#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)

[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. 

[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 🫶

[meiko333]

Monster High Icons

Like and/or reblog if you save/use

[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 😴

[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

private sim request for @tulipsimss | request a sim here

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!

[roryo]

I had nothing to do, so I decided to write this

This is the first OneShort I will post here, i accept suggestions. English is not my native language, so sorry for any mistakes.

Please don't take it seriously.

Platonic batfamily x OC

TW:blood, gore?

Red Spider-Lilies

The tapping of the sewing machine was the only thing that could be heard in that dimly lit room, the girl continued to carefully push the cotton fabric slowly while the sharp needle made symmetrically aligned stitches on the piece of cloth.

Out there, it was just a silent night in Gotham, no one would dare go out at such a late hour. However, the young woman continued to concentrate on her meticulously thought out work, not caring about what is happening outside. Does not matter. Not when a beautiful piece of clothing was about to be made. Another piece, another perfect piece. Your fingers, stiff from past calluses, are proof of your hard work. Your only reason to feel like you're good at something...

Her attention is taken away for a second when the door to her studio opens, with a standing figure looking at the girl's back, but she doesn't even turn her head. The boutique had already closed at five o'clock, with an hour to go until midnight, but even so, she doesn't worry about a possible invader, continuing her sewing.

The figure moves towards the calming girl, the person's footsteps joined with the noise of the sewing machine. This person wasn't trying to be unnoticed. She is not an invader. The figure came inches away from the chair in which the lady is sitting, suddenly a gloved hand with slender fingers was placed on his shoulder gently. Finally the silence is broken when the person pronounces.

"Good night, Mio." It was the voice of an adult woman

The young lady moves her neck enough to look into the woman's eyes in recognition, without fear in her eyes.

"Good night, ma'am." Mio speaks calming

"What are you working on today? Hm, Seems interesting." The woman speaks looking at the dress on the machine.

"I'll finish it in no time, I'll put it on display." Mio speaks calming, But she knows she wants something. "Do you have work for me?"

A thin line moves across the older woman's lips, forming a satisfied smile.

"Those loose-tongued men, they make a lot of noise. Make them be quiet. Those rats are hiding in the north of the city, I don't think it will be difficult for you to find them."

Mio takes a few seconds before getting up from her chair. She expected to have a lazy night. "I will leave immediately."

The woman's smile widens, happy to know the control she has over the girl

"Good, but don't make too much mess."

"Yes." Mio speaks without any emotion

"Oh, when your project is ready, I would like to be the first to have the first." The oldest woman says referring to the dress Mio was finishing

"Of course."

Mio yawns behind the kitsune mask of blood, with her energy already exhausted after such a busy night. But she couldn't go back without having done the job completely. She was walking down a hallway towards the last man left to end this damn night.

The place was already completely filled with blood, she's nostrils filled with the metallic scent in the air. It was just one more. She thought

The man at the end of the hallway in complete panic, sweat and blood stains mix into one

Disgusting. That's what she thought

"YOUR DEMON!" The man uttered, as he raised a gun towards Mio. He pulled the trigger, the unnerving sound of three shots echoed in the room. The girl moved like a fox, about to bite a rabbit's neck. She firmly grips the hilt of the katana with both hands.

There was silence in the place for a moment, but soon the sound was broken when a The sound of something splashing came. A single movement. A perfect move that made Mio cuts the man's neck like it was tofu. Mio kept the blade in the sheath on her left hip as the man fell, leaving the last remnants of life in his body.

The young woman managed to let out one last breath when she realized it was over. Now she can lazily enjoy the night. Her thought made her have a small, tired smile for a moment, until her thoughts changed when she realized something. She has to go to school tomorrow. Fuck.

She was about to leave, but her attention returned to the splashes of blood on the walls of the place, remembering what the lady told her earlier.

Her tongue clicked the possibilities that could happen.

Mio hears police sirens nearby. She has to leave. Maybe even Batman is on the way.

She leaves without leaving a trace. Hah, she just wanted to sew tonight

It is not surprising that the police surrounded the entire place, about 6 police cars arrived at the scene. It didn't take long for the best detective in the world to get involved.

Bruce observed the carnage in the environment. He analyzed each victim of the incident, and they all seemed to have a pattern.

Their open jaws, open bellies, severed limbs, slit necks

"They were perfect cuts." Bruce said in low

He doesn't like the way this is going

DON'T TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY! I was just bored when I did this shit

[curlysgirl0202]

DOC HOLLIDAY AND RINGO'S RIVALRY STORY EXERPT!!!! From the Short Story, Holliday and Ringo: Song of Rivals.

Doc Holliday Angers Johnny Ringo in this scene.

Ringo looks up and slowly nods. He stands, his unreadable poker face staring at the exit. He follows the others out and then sees you walking out of the back wing of the theater. He swallows hard and adjusts his hat, clearing his throat. Curly Bill sees you and then looks at Ringo. Curly chuckles. "Good luck, Juanito, round two!"

Ringo shows a small smile and walks towards you.

You stop walking while Ringo moves closer to you. He can feel his face grow red and flushed by his own shyness. He walks as confidently as he can. He's delighted when you smile at him and you appear more beautiful than he recalls. He tips his hat to you.

"Good evening, YN," Ringo says. He takes his hat off and holds it in his hands, trying not to rock back and forth on his feet, showing his fear.

"It's Johnny, right?" You ask, the smile never leaving your face.

Ringo feels a sense of relief that you offer your consideration even though you only met him once at the hotel restaurant.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds. It's tough for him to say much else because of his nervousness; not just because he doesn't want to endure the humilation Doc would rain over him, but also because each time he sees you, he becomes more smitten with you.

"Well, it's nice to see you, Johnny," you beam.

Ringo to his own surprise smiles back at you, keeping your large liquid eyes in his memory.

"It's real nice to see you. I enjoyed your performance. It was as lovely as you," Ringo remarks, suddenly feeling that hot and flushed feeling. He recalls experiencing similar emotions when the girls at church would turn around to get a glimpse of the mysterious boy called Johnny Ringo.

"A lovely lady like yourself should have an escort," Johnny clears his throat. "I would like to ensure your safety this evening. You may have noticed, it gets wild here, especially at night."

You smile up at Johnny, who you can't help but like; he held himself like an aristrocratic cowboy. He suddenly snaps back from his shyness. "Unless you already have one." Ringo looks at his boots, still holding his hat.

"No, I don't," you convey softly. You shake your head and then glace back at the gentleman gunfighter.

"It would be an honor to ensure your safety." Johnny puts his hat back on and waits for your response. He feels a slow ember of confidence begin to burn in his heart. He knows he's not as sophisticated as Doc Holliday, but Ringo has a charm that is as interesting as it is mysterious.

"Thank you, Mr. Ringo," you finally answer.

"Johnny." He tells you.

You nod and take his arm. Johnny Ringo walks with pride down the street with you, moving towards the shops that line the town. A few jewelry stores, a music shop that sells various instruments, a stationary, small art museum, photography studio and other small boutiques that offer the latest styles and custom dress making and a tailor. Several barber shops also line the street and other clothing stores.

Johnny desperately tries to think of something to say. "It's a lovely evening for a walk through town," he says in a soft voice.

"It is," you answer, not sure what to make of this mysterious gunfighter.

"Let me know where you're headed. I'll make sure you get there safely," Ringo tells you, looking straight ahead.

"Well, you begin. "I'm going to the hotel to rest."

Johnny nods his head and escorts you to the Grand Hotel. He takes his hat off and waits for you to disappear up the stairs and into the lobby. When you're out of sight, he puts his hat on and turns to leave. He stops quickly when he sees Doc Holliday moving towards him, a death grin on his face while blowing smoke from his cigarette.

"Why, Johnny Ringo. I see you made an acquaintance." Doc stops walking and looks Ringo up and down. Ringo is in no mood to fight Holliday and his mind is still spinning from walking with you. The sweet aroma of your perfume is enough to weaken him.

"What's it to you, Holliday?" Ringo inquires, staring the death doctor with as much confidence as he coud muster considering his impaired judgement.

Doc holds his cigarette between his fingers while tapping the handle of his pistol. Johnny's eyes move about, eyeing with wonder how steady Doc's hands were.

"You still thinking you're going to win her affections, don't you, Ringo?" Doc examines his opponent.

"Are you?" Johnny quickly responds.

Doc smiles, while he suddenly grows motionless, still holding his cigarette. Doc's ability to move quickly and gracefully and then turn to stone could distract the steadiest of minds. Including Ringo's.

"Oh, I guess nobody informed you. I had the chance to escort that lovely lady through town and we enjoyed a delightful moment together."

Ringo's eyes narrow in on his nemesis for a moment and confusion begins to surface on his face. He can feel his neck grow hot from his rage.

Doc's expression changes and he begins to grin with an almost child like countenance.

"It turns out, YN enjoys chocolate cake." Doc taps his ivory handled gun. He blows smoke from his mouth, his eyes never leaving Ringo's.

"She also loves cream and sugar in her coffee. I bet you didn't know that, Johnny." Doc winks at Ringo, who turns to leave.

"It was a wonderful moment we two shared together," Doc finishes, still standing motionless.

"And what did Kate think about that?" Johnny retorts.

Doc's smile fades for a moment and Ringo feels a sense of triumph. Women were so scarce in Tombstone, it was unlikely that any man would leave his woman. Being without a woman seemed worse. At the very least, you could sleep next to one and feel the comfort of her touch, knowing all the uncomfortable moments promised more intimate ones.

"Well, you know Kate, Ringo." Doc finally answers.

"Go to hell, Holliday!" Ringo responds, turning to leave.

"I'll let YN know you said hello!" Doc asserts.

Ringo's rage boils over and he pulls his pistol quickly and due to his spinning head, he misses Doc by a hair and then stumbles backwards, almost losing his balance. Doc chuckles with triumph, his composure never shaken. He winks at a frustrated Ringo.

"What the hell is going on here, Ringo?" Wyatt Earp demands, moving closer to the battling gunmen.

"Evidently, Mr. Ringo here cannot hold his liquor well." Doc shakes his head and takes a long drag of his cigarette.

Wyatt and Virgil take Ringo by his arms and force him towards the horse troph where they dunk his head in the dirty water. They pull him out, Johnny gasping for air and cursing the Earp brothers.

"Sons of bitches!" Ringo howls, causing Wyatt to drop Ringo into the water again.

"Cool off, Ringo!" Virgil shouts, slapping Johnny in the back of the head. The lawmen toss Johnny aside and he falls, knocking over two chairs after losing his balance. Ringo spits towards the Earps and Doc smiles, watching Ringo squirm.

"What's this about, Doc?" Virgil demands.

Johnny staggers to his feet and throws himself at Doc, who laughs and moves out of the way with his signature aristocratic gait. He holds back his urge to cough and circles around Johnny, who can barely stand, water dripping from his head.

"Would you have to ask Johnny Ringo. He came at me like a wildcat."

"That's enough, Doc," Wyatt shouts. "I already told you to stay away from Ringo! I don't want anymore trouble!"

Ringo, still soaking wet, stares Doc and the Earps down. He knew he made a fool of himself and hoped you didn't witness any of it and hates the idea of you finding out or worse - Doc Holliday telling you about how Ringo was so drunk and out of control that the law had to cool him off by shoving his head into a horse troph.

"Sleep it off, Ringo!" Virgil demands, showing a look of disgust at Holliday, who seems unaffected by the Earps attitude. Doc takes a whiskey flask from his front pocket. He reveals a death grin to the men there and takes a long swig. He clears his throat, stifles a cough and tips his hat to Ringo, who can barely stand.

"Just give up, Mr. Ringo," Doc warns, backing away. "What will YN think when she learns about this?"

Ringo stands upright and moves to throw a punch at Doc, who quickly moves out of the way, mocking Ringo's clumsiness.

"I said that's enough!" Wyatt shouts as he and Virgil take Ringo to a holding cell located behind the courthouse.

"What the hell am I being arrested for?" Ringo demands.

"Fighting!" Virgil growls back. "Let's go, cowboy. Maybe your friends will bail you out!"

Ringo struggles against the law men, but they overpower him and drag him to the jail. Ringo grabs the prison bars, looks to the ground and curses them.

"You damn self righteous sons of bitches!" Ringo bellows

"You're losing over mind over YN!" Wyatt grumbles, fumbling with the keys. "You and Doc both better give up this conquest of yours. YN isn't going to be with either one of you. It was foolish of you both to enter into this deranged bet."

Ringo sits on the cot and holds his head in his hands. The image of your face enters his mind and he closes his eyes and delights in a whimsical fantasy where you come to his rescue. His ears become flooded with your voice.

"You'll stay in here and cool down, Ringo. I'm sure Curly Bill will be here to make bail as soon as he hears about this. And you tell that idiot we don't want anymore trouble with you cowboys!"

Ringo smiles menancingly at the Earps.

"You're the boss, Earp!" Ringo groans.

"And don't forget it, you reckless son of a bitch!" Wyatt snaps.

Ringo stands and faces Wyatt. Ringo's menacing stare causes Wyatt to back away a few inches. Ringo's eyes showed a fearlessness that bordered on rage.

I should let him rot!

Wyatt thinks.

"Do you understand, Ringo?!" Wyatt growls.

"It's easy to understand men like you, Earp," Johnny grunts.

"I really hate your attitude, Ringo."

Wyatt turns to leave.

"I already told Doc. You two are going to end this ridiculous bet of yours! The both of you are acting like petulant boys."

"Maybe Doc should be in here with me. He's not innocent in this," Ringo snaps. "You wouldn't have to worry about losing money because of his cheating." Ringo backs away from the bars, his face twisting into a sinister smile. "I heard about that fellow in Dodge. Doc cut that poor bastard from his dick to his neck!" Ringo turns and sits on the bed.

"See you for your bail hearing tomorrow morning!" Wyatt shouts before leaving.

Ringo holds his head in his hands.

I wish I never saw her! Ringo screams in his mind.