend waved at you with a grin. You couldn’t help but return it. She linked arms with you and headed to the parking lot.

“I think I’m getting this,” Monty said as she held her phone out, showing you the birthday dress for her dinner the coming month. She’d been looking forward to the trip to the boutique for her dress fitting.

“Oh, that’s a lovely colour!” you gushed, admiring the pinkish champagne fabric. She would look gorgeous in it.

As you climbed into the front seat of her car, you stalled as you saw the barista again. It was your first time seeing him without his signature apron, but it wasn’t hard to recognise his jet-black hair and sharp jaw. He zipped up his leather jacket and swung his leg over his bike before looking up. The eye contact made your heart stop, but you quickly snapped your gaze away and strapped yourself in.

Monty chuckled, following your previous line of sight. “Is that the barista from the library?”

Out the windshield, he tipped his chin up slightly to fasten his helmet. It was enough for you to catch a glimpse of the movement of his thick neck. He leaned in, looking impressively built grasping the handlebar of his black motorbike as it came to life with a rumble. With the back of his boot, he flipped the kickstand up and rode away.

“I knew you always had a thing for bikers,” she teased.

You waved your hand dismissively, the heat creeping up your neck.

“Well, I was asking if you’d like a dress in a matching shade?”

“Of course! I have time this weekend, I can find-”             

“Great, because I was thinking you can try on some dresses with me too.” She beamed, starting her car. “The sooner the better, right?”

The outing lasted longer than expected - the both of you had too much fun trying on all the cute dresses. While Monty settled with her initial choice, you found a simple one in a complimentary shade. After dinner and a movie, she dropped you home close to 11. Unfortunately, it meant you had more schoolwork to do the next day to make up for it.

Last semester, the university got the library revamped with an atrium and a coffee shop. You’d made it a habit to study there, and inadvertently saw the barista a lot. You didn’t mean to. It was not your fault he worked there on the days you came in.

You usually came between classes, but that Friday was an exception. When you found yourself heading to the library after your only class, you told yourself it was because the atmosphere was less depressing than your cramped studio apartment. It didn’t hurt that the drinks were good.

Definitely not because of the handsome and tattooed barista with his pretty eyes. Or that his voice was ridiculously silky like he was purring when he repeated your order at the register. Did he always sound like that, or was it just his library voice?

“One iced caramel latte,” he called in a gentle tone.

From across the room, you made your way to the counter. When you looked up, he smiled at you.

Despite his deadpan tone and sharp eyes, it wasn’t that he was unfriendly. He was always polite, but it was your first time seeing him really smile – like he meant to.

You flashed him a smile in return as the butterflies stirred in your belly, but averted your gaze down to his nametag. Keegan R. Obviously still the same since you first saw it those months ago.

“Thank you,” you mumbled. You grabbed your drink and hurried back to your table.

You weren’t there to see him – wasn’t trying to. It wasn’t your fault he worked there, was it?

As you sipped between the pages of your textbook, you looked up to the darkening sky, the clouds swirling. The trees swayed in the wind before the first drop of rain splattered on the tall glass ceiling.

It looked like the rain would last a while. You pulled out your earbuds, preferring the pitter patter of the rain and powered through your essay. Thankfully, you weren’t stuck somewhere unpleasant, and you had almost two hours until the library closed. Surely the rain would have passed by then.

Wrong.

When a figure approached you, the rain had barely slowed.

“Just a heads up, dear, we close in 15 minutes,” the librarian said, always with the polite smile.

“Right. Okay.“

“Diana, mind if I lock up today? I’ll have to wait the rain out anyway,” Keegan chimed from his counter.

“Oh, sure,” she answered and looked back at you. “Well, you can stay longer then.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

As the last few students left the building, you thought it was Diana approaching your table once more, but it was Keegan instead.

“Would you like anything else to drink? On the house.”

“Sorry?”

“I get a free drink for each shift. I figured I’d make you something since you come here a lot.”

You didn’t know what to make of the fact that he noticed, but you smiled. “Dealer’s choice? Whatever’s convenient for you.”

You looked up when Diana bade her goodbyes to Keegan and dropped her keys off on the counter, leaving the both of you in the building. You supposed it was time for a break. You packed your books aside and pulled up a gameplay video of your latest obsession.

“One iced Franken-latte.” Keegan placed two cups on the table. “Or two. It didn’t fit in one glass.”

“A what?”

“Frankenstein latte. I’ve never tried it, but my coworker always makes it after his shift.”

So it wasn’t his library voice. His voice was that honeyed for no reason.

You tried to bite down your grin. “One for you then.”

“Why not.” He shrugged, blue eyes wondering to your laptop screen. “Is that A Way Out?”

“Yes! Have you played?”

He pulled out the chair next to you. “My roommate absolutely sucks at games so not more than an hour unfortunately. Have you?”

You shook your head. “Got no console,” you said, reaching for the cup. “Well, thanks for this.”

He hummed and followed suit after you took a sip of the unsuspecting latte.

You didn’t want to be rude, but your brows couldn’t help but knit. Your wary gaze slid to him. Was this a prank?

Keegan turned to you with a deadpan expression before sighing. “That tastes terrible.” He placed the cup back on the table. “I knew it. I shouldn’t have trusted Kick and his fruity, salted caramel toothpaste.”

You laughed. “What the hell is in this?”

“A dash of every syrup.” He got up, heat colouring his cheeks. “I’m so sorry. He swears it’s the best, but I’m not sure what he smokes anymore these days.” He gathered your cups and made his way behind the counter.

You followed him, still chuckling as he dumped the cursed lattes in the sink.

“Could I make you something else?” he called behind his shoulder.

“That’s fine.” You looked out the window. “I think the rain won’t last much longer anyway.”

He turned to you, seemingly wounded by the rejection. “I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t do it on purpose. I do hope that wouldn’t stop you from coming back.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be back, of course,” you reassured. ���At least we can say we’ve tried every syrup.”

His shoulders relaxed as he gave you a small smile. As he cleaned his station for closing, you leaned against the wooden counter and asked what he’d been playing on his console. You discussed your favourite games and upcoming releases, finding that you both had a common taste in games.

You made him laugh. The way the deep rumble from his chest made you bite your lip, it was just as well he had his back to you. At least he wouldn’t catch you staring at his muscles casually flexing as he wiped down the already-spotless stainless-steel counters.

“All done now,” he announced, taking one last look at his work. He reached behind to remove his apron before excusing himself to the back of the house.

You almost didn’t notice the rain had stopped to a mere trickle. You, too, retreated to your table to pack your laptop. Embarrassment flared at how much you enjoyed looking at him and his tattooed arms. You could only do it from across the room, so how could anyone blame you for being greedy when you could stand so close? But you weren’t supposed to be admiring him any more than you already did whenever you studied, yet there you were, fuelling your aimless infatuation.

Moments after, he joined you at the door, now clad in his leather jacket and backpack, his shiny black helmet in hand.

“Thanks again for the drink,” you said as he locked up. “Keegan,” you added, albeit a little too late for it to sound natural.

He turned to you with a sparkle in his vibrant blue eyes. “You’re welcome. I promise to make you something better next time.”

You only realised now he was a few inches taller than you. You smiled before shifting your gaze to your feet and nodded.

“Where did you park?”

“I’m walking home.”

“Do you want a ride?” he asked, not missing a beat.

Keegan rode slow the few minutes to your apartment. He wore his backpack in reverse and said you could hold onto its straps - out of courtesy you hoped. He’d been too nice with the drink and ride, but at least your place was on his way to his, so you didn’t feel too bad.

You thanked him in front of your building, earning you a nod. Or maybe more, who knew, he had his helmet on. With that, you turned, chewing on your lip. The flutters were more than just from the thrill of the ride.

Being so close to him, you couldn’t help but inhale him in the breeze.  The sweet earthiness of leather, robust coffee, a hint of sweat, and a dash of smoke and gasoline somewhere in there. The scent would haunt you for a little longer.

After two steps, he called, “H-Hey- uh, hold on.“

Keegan couldn’t believe it. He got your number.

Never mind that he stumbled over his words when he asked. It didn’t help that the wind had tousled your hair making you even more adorable. But you smiled so sweetly when you handed his phone back to him and he had your number.

For months, each week you’d come to the library two out of the four days he worked. Of course he noticed. You’d pick the table in the far corner and study with your earphones on. You were always a little shy, never meeting his eyes for more than a few seconds each time. No matter, it meant he had more time to look at your pretty face up close, because otherwise he could only steal glances from afar.

In his last year of engineering degree, he had far fewer classes and could work more hours. But when he studied behind the counter, it didn’t feel as lonely with you there across the room.

But you were always just that to him: a muse, a fantasy, a distant company. He didn’t know any more than your name. He didn’t know what you studied, if you had a boyfriend… He didn’t even want to smile nor acknowledge this - what if he got too attached?

But that Thursday when you tore your gaze away from his in the parking lot, something shifted. Maybe he wasn’t just a dude who made your coffee after all.

So on Friday the next day when you unexpectantly came, Keegan couldn’t hold back his excitement. You usually came on Tuesday and Thursday, he assumed between classes. It was just his luck you stayed until closing so he could make a complimentary drink for his favourite customer. Baristas did that all the time, right?

However, in the flurry, he didn’t think through Kick’s recipe. He’d always been skeptical, but why else would his colleague make it so often? He should have listened to his guts because it was repulsive. But you laughed, and- oh God, you were so pretty. And you liked the games he liked? It was unbelievable.

So with his back to you, he scrubbed and scrubbed the counters as you chatted until his arms ached. He didn’t want to turn to you and look creepy with his uncontainable grin. Would he ever get another chance to talk to you like this again?

He spent his entire weekend itching to say something to you, but he couldn’t figure out what to text and therefore was forced to wait until you’d drop by the library again. He didn’t see you on Monday, as he’d expected. But when Tuesday afternoon came around, the buzz in him intensified. Any minute now.

When you approached the glass door, he busied himself, not wanting to look like a puppy with its wet nose against the window as its tail wagged. But when you said hello, he whipped to you so fast, the grin already on his face.

“Hi. What can I get you today?”

You smiled, maybe even laughed a little. Did his voice crack?

Your gaze dropped to the summer menu. “One pink lemonade, please.”

He tapped on the tablet. “My treat. To make up for the other day.”

“Oh, no. You can’t do that-“

He turned to the fridge. “Coming right up.”

You placed the bills into the tip jar instead.

On your way to your next class, you placed the dirty cup on the counter. “Thanks, Keegan. See you around.”

He made his way to you and cleared his throat. “I can give you a ride home on Thursday if you want,” he said, remembering last week when he saw you at the parking lot. “I’ll bring my old helmet you can wear.”

“Oh, you’ve been too nice. Thanks so much, but I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I really don’t mind, but that’s only if you want to.”

You smiled. “If you say so.”

When your lecture ended that Thursday, Keegan was already waiting with a tumbler of lemonade and two helmets. You came out with a girl next to you, radiant as you chatted with her. She’d come to the library a few times with you to get her caramel macchiato with oat milk.

You did a double take, but your smile widened when your pretty eyes met his. You were supposed to meet him at the library, but he’d taken the liberty to surprise you instead. You introduced him to your friend Montana who didn’t bother to hide the knowing look she shot your way.

It only made his stomach flip. Was he being too obvious?

In front of his bike, you waved goodbye at Montana as she drove off. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea riding in the summer, a fact he’d never mulled over until he stood there as you sipped your ice cold lemonade. He gulped.

With a small laugh, you offered the last half of the drink, which he gladly chugged. It was just what he needed.

He handed you his old helmet, deep red - his first one. It was perfectly functional, albeit scuffed up from all the times he carelessly dropped it onto the grating pavement, or knocked it over tables and chairs over the years.

“Do you have anywhere to be?”

He zipped his jacket up. “No. Why?”

“You want to get something to eat?”

He smiled. “We can go anywhere.”

Keegan picked his favourite burger joint, the one at the pier. You chatted as you ate, and as pretty as the ocean was outside, the air conditioning indoors was too comfortable to pass up on. You shared another serving of fries, and he wished the table was smaller so he could be closer to you.

Why did it feel so good being around you? There was no awkward silence even when no words were exchanged. The quiet was easy; on his brain too, because he’d never been the chattiest in the room. You exuded serenity, the kind that gave him a dash of nervousness that kept his stomach tossing in delight. He couldn’t look away - he wanted to lean in closer and closer.

You insisted on paying, and with a pleased smile, he let you. It would simply be an excuse to return the favour with more drinks.

Later when you hopped on his bike, he didn’t expect for your arms to wrap around his waist. His breath hitched. Was this really happening? Surely, you only did this for safety purposes. He shouldn’t be reading that much into it. Although it would be embarrassing if you could feel his heartbeat going crazy if you leaned in any longer.

When you got off his bike in front of your building, he turned to you and popped his visor up.

You took the helmet off and handed it back to him. “Thanks for today, Keegan.”

“You’re welcome.” He took it with a grin. “I had fun.”

You smiled. “Me too.”

“I was wondering… If you’d like to come over and play A Way Out tomorrow? Alex should be home too. We can get pizza for dinner after.” He was glad his face was covered because he could have sworn he was beet red under it. “Only if you have time, of course.”

You averted your eyes, but your smile only brightened. “I’d like that.”

“Then you keep this. For tomorrow.” He held out the helmet towards you.

And so it became a routine.

Some days, Keegan would wait with a drink in his tumbler in front of your lecture hall before heading to his own class. Once a week, you’d make him sandwiches for lunch and drop them off at the library. Sometimes you’d do schoolwork there together.

He tried to not make it obvious that every now and then he’d linger around to spend a little more time with you, be it to grab a bite or to simply give you a ride home – something he always did when your schedules allowed anyway. But on Fridays, you always came over to his place to game.

Not only was co-op gaming with you insanely fun, he also guided you on how to play some of his favourite single-player games. The way you’d laugh in delight, he could listen to you all day. And he did, sitting next to you watching you play. This was more his thing anyway: enjoying your presence without having to always talk.

Ajax, who was reserved (if he wasn’t, Keegan wouldn’t have been close friends with him since high school, let alone be his flatmate), didn’t take long to warm up to you either. While he was quiet at the first pizza dinner, he lingered whenever he emerged out of his room, standing by the couch munching on his potato chips as he nodded approvingly at each shot you got. Soon, he would wedge himself next to Keegan to cheer you on and hype you up.

You’d turn to him with a proud smile. Yeah, he could sit there next to you all day.

Meanwhile, something had been brewing in Keegan’s mind. He’d been wanting to take you to the helmet shop too pick out something you like, but he was worried it was too forward, too much of a commitment. What if you got the wrong idea? Well, evidently, he did want to articulate that idea, but what if he scared you away instead? He hadn’t even held your hand.

And so he did what he did best: be patient and wait. He’d rather be sure you were comfortable with him than rush into things and ruin any chance he had with you. No matter how subtle, you would give him signs, right?

The last Saturday before Monty’s birthday, you went out for ice cream with her before going to her final fitting. When she suggested dinner afterwards, you told her you’d made plans with Keegan.

“So what’s going on with you and him?” she asked as she smoothed down her dress, smiling teasingly through the large full length mirror.

“Nothing.”

“He’ll be your plus one at my dinner, right?” She twisted, inspecting the dress on her.

“What? No! He doesn’t see me like that.” You swatted your hand. “We’re just friends,” you trailed off, trying to not slump in your seat.

“He definitely likes you! Why else would you be out with him on Saturday night?”

“He doesn’t. He… He never makes a move.” Your gaze dropped to the ground.

Monty marched to you and gripped you by the shoulders. “Oh my God! How is waiting outside your lecture hall with a freshly made drink only to give you a ride home not a move?”

“But…”

“I would have believed if you told me he didn’t have the muscles to smile, until I saw him with you.” She shook her head. “The poor guy. Put him out of his misery already!”

When Keegan picked you up for dinner from the boutique, Montana was all smiles while you couldn’t seem to hold his gaze.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, handing you the helmet.

You shook your head, fastening the strap.

You’d tell him when you were ready, and he could be patient. But at the taco place as he stared at you staring at your hands under the table – it was uncharacteristic of him, the silence grated against him. Did he do something?

“Did I-“

“Keegan,” you started at the same time, eyes flicking to him before dropping back.

“Yes?” he asked hopefully.

“Would you want to come to Monty’s dinner with me?”

He grinned, relieved. “Of course, yes. It would be my pleasure.”

As if the tension had melted, you were your normal self again, giggly and warm. He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but you held his gaze longer than usual. He liked it. He loved looking into your pretty eyes. He scooted his seat closer to the table, letting his foot rest against yours. You didn’t move away.

For dessert, he got you a churro from the food truck nearby. His stomach flipped when your fingers brushed his when he handed it to you.

On the way to yours, at the red light – oh, he’d been aching to do this for weeks - he finally plucked up the courage to squeeze his hand over yours as you held onto his waist. You held on tighter. He liked to think you smiled behind him, the shy kind perhaps. You always looked adorable with it.

Over the next week, you sat a little closer to him – maybe only an inch or two, but it didn’t elude him. You didn’t look away nearly as much as you used to either. He liked that you were finally comfortable enough with him.

In a burst of confidence, he grasped your hand as he walked you to class. It made his heart flutter whenever you’d look up at him with a smile like that. You walked closer to him, your other hand clasped over his tattooed arm. He bit down his grin.

Before Keegan knew it, it was Montana’s birthday.

That evening, in front of the bathroom mirror, he brushed his fingers through his hair and leaned in, inspecting his handiwork. Was it supposed to look this way? He hadn’t had to style his hair in such a long time (his helmet wouldn’t have allowed it).

“Dude, you look fine, I swear,” Ajax called from the couch. “She already likes you anyway.”

He stood in front of the doorway facing his roommate, voice hopeful. “Are you sure?”

He did a once over as Keegan smoothed down his crisp black button down and dark jeans. Freshly shaved, he’d also put on some cologne for the occasion.

“Affirmative. Just go already!” He slipped past him, slamming the bathroom door behind him. “I’ve been holding my piss in for half an hour!”

He laughed and bade his goodbye, not forgetting to pick up the keys on the table. Ajax had told him to drive his car for the night, an offer he gratefully took.

At your door, Keegan shifted his weight as he, once more, examined his boots, his hands shoved in his pockets. When you opened the door, his greeting wedged in his throat.

“You’re-“ His eyes scanned down your outfit, letting out an inaudible ‘wow’. “You’re gorgeous.”

You were stunning in your peach dress, the shade complementing your skin. You’d done your hair too, pretty in your heels and glossy lips.

You smiled, reaching to place a hand on his forearm. “Thank you. You look really nice yourself.”

At the venue, Montana lit up when she saw you, but clasped her hand over her laughter when she registered the large gift you carried. She donned a sequin dress, the shade similar to yours. You embraced and gushed over each other’s outfit before her attention turned to the Hello Kitty plushie you cradled. She wore a pink helmet and a matching racing suit - you told him she was a Formula One fan. He smiled. It was endearing how much you adored each other.

Montana had assigned her boyfriend, Troy, and you to sit next to her, with Keegan by your side. She would have liked the Hello Kitty to get her own seat at the table too, alas, she didn’t RSVP and had to sit among the other gifts. As you chatted with the neighbouring guests at dinner, your hand on his thigh comforted him. He didn’t usually like large gatherings, especially one where he didn’t know most of the attendants, but you didn’t make him feel left out as you included him in the conversation. His hand enveloped yours in appreciation as he tried to hide his smile behind his glass.

After dessert, the ladies got up to dance to the upbeat music. You and your girls laughed on the dancefloor, enjoying yourselves. He couldn’t help the grin that bloomed on his face. Did you always look that beautiful?

Focused on you, he didn’t realise Montana had made her way to him.

“Go dance with her.”

Keegan chuckled. He didn’t know how to dance.

“Come on, don’t make her wait too long now.” She walked away, shooting a teasing smile over her shoulder.

He let out a small laugh as he pushed his chair back. If he had to embarrass himself, you were the only one he wanted to do it for. As he approached, your girls stepped away with a giggle, making you frown in confusion.

At the sight of him, you relaxed.

“Would you like to dance with me?”

You nodded, your smile widening.

He took a step in, tentatively resting his hands on your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck and started swaying. He followed, careful to not step on your toes, but honestly, he was content to bask in the proximity and simply stare into your eyes like so.

Just as he thought the electronic music wasn’t ideal, the song abruptly changed into something slower. You laughed. Montana couldn’t have been more obvious with this, huh?

Your thumb brushed the nape of his neck, sending tingles down his spine. With a shaky breath, he leaned in, forehead resting against yours before shutting his eyes. This close, he could smell you – sweet and soft.

Were his palms sweating? Probably, but he couldn’t tell with the way they fitted perfectly on your waist.

You rested your cheek on his shoulder, but must have felt his heartbeat picking up because you looked up at him with an amused look.

His icy blues were already on you, tender yet intense. “Can I kiss you?”

Your brilliant smile was all the answer he needed. Against your lips, he sighed deeply as his fingers curled over your waist, wanting to stay in the moment longer. You seemed to feel the same, your arms wrapping tighter around him as you pressed your body against his.

When you pulled away, he chuckled in awe while you looked away.

He tilted your face up to him, thumb brushing over your cheek. “We should get you your own helmet.”

“I’d like that,” your murmured against his smile.

Masterlist Tinder Keegan Neighbour Keegan Werewolf Keegan

Happy birthday to @operationdeadbolt my first ever Keegan simp friend!! You’re such a cutie bundle of sunshine. I adore the way you love so much, so generously, gushing over the things you like. Talking to you always makes me smile, and you inspire me to keep enjoying life, to be grateful. You gave me the moon and I always think of you when I see it

Thank you for reminding me there is joy to be found everywhere. I hope happiness and resilience are always with you every step of the way. Here’s to many more times we’re going to crush on cod dudes <3

[harleehazbinfics]

Home is where my Heart is.

Chapter 7: Stayed Gone Table of Contents | Profile

Word Count: 1014 A/N: yeah we're going to the singing bits yaaaay. just imagine her voice trying to meld into his and creating this like light airy but enchanting sound on top of his deep and dark tone. cuz yes we love blending and harmonizing in this family. also also alastor will be in bold and miledy in italics and both will be like this for the song. enjoyyyyy (thank you sm transcribers of the wiki id actually die if encoded all of that gshdajsdg)

“This is such a nice day,” I hummed enjoying my tea while Alastor sat opposite of me reading the paper with his coffee and enjoyed the mundane moment together.

Until it wasn’t, as a rocket launches below us. “Come show yourself, Alastor! Come face—oh, there you are. Face my wrath!”

“Who are you?” he jeers enjoying getting on his nerves while I smiled at the two. Al clearly doesn’t dislike him but instead enjoys toying with him, he doesn’t completely shut him down unlike an unpleasant certain someone. I actually find Sir Pentious quite cute how he tries to size Alastor up despite failing several times but he’s got guts I give him that.

“Who am I? Who am I? I am the great Sir Pentious! Inventor! Architect of Destruction! Villain extraodinare!” He announces while the both of us slide within Al’s shadow and appear in front of Charlie and the others.

“Ooh! He’s a bad boy!” Nifty calls as she appears on top of Al’s shoulder.

He takes Nifty and places her in my arms and replies, “Ha, well if all that's true, you'd think I'd have heard of you.”

“I attacked you literally last week,” Sir Pentious replies, only for Alastor to cock his head, “We've done battle, like... 20 times.”

 “Well, you must have been really bad at this,” he teases putting his cane down.

“Silence! Now cower! For when I've ssslain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal.”

“Ooh! Wait, who are the Vees?” Nifty asks while in my arms.

“Oh, nobody important,” both Al and I respond giving each other a knowing look.

While Al kept beating up the poor lad, I turn my eyes on the drone in the sky noticing the familiar logo on it. A devious smile creeps on my face as I place Nifty on the ground and shot it down with a lance made of water. It falls with a crash conveniently landing on my feet. I crushed it under my heel before turning back to the group.

“Thanks for another forgettable experience,” Al says pleased with himself while he leans on his cane looking down at Sir Pentious.

“Thank you...” he pauses before tearing off a piece of his tailcoat, “for letting your guard down!

“Oh, deer,” I mutter, wide eyed as I watched Al transform into his demon form and makes an explosion that causes the snake to fly off to the distance.

“Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor! Best of luck, chums,” he announces, taking me with him.

“Wait, you're LEAVING?! Alastor! We need your help! We need you to do your job,” Vaggie yells gesturing to the hotel.

“We need a wall,” Angel deadpans pointing at the broken wall.

“Of course! Can't let my new project fall into disrepair already. What would the papers say?!” he exclaims.

With a snap of his fingers his shadows appear with building equipment. He turns away from the group and takes us to the pentagram. We enjoy a little stroll before getting inside the boutique, he got his suit redone while I looked at the new dress they had on display. I bought a couple dresses that caught my eye and exited the building together, only to be greeted by Vox’s unpleasant face singing on the television. We shared a look and went back to Al’s studio with a smile.

“Salutations! Good to be back on the air,” We greeted in sync blending our voices ever so often creating a seductive distortion.

“Yes, I know it's been a while since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast.” Al starts off while I finish, “Sinners rejoice!”

“What a dated voice!” Vox yells.

I drape my arms around Al’s neck as he sat back on his seat in an easy going way while keeping the microphone to his face and replies, “Instead of a clout chasing mediocre video podcast.”

“Is Vox insecure, pursuing allure? Flitting between this fad and that. Is nothing working? Ha ha!” we tease him enjoying the annoyance in his voice.

“IGNORE THEIR CHIRPING!”

“Every day he's got a new format!”

“YOU'RE LOOKING AT THE FUTURE! He's the shit that comes before that!”

“Is Vox as strong as he purports? Or is it based on his support? He'd be powerless without the other Vees!”

“Oh, PLEASE.”

“And here's the sugar on the cream. He asked ME to join this team!”

“Hold on!”

“I said no, and now he's pissy! That's the tea.”

“You old timey PRICK! I'll show you suffering!”

“Uh oh, the TV is buffering!”

“I'LL DESTROY YOOOOU YOU LITTLE—"

His little temper tantrum leads him to short circuit causing the electricity in the entire pentagram to disappear.

“I'm afraid you've lost your signal.”

“Let's begin.” He sings menacingly slowly transforming to his demon form. “Let's begin.” I sang hauntingly on top of his voice, my eyes turn black leaving my glowing blue irises hypnotically.

“I'm gonna make you wish that I stayed gone!” “Tune on in.”

"When I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run!

Oh, this will be fun!"

I laughed in delight, celebrating our wonderful comeback to our radio show. Al gives me smile and stands there quietly enjoying my reaction.

“That was wonderful! We haven’t done that in so long!” I gushed holding onto his hands. “I thought I’d have to wait 200 hundred years to sing with you again.”

He laughs petting my head, “No need for drastic measures, my dear. I’m here to stay.”

I beamed a smile and gave him a brief hug. “I’m guessing you’ll be greeting our new guest,” I asked while fixing his bow.

“But of course! I need to welcome their little toy they reeled in for us,” he smirks, “Have a good rest. I’ll see you later.”

I wave him off before I went back to our room, relaxing in our bed drifting to sleep.

‘Mom! Dad! I found some flowers over here!’

Tears fall down my face as I recall much happier times.

[suraemoon]

Get Ready With Me

- Elvis x Reader -

Summary: It's the 1960s and Mr. and Mrs. Elvis Presley are getting ready for yet another Hollywood party.

Warnings: a paragraph talking about a girl's measurements and a scene getting into a tight dress, skin getting caught in a zipper (not graphically described), sexual innuendos and metaphors that you might blink and miss including a subtle implication that he wants to suck her tits, a sentence talking about “breaking” a woman in, and implying that she might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer. also some references to Christianity.

WC: a cute little 4.5k

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For someone like your husband, Elvis Presley, possessive and protective in every way of what was his, he did not mind showing his wife off. He loved it. A beautiful woman is a man’s best accessory, right? 

Sunset Boulevard parties where businessmen of all the major Hollywood studios would parade around a gleeful smile. Wives were dressed to the nines in expensive getups and accessorized their jewels with apparent frowns.

Diamonds were a girl's best friend. Diamonds were a girl’s pacifier to soothe from the all too quick world around her, a world not made for her or her satisfaction. A man with an arm around her cinched waist, who really could not give a damn that an hour ago she asked when they were leaving, only to be met with a shrug by the man meant to care for her needs the most. Get her a diamond to hold onto for security just in case things go south.

Elvis was different from these men in more ways than one. When the back of your kitten heels lifted slightly from the ground to reach up to your husband’s ear and ask in a hushed whisper when you were to leave and go back home, your husband made it his plan to leave as soon as you two could.

The truth is he did not want to be at those parties either but being ousted in the business meant he had to get his footing and swim along with the school of fish. Any wrong move and you are left behind, forgotten. For as much as he desired to swim the opposite way, he had too much to lose; too much and too many depending on him.

The dim lights above the hotel’s small, tiled bathroom provided a yellowish, comforting tint over the room as if a grandmother had not yet gotten the memo of the newest trend. Those bright, enhancing Hollywood-worthy style mirrors, similar in all ways to the vanity that Elvis bought you last Christmas, were in. As you were a couple who both came from humble beginnings and cracked mirrors neither you nor Elvis complained––at least you aren't in the dark. Checking how your makeup looked under the sun’s natural light cascading through the window helped ensure that your face wouldn’t parallel one of the clowns that walk the boardwalk of Coney Island the moment you step out of this personal Garden of Eden.

After being unveiled with much anticipation from the ribbon-tied gift box on the counter, the candy apple red satin dress slipped easily over your figure, ending a few inches above your knees in length. It was like a glove, except for the fact that it was loose and not yet zippered; the true fit and form waiting patiently to be physically revealed to its wearer. This layer of mystery stayed sitting and waiting.

Elvis picked out this dress for you at a local Los Angeles boutique just last week; this along with many other garments, ranging from a knit sweater for winter and an array of panties for the bedroom. All these he surprised you within gift-wrapped boxes, the box with today’s dress in it taken away before you can get your hands on it. He had to keep at least *something* exciting for today, at least one thing to look forward to, no matter how small. 

Elvis Presley bought most of his wife’s clothing and took pride in knowing all of her measurements by heart. He was sure he could rattle them off on the spot like an accomplished kid at a school spelling bee. This he wouldn’t dare do though. It was a quiet contract of trust not needing to be formally established, one of manners that his mama was sure to have raised him with and should just come with the subconscious of being a human anyway. 

He found that some men were a little too eager to talk about the personal details and inner workings of their relationships. A competition of who’s got the best broad and on some days who's got the worst nag. The one with the smallest waist. The one with the smallest brain. The one who can’t get slick or the one who’s too damn clingy she won’t get off you. 

Anyone who has the chance to get to know Mrs. Presley knows that she is a keeper. Any eye who glances at her knows she is gorgeous. Any quiet spectator who notices her behavior and body language around Mr. Presley knows that she is a very satisfied woman, and no words are needed, that’s enough.

You had no doubt in your mind, under that well-hair-sprayed do of yours, that this dress would resemble all of the other pieces that Elvis had bought many times before and fit both your figure and the latest trends seamlessly. He really was a stylist if you think about it.

You hum a melody as your hands go to zipper your dress, only to find that the zipper is both too small to get a proper grip on and stuck on its track. 

“Elvis?” You call out your voice’s first word in a while.

When hearing his name called, your eager-to-please husband quickly makes his way to the door of the bathroom. He moves suave and smooth as ever with his hands in his pockets before stopping and leaning his forearm on the doorframe taking the rectangle up, admiring the beauty you radiate reflecting to him in the mirror. What’s better than one of you? Two of you. A view from the back and the front simultaneously. He’s got a good one. He’s got the best one. The cream of the crop.

“...Elvis?” You repeat unsure if you should just get on with what you need or if he was even paying attention.

He licks his lips as his eyes go to admire your backside in front of him. “Hm? What is it, honey?”

Your left arm goes behind you, hand gently motioning to the undone zipper of your dress. Elvis hums, a breath of amusement escaping his mouth. The dress didn’t come with your pretty back on display like that? What a damn shame. “I gotcha, honey. Was just a little distracted there is all.”

“Mhm. I could tell you were distracted. Liking what you picked out?” You decide to perform a little shimmy, lips pouting in a playful, seductive manner. As you moved, your cleavage moved side to side with you, the cups of your dress not yet close enough to your body to keep them modestly contained.

He bends to kiss your soft temple. His breath and velvet-covered voice caused the words leaving his mouth to vibrate against your skin in a seductive whisper. 

“Like is an understatement, doll. It's hard to stay focused when ya got such good candy in front of ya.” 

He turns his head back forward and those sky-blue eyes of his that you love so dearly are fully visible to you in the reflection. The diamond on your ring seems to shine brighter when in the presence of his diamond eyes, while they look over you again.

 “Candy so sweet you just wanna put your lips all over it….”

His sight rests again on your teasingly half-covered chest,

“...Candy ya just wanna suck.” 

A blush, not the artificial pigment you powdered on your face earlier with a brush, but the natural light pink of your skin flushes your face. In that moment, Elvis touches your cheek, moving your head sideways for eye contact, getting a glance at the final product of your makeup while doing so. He feels the warmth spread and grins in satisfaction. The illustrious fantasies infiltrating both your and your husband's brains at that moment weren’t as pure as that pink.

He shakes his head as if being physically pulled out of his daydreams and told to remember the task at hand before fantasies turn into realities (they easily and quickly could in a matter of seconds with the two of you) and the remaining minutes are spent on something else other than getting ready. Elvis’ dress shoes then take a step back and his warm hands go to the small zipper on the back of your dress, right above your ass. 

“This is what it must be like to dress one of ‘em Barbie dolls. My perfect lil’ model, looking good in anything put her in. Later we’ll hafta take some more polaroids…some showin’ the dress, some showin’ underneath it too.” 

Elvis loved taking intimate photos of you in different outfits: some sheer lingerie, some completely nude, some without you wearing a top, some without bottoms. Mixed and matched photos were kept in a little box tucked in the drawer of his nightstand. He did it any chance he got. Well, any chance he remembered to do so before completely ravishing you because when your husband needs you, he needs you and who cares about the camera in a moment like that?

Your peaceful disposition is suddenly met with a flinch and your bright smile is interrupted by a yelp as halfway up your back the zipper catches on your skin. Elvis immediately flinches as if he had felt your pain and quickly moves to undo the zipper all the way, leaving you back where you started a few seconds ago. The only thing indicating his presence and touch on you was the small mark of red on your back. A flood of apologies immediately leaves his mouth.”O-oh Jesus, baby. I'm so sorry. I'm real sorry. I-I didn’t mean to hurt ya.”

“It's alright, Elvis. Don’t worry, I’m okay.” You reply, quick to comfort him as if he was the one who had gotten hurt.

“It’s not alright. My lil’ baby’s gotta boo-boo now.”

He crouches down and lowers his head to place a gentle kiss on the red mar that made itself home on the small of your back like a stork bite. The unexpectedness and quickness of his action causes a shiver to move like a wave crashing a peaceful coast throughout your body. But instead of a chilly shiver, it's bundled in warmth, like love sent a lightning bolt reminding you of its presence. Not that you would ever let yourself forget.

“I need to be more careful with my little dolly. If God made ya out of porcelain, I would’ve broken ya by now. Ain’t no doubt about that.”

His soft, tender pecks start to move up your back.

Your breath hitches, “Elvis…”

He whispers against your skin softly before continuing to kiss you, “Gotta make it up to hers.”

“Hers forgives him.” You close your eyes in bliss.

Oh, how much both of you wished not to attend this stupid party. Bedsheets that are beautifully tossed and messy instead of perfectly steamed suits and ties. Warm, passionate kisses instead of cold drinks and equally as cold shoulders. The love marks left on your neck from last night, since covered beneath a layer of foundation, regain their tenderness at this moment. Your body reminds you of what it wants more of, what it desires. Little do you know, so does his as the fabric of his slacks starts to get a little tighter around him.

After leaving a trail of kisses from the bottom of your back to between your shoulder blades, Elvis even more carefully than last time, if that was possible, gently brings up the small zipper all the way to the top using all his concentration to focus intently on not nipping you again. Your focus falls back on the mirror, watching as your body and the dress meet and fall in love. Everything that is supposed to hug, hugs. Everything that is supposed to hold, holds. It’s as if it was meant to be.

“There we go. Atta girl.” You’re unsure if he’s praising the zipper on your dress or you. If asked, Elvis would say both.

Then, your husband looks up to see the finished product of his work in the mirror like an artist would admire his masterpiece. His hands don’t stay off you for long as they are placed on your hips moving up and down in a massaging motion before giving your love handles a soft squeeze.

“Thank you for helping me, E.”

“No problem, honey. It’s what I’m sposed to do. Gotta have my girl looking perfect and you look more than it.”

You turn around for the first time since putting on the dress, assuring him at that moment that all that perfection and body he saw in the mirror was indeed real and not just a dream. Both of your hands cup his sculpted face and you give him a soft, tender, and very rewarding kiss. A small lipstick transfer leaves his lips just a tint pinker than they were before, unnoticeable to anyone but you: the person who made that change happen.

The last step of your personal routine awaited you and that was perfume. A bottle of Chanel Number 5 glistened on the counter as if awaiting the moment and you quickly take it into your hands. Your mind has been trained over the years to know the right spots to put perfume. You spray a little on one of the main pressure points, the inside of your wrist. Before the “getting ready” automatic machine in your brain can rub the now dripping solution into your skin, Elvis takes on the responsibility for you. Your husband swiftly takes your palm-up hand into his and rubs the liquid into your wrist in a soft, circular motion with his thumb. This process is then repeated with your right wrist. When finished, Elvis brings one of your wrists up to his nose, your skin brushing the tip, and smells it. 

he hums satisfied then picks up the bottle, examining it. “When did you get this perfume, honey? It smells really nice.”

“Elvis…you bought me that perfume.”

“Oh.”

“You’re already so sweet, I thought those rose scents came with ya.” He says with a smirk in an attempt to smoothly cover up his mistake.

“Mhm, I was born with citrus running through my veins.” 

“I’d believe it.”

You giggle and while the laugh escapes your lips, your sight falls on the usual next step of your joint getting-ready routine: your husband’s baby blue eyes and what was at this moment not highlighted around them. 

“Need help with your lashes?” You ask softly. Neither you nor he needed to ask technically; both of you knew that this came next in the assembly line of tedious little tasks and that he would say yes.

“I was just about to ask ya,” Elvis replies comfortably and not totally in truth. He knows full well that you, his wife with the beneficial trait of getting the two of you properly in line and ready to go when it came to all sorts of schedules and plans, would’ve gotten to it anyway and frankly, he isn’t in any dire rush to leave. Mascara meant one more stride towards abandoning the warm comfort of this little hotel room. 

“I gotcha.”

Elvis looks over you one more time before dragging his feet on the tile and leaving the bathroom to go sit, making himself comfortable in the dark grey upholstered lounge chair positioned at an angle in the corner of the room.

You grab the mascara tube out of your old light pink makeup bag sitting on the cold counter, now half empty due to products being placed all over the counter in a messy organization, and quickly go to where Elvis is sitting in all of his man-spreading glory. You stop in your tracks for a second to look over him. Elvis smiled, entertained by the fact that the purple tube of mascara and your cute wide eyes were the antonyms to all of the nasty stuff running through his mind while looking at the woman standing before him in all of her obliviously sexy magnificence. 

His being sat down and you standing was the only time where you were taller than him. He looks up at you through those dirty blonde lashes not yet polished, as if you were the holy grail. An angel before him. A picturesque statue needing to be worshipped and he was damn well willing to kneel before you and give you that praise.

Your hesitation was not only due to Elvis’ seductive aura but also apprehension in thinking of a way to get close enough to his face to actually apply the makeup. The bed was a good distance away and continuing to stand wouldn’t be a good angle for application. There were no other chairs around either. Getting on your knees is always a good option, one both of you enjoy in different circumstances; it's just the rug burn would be a pain…

“Sit on me, baby. Don’t act like you’ve never done it before.” 

He continues, his tone nonchalant, “My girl might still be a lil’ innocent but the angels didn’t make her clueless, did they?”

You shake your head with an embarrassed blush arising. “No, they didn’t, sir.”

“You know, by breaking ya in, I’ve put those dirty thoughts in ya head too. Just feel like you’re too scared to act on ‘em sometimes. Ain’t nobody here. Spread ya legs and sit on me. I need your services, honey…your makeup ones and all the other ones my girl gives so well.”

You giggle, cheeks never failing to flush at Elvis’ vulgarity. His subtle innuendos that would've gone over your head just a few months ago before he opened your eyes and made you his on your wedding night. You became one in three ways that day: mind, body, and soul.

Trying not to be hurt by the fact that your husband thought you were too embarrassed to sit on him for a few seconds, an unintentional attack on the state of your womanhood, you do just that.

You spread your legs to straddle him, the tight fabric of your dress trying to work against you as harsh friction on the plush of your thighs as you spread them around him. The fabric after having lost the battle, rolls up your thighs scrunched in the defeat, getting hiked up to an improper length as you adjust yourself on Elvis’ lap with a slight roll of your hips.

Both of you notice how his hips twitched, a bit like a spark, as they met yours. Energy already attracted and apparent in behavior, showed itself physically.

Your lined lips meet his for a passionate but quick kiss before pulling away teasingly. “Sorry.” You peck him again, not sorry in the least about it. “I’m getting a lil’ distracted.”

He laughs before stealing another kiss from those oh-so-tempting red lips of yours. He reflects back on grade-school bible study, this is what Adam and Eve must’ve felt when they ate that apple. “I don’t wanna go to this stupid shit.” 

He kisses you again gently as if normal habit, “Just wanna stay here with my lil wife.” 

You giggle while backing your head away further, knowing that if you keep this kissing up, it will lead to other events and you’ll never make it to this party. Your mind goes back to the memory of last month’s luncheon and how Elvis’ manager was not too pleased that the singer-turned-actor and his wife arrived an hour late to the event with hickeys and flushed cheeks.

“Cmon’ Elvis. You can have me when get back later.”

“Damn right, I will.” He responds matter-of-factly.

You lean forward, both palms pressing next to each other on his chest, and whisper into his cheek before kissing it, “Now sit still, be a good boy, and let me do your eyelashes all pretty.”

He looks at the mascara in your hand before looking back up at your eyes, his mouth slightly parted, “You’re right, lil mama. I got ahead of myself there, didn’t I?”

“You can say that.” You bite your bottom lip as your hands go to untwist the mascara tube, pulling the wand out slowly and wiping the excess product on the side of the entrance before taking it out all the way.

You hold back a giggle as you think of Elvis’ previous words coupled with the opening of this mascara…he really has corrupted your thoughts.

You gently place the tube down, careful not to make a mess and get the product on anything. Then, you adjust your straddle position as you would on the saddle of one of the horses back home to get more comfortable on your husband’s lap, holding the wand in your dominant hand as both of Elvis’ hands go to rest on the round of your ass.

His sky-blue eyes look straight into yours, holding a deliciously intimate and beautifully intense eye contact as you graze the mascara wand on his light brown lashes, careful not to poke his eye like that one mascara incident a few months ago where you were apologizing profusely. 

The sweeping of the curved bristles in an up-and-down motion mirrors the gentle rubbing of his hands on your backside; back and forth, back and forth, with the brush being a little faster than the hands. Both have important purposes and both do their jobs flawlessly.

You accompany your light strokes with soothing whispers of praises and admiration, “Such a pretty boy. My handsome man who I love so, so much. Never loved anyone more.” You hear him respond pleasantly in a warm hum.

You point your pointer finger up and your husband immediately looks up at the beige ceiling above to allow you to coat his tinier, bottom lashes as well.

“Good boy.” You whisper concentrated.

When you finish the willingly made slow process of applying the mascara to your model, his eyelashes have grown a little longer in length and their color has changed from a dirty blonde to jet black, matching his hair and the dying process he first did to it all those years ago.

“All done.” You declare quickly like a toddler finished with their meal.

His eyelashes flutter to adjust to the layer of newly coated polish before his sight rests on your face, giving you an opportunity to admire your hard work.

“Thank ya, baby. You’re the best at taking care of me, aren’t ya? Needed a woman’s touch to finish off the look.”

You twist the cap of the mascara back on and toss it onto a nearby dresser before letting yourself fall more into him. 

Your voice comes out as almost a whine as your head rests on his shoulder, “Do I gotta get up?” 

“You know I’m not gonna make ya, doll. Maybe we should both take off a few layers and then you can come sit on my lap again. We could have a lot of fun like that.” 

His hands start roaming under your skirt but cannot go far due to the tightness of the material, another, now physical, barrier keeping desires away from each other.

You begrudgingly shimmy off of him, like you feel a sense of duty to hosts that you’ve never met to make sure Elvis Presley gets to attend their event timely as promised.

Adjusting the hem of your dress back to its proper length as you get up, Elvis follows suit in getting up from the chair and straightening out his shirt. His mascara was the finishing touch to you two’s getting ready process, like cutting a red ribbon at the opening of a new building.

The air turned bittersweet, anticipation and melancholy almost selfish and uncalled for with the fact that you will have many, many more nights like these and you both know that. For you that doesn’t thin the chill of social anxiety that comes with going to events with arguably the most famous, and perhaps the most recognizable, man in the country. You’ve never talked about these restless feelings with him for it comes with the duty you love so much, being his wife.

His hands go to outline your body shape again, taking you in as he has done so many times before. He whispers to you as he has numerous times in the past. It never gets old, a love so evergreen it can never age.

“You look so pretty, mama.”

“And you look so handsome, Elvis.” You whisper back as if in the middle of exchanging beautiful, not-so-hidden secrets.

These sweet nothings between lovers are cut off by lips suddenly catching on to yours. This being the most intimate and passionate kiss so far tonight, one with enough energy and need to change the tide of your minds and blur the lines of plans already set in stone. 

Your hands immediately go up to cup his face, the kiss not yet broken for the desire to have each other is too strong to pull it apart, almost like a magnet. A pure magnetism that feels so right.

His hands, touchy and soft, trace the silhouette of your figure from the cups holding your boobs to the satin that stops halfway down your thigh. His right-hand tugs on your dress’s hem once it reaches it, granted it is not too far down to find in a moment of such passion. The left hand slithers its way back up the sea of red to cup and squeeze your breast through the delicate fabric. 

He’s moving all these parts simultaneously, both hands and both lips, but the main focus is always on you: the target of his desires, the common denominator to every one of his moves. Meanwhile, you are struggling to keep up with the quickness of this series of events so all of your energy is going toward the, hopefully never-ending, kiss. You moan into it, your need vocal.

Your padded fingers and perfectly manicured nails, not a chip to be seen since you fixed them last night, leave the sides of his pretty face to run through his hair like water would, your heels clicking on the ground as he backs you up. These rhythmic noises of your kitten heels come to a halt when the back of your calf is met with the wood of the bottom of a bedframe behind you.

You lose your balance: thighs, ass, and then eventually whole body meeting the soft sheets of the bed. They are still messy and undone from this morning. As you lay back you quickly glance at the clock sitting high on the wall next to you, seeming to be ticking faster than normal, and then your enlarged pupils go back to your ravager of a husband. His lips have since left your mouth and have moved to your neck, then down to your collarbone. 

The clock reads 7:00 pm, the time the two of you had scheduled in your planner to be the last call to get going. The only sound you hear now is your own heavy breath when Elvis’ lips start to suck the sweet spot on the right side of your neck, you whine out any ounce of doubt you may still have possibly had. 

7:02 now and Lord forgive the both of you, you aren’t gonna make it.

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A/N: This took me too long to write for what it is. I was sick for a whole week straight and that just threw me off my newly boarded writing train. This idea came from a wip that it is similar to but didn’t quite fit with (they’re sisters, not twins). I hate to be a tease with the ending, it cuts off unsatisfyingly, but your good sis is still a little unsure of her ability to write smut. I’ll get there eventually and we can rejoice when it happens. I'll come back to it. Also just noticed the second pic near the title isn’t the most “x reader” friendly and as a brown girl myself that’s my bad. Everything aside, enjoy some Grace Kelly in Rear Window.

[ebbyillustrations]

🌒🌕🌘Two outfits from the Boutique Dress-Up Studio 🌒🌕🌘

[xenosagaepisodeone]

As much as copyright law sucks, its unfortunately one of the only legal venues with any sort of real power for artists working in creative industries to protect their livelihoods and colleagues. Unionization alone isn't going to stop companies from scraping people's work, especially not people who are non-union or freelancers, and unions like SAG-AFTRA keep throwing people who aren't making top-dollar under the bus for "ethical" AI startups they partner with anyway, even when said members call them out for siding with corporate over their own due-paying members. When corporations who normally try to shut down creators with DMCA takedowns are now violating the IP of countless creators themselves, why shouldn't we at least hold them accountable to the same laws they already use against us?

because it will not work. I truly cannot stress this enough, whatever meager personal gains that some industry artists are able to acquire in isolated cases against startups and other boutique tech ventures will set the precedent for which the corporations that actually control your country (who have infinite resources to expend on legal ventures) will use to push the law further in their favor. disney already does so much to prevent their IPs from entering the public domain! if you give them an avenue to exploit, they will do it! and it won't matter who was actually right because they have they have so much more money. artists and indie animation studios that could pose any threat to corporate monopolies on art will get C&D'd out of existence for superficial similarities. karla ortiz' lawsuit was so vaguely worded that you could hypothetically pursue someone legally if they had artwork of yours saved in a pinterest inspo board since CLIP models were framed as "trade dress databases". this entire movement is more concerned with potentially obstructed opportunities to rent-seek than it actually is about workers rights- or even simply art that was not created with the intent of being 'content'. and the same industry artists who spearheaded this frenzy will side the the corporations when it comes to it because they've already got theirs.

copyright is never made with the interests of individuals in mind. like, i can't even begin to explain how historically, the little guy is the one getting fucked over by copyright law! how so much of what shapes our culture exists in spite of copyright law as opposed to because of it. what drives me insane is how ai is the thing that artists end up rallying around in unity; not anything to actually improve the quality of life working within the arts, but instead a fad technology. i've seen people describe working in animation as being like a form of debasement and act like nothing can be done while i'm witnessing an entire movement unfold to protect that because a lot of artists seem to think of themselves as temporarily embarrassed small business owners over workers.

[fadingreveries]

The Royal Romance, Bk1 Ch2: Welcome to Cordonia (Pt. 4)

Click here for the TRR retelling series masterlist for more chapters! 🏰

Story Summary: In this novel-style retelling of TRR, beloved scenes with original commentary from the Choices stories including your favourite group of royals and friends will be expanded upon. Contains extended commentary and scenes from the original story, in-depth descriptions of bonus scenes, and premium choices and outfits.

Chapter Synopsis: Riley travels to Cordonia, but what will await her there?

Word Count:

Disclaimer: All rights to original commentary, scenes, and characters from The Royal Romance series reserved to Choices and Pixelberry Studios. No copyright infringement intended.

~ ~ ~

After quickly unpacking a few of her belongings, Riley made her way out of her assigned room on a mission to explore the palace boutique’s options. Luckily for her, Maxwell had told her that the store was located on the ground floor near the front entrance.

A few minutes later, Riley pushed past the doors into the boutique. The soft pink walls contrasted nicely with the brown mahogany floors and the light gray floor rug covering the entire ground. A silver chandelier with bell-shaped glass shades hung directly in the middle of the room. Several mannequins dressed in various formal attire for men and women were scattered across the rooms.

Absentmindedly, Riley brushed her hand against the silk and satin dresses placed on one of many racks on display. The closest she had ever gotten to seeing such beautiful formal dresses was outside display windows of luxury stores on her way to school and work.

“Oh!” A girl yelped out, stepping out of a changing room and holding a dress.

Startled with the sudden voice, Riley looked over her shoulder to see who it was. However, when she noticed that the girl was only dressed in her underwear, Riley quickly turned back around. While she felt a hint of excitement to meet new people up close and personal, this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Riley apologized, feeling embarrassed at seeing a stranger looking so vulnerable. “I didn’t realize someone was already here. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have just barged in.”

With Riley’s back turned, the girl quickly draped the curtain of the changing room over her body to cover herself. Only her head poked out, a sign she was eager to invite Riley into a conversation.

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. To be honest, I didn’t have an appointment. I forgot to book one before my flight landed a few hours ago but thought I would peruse down here before it became too crowded,” the girl sheepishly replied, making Riley turn around to see her friendly smile. “I’m Hana. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Pleasantly surprised with the girl’s bright kindness to a stranger like her, Riley gave a smile in return. “You too. My name’s Riley.”

“I suppose you’re also here to prepare for the Masquerade tonight,” Hana replied, before disappearing behind the curtain to pull on the dress she was holding. “Since you’re here and not already dressed, I must assume that you’re just like me… searching desperately for something to wear.”

“More or less,” Riley replied, with a relaxed laugh. Her neck craned around to catch short glimpses of the dresses in the boutique, wondering how on earth she would be able to narrow it down with the surprising variety.

“The seamstress seems to be running late, but I can show you around! The boutique has the most exquisite gowns. Quite a few of them were shipped just this morning,” Hana answered, pulling the curtain to the side. “Let me just zip this dress up and we can look for one for you!”

Walking to a floor-length mirror, Hana faced her reflection to note her appearance. There was an immense amount of pressure on her from her parents to make a good first impression on the nobility during the court’s social season. She took a deep breath, examining the rose gold laced bodice with rhinestones and a matching floor-length satin skirt.

Her hands arched around her back, trying to get a firm grasp on the tiny zipper. Replaying her parents’ never-ending lectures in her mind about securing the hand of the prince, she felt a slight tremble in her grip and found herself unable to zip herself in the dress. What was she going to do if she failed to secure his attention?

“Need a hand?” Riley offered, admiring how confident and poised Hana looked in front of the mirror with her masquerade outfit.

With a relieved laugh, Hana answered, “That would be amazing.”

Making her way behind Hana, Riley grasped hold of the zipper and slid it all the way up. On a nearby side table, Hana picked up a salmon pink mask with gold accents that matched her dress perfectly. She carefully settled it on her face, making her happily sigh with a satisfied smile.

Turning to face Riley with a grin, Hana complimented, “Thank you. It’s a pity that not many girls here are like you.”

“Helpful?” Riley asked, a smile on her face at Hana’s comment.

“Genuinely nice,” Hana explained, with a simple knowing nod. “It would make the social season much less intimidating if we were here to converse as ladies instead of constantly viewing each other as competition.”

If Drake was right about the ruthlessness of noble ladies, it seemed Riley had found a rare ally in her. Unbeknownst to her, Hana held the same sentiments. Most ladies would secretly turn their noses up at her out of jealousy, let alone help her—something Hana was used to growing up as a noble.

Hana spun for Riley, her full skirts twirling as she giggled. “Ah, this dress is perfect! Now, what about you? One must have a mask for the Masquerade!”The two girls perused through racks of dresses, holding up possible options to the other for a second opinion. Ten minutes later, Hana’s eyes widened in excitement as she pulled two garment bags from a rack. “Have you seen the angel costume? You’d look amazing in white,” Hana suggested, eagerly holding up the white dress in her right hand and the other dress in her left hand. “Or there’s also a red one, if you’re feeling more devilish.”

“I’ll take a look.” Riley giggled, as Hana handed her both garment bags.

Inside a dressing room, Riley eyed the first costume meant to resemble a sultry devil. The crimson red colour of the strapless dress was striking along with sections made of mesh lace fabric highlighting embroidered patterns. Along with the dress were two devil horn accessories and a bold black mask with sparkling rhinestones.

Ultimately, Riley decided on the angel costume that Hana first suggested. It was much simpler with its draped off shoulder straps, a sweetheart neckline, and a shimmery sparkle that brightened the pure white colour. After stepping out of the changing room, Riley fixed the matching halo accessory on top of her head and plucked a detailed silver mask off of the table.

“How do I look?” Riley asked with a smile, giving a little twirl similar to the one Hana had done moments ago.

Hana’s face brightened up, as she grinned and the two made their way out of the boutique. “Heavenly! A costume as angelic as the girl wearing it.”

~ ~ ~

Click here for the TRR retelling series masterlist for more chapters! 🏰

Tag list: @kingliam2019 @princess-geek @karahalloway @tessa-liam @twinkleallnight @tinkie1973

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of guns,, drug use,, threats,, mentions of affairs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 21

Putting together the best musicians, sound and lighting technicians, costumers, and choreographers, he was taking no chances this time. He scoured the music scene for the top sidemen in the business. Auditions were held and he handpicked each player—names such as James Burton, John Wilkinson, Ronny Tutt, Glen D. Hardin, Jerry Scheff. He loved the sound of the Sweet Inspirations, backup group for Aretha Franklin, and he hired them on the spot as a warmup act and to sing backup vocals. He also hired his favorite gospel group, the Imperial Quartet.

Before leaving Los Angeles, Matt rehearsed at RCA Sound Studios for ten days and then polished the act for a full week prior to the opening. It was the event of the summer in Vegas. Colonel Parker brought the preopening publicity to fever pitch. Billboards were up all over town. On the third floor of the International, administrative offices bustled with activity. No other entertainer coming into Vegas had ever stimulated this kind of excitement. The hotel lobby was dominated by Matt paraphernalia—pictures, posters, T-shirts, stuffed animals, balloons, records, souvenir programs. You’d think Barnum and Bailey were coming to town.

Back home there was also excitement as we girls discussed what we’d wear to the opening. “I want you to look extra special, Baby,” Matt said. “This is a big night for all of us.” I hit every boutique in West L.A. before finding just the right outfit.

Though it had been nine years since Matt had given a live performance, you never would have known it from his opening. The audience cheered the moment he stepped onstage and never stopped the entire two hours as Matt sang, “All Shook Up,” “Blue Suede Shoes,” “In the Ghetto,” “Tiger Man,” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” He mixed the old with the new, the fast and hot with the lyrical and romantic. It was the first time I’d ever seen Matt perform live. Wanting to surprise me, he had kept me from rehearsals. I was astounded. At the end he left them still cheering and begging for more.

Cary Grant was among the stars who came backstage to congratulate him after the show. But the most touching moment was when Colonel William arrived with tears in his eyes, wanting to know where his boy was. Matt came out of the dressing room and the two men embraced. I believe everyone felt their emotion in that moment of triumph.

I don’t think we slept that night. Nate Doe brought in all the newspapers and we read the rave reviews declaring, “Matt was great” and “He never looked or sang better.” He shared credit for his new success with all of us.

“Well, we did it. It’s going to be a long thirty days, but it’s going to be worth it if we get the reception we got last night. I may have been a real tyrant, but it was well worth it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” we all agreed, laughing. “You were a tyrant.”

The International Hotel was delirious over Matt’s performance and the box-office receipts. The following day they signed a fiveyear contract with the Colonel for Matt to appear twice a year, usually around the same time, January and August, at the then unheardof salary of one million dollars a year.

Matt literally took over Las Vegas for the entire month he was there, playing to a packed house every show as thousands more were turned away. No matter where we looked, all we could see was the name Matt—on television, newspapers, banners, and billboards. The King had returned.

Initially, Matt’s triumph in Las Vegas brought a new vitality to our marriage. He seemed a different person. Once again, he felt confident about himself as a performer and he continued to watch his weight and work out every day at karate.

It was also the first time that I felt we were functioning as a team. I made several trips to New York, trying to find unique accessories for him to wear onstage. I bought scarves, jewelry, and a black leather belt with chain links all around it that Bill Belew would later copy for the famous Matt jumpsuit belts.

I loved seeing him healthy and happy again, and I especially enjoyed our early days in Vegas. The International provided an elegant three-bedroom suite that we turned into our home away from home. During his show I always sat at the same table down front, never tiring of watching him perform. He was spontaneous and one never knew what to expect from him.

On occasion, after his midnight show, we’d catch lounge acts of other performers playing Vegas or we’d gamble until dawn. Other times we’d relax backstage, visiting with entertainers captivated by his performance. This was the first time I’d been with Matt at a high point in his career.

With the renewed fame came renewed dangers. Offstage he could be guarded by Sonny and Red. Onstage he was a walking target. One night that summer Nate and Sonny were tipped off that a woman in the audience was carrying a gun and had threatened to shoot Matt. A true professional, Matt insisted on going on. Additional precautions were taken and everyone was on the alert. Matt was instructed to stay downstage, making himself a smaller target, and Sonny and Jerry were poised to jump in front of him at the slightest sign of suspicious movement in the audience. Red was positioned in the audience with the FBI agents.

The show seemed to take an eternity. I glanced at Patsy apprehensively and she in turn grasped my hand as we comforted each other, longing for the night to end without incident. James remained backstage, never letting Matt out of his sight and praying, “Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my son.”

Because of this and other threats, extra security was arranged wherever Matt appeared. Entrances through backstages, kitchens, back elevators, and side exits became routine.

Matt had his own theory about assassinations, based on the murders of the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert F. Kennedy. He felt that the assassins gloated over their “accomplishments,” and told his bodyguards that if any attempt were made on his life, they should get the killer—even before the police. He didn’t want anyone bragging to the media that they’d killed Matt Sturniolo.

Sonny and Red lived in so much tension these days that they were constantly frenzied. Suspicious in crowds of overzealous fans, they were quick to respond to any sign of danger. Compared to Sonny’s diplomacy, Red’s reputation was to act first and ask questions later. Eventually, numerous assault-and-battery charges started piling up against Matt. When James warned him about Sonny and Red’s aggressiveness, Matt said, “Goddamn, Red. I hired you to keep the sons of bitches away from me, not get me in any legal binds. Somehow you’re going to have to control that redheaded temper of yours.”

Although Matt would joke about the death threats—and there would be several more throughout the Vegas commitments—the fear and constant need for security heightened the pressure of nightly performing.

In the beginning when Matt began doing regular Vegas engagements, we girls visited frequently. We’d fly in over the weekend, sometimes bringing our children, spend three or four days, and then return home.

On the days we were apart I’d take hundreds of Polaroids and home movies of Charlotte. She was growing so rapidly I didn’t want him to miss out on her development. Daily he’d receive his “care packages,” as I’d refer to them, including tape recordings of me teaching Charlotte new words and Charlotte mimicking me. Each week, upon my arrival, I’d paste photos on the mirrors in his bedroom to remind him that he had a wife and child.

During his first couple of engagements he still seemed humbled by lingering doubts of whether the public was fully accepting him. At this point he had no interest in outside affairs or flirtations, his concentration on daily rehearsals and performances every evening excluding everything else.

Later he would become more cocky. The crowds’ admiration took him back to his triumphs in the early fifties and he found it hard to come down to earth after a month of nightly cheers. His name on the International’s huge marquee would be replaced by the next superstar. The offices on the third floor would be cleared out and incoming calls for reservations would stop.

Thriving on all the excitement, glamour, and hysteria, he found it difficult to go home and resume his role as father and husband. And for me the impossibility of replacing the crowd’s adoration became a real-life nightmare.

At home in Los Angeles, there was just the usual group around—strictly a family atmosphere. This abrupt change was too much for him and soon he developed the habit of lingering in Vegas for days, sometimes weeks, after a show. The boys were finding it increasingly difficult to resolve the conflict between working for Matt and maintaining a home life.

Crazed with inactivity and boredom, Matt became edgy and temperamental, a condition exacerbated by the Dexedrine he was again taking to control his weight.

Sometimes, to ease the transition home, Matt would insist we all pile into cars and head for Palm Springs. Since our marriage we had spent-many weekends there sunning and watching football games and late-night television, but after Charlotte was born, my needs changed. The Palm Springs heat was too much for her, the long drive boring, the idleness of resort life wearying. One weekend I suggested, “Matt, why don’t just you and the guys go down?”

From that time on, the guys developed their own lifestyle in our secluded desert home. Occasionally we wives would be invited to spend the weekend, but by and large, Matt now considered Palm Springs his private refuge.

He made it clear that this time away was good for him, giving him a chance to think, to hang out with the guys. In reality Matt was lost. He did not know what to do with himself after Vegas. He escaped in more powerful, unnecessary prescribed drugs to raise his spirits and ward off boredom.

After he had conquered Vegas, it was agreed that Matt should go back on the road. Colonel immediately began booking concert tours around the nation, starting with an impressive run of six sold-out shows in the Houston Astrodome, which earned over one million dollars in three nights.

The night I arrived in Texas to watch the performance, Amber, Judy, and I flew in on a private jet. I looked down on the Astrodome and found it hard to believe my eyes. The length of a football field—and already sold out. It made me nervous. I could imagine how Matt felt.

Matt too found the Astrodome overwhelming. “Goddamn,” he said when he first walked in. “They expect me to sell this son of a bitch out? It’s a goddamn ocean.”

However dwarfed he was by the giant facility, he electrified his audience. Houston was our first run-in with mass hysteria. The limousine was strategically parked by the stage door for Matt’s immediate getaway. Even so, screaming fans surrounded the car, frantically yelling out his name, presenting flowers, and trying to touch him.

If anything, Houston was an even greater victory than Vegas. The King of Rock and Roll was back on top. The strain of sustaining such a hype was just beginning and, for the moment, I could believe that everything would still be all right. I did not realize the extent to which Matt’s touring was going to separate us, that this in fact was the beginning of the end. After Houston Matt began crossing the country, making one-night stands, flying by day, trying to catch some sleep to maintain the high energy level demanded by his performances. From 1971 on, he toured more than any other artist—three weeks at a time with no days off and two shows on Saturdays and Sundays.

I missed him. We talked constantly of being together more, but he knew that if he let me join him, he couldn’t refuse the requests from regulars whose marriages were also feeling the strain of long separations. For a while a group of us would fly in from time to time, but this didn’t last long. Matt noticed that his employees were lax in discharging their duties to him when spouses were present, and he established a new policy: No wives on the road.

I didn’t really miss the one-night stands, a tedious routine at best: Jump off the plane, rush to the hotel, unpack as little as possible, since you had to check out the next day, go to the performance, then back to the hotel for a little rest before heading back to the airport. Everything was the same except for the name of the town.

It was the day Matt suggested I come to Vegas less often that I became really upset and suspicious. He’d decided that we wives would attend opening and closing nights only.

I knew then I’d have to fight for our relationship or accept the fact that we were now gradually going to grow apart as so many couples in show business do. As a couple, we’d never sat down to plan out a future. Matt, individually, was stretching as an artist, but as man and wife we needed a common reality.

The chances of our marriage surviving were slim indeed as long as he continued to live apart from Charlotte and me, and in bachelor quarters at that. It came down to how much longer I could stand the separation. Matt wanted to have his cake and eat it too. And now, as the tours and long engagements took him even further from his family, I realized that we might never reach my dreams of togetherness.

I had trouble believing that Matt was always faithful, and the more he kept us apart, the more my suspicions grew.

Now when we went to Vegas, I felt more comfortable at the openings. He was always preoccupied with the show and I felt he needed me then. On closing nights I always felt uneasy. Too many days had gone by, enough time for suspicions to poison my thoughts. The Vegas maître d’s invariably planted a bevy of beauties in the front rows for the entertainer to play to. Curious, I would scan their faces while watching Matt closely to see if he seemed to direct his songs to any girl in particular. Suspicious of everyone, my heart ached—but we were never able to talk about it. It was to be accepted as part of the job.

Backstage one night James was jokingly negotiating for a key that had been tossed to Matt. She was an attractive middle-aged blonde—James’s type. Matt said, “Dad, you’ve got enough problems at home with one blonde. You certainly don’t need two.”

“Well, okay,” James said. “You’re going to have problems of your own if your wife goes out in the street looking like that.” I had begun wearing skimpy knit dresses and see-through fabrics that were daringly revealing. Steven and Charlie whistled and gave wolfcalls, while Matt proudly showed me off.

The jokes I played on him were also efforts to get his attention. One night, after he’d left early for a show, I put on a black dress with a black hood and an exceptionally low-cut back. When it came time for Matt to give away kisses to the girls in the audience—a regular part of his show—I went up to the stage. Instead of kissing me, he kept on singing his song, leaving me to stand there. With my hair hiding the dress strap around my neck, I appeared from the back to be nude from the waist up. I could hear the “oooh”s and “ahhhh”s of the audience. They were under the impression that a topless girl had cornered Matt and that he couldn’t figure out what to do.

I kept whispering to him, “Kiss me, kiss me, so I can sit down,” but he decided to turn the joke on me, and made me wait in the spotlight for the duration of the song. Planting a big kiss on my lips, he surprisingly introduced me to the audience. I felt a bit embarrassed and made my way back to my seat.

Later in the show he’d strut back and forth onstage, tease his audience, talk to them, tell them stories, even confide in them. “You know,” he’d say, “some people in this town get a little greedy. I know you folks save a long time to come and hear me sing. I just want you to know, as far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any exorbitant raise in price when you come back. I’m here to entertain you and that’s all I care about.”

Matt was having an ongoing love affair with his audience and the next time I was home alone I knew I had no choice but to start more of a life of my own.

It was with that thought in mind that Amber, my sister Michelle, and I planned a short trip to Palm Springs. In the course of the weekend I opened the mailbox to check the mail and found a number of letters from girls who had obviously been to the house, one in particular signed “Lizard Tongue.” My immediate response was disbelief, followed by outrage. I dialed Vegas and demanded that Nate find Matt and bring him to the telephone. When Nate said Matt was sleeping, I told him about the letters and insisted I speak to Matt. Nate promised that he would have Matt call as soon as he woke up. He did, but it was clear that Nate had filled him in on the situation and Matt had his explanation ready. He was totally innocent, the girls were just fans, they were out of their minds if they said they’d ever come to the house, and besides, it was their word against his. As usual, in the end I apologized for putting him on the spot, but things at this point were becoming too obvious.

He said, “Get out and do things while I’m gone, because if you don’t, you’re going to start getting depressed.”

Although my choices were limited—he still objected to my taking a job or enrolling in classes at college—I continued my dancing and started taking private art instruction.

Matt was a born entertainer and although he tried to avoid crowds, disliked restaurants, and complained he “couldn’t get out like a normal person,” this life-style suited him. He handpicked the people he wanted to be around him—to work with and travel withand they adjusted to his routine and his hours and his temperament. It was a pretty close clan throughout the years. A few arguments erupted and a few couples left over some misunderstandings, but they usually returned in a week or two.

My view of life had been fashioned by Matt. I had entered his world as a young girl and he had provided absolute security. He distrusted any outside influences, which he saw as a threat to the relationship, fearing they would destroy his creation, his ideal. He could never have foreseen what was happening as the consequence of his prolonged absences from home. A major period in my growth was beginning. I still feared our separations but felt that our love had no boundaries, that I was his and if he wanted me to change, I would. For years nothing had existed in my world but him, and now that he was gone for long stretches of time, the inevitable happened. I was creating a life of my own, starting to achieve a sense of security in myself, and discovering there was a whole world outside our marriage.

Over the years of playing Vegas, other pressures began to mount. There were more death threats and lawsuits, including alleged paternity suits and assault-and-battery charges. Jealous husbands claimed they’d seen Matt flirting with their wives, and others continued to charge that Sonny and Red were manhandling them. Matt began to get bored with these nuisances as well as with the sameness of the show. Inevitably, he tried to change the format, but then he felt it just didn’t have the same pacing as the original. He’d add a few songs here and there but then revert to the original. Pointed suggestions that he make changes before the next Vegas date added to the pressure.

Bored and restless, he increased his dependence on chemicals. He thought speed helped him escape from destructive thinking, when in reality it gave him false confidence and unnatural aggressiveness. He started losing perspective on himself and others. To me he became increasingly unreachable.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - welll..🎀

[blueshistorysims]

June 1923, London, England

It seemed as if Wilhelmina and Jack’s party had awoken some sort of hedonist spirit within him. Any previous attempts he’d tried to make with his duties as a peer were forgotten—not that it mattered anyway, most people in the House of Lords disliked him regardless. The Ritz became his home base, splitting his time between the hotel and the house of various friends, both old and new. 

Within three months, he was sure that he’d nearly tripled the number of people he’d had sex with, which Giselle and Francesca had mercilessly teased him about, but it had many advantages, and it seemed like with every new person he shared a bed, he received two invitations to social events, whether it be parties, dinners, soirees, etc. Being around people with similar tastes and interests also allowed him to find suggestions and people read the work he’d done in person, not just via letters, and by the middle of June, he felt that his translation and commentary of The Epic of Gilgamesh was good enough to be sent to the publishers and editors.

Giselle, on the other hand, after months of slaving day and night in her sewing room as Francesca handled sales and customers, it seemed that their little boutique was taking off, and most women living in Central London were seen wearing some of her designs. 

Shortly after opening one morning, a woman dressed finely walked into the shop, inquiring for a party dress. Francesca, who still setting up their latest model, looked surprised. No one came this early in the morning.

“Good morning, ma’am, how can I help you?”

“Um, is Miss Walsh in?”

“Oh, yes, she’ll be down in a moment or so.” She chuckled. “She likes to sleep in.”

The other woman smirked as she looked around. “A friend of a friend recommended this place, and I can see why now. These are lovely.”

Francesca beamed with pride. 

Giselle stepped out from her sewing studio, looking surprised that they already a had customer. “Oh, good morning, I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“No, of course not. Miss Walsh?”

“That would be me.”

She sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you. I’m attending a party, and I was hoping to get a dress. I was told you do custom designs for customers.”

“Yes, um we can head back for measurements now if you wish, Ms…”

“Lady Lyton.”

Francesca’s eyes widened. The Countess of Lyton was their dress shop! Giselle looked less impressed, only giving Francesca a side glance. “Oh, I’m sorry, your ladyship, I wasn’t aware.” She turned to her partner. “There’s a countess in our dress shop.”

“We’ve had a duke.”

“Your brother doesn’t count.”

The Countess raised a brow. “Walsh… Your brother is the Duke of Feldsbury?”

“Yes. Have you met him?”

“I first met him at a party two months ago—we are mutual friends with Mrs. Jack Porter. He’s a bit of a Casanova, but he's handsome, very intelligent, and makes delightful conversation.” She smirked. “My husband, on the other hand, finds him impertinent.” 

Francesca snickered. 

“That sounds like my brother. …He was forced to accept the title and its responsibilities when not even being aware of it until after the war, so he cares very little of what society thinks of him and will likely do everything in his power to dredge the name of the late duke.”

The Countess nodded. “Well, I never liked the late duke.”

“Well, back to your request, your ladyship. When is the party?” Giselle asked, grabbing her notepad and pencil.

“Four days from now.”

Giselle frowned. “And you want a custom dress?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, but a custom design and pattern would at least take me two weeks, my lady.”

Lady Lyton sighed. “Oh. I see.”

“Well,” Francesca interrupted, gesturing to the dress she’d just set up, “I saw you admiring this, and Miss Walsh only finished it yesterday. There is no other dress like it, and tailoring at most only takes a few days if we do measurements now.”

Giselle nodded eagerly. “Yes, and if you wish, I could add some extra embellishments if desired, and it could be ready to be picked up the morning of your party.”

The Countess looked impressed. “You ladies know how to work a deal.” She glanced at the dress. “I will be telling everyone I know about the Duke of Feldbury’s sister and her delightfully modern dress shop.”

Giselle and Francesca couldn’t help but beam. 

[meiko333]

Monster High Icons

Like and/or reblog if you save/use

[al1enpr1nce]

The Hargreeves at Walt Disney World

by me, a longtime brellie/cast member

Luther:

Probably fits the bill of a Disney adult the most.

Wears those cheesy “family trip!” shirts, Mickey ears, the whole nine yards.

Tries to get the rest of the family to wear matching shirts- it does not go well.

Freaks out on Tower of Terror but ends up loving it.

Dad jokes at any given opportunity

He gets mistaken for Beast at some point during the trip. He’s not mad about it.

Full on sobs at Happily Ever After

Favorite ride is Mission Space or Cosmic Rewind and he loves the Mickey Pretzels.

Diego:

Trash talks the others before heading into Space Ranger Spin and Toy Story Mania- he loses to Allison and Claire both times. He’s very bitter about it.

However, he is very good at gunner on Smuggler’s Run. Actually, he just loves Galaxy’s Edge as a whole, mainly for the costumes.

Loves the fast paced coasters- Tron, Cosmic, Everest, Rockin Roller (has a special love for Slinky Dog but he’ll never admit it.)

Uses his powers to win a toy for Lila at the Dinorama carnival.

He and Ben team up to secretly book Five an appointment at the Bippity Boppity Boutique.

Favorite ride is Tron and favorite snack is the spiced corn from Harambe.

Allison:

TIANA AND NAVEEN DISNEYBOUND WITH RAY!!!

Claire dresses up as either Lottie or Moana

They just geek out at Tiana’s Bayou Adventure as a whole tbh. They never want to leave

Free lightning lanes all day with this girl!

The photo op QUEEN. Makes everyone stop for a photo in front of the castle and it actually turns out really cute

Loves the Festival of Fantasy parade (and secretly dreams of young Allison who wanted to be a princess too)

Aside from Tiana’s, loves going on the teacups with Claire and Klaus and just Hollywood studios in general

Fave ride is Tiana’s and fave snack is cotton candy :)

Klaus:

A little overwhelmed at first, but manages to settle in and have fun

Shares his journey of sobriety with a CM who makes him a celebratory badge for it, he wears it and is congratulated by dozens of people which makes him quite emotional

Gets really into pin trading with Claire (blind boxes are his specialty. He has a knack for guessing what pin he’s going to get)

Not a fan of most of the rides but he does like the Peoplemover and Kilimanjaro safaris, and the Pandora rides

Does love meeting characters though, especially the ones that will talk with him :)

Content to spend most of his time pin trading and relaxing in the quieter parts of the park (he loves Animal Kingdom)

Constantly talks about how much of an entertainment masterpiece Fantasmic is (because it is!!!!)

Fave ride is Flight of Passage and fave snack is the churros from Nomad Lounge. iykyk

Five:

The poor victim of a prince makeover via Diego and Ben

Surprisingly, besides the ton of pixie dust, he doesn’t hate it. He chooses Prince Philip

Is understandably upset when they won’t let him drink around the world (Allison and Ben help with this, and he does complete his goal)

Loves the classic rides/shows like Pirates, Tiki Room, Carousel of Progress and the Jungle Cruise (the skipper told a really old joke that only he understood)

Loves learning history and facts about the parks from CMs. Is the master of the Cast Compliment

Judges Luther for crying at Happily Ever After (but loves the show on the inside)

Fave ride is Carousel of Progress and fave snack is anything from Les Halles in France.

Ben:

Wears his jacket to the parks and complains about the heat literally all the time

Total coaster junkie like Diego- they end up on a lot of the rides together.

Is the first one awake in the morning and the one to yell at them all to get moving

Handles the dining reservations because he “doesn’t trust them to pick somewhere good”

he accidentally books a restaurant in the wrong park

loves to make universal jokes

also has definitely asked a CM where Cinderella’s castle is (while standing in magic kingdom)

Fave ride is Everest and fave snack is the pizza spring rolls outside Adventureland.

Viktor:

The mediator, of course

Brings cute handmade presents for the CMs

Prefers the chill boat rides over the intense ones (Tiana’s, Pirates, Navi, Jungle, Frozen, Gran Fiesta)

wears a family trip shirt to match Luther <3

Has a special love for the Philharmagic and Muppetvision shows

Loves the entertainment. Will sit and watch the castle stage show all day if he could.

Loves taking photos of the parks and silly selfies with his family

fave ride is Gran Fiesta and fave snack is a classic dole whip

Lila:

Also fits the bill of a classic Disney adult, but in a different way- cute workout fit, Minnie ears, sunnies, a loungefly or Vera Bradley, Joffrey’s in hand

This girl loves her Joffrey’s

Will not stop staring at the castle. Seriously. Diego has to drag her away to get her focused.

He does surprise her with dinner at Cinderella’s Royal Table though. She’s ecstatic. (Forget the others- they can eat at Tony’s.)

Also loves the coasters- she purchases the photo of her and Diego on Tron and frames it.

Loves meeting the princesses and taking photos with them!

Definitely a big Haunted Mansion enjoyer (Klaus is not, for the record.)

Most likely to be a Disney content creator

Also the one pestering the others that they need to go to Universal too

Fave ride is Tron and fave snack is dark chocolate strawberries from the Confectionary.

please let me know if you have any other ideas for this this has just been clawing at my brain all day today 🫶

[nicistrying]

Sat 6th Jan

Got up nice and early this morning and had the most beautiful winter morning walk with my girl watching the sun come up as we went along! And a bonus rainbow 🌈

We saw Maggie's friend Boo (an older collie, I think he's like 9 but they love playing together, he barks for her from the other end of the field when he sees us 🥹) We also saw so many deer! They weren't too fazed by us so we got to stand and watch them from a distance before they toodled away

Then had my dress fitting which was sooo lovely and relaxed. When I went to my sister in law's fitting with her, she had gone to this fancy boutique where they made a big fuss over her and it was lovely and felt really special, but I would have hated that myself. So I went to a local seamstress instead, she had this tiny top floor studio in the middle of town that I would never have known even existed and she just said hello, told me to go get my dress on and she put her pins in then told me to take it off again. We chatted away all the time but it was such a relief to not be fussed around. She didn't ask anything about the wedding, about Matt, nothing lol literally just put her pins in, I asked if she would sew me some cups in bc ya girl needs some kind of cleavage on her wedding day and she just laughed and said that would be no problem. I am sooo happy with her tbh. I was only there for 15 minutes! Got the bus halfway home and walked the rest as I had to stop off at the pharmacy, it was nice to be out in the sunshine again. Got home and did a load of housework, took all the Christmas decorations down and put them away in the loft, and put up a couple of pictures I've been meaning to get round to. Had a snack then went upstairs to work out and got a really solid upper body session done! It felt great

Made veggie curry for dinner, now relazing in the bath. Going to read my book in bed and hopefully have a good night's sleep bc I have another busy day lined up tomorrow 😴

[gnabnahc317cb97]

The Field of Flowers

Chan x female reader

Word count: 7.9k

Warnings: MDNI 18+ ONLY! Strong language/cursing, Unprotected piv intercourse (use your head and condoms please), a little praise, of course pet names (baby girl/baby), M/C cries after sex (?), aftercare, ANGST, elements of anxiety and depression disorders, depictions of panic attacks and depressive episodes throughout the story. If these can be triggering topics for you please skip reading. Again, if I ever miss anything that should be in the warnings I apologize in advance. Please let me know and I will add them!

It had been a pretty typical morning for you so far. You had woken up a little down but you struggled with depression and anxiety so that wasn’t abnormal for you. You were adamant that you weren’t going to let it control your day today though. You tidied up around you and Chan’s apartment that you had shared together for about two months now and then you washed up, got dressed, and got ready to leave to run a few errands. You decided to make a little lunch for Chan and stop by work to see him while you were out getting things done. Knowing him if you didn’t take him lunch, he wouldn’t stop to eat until dinner time or even later. So, with his lunch in hand, you left your apartment building. You decided to walk since everything you had to do was fairly close together. You were also hoping the exercise and sunshine might help elevate your mood a bit before you saw Chan.

You dropped the mail off at the post, stopped by the little boutique Chan liked and got the shampoo and conditioner that he’d run out of, dropped some books you had read at the neighborhood book share box, and then headed towards Chan’s studio. When you walked into the building where Chan worked you went up to the front desk and flashed your ID at the girl behind the counter that was more than acquainted with your face at this point, then signed in before heading to the elevators. When the elevator doors opened you and quite a few other people got on. You weren’t the best at being in such close proximity to strangers, it made you incredibly nervous so by the time you got to the floor Chan’s studio was on you were a little antsy again. You took a few deep breaths as you walked down the hall. Once you were at Chan’s door you took one more deep breath before you tapped lightly on it. It only took a minute for the door to open and you were met with moppy hair, a huge smile, and chubby cheeks.

“Hey Y/N! I didn’t know you were coming by today!” Jisung said as he moved aside to allow you to enter.

“It’s a surprise, I brought Chan some lunch.” You walked in and at the sound of his name Chan turned around and saw you standing there holding a lunch box and bottle of water. A smile spread across his entire face but as happy as he was you couldn’t help but notice how exhausted he looked. He was pale and his eyes were dark, his curls a bit unruly, and his lips were a little raw from him chewing at them while worrying and concentrating on whatever track him and the guys had been working on all this time. He stood up and walked over to you, grabbing the lunch box and water and giving you a quick peck on the lips. He sat the food down on his desk and then turned back and pulled you in for a proper hug and kiss to thank you for the sweet gesture.

“Thank you, baby girl.” He planted another, more lingering kiss on your lips and Jisung made a dramatic puke face.

“Gross I’m out. I’ll be back after lunch!” Chan laughed as he stood there with his arms around you his hands resting on your back.

“Alright Ji I’ll see you after bit man.” Jisung smiled and winked at you and made his way out of the studio leaving the two of you alone. Once Jisung was gone Chan leaned in and gave you a deeper kiss than before. He pulled you tight against his body and traced the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip before sliding it across yours. You ran your fingers through his messy curls as your tongues teased each other, earning a low groan from your boyfriend. Chan’s hands traveled from your back down to grab your hands full your ass and squeeze but you had to tut him because this was not what you had intended when you came to see him at work.

“Channie…” His lips refused to leave yours as you called him.

“Mmmhm.. Cha.. mmhhm…Channieeee.” Your hands came to rest against the firm pectoral muscles of his chest and you lightly pushed at him and laughed. When his lips finally parted from yours, he looked at you giving you a pouty face.

“Oh, now don’t give me that face. I came here to bring you lunch not to…” You gestured between the two of you to get your point across and Chan smirked.

“Not to fuck me?” Blush started creeping up your neck at his blunt words.

“Yes precisely.” You tried to sound unbothered, like his words didn’t have an effect on you. You were certain you didn’t succeed because Chan ducked his head down and started kissing your neck as he continued to knead your ass in his hands.

“I just want to properly thank you baby girl.” His voice was low as he spoke, his lips lingering close to your skin. You braced yourself against his chest and he nibbled at a particularly ticklish spot, you let out another little laugh. You were melting under his hands and lips as usual and you were starting to lose this battle that you weren’t sure you really wanted to win in the first place. Just as you felt Chan sink his teeth into the crook of your neck and shoulder and run his tongue along the bite, just as you were finally giving in to the temptation that was your gorgeous boyfriend, Changbin walked into the studio.

“OH SHIT! Uh… sorry to uh… interrupt. The door was unlocked.” You pushed Chan off you. Your face was beet red, your heart racing, embarrassed. You tried to explain.

“No uh.. it’s okay Bin we weren’t…” If possible, your face burned even hotter as your words caught in your throat. You could feel your heart beat in your ears.

“I mean I… uh I was just about to go get a coffee. Do you want coffee?” Changbin couldn’t help the small smile that crept on his face at your flustered state, being caught in a somewhat compromising position with Chan but he didn’t want to make you more uncomfortable so he let it go instead of teasing.

“No thank you Y/N I’m good.” You turned to Chan who, at first was grinning like the cat that caught the canary but when he saw the look on your face, how anxious and uncomfortable you seemed his face turned serious. He grabbed your hand and ran his thumb along the back of it.

“Hey, are you alright?” You nodded and forced a smile.

“Yea you and Changbin do your thing. I’m just gonna get a little air and grab some coffee and then I’ll come back and sit with you while you eat your lunch, okay?” Chan looked at you for a minute and after you gave him another tight smile he shook his head, leaned in, and kissed your cheek.

“Okay baby, if you’re sure.” You nodded again and excused yourself as you walked past Changbin who moved aside giving you an apologetic smile. Once you were out of the small studio you didn’t feel like you were suffocating quite so much. You made your way down to the lobby and out of the building taking a deep breath of air in once you were outside. Your racing heart was starting to slow back down and you started to walk towards the café that was just a little down the block. You got your coffee quickly and headed straight back so that Chan wasn’t waiting to eat any longer than he already had. When you had made it back you noticed the studio door was cracked so you went to walk in without knocking this time but before you could, you over heard Chan and Changbin talking.

“God, I have been so stressed lately. I’m just completely exhausted. I feel like I’m about at my breaking point man.” It was Chan speaking. You waited to go in and listened more. You knew he looked tired and if he was admitting it then he had to be bad. It stressed you out to no end and you worried about him, about his health.

“There’s just so much going on. Performances, producing, photo shoots, fan signs, work in general you know and then home.” You held your breath at the mention of home and Chan continued.

“Just the move, we’re still getting all the way settled, which causes stress, and Y/N has needed a bit more attention because of it. You know new environment, change, it’s hard, she’s been having a lot of anxiety issues and with everything else it’s a lot sometimes but she is trying…” His words gave you a sudden sharp pain in your heart. You backed away from the door as you felt tears stinging your eyes. You were on the list of things that were stressing him out. You were supposed to be taking away from that list not adding to it.

You did have panic attacks a lot, especially recently. Because you didn’t like the way your medicine made you feel you often wouldn’t take it until the panic attack was already on top of you. When you were in the middle of particularly bad ones Chan always made sure you were okay enough for him to run and grab your pills before he left you, coming back with your meds and some juice. When you would calm down enough to stand being touched again, he would hold you, run his fingers through your hair and hum a quiet song, sometimes you knew it and sometimes it was just his own. If Chan wasn’t dealing with that it was your low lows. When you went into an active depressive state it would take hours of him trying to get you out of bed. Bribing you with food that you loved that didn’t sound appetizing or walks by the river that were usually one of your favorite things to do with Chan. If that didn’t work usually, he could get you to agree to sit up and drink water at least. He was good at convincing you things were really easier than what they seemed to you. So, once you were up drinking it was easier to get you to say yes to ramen and movies on the couch and eventually after a day or two, Chan would pull you back up from the chasm you’d fallen into.

He did ALL that for you plus everything else he’d just named and MORE! You were on the list, not helping take away from it. Instead of going into the studio you backed away and turned back towards the elevator. The tears in your eyes starting to roll down your cheeks as you waited for the elevator to open. Just as the doors opened you saw Jisung coming through from the stair well at the other end of the hall. When he saw you, he flashed you his mega-watt smile.

“Hey Y/N you leaving already? I haven’t gotten to see you yet.” You quickly put your head down pretending you didn’t see or hear him, not wanting Jisung to see you crying. You didn’t want him to know you were upset, if he saw you crying then Chan would know and he’d worry and would want to know why and… if you didn’t get out of there now you were going to panic. You hurried into the elevator as soon as the doors were all the way open and started pressing the close door button immediately. When you didn’t answer Jisung, at first, he thought maybe you didn’t hear him. He thought you had seen him but he was far enough away that maybe he was wrong. He started jogging down to the elevator so he could see you quickly before you left. You started to calm down when you saw the doors first starting to close but just as they closed a little further, Jisung’s face appeared. You looked up wide eyed, shocked to see him at the elevator already when he had been so far down the hall before. When he saw you tears streaked your face and the smile that was on his fell just as the doors closed. Alone in the elevator you took deep breaths trying to calm both your panic and crying. When the doors opened again you quickly made your way through the lobby and out of the building. You started towards yours and Chan’s apartment as fast as possible dead set on what you had just decided.

Jisung was confused, were you crying? What happened? He walked down to the studio and walked in finding Chan and Changbin acting totally normal, still talking, now about the track they had all been working on. Jisung squinted his eyes at them, his tongue poked out a bit, and he hiked his thumb back.

“I just saw Y/N by the elevators…” Chan smiled when Jisung said your name.

“Oh, she must be back from getting her coffee is she right behind you?” Jisung shook his head and Changbin noticed the slightly uneasy look on Jisung’s face.

“No, she was getting in the elevator she, she looked like she was crying.” Chan’s smile fell from his face. Had the incident with Changbin shaken you up more than he’d realized? He grabbed his phone and tried to call you but you didn’t answer. He decided to give you a bit, maybe you actually were more upset about the Changbin thing than he’d thought and you just wanted to get home. Chan waited until he thought you should be back at the apartment and tried calling again but still no answer. He waited a few minutes in between and tried to call a couple more times, then he texted you. ‘Hey are you okay? Jisung said you were leaving and looked upset. Do you need me?’

 Your phone rang again. You didn’t look at it, you knew who it was and you had no intention of answering it. You couldn’t, not when you knew he would just coax you into spilling out everything that was wrong, talk you out of what you had to do. The caring, selfless person that he was, he would tell you everything that he knew you needed to hear and he would talk you down to his own detriment, because you would still be on the list of things that added to his stress. You heard your phone ding with a text notification. You picked it up to see what Chan had said. ‘Hey are you okay? Jisung said you were leaving and looked upset. Do you need me?’

Do you need me? Your heart hurt. But you would still be on the list of things that added to his stress. You hit the button on the side of your phone making the screen go black and put it in your pocket before throwing the last of the clothes you needed into your suit case and zipping it closed. You went out into the living room and you sat at the desk you kept in the corner. You opened the middle drawer, pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and started writing. The tears were back in your eyes more prevalent than before, fat drops falling from your nose to the page making the ink bleed a little where they hit. You tried to write as clearly as possible through your tear blurred vision. When you were done you folded it, put it in an envelope, and wrote Chan’s name on the outside of it before bringing it to your lips and kissing it. You set it down on the living room table, grabbed your suit case and left even though it shattered your heart to do so. But you wouldn’t be on the list of things that added to his stress.

Back at the studio Chan was REALLY starting to worry it had been about thirty minutes since Jisung had seen you leaving. “Guys if she doesn’t call or text in the next fifteen minutes, I’m going to check on her.” Changbin and Jisung nodded in understanding. Jisung had anxiety too so knew better than anyone how it was when you felt like the world was closing in on you and you couldn’t control your bodies response. The feeling of losing control only added to the panic you already felt which added and so on until you spiraled and shut down or screamed. Chan understood that sometimes when it was like that you needed space to come back to your senses BUT sometimes you needed help coming back, someone to ground you. Chan was trying to be a good boyfriend by doing what he could, by treading the line of giving you space to sort things out and going to check on you to see if you needed help. When it was rounding the forty-minute mark Chan was getting fidgety. It only took twenty minutes to walk home and if you were upset surly that would be where you would go. As soon as the hand on the clock hit the fifteen-minute mark Chan had set, he sprung up from his chair to start towards your apartment.

“Let us know what’s up hyung!” Changbin called out and Chan was out the door with a wave in reply. Chan did his best not to sprint the whole way to the apartment but by the time he got there he was sweating, curls sticking to his forehead, and his chest was heaving from the exertion. He unlocked and burst through the door of your apartment calling out to you immediately and getting no response. He checked the kitchen and living room quickly and then made his way down the hall, checking the guest room, the office, the bathroom and finally your shared bedroom. You weren’t anywhere in the apartment and now Chan was really panicking. What if you’d gotten hurt? What if something happened to you? Chan pulled out his phone and called you again. Straight to voicemail. His heart sank. He couldn’t put his finger on one exact reason but he knew something was terribly wrong. He ran back out to the living room and a white envelope on the table, that he hadn’t seen before, caught his eye. He picked it up and saw his name written on the outside in your beautifully delicate handwriting. Now his heart was in his throat and he thought he might throw up. His hands shook as he opened the envelope, pulled out the letter and began to read.

Channie,

I just can’t stay and do this to you anymore. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for any pain I have caused you. Just know that this is for the best. It’s what’s best. I know it may not seem like it now and it doesn’t seem fair that we didn’t get goodbye but I knew if I waited. If I stayed for goodbye, that I wouldn’t do it and I have to. I have to leave. Promise to take care of yourself and to be happy. You deserve all of the happiness and peace in the world and I hope you find it. I love you Chan, I always will.

       Always yours,

  Y/N  

Chan choked out a sob and crumpled the letter in his hands as he sank down on the couch and cried.  What did you mean it was what was best? Always yours? How can that be if you’re gone? Chan curled up there on the couch with your letter and cried until he fell asleep from exhaustion. When Changbin and Jisung never heard from Chan they decided to go check on you both. It was dark by the time they reached the apartment and from the looks of it, it seemed like all the lights were off. They debated whether to go or to knock but decided they were already there, so they went ahead and knocked on the door.

Chan woke up to the sound of their knocking. His eyes were heavy, difficult to open because they were so swollen from sleeping and crying but he managed to squint and walk his way to the front door with your letter still clutched in his hand. Maybe it was you. Maybe you had come back. When he opened the door, he put up his hand to block his face, blinded by the hall lights for a minute.

When Chan's vision came back, he moved his hand and saw Jisung and Changbin standing there. The small bit of hope fell from his face and his heart broke again. He had been half asleep and not thinking. They were knocking, why would YOU be knocking. You would have walked in. You would have woken him from the couch and scolded him for not sleeping in bed. You would have kissed him all the way to your room before making love and falling asleep in his arms. You wouldn’t have knocked, of course it wasn’t you. When the guys saw Chan, they both immediately could tell something was definitely not right.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Jisung was able to blurt out first. Chan’s broad shoulders were slunk down and even though he’d gotten a few hours of sleep he looked absolutely terrible.

“She’s gone.” Was all he could choke out. He held out your letter as the tears welled and fell from his eyes again. Changbin grabbed the crunched-up piece of paper from Chan and his eyes started scanning it. He frowned at the tear-soaked page, looked at Jisung, and shook his head.

You got a hold of to an old school friend that lived in the country and they offered to let you with them for a while. You thought maybe you needed some time in the quiet, maybe if you were far enough away it wouldn’t hurt so much. Instead, once you got there, you ended up turning your phone off, closing the curtains, getting into bed and staying there. Your friends gave you a couple days before they intervened but no matter how hard your friends tried they couldn’t get you to get up out of bed. Two weeks of practically force -feeding you ramen, crackers, and water, willing you to get up one of the days each week and at least shower, which you begrudgingly did so. Finally, you managed to drag yourself out of the bed on your own. It wasn’t easy and you were still unbearably sad but you got yourself up and dressed. Baby steps.

The first couple days you stuck close to the farm house. You did dishes and cleaned up some to try and make up for what you had put your friends through the last couple of weeks. Having been in bed so long after a couple days around the house, you started to get a little stir crazy. So, you went on a walk. About a mile or so up the road from the house there was a field of tall grass and wild flowers. Each day that week you went on a walk to that field. You would look out at it and think about Chan. You would day dream about old memories of you two together and wonder what he was doing right then and then when you couldn’t take your own thoughts any more you would go back to the house. Finally, one day when you got to your field instead of just standing there, you actually walked into it. You ran your hands over the tops of the tall grass and went through picking a few of the wild flowers here and there. Some that you thought were pretty, some that you thought Chan would think were pretty, until you had a bouquet of the random flowers. The sun was warm and when you walked through the field it felt good to air out and breathe in the beautiful smell of the flowers. Yet still despite that your heart still felt like it was made of iron. It was so heavy in your chest. You made your way back to your friend’s house.

When you got to the farm house you put the flowers you had picked into a vase you found and decided it was time to turn on your phone and try and get back to the real world. Time to figure what normal was going be for you now. When you turned on your phone, as expected, all of the texts and missed call notifications from the last 3 weeks came pouring in, most of which were Chan but there were also some from other friends and the guys also checking in on you. You looked at the first few texts Chan sent. All of what you saw of them was him pleading for you to come back and talk to him. To tell him what was wrong. Why you left. Where are you? Are you okay? You stopped reading and deleted the rest. You looked at a few from your other friends and some from the guys and then you marked all as read and put your phone in your pocket. Just as you did it started to ring. Surprised, you grabbed it and looked at the screen seeing Felix’s name and the picture you had of him grinning ear to ear. The corner of your mouth turned up a little seeing his bright smile as you contemplated and then decided to swipe and answer. When Felix heard the click of the phone picking up, he was elated. He, as well as the others and especially Chan, had all been trying to call you for weeks to no avail. When he heard your voice, he about burst.

“Hello? Lix?” You sounded drained, but it was really you. He didn’t mean to but his all his words starting coming out like vomit.

“Oh my god! Y/N! Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to come get you? Are you safe?” You had to interrupt him to get a word in to answer the questions he had already spewed out at you.

“I’m okay Lix. I’m with some of my old school friends. I am safe don’t worry.” Felix huffed a half laugh incredulously.

“Don’t worry!? It’s been weeks we’ve all been worried sick Y/N, especially Chan, he…” You cut Felix off again.

“Don’t. I… don’t tell me. I know okay. I just I did what I felt like was the right thing, what I KNEW was the right thing.” Felix didn’t understand. From what he’d heard about that day from the guys, there wasn’t anything that would warrant you leaving so abruptly like that.

“Why though? Why do you think that?” You let out a long sigh. It was a lot to get into on the phone and Felix realized that.

“Look come have lunch with me tomorrow please? Talk to me.” You were unsure if you were ready to do that. You didn’t know if you’d be able to talk about it and you weren’t sure if you were ready to see any of the guys yet. You knew you couldn’t see Chan. You wouldn’t. Felix could sense your apprehension even over the phone.

“Please Y/N, just lunch, just with me. I’ll meet you in the lobby at work.” You took a deep breath and decided to agree under one condition.

“Okay Lix, just you, just lunch, and I’ll meet you outside the building. I don’t want to risk running into Chan while I’m there. It won’t help anything.” Felix agreed to your terms.

“Okay Y/N. 2pm tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow Lix.” He gave you a little hum.

“Take care of yourself Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow.” After you hung up with Felix you started to gather your things from around the farm house. You hugged your friends, and thanked them profusely for allowing you to stay there and for helping you. Of course they were happy to, they loved you just the same as they always had. Even if you didn’t get to see each other as often as before, they would always love you and be there for you and they made sure you knew that before you grabbed your suitcase and headed back towards the city.

It was night by the time you got back. You got a room and immediately crashed, all the emotions of the day, the weeks really, catching up to you. You fell into the big soft bed in your hotel room and drifted to sleep quickly. The next morning you woke up groggy. You may have fallen asleep easily but you had nightmares all night and it was not a restful sleep. You got up and showered, got dressed and fuddled around until it was time to meet Felix. You were outside of the building, like you had agreed, at five till two. You texted Felix to let him know you were there and then you waited. After about ten minutes he texted you back.

‘I’m so sorry! I’m running behind finishing something up. Can you meet me up in the practice room?’ Your heart started racing. You didn’t want to even risk going into the building let alone up to the same floor as Chan’s studio. You text Felix back.

‘Lix please just meet me down here. I told you… I can’t.’ Your chest felt tight and your tried to do your breathing. Your text notification went off again.

‘I’m the only one here. It won’t take me too long but you shouldn’t wait out on the street for me. Just come up. Please?’ You let out an exasperated sigh but decided if you weren’t at risk of running into Chan then it should be okay. You went into the building and walked up to the same counter as usual, with the same girl sitting behind it. It had been quite a while since she’d seen you last and she looked a little surprised but regardless, you flashed your ID and signed in before heading for the elevator and to the practice room where Felix was.

So, Felix might have fibbed just a little. He was alone in the practice room but Chan was there in his studio working, or at least trying to. He hadn’t been able to do much of anything the last three weeks that you had been gone. Knowing that, Felix made sure to do what he could to convince Chan to go to work that day. You stepped off the elevator and looked down the hall opposite of Chan’s studio, towards the practice room, searching for Felix. Then you heard the familiar squeak of Chan’s studio door opening from behind you. You froze. When you finally made yourself turn around and look, you saw Chan walking out and your heart crumbled to dust. He looked even worse than the last time you’d seen him. His eyes puffy, worry lines more prominent on his face, he looked pale and gaunt. He clearly had not been eating or sleeping well. His eyes scanned up from his feet and met your figure standing there in the hall. He stood there expressionless for a moment. He was certain he had finally slipped into delirium from lack of sleep. He rubbed his eyes and opened them again. You were still there. Felix hadn’t told Chan he’d spoken to you or that he was supposed to be having lunch with you that day. So, when Chan saw you standing there and he realized you weren’t a walking day dream, he was in shock. Then he was angry. He was relieved to see you of course. Beside himself knowing that you were safe, although you looked like you had been through hell yourself the last few weeks. Still, he couldn’t help the anger that bubbled inside along with all of his other emotions. You saw him make a b line for you and you bounced on the balls of your feet nervously. When he was there, right in front of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at his face. He looked so angry walking up to you. You stared at the floor trying to get words to come out but they kept dying on the tip of your tongue.

“Chan… I…” Was all you could manage. Chan didn’t say anything. He just gently grabbed your hand and pulled you towards his studio. Once you both were in the room Chan closed and locked the door. Now that you were able to speak privately. Chan spun around to face you unable to hold back his emotions anymore and they came out in the form of rage.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! YOU JUST LEFT ME! HOW COULD YOU JUST LEAVE ME LIKE THAT Y/N?!” His face was red and he had huge tears welling up in his big brown eyes. You were speechless. He had never even raised his voice in anger in front of you, he had certainly NEVER yelled at YOU like that before. You didn’t know what to say. You stood there stunned.

“ANSWER ME!” He yelled again the veins in his forehead and neck becoming more prominent the angrier he got. You jumped and choked on your words as you too started to cry. You managed to swallow the lump in your throat and form the words to answer him.

“I couldn’t stay knowing that I was hurting you, that I was holding you down.” You sobbed out and Chan’s face fell. He didn’t yell again but his voice was still serious laced with confusion.

“What are you talking about?” You bit at your lips nervously trying to keep yourself from slipping into a panic attack. You took a deep shuddering breath.

“That day… I over heard you and Changbin talking…” Chan didn’t understand. He racked his brain trying to remember him and Changbin’s conversation. What he could have said that would make you think that you were doing any of those things to him. You continued.

“You were talking about how tired and stressed you were with work, home….” You choked on another sob.

“Me. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay knowing that I was adding to that. That I was another piece of your life that was wearing you down instead of building you up, supporting you. I couldn’t Chan…. I couldn’t….” You gasped trying to get enough air and calm down as you started to shake and cry harder and Chan finally realized what you were talking about. His anger started melting away and he took a step closer to you, reaching out to pull you into his embrace, which only made you sob harder against him.

“Baby, I�� I didn’t mean it like that. You do support me, you add to the joy in my life not the pain, don’t you see that?” You shook your head against his chest. You couldn’t.

“Y…you just always have to deal with so much and then on top of that you are always helping me when I’m anxious or having lows. I don’t help. I’m whittling away at you Chan. I’m not good for you.” Chan took your face into his hands gently and made you look at him.

“Listen to me do you understand?! You absolutely do NOT whittle away from me do you hear me? You make me whole Y/N. You being with me has made me the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. I will always comfort you when you need it, helping you through your lows and your fears, it’s not a burden to me. It is the hardest way I know how to love you.” Chan held your face firmly so you couldn’t look away, though you tried. You looked into his eyes and you saw that he truly meant what he said. There was not an ounce of doubt or dishonesty in what he was telling you.

“No matter what, the one thing that’s always there, the one constant for BOTH of us, is that we have each other. You’re it for me Y/N, always got that? Always. Promise me baby, promise me you will never leave me like that again.” Tears were streaking Chan’s face and yours. You had never heard Chan say anything like that before. You knew he loved you but he had never so been so outright about saying he saw forever with you. Your bottom lip quivered and you shook your head as tears continued to stream from your eyes. His smile spread all the way to his eyes, his hands still cupping your face, he pulled you in and kissed you. His fingers gently grazed your face as you shared the sweet kiss. Your hands pressed against his chest, stabilizing yourself. Lightheaded from the surge of different emotions, or Chan’s kiss, or both. Chan pulled away, wrapping his arms around your waist and rested his head against yours. You looked into each-others eyes and then he kissed you again, more passionately. Chan started walking you back towards the couch. He sat down and pulled you to sit on top of him your legs straddling his lap. His lips traveled, down your jaw to your neck and he gently kissed and licked the spots he knew made you weak while his hands roamed your body over your clothes. Your skin started to burn under his touch even through the clothes. It was so much so fast you weren’t sure what was going on or if it should be. You pulled away and put your hands against Chan’s shoulders stopping him.

“Chan…” He could hear the uncertainty in your voice. His hands came up to cup your face again, your own falling to your sides as he looked at you with his endless brown eyes. He kissed you softly, his pouty full lips gently pressed to yours, pulling away he met your eyes again.

“Baby girl, I missed you so much.” Another tender kiss placed by his plump lips. They hovered over yours, both of your eyes closed.

“It’s okay baby.” His voice was a whisper. Another kiss, deeper than the last and his hands started traveling from your face down your neck, finger tips brushing gently as Chan’s hands came to rest against your breasts over your shirt and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. You were breathless panting against his lips, he parted from yours again only enough to form words.

“It’s okay… it’s okay. Let me take care of you baby girl. Let me make love to you.” Chan’s head dipped and his lips pressed against and softly sucked at the pulse point on your neck while gently squeezing your breasts together. You rested your hands against his firm abs as his hands moved from your breasts to your waist, pulling you closer to him. You slid over his lap and suddenly you could feel Chan’s erection underneath you, pressing against your already sensitive pussy. His eyes closed and a soft pant left him with the new pressure against his cock, his warm breath ghosted your neck. Your hands slid up Chan’s chest and rested on his broad shoulders and you pressed your core down more firmly against his hard on, sliding over his lap again. This time Chan let out a grunt and his hips jerked up searching for even more friction. Chan’s hands continued moving lower past your waist, until he was lightly gripping your ass, urging you to continue moving while he thrusted up into your jean covered cunt. Chan’s mouth was on yours again peppering kisses against your jaw before claiming your lips yet again. Grinding against his cock while he devoured your lips had you soaking wet you could feel the fabric of your panties starting to stick to you. You applied a little pressure to Chan’s shoulders with your palms and stopped him again. He quickly did so, pulling away and looking at you tenderly, breathless. You bit at your bottom lip, your face flushed and your eyes blown with lust. Chan didn’t think you could look more beautiful. You were always beautiful but especially so right now like that. Your hands came up and you ran your fingers through his curls. Chan closed his eyes at the gentle contact. Your hands traced down his face and cupped his jaw. You stopped and he opened his eyes looking at you again. You leaned in and kissed him this time.

“I need you Chan. Please.” His lips quickly found yours again as he nodded. You quickly stood up off of Chan’s lap and started taking your pants and panties off while Chan frantically pulled his shirt off over his head exposing his chiseled torso before working at removing his pants, lifting his hips and pulling his pants and boxer briefs down his legs together. Before he could get them all the way off you were back on his lap, gripping his shoulders again, your bare wet pussy already grazing his throbbing cock. Chan lost what little control he had left. He pushed your shirt up enough to expose your breasts, wrapped his arms around your midsection and pulled you close enough to latch on to one of your nipples sucking it between his pouty lips and into his wet mouth. His tongue danced over it before he moved to give your other breast the same treatment. He started placing kisses back up your chest and neck before tasting your lips again. His one arm stayed wrapped around your waist holding you in place as his other hand gripped his dick and pushed into your soaked heat. When you felt the tip of Chan’s cock inside you, you sat all the way down on him, taking him whole until you could feel his balls pressed against your ass, feeling the slight sting and delicious stretch he gave you. Chan’s head rolled back and his eyes closed as he fervently chewed at his bottom lip trying to not bust his nut already. With his head still back and eyes still closed, his hands guided your hips to slowly start moving your wet cunt over his length.

“That’s it baby, fuck you feel so tight. Real slow like that for me okay?” You complied and continued to slowly rock back and forth on Chan’s throbbing dick, your palms pressed into his chest for leverage as your knees dug into the couch on either side of his legs. When Chan was finally able to open his eyes and look back up at you, you leaned down and kissed him. Your tongues fighting for dominance as you started to fuck yourself faster on his thick cock. Chan’s hips started thrusting up finding your rhythm quickly helping to work you towards your climax.

“Mmm yes Channie, god that feels so fucking good.” You moaned out as you rode him harder, your hands gripping the back of his neck and hair. You both fucked like that for what seemed like forever. Hips bucking into each other your clit rubbing against the firm muscles directly over his cock as you rubbed your ground your pussy against his hips, his hands gripping, squeezing, and kneading your ass as he urged you to keep moving on top of him. You were so wet now you were dripping down Chan’s balls. You could feel your climax approaching fast, Chan could too. When he felt your walls begin to flutter around his dick, he wrapped his arms firmly around your midsection again.

“Hold on baby girl.” He warned you just before he lifted his hips and you off the couch and started fucking up into you hard and fast. You fell forward catching yourself on the back of the couch, your breasts bouncing in Chan’s face as he continued to pound into your cunt. The sopping wet sound his balls that were soaked in your juices made was pornographic as they made contact with your ass every time he pushed his cock deeper inside you. Chan put one of his hands in the middle of your back and  and the other between your shoulder blades and pulled you down on top of him the rest of the way. He held your firm against him as he pumped his length in and out of you at an almost inhuman pace.  Chan looked up at you on top of him taking his whole cock, a moaning mess as your hair hung down and your soft breasts pressed against his firm chest. He pecked your lips sweetly as he continued to fuck you raw.

“Come on baby, cum for me cum for me beautiful.” He whispered against your lips pecking them in between. You wrapped your arms around Chan’s head threading your fingers through his hair and pulling as your orgasm tore through your body.

“Fuck! Yes Chan! Oh.. Oh my god yes!” You held on to your fists full of Chan’s hair as he continued to fuck you through your climax, coming shortly after you. You let out a soft whimper as you felt Chan’s cum paint your insides while you started to come down from the buzzing in your head.

“That’s my girl, mmm, you take my cum so well baby, you’re so pretty.” He praised you as he pumped his cock into you a couple of more times pushing his cum deep inside you before stilling. Holding you close, his dick still buried inside you. Chan lowed his hips and you down to the floor in front of the couch. You sat there straddling him, your arms wrapped around each other, faces tucked into each-others necks warm puffs of breath exchanged between the two of you, as Chan started to soften inside you. One of Chan’s hands rested on your thigh rubbing gentle circles into your skin as his other hand ran through your hair and down your back, while placing soft kisses on your neck and shoulder. You sat there and held Chan so tight, as you still trembled from your orgasm. You held him like if you loosened your grip on him that he might disappear and then tears started to prick your eyes and fall. Chan felt a warm wet drop hit his shoulder and he pulled you back to see you crying.

“Hey hey hey, baby girl. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” You shook your head as Chan swiped at your tears.

“It’s nothing I’m… I’m just… I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry. I love you so much Chan.” Chan smiled as his heart burst. He kissed your cheeks where your tears had just been wiped away and then pulled you close and held you against his chest.

“Don’t cry baby. It’s all okay now. I love you too. Don’t cry.” Chan sat there cuddling you and running his fingers over your skin, through your hair, soothing you for a good while like that. Finally, Chan got up, lifting you with him, and sat you down on the couch. He pulled his pants and underwear up from his ankles and then helped you clean up and get dressed too. After you both were fully dressed again, Chan slid his hand into yours, weaving your fingers together. You looked up at him and smiled and he kissed your forehead.

“Let’s go home baby girl.”

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

[juicycoutureheaux]

Fixer Upper: An AU Sheriff!Leon Kennedy x Reader Fic

Chapter1 Chapter2 Chapter3

Hey y’all!! I’m back again! I’d like to thank all those who left such nice things to say about the other chapters. This story is going to be a bit longer than anticipated, but that just means more details and drama (oooh!) lol. Again there are some TW, in this chapter. (Mention of suicide). I’d like to think @alewesker & @angelscoda for all their encouragement! You both are amazing and keep me motivated! If you haven’t checked out their blogs you totally should!

You learn that the sharp dressed, curt man that greeted you and Suzanne was none other than Buckley Richards, who worked as a private stylist to Jackie Bouvier Kennedy and Lily Pulitzer.

He was a force in the dressing room, ordering his assistants to grab different fabric swatches of all different colors and textures; comparing them to your skin to see what shade best suited you.

He didn’t hold back his facial expressions either, especially when something was less than flattering.

“No, No!” he would exclaim, commanding the whole studio’s attention. “She is not a winter, she is a summer! I do not want to see those colors again!”

You felt totally detached from your body, it felt like they were dressing up a doll and you despised it. You began to dread your future, because you knew it was going to be filled with nothing but superficial moments and people.

The studio assistants picked you apart, scrubbing your face, your fingernails, just about every bit of your body.

By the end of the 8 hour session, you had been taught how to apply your makeup in “the right way,” the correct way to style your long hair and how to dress for every occasion.

When you looked in the mirror, you were dressed in a prim, but stylish outfit; your hair was pinned behind your ears revealing your now “acceptable” face; your already long dark eyelashes were enhanced by mascara, cheeks now rosy with the help of some light rouge, and your nails were now shined.

It felt as if a stranger was looking back at you. You never saw a problem or cared about your looks before today. Mama and daddy always told you that you didn’t need makeup or a fancy haircut; but, according to Buckley and Miss Suzanne, they were dead wrong.

“Finally, underneath it all, a beautiful girl!” Buckley exclaimed, grabbing you by the arm and leading you to your future mother in law.

“Y/n, you look absolutely stunning!” Suzanne squealed. “You are going to be the perfect wife for my boy! The public will just love you when you make your debut at the party!”

You just smiled a polite, but forced smile. They didn’t seem to notice. The heaviness in your stomach started to creep its way up into your throat; it was starting to consume you.

You were following behind Buckley and Suzanne all the way back to the town car, where the chauffeur was putting away all the shopping in the spacious trunk.

You said your goodbyes to Buckley and thanked him for his hard work.

“Suzanne, you’ve always had the best taste, Y/N is quite the catch.” With that he hugged Suzanne one last time and returned to the boutique.

As he was leaving, Suzanne turned to you. “We’ve invested A LOT into you my dear, I hope that you keep that in mind when Patrick gets into his *way.” She said, pointedly annunciating the last words.

“Just know that it's a part of marriage that we all go through, but think of all the benefits of being married to a man like Patrick! You’ll never be bored ever again!”

“You’re right,” you thought to yourself, “I’ll never be bored because I'll be busy chasing my husband all over the city.”

You decided to keep that thought to yourself.

The chauffeur opened the door open for you and Miss Suzanne. Miss Suzanne got in effortlessly and gracefully. Your head felt like it weighed like 1,000 pounds, and it must have shown. As you made your way into the car the Chauffeur lifted your chin up by his two fingers.

“Chin up madam, you’re going to be the wife of a very important man.”

You looked up sadly and settled in the backseat of the car, praying for silence on the way home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxx

You arrived home at just about dusk. The cicadas were buzzing as the oranges and reds of the sunset stretched out lazily over the horizon.

You thought what it must be like to be a part of the colors of the horizon. You knew the hues were caused by scattering the different light rays; but even then you wondered if there was something sentient behind those sunsets.

If there were, did they know how beautiful and admired they were by those on Earth, or did they look down upon your kind in envy like you looked up at them right now? You wanted to be free, emancipated from your situation, you wanted to be as vast and colorful as the rays in the sky.

Miss Suzanne insisted her chauffeur take your bags in for you as it wasn’t lady like for you to bring in your own shopping. She followed you in with a good sized gift bag; you immediately knew who it was for.

You could tell your mother was waiting excitedly by the door, by how quick she answered. She ushered you all into the foyer.

“Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter for the day, she is just the sweetest thing. I had to bring you something back for my appreciation.” Suzanne said to your mother holding up the large bag from the boutique.

You looked on miserably as your mother pulled out an expensive cocktail dress and an even more expensive looking pair of shoes.

“Suzanne, I don’t know what to say!” Your mother stuttered.

“You don’t have to say anything darling! This is my thank you for letting me have your daughter. I want you two to look your best at the engagement party.”

Your mother had her back turned to you when she and Suzanne shared a friendly embrace. Suzanne winked at you and you acknowledged it as a warning. She had your mama wrapped around her finger and you would be foolish to back out of your engagement to Patrick.

Your mother said her goodbyes and you received a peck on the cheek from Suzanne.

You watched the fancy town car roll away down the dirt road as your mother was showing off her new cocktail dress and shoes to the rest of the family.

“Suzanne is just the sweetest isn’t she, Y/N? You are so lucky you have such a generous woman as your mother in law.”

“Future mother in law.” You corrected her bitterly.

“Oh Y/N don’t be so sour. You have what other girls would kill for. You have to see your blessing!”

“I’m sorry Mama, you’re right.” you said obediently. You were getting used to resigning over your power, maybe it would be easier with time.

You ran up the stairs and into the restroom. You began to take off your makeup with the cold cream you knew your mama had in the cabinet. The mascara and lipstick now melted in a way that contorted your face so much that you looked like a ghoul. You scrubbed until your eyelashes felt soft and your skin was dry.

Your face may have been red and raw, but at least you looked like yourself, or your old self.

You stayed in your small room, hearing the bustling sounds of the house beneath you. Your mother was talking excitedly to Mary-Anne, as daddy and Hank were discussing sports. You wondered if Patrick and his family even interacted with each other at all.

What would they talk about? You came to the realization that you and Patrick had nothing in common at all. When you would go out together and ride in his car, all he talked about was himself. You were so enthralled with the fact that someone like him would even talk to you, that you ignored the fact he was so shallow.

You started to shake, you felt yourself detach from your body. You had to get out of the house, you had to leave. You didn’t know where to go, you had completely sold your life for the happiness of others. You couldn’t run away, they would find you and it would be an embarrassment, more shame.

The only way out you could think of was the unthinkable. If you passed away in an accident, sure your family would miss you, but they wouldn’t have to worry about you. They would just have to worry about putting fresh flowers on your grave or telling Hank & Mary-Anne’s baby about you and how you would almost* marry the most important man in town. To your niece or nephew you would live on as a princess in a fairytale; but fairytales weren’t real and you wouldn’t have a happy ending.

Patrick and his mother could find another, more qualified girl to fix his image, someone that grew up in the right family, who knew all the right etiquette and had all the right clothes.

You had convinced yourself, it was the perfect plan and maybe you would find yourself in the sunset looking back down on the earth, where you longed to be.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There was a fresh dew on the vegetation growing along the path, that brushed up against your bare legs as your bicycle made its way through the tall grass. You were riding as fast as you could, the crickets and frogs making their presence known by their various chirps.

You could see the lake just ahead, you wanted to take one last final obstructed look at the stars before you would join them. You had daddy’s sleeping pills he had been taking since he came home from the war and a bottle of whiskey that he thought no one else knew about. It was wrong taking them from him, but it was the only peaceful way you thought of going.

“It would be like falling asleep,” you had convinced yourself. “I’ll drink the whiskey till I’m drunk and throw the bottle into the water. They’ll just think I went for a swim and drowned.”

You parked your bicycle against the tree, and sat upon the soft grass at the embankment overlooking the deep blue void. As you sat closer to the shore, the wind had started picking you up, like it was a friend, drawing you closer.

The moon was the only source of light out in the wilderness and its brightness called to you, mockingly as if she longed for you to join her out in the vast nothingness, where you could be free.

You waited for an untraceable amount of time, the night was clear, the air was cool and you felt like you were finally where you needed to be. You had begun drinking, the bitter taste of the liquor was unfamiliar and stung your throat. You drink until you become unsteady and sleepy, the breeze feels like it is moving through you, like strings attached to a puppet.

You felt ready enough to unscrew the lid from the pill bottle and empty its contents into your mouth. You were fiddling with the lid for what felt like years when you were spooked by bright lights creeping up behind you. You froze in a stupor as you heard a car door open and shut, followed by heavy footsteps.

You made out the silhouette of a man in the darkness, he didn’t seem to notice you as he walked closer to the edge of the embankment. You saw him bring his fingers to push his hair back behind his face as he let out a sigh and lit a cigarette.

You were focusing on the orange ember of the end of the cigarette and didn’t realize the man had spotted you.

“Y/N?” The familiar voice spoke to you, softly.

You looked up through watery eyes and met the sharp blues of Leon’s.

You couldn’t find the words to speak as he moved closer to you. He found a place next to you and sat down.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice is gentle, just above a whisper.

You couldn’t speak, you just let the tears flow. Your body was still languid and you felt like all your energy was flowing out with your tears.

Leon wrapped an arm around you and you let him, you didn’t realize how cold you were until you felt the warmth from his body on yours.

He smelled of aftershave and tobacco, you leaned in closer to take in all of him.

You started to calm down after being in the embrace for a while, the liquid heat in your belly from the whiskey became soothing after a while.

Leon laid you down so your head was laid on his lap, your long hair was spread out over his legs; the moment was intimate and comforting. You had never felt this kind of comfort before. You were thinking of just drifting off to sleep in his embrace, but he began to speak.

“It's not worth it, Y/N.” he mumbled.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting.

“What?”

“These pills, the alcohol, I know what you came to do.”

You shifted uncomfortably, and turned your head away from him. He began stroking your hair again.

“I had an older sister,” he said, softer.

You looked up and acknowledged that you were listening.

“She was caring, she was vibrant, she was smart,” he paused. “It’s a memory now.”

You raised yourself so your torsos were intertwined, making comfortable eye contact.

“What happened to her, Leon?”

“She married someone that didn’t respect her, someone that wanted to own her, treat her like property. It started off small like the altercation you had with your fiance.” Adding emphasis to the word “altercation.”

“He was just awful to her, would cheat on her, come home drunk. After a while, she finally made a plan to leave him because she had had enough. The night before she was to leave he found out and killed her.” Leon was stoic and she could see the tenseness in his jaw.

“He would have rather snuffed out her light than see her be happy, he took my only living family away. The pain was unbearable, I wanted him to suffer.”

You reached out to caress his face; he surprised you by holding your hand to his face. You wanted to kiss him, to take his pain away.

“I decided the best way to get revenge was to prevent what happened to her, to anyone else.”

“Leon, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

He took his hand away from yours, and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Patrick is trouble, Y/N. I know you know, otherwise you wouldn’t be out here doing something so stupid.” He raised his voice, he was angry, but it sounded like there was hurt in his voice.

Your cheeks turned red from embarrassment, his words stung.

“I didn’t know what else to do, Leon! I feel so trapped, you think I want this kind of life?” You were sobbing. You were full of despair and anguish; you had been holding it in for a long time.

“I know you don’t,” he lowered his voice again and began to rub your back gently. “I know you really don’t want to die either.”

“What am I going to do?” It was a rhetorical question.

“You’re not marrying that asshole.”

“Leon, I wish it were that easy! My mother, she’s over the moon! They’ve already spent so much money on me, I could never repay them in my wildest dreams.”

“They’re manipulating you into staying! Will your mother’s feelings matter when he’s beating the shit out of you? Or when he cheats every night and leaves you alone with your children? When he makes a complete fool out of you in public? Is that really what you want?”

You just began to cry, the sobs escaping from your mouth with so much force, they sounded like choking hiccups.

Leon pulled you closer and let you cry into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so rough with you, Y/N.”

You gripped his shirt and looked up at him, face red and eyes bloodshot.

“I needed that reality check. It's true, I just don’t know if I'm brave enough to leave.”

“I’m going to help you.”

You looked at him surprised. “Leon, why would you help me?”

“Because, Y/n, you’re innocent in all this. You deserve better and you deserve to be happy,”

You smiled an effortless smile. You laid your hand down on top of his. Your heart was beating out of your chest; You no longer felt helpless, this new sensation, you couldn’t quite place it.

He cupped your head behind your ear, his fingers holding your hair out of your face.

“You’re beautiful when you smile.”

You blushed and tried to turn your face away; instead, Leon moved in closer,keeping you in place. You searched his baby blues, for a hint of what he was thinking. He didn’t keep you waiting long before he moved his face closer and enveloped you in an intoxicating kiss.

It was sweet, not like the wanton kiss Patrick had given you before; this was full of fervor. The feeling of his lips meeting yours was akin to actual sparks. The current of electricity reverberated through your body, as you wrapped your arms around his neck instinctively, closing the space between your bodies.

Leon, without breaking the two of you apart, gently laid you down again on the soft grass. He had moved from your lips to the nape of your neck, the feeling causing you to feel a fire in your belly as he caressed your sides.

You had never experienced pleasure like this before, never in your wildest dreams would you have thought a man like Leon would be attracted to you in that way.

You began to panic, you were kissing a man that wasn’t your fiancé, and you were scared. You enjoyed it too much, if Leon had wanted to take it further you would have let him. He was making you feel too good; your mother had always warned you that things that felt too good to be true, were.

“Leon, please, I can’t do this.”

His body went stiff and moved off you immediately.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I’m so sorry, I feel awful.”

“Leon, don’t.” You said gently cradling his face in your hands, your thumb stroking his cheek. “I want you so bad; but I've been promised to Patrick.” You could tell by the wounded look on his face your words pained him.

“It’s obvious you’re too good for him, even though he treats you cruelly.” You flinched at his words, he was right.

“What are we going to do?” You whispered, still holding on to him

He pushed the loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“I know for a fact the Armstrongs are doing shady business dealings, how do you think he got funding for his political campaign this year?”

You thought about it for a second. You knew they came from family money and they lived in a small town, but it really never occurred to you that their dealings could be illegal.

“So you want to blackmail Patrick? That’s your idea?” You said incredulously.

“You should know I didn’t come out here to just work as the Sheriff of a small town. I’m here because I AM investigating The Armstrongs and their associates.”

“Why are you telling me this? I’m engaged to one of the family members.” You were shaking now, was everyone just going to pull the rug from under you? You pulled away from him.

“I know, because you don’t want this. I know for a fact if you had any other choice, you would take it.”

You stare at him, annoyed, but he was right. No wonder he was sent down here.

“Are you using me to get information then? I’m not okay with that, Leon.”

“Of course not!” He looked like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “I figured you were an innocent bystander in all of this.”

Your shoulders relaxed, you realized you had accused him of something horrible.

“Leon, I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to think, I’ve just pulled every which way and I just want to be told the truth.”

“Y/n, I promise, I wouldn’t lie to you to hurt you.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The two of you shared a chaste kiss, and he drove you back to the long driveway of the farm.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you up to the house?” Leon had his right hand over your headrest.

“The lights and noise from the car would probably wake up my family. I don’t think I’d ever be allowed out of the house again if they saw I snuck out and you drove me home.”

“Good point.”

You both said your goodbyes and you walked slowly up the dirt road to the house.

You stopped in your tracks when you saw your daddy sitting on the steps of the house and he had his eyes locked on you.

You swallowed hard and decided to face the music. You walked right up to him.

“There she is, prancing in like I wouldn’t notice she snuck out. Where the hell have you been?”

“I had to get out of the house daddy, I’m sorry it felt like I was suffocating, I’m scared.” You said and sat down next to him.

You loved your daddy, he was always there for you. It felt like recently with this Patrick mess your relationship was suffering.

Your daddy’s face softened up and he put his arm around you.

“My magnolia, I know you’re going through a lot, it’s killing me. I wish your mother wasn’t pushing you so hard.” He held you close. You felt like a little girl, safe in your father’s arms, he hadn’t called you Magnolia in a long time. It was his nickname for you since you were little.

You remembered when the boys first started to bully you at school and your daddy would hug you while you cried. He would comfort you and the next day when the boys would start again, he’d stand at the school bus stop with his shotgun and point at them.

They never messed with his “magnolia” again after that.

You wish daddy could make the Armstrongs go away. She just wanted to work her little job, maybe meet someone on her own. Leon, she wouldn’t mind dating him, he was everything an actual gentleman should be.

“Do you think you could talk to mama? I don’t think I want to marry Patrick, daddy.” You said weakly.

“I’ll try magnolia.” He said. “We should head in before Mama wakes up and yells at the both of us.”

You exchanged a hug and went back into the farmhouse feeling better off.

[cowplant-pizza]

annette bolton | creative, socially awkward and materialistic

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meet annette bolton, a creative, socially awkward and materialistic 24 year old! she might look worried all the time because, well, she is. she's a successful business owner who runs her own "work chic boutique" down in magnolia promenade but she has absolutely crippling social anxiety! she dreads the interviews, TV time, meeting and dressing celebs, writing columns, everything that comes with being a famous fashion designer. if she could hide behind her sketch book and just design the outfits then she definitely would - that's her happy place. she lives in a studio flat in san myshuno and doesn't have many friends. she hardly leaves unless its for work related things. she would much rather cozy up in a blanket and watch a box set of old sitcoms. but she LOVES money, and knows she HAS to push through her anxiety to be the most famous fashion designer in the world!

she loves: yoga, her bed, wearing suits, little dogs, binge watching tv, designing clothes and champagne

she hates: public speaking, tattoos, nightlife, loud or aggressive people, slobbish clothes and the smell of burnt toast!