#cadillac limo

[drivelux]

Excellent Cadillac Limo Services Near You

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[redcarpetluxlimo]

Experience luxury in NYC with the Cadillac Escalade ESV, elegant SUVs like the Lincoln Navigator,premium Mercedes Benz, and Tesla. Book your ride today!

[mensfactory]

Cadillac "Sollei" Concept

[legendslimonyc]

✨Arrive in style in a Legends SUV👨🏻‍✈️

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[2t2r]

La restauration de la plus longue voiture du monde [vidéo]

Nouvel article publié sur https://www.2tout2rien.fr/restauration-de-la-plus-longue-voiture-du-monde/

La restauration de la plus longue voiture du monde [vidéo]

[bestlimony]

Airport Limo service offers a customized service that enhances the entire travel experience

New York, the city that never sleeps, is a bustling metropolis where time is important, and every moment matters. It's very challenging for travellers to find the best limo services in New York, especially regarding airport transport. But when you book your ride with Best Limo NYC, you can hope for nothing less than a high-class experience. They provide a variety of vehicle types and transport options, including shuttles, stretch limos, party buses, and black car services.

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Comfort and style:

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Whether you are traveling for business, a time-out, or a special occasion, airport limo services cater to your specific needs. From executive sedans for corporate travellers to spacious SUVs for families, these services offer a range of vehicles to suit different preferences. We are authorized providers and prioritize customer comfort by providing a smooth trip with our skilled chauffeurs. 

In the fast-paced and demanding environment of New York, airport limo services stand out as indispensable companions for travelers seeking comfort, reliability, and efficiency. Our committed staff is there to help you at every stage, from making your pickup reservation to delivering you to your final destination. Airport limo service provides a seamless and enjoyable experience.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Stutz Royale Limousine, 1982. Designed by Paolo Martin and built by coachbuilders Saturn based on Cadillac mechanical parts. Just three Royale Limos were made, including two for King Fahd of Saudi Arabia. They cost $285,000, roughly equivalent to $1 million in 2024

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Okay, so I'm seeing a lot of rumors in other places of the internet speculating that Charles is hiding a huge medical problem because he's traveling with his own doctors and his own blood supply to Australia and Samoa. I wanted to address this, so:

This is normal, standard operating procedure for the monarch. Travelling with their own blood supply and doctors is more applicable for tours/visits to areas where local hospitals may not be as readily equipped for significant emergencies, which it sounds like the hospitals in Samoa may not be prepared for, just in case.

Here's an article from February 2023, citing a 2016 interview that discusses Queen Elizabeth traveling with her own doctors and blood supply:

And as well, a 2019 article discussing how Queen Elizabeth, Prince Charles, and Prince William travel with a blood supply:

And it's not just the BRF who does this. The POTUS also does this, according to this 2018 NBC News story:

Now Charles could still have other issues, but the presence of physicians and his own blood supply isn't a harbinger of secret medical concerns or that he's in the middle of a huge health crisis. Everyone is absolutely free to worry if they want to, but please, don't get worked up to the point of sleeplessness and anxiety attacks over something that's standard procedure and perfectly normal for heads of state all over the world.

[whositmcwhatsit]

Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed.

AN: I'm not sure if anyone remembers I used to write silly stories, but here's the next installment of one I have neglected for too long. Thank you to everyone who continued to patiently message and let me know how much they liked the characters and very politely ask for the next chapter.

Thanks to @thatbanditqueen for injuring herself in order to give me motivation. And reading to check that I still remembered how to type words. You might need to remind yourself what happened before: Chapter 11 Chapter 12- Move Across the night sky, with those anonymous lights.

Pulling up to the gate of one of Elvis’ homes always invoked a strange combination of emotions in Chancy no matter how often she visited. Maybe it was the fact that there was always, always, at least a few people standing around ogling her curiously, but there was also the insecurity that this might be the time that the gates would not open for her, and the pride she felt at how much he had achieved, as well as an undeserved sense of personal achievement that she knew someone who had so much. That last one always made her feel guilty. 

Harold kept her waiting, pretending that he needed to come to the window of her Chevrolet to see who she was and then saying he would have to call up to the house to check it was okay.

“Can’t be letting in just anyone, you know.” He went to the gatehouse and the gate began to open immediately. She smiled and pretended to be amused by his trick as she rolled past. 

Chancy pulled up around the back near to the fence where the staff parked. Her car fit in better there than next to the limo and the Lincolns and the cadillacs. She glanced in the rear view mirror and checked her make-up hadn’t slid off her face in the humidity. Her air conditioning was busted, again- it only ever seemed to happen in the summer, a cosmic joke or a punishment. 

Grabbing her two small, yellow travel cases, she swung the door shut with her hip and sighed, trying to force her heart to slow down by denying it oxygen. Just a visit, just a visit, she focused on the words and willed her heart to follow their rhythm. 

“Well, hello there, Chancy.” She started and dropped one of her cases as Mr Presley approached her from the office, a smile on his plump face. He had that end of the day twinkle in his eye and Chancy mused how, between his twinkle and Mrs Presley’s dancing glow in her brown eyes when she was laughing, it was no wonder Elvis could incapacitate people with just a glance.  

“Hi, Sir, it’s good to see you again!” She went to grab her fallen luggage, but Vernon reached it first and picked it up, adjusting his grip and miming like the case was heavy. 

“My Lord, what do you have in here?!”

“Well, you know now a girl can’t give away the secrets needed to make her presentable, it’d spoil the magic, wouldn’t it?” 

“I guess it would,” he agreed, still smiling slightly. “Though I reckon I need some magic to help this ole mug.” 

“Nonsense! I was just about to ask you for your secret!” 

Chancy could do this all day. In fact, she did do this all day; most of her job was buttering up clients and making them feel good about themselves. The fact that there was a slight ache to her cheeks as she smiled now was proof of how hard she worked. 

“Well, you always were a sweet girl,” he returned, glancing over his shoulder at the house and tightening his lips. “Let me walk you in, I know Elvis is expecting you.” He reached out for her other case and she let him take it, puzzled since Vernon didn’t usually go out of his way to be helpful or even really acknowledge her much past a short, pleasant greeting. 

On the way, they made small talk about the weather, which was the law in civilised society. One of them remarking on the heat, the other saying that it had to break soon. Debating whether it was hotter or cooler than previous years and then exchanging stories of the most extreme heat they had ever encountered. He told her about a time when he was a young man down in Mississippi and he was doing some work for a man who wore a hairpiece. The day got so hot that the glue melted and the hair started slipping when he spoke. No one was brave enough to tell him and lose the job. He mimed the man’s hair flying back and forth and how they had to all fight to keep their eyes from flicking from side to side with it. His laughter at his own story was infectious. 

As they came in through the back door, he paused in the dim back hallway. Somewhere nearby she could hear a football game being played on television and men’s voices rising and falling as they questioned plays and commiserated. 

“You know, it sure is good to see you, Chancy. Elvis’ mother always used to speak so highly of you and how well you took care of him.” He left the rest unspoken, looking behind him to the stairs to the basement, and then turning back and nodding at her. 

“Thank you, Mr Presley,” she smiled, a little puzzled. She awkwardly fished back her cases and wondered if he was working up to something, and if she should wait. 

Instead, he opened the door to the kitchen and motioned her in, wishing her a good night. 

In the kitchen, Elvis’ aunt Delta was complaining about trying to buy something and how they had raised the price when she gave them the delivery address. 

“Shouldn’t matter if it’s Tom, Dick or Elvis, if it’s fifty dollars it should stay fifty damn dollars. The nerve of people!” Her little dog was yipping and bouncing around her feet, excited by the heightened emotion in her voice. Mary, Elvis’ cook, her coat on like she had been trying to leave for some time, agreed with her, nodding her head wholeheartedly. 

They both turned to look at Chancy as she paused by the counter with a faint smile of anticipation. It was always a roll of the dice which side of Delta you would get, but that evening was a good day, because they exchanged greetings and Chancy was invited into the story of the new chair that had started out as fifty dollars and became one hundred once it was destined for Graceland. 

“One hundred dollars, my ass! I said, it’s for me, not Elvis and we both of us have enough sense not to waste another fifty dollars on some piece of-” 

The phone rang on the wall by where Delta was sitting at the breakfast bar and she snatched it up, listened for a minute, and then nodded to her. 

“Elvis said to go ahead and go on up.” 

Chancy had to temper her speed as she moved through the kitchen, heading towards the back stairs.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your chair,” she shrugged, stepping onto the first tread. 

“Oh honey, I got the chair, and a little table to boot. Soon’s I told ‘em that I’d go home and say what a rat-infested flea-ridden store they had and how we ain’t never gonna shop there again, we got the friends and family discount too.” 

“Well, they’ll know better than to mess with you next time, Mrs Biggs. I might need to get some tips from you for when I have to negotiate with my suppliers.” 

As she was climbing the stairs, she heard Delta say: 

“Honey, I don’t think you need any help from anybody trying to get anything.” 

Her foot momentarily faltered as her body wanted her to stop and march back down, but her brain won out just barely and forced her to continue her climb. By the time she had opened and closed all the doors that marked her journey, she was pretty sure she had knocked her case into her left shin enough times to leave a bruise, and she paused just inside Elvis’ office to run a finger under each eye to catch the slowly dripping mascara. She tapped on the door and waited to hear a low murmur of assent before she pushed the slightly ajar door open. 

Elvis was sitting on his enormous bed with the newspaper laid out before him, apparently deeply engrossed in it, though she knew he had to have been watching the monitors at least a couple of minutes ago to know that she had arrived. 

“Oh no! I think there’s been some mistake!” she lisped in a high voice. “The man at the reception desk said that this was my room.” She whirled around, wide-eyed, in the doorway. “This is room 385631.6 and half, right?” 

Elvis smirked, his lips and cheekbones all curves as his eyes narrowed. His voice was a little thick like his tongue was still waking up.  

“Damn, they must’ve double booked the rooms again, and, you know, I heard the clerk say that they were full up, no vacancies.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head like he was genuinely upset and disappointed in the ‘hotel’. 

“Right,” she responded. “I guess that’ll be because of the convention?” 

He nodded, rising slowly and stepping closer to her, his fingertips tickling her wrist. 

“Uh huh, right, the, uh, One-eyed Albino Python Lovers of America convention,” he nodded, turning away as he almost broke. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s a popular one,” she murmured, hearing him snort over his shoulder, and fighting to keep her face straight. 

“Well,” he sighed with a sense of inevitability, turning back to her. “I guess there’s only one thing for it.” He shrugged with his whole body, throwing up his arms. “We’ll just have to share the room.” 

“That seems like that’s all there is to it,” she agreed in her ditsy high voice.

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind, uh, Miss…?”

“Tallulah-Wanda, and I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t, huh. Well, I guess I’m just fixing problems all over the place tonight.” He pulled her into a clinch worthy of one of his movies, dipping her down so that she dropped her cases and grabbed his shoulders for safety. They broke apart and smiled breathlessly at each other for a minute. 

“One-eyed Albino Python Lovers,” she muttered, slapping his shoulder. He smirked and pulled her back up. 

“What? I’m telling ya, Tallulah baby, it’s a real group.”

“Uh huh, and I bet you’ve met quite a few members.” 

“I meet a lot of people,” he replied evasively. He grabbed her jaw and kissed her hard on the mouth. “How was your day?” 

She paused, surprised by the question. “Uh, it was fine, thank you for asking. How was yours?” 

“Honey, I woke up less than two hours ago,” he pointed out, with a wry lift of his eyebrow. 

“Right, right, I’m in the Elvis time zone now. Gotta adjust my clock accordingly. How was your breakfast?” He rolled his eyes and tugged her towards him, cradling the back of her head as he kissed her. 

“That’s enough of that,” he murmured, though he didn’t elaborate on what ‘that’ was, just steered her around and nudged her backwards towards the bed. “Gotta unwrap my present here.” He tugged on her pale pink pussycat bow, teasing the ends out from where they were tucked into her low scooped waistcoat and pulling the loose knot free. 

“You want me to give you my scarf?” she murmured, keeping her voice low to hide how affected she was. “Hmm, that’s a twist.” 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but he seemed absorbed in his task, letting her silky scarf flutter off to the side as he studied her. She returned the favour, noting how fair his lashes looked in the daylight. His face was fuller, maybe because he hadn’t been well, but his colour was better than when she had last seen him at her house. 

Biting his lip slightly, he unbuttoned her waistcoat, but there was nothing seductive or gentle about his movements. She genuinely felt like a gift given to an overexcited six year old. The waistcoat went in the other direction to her scarf, quickly followed by her heels. 

“I’ll show you where your things are,” he said, pulling away and holding out a hand. She had to tamp down a smile as she let him lead her, padding behind him in her stockinged feet. 

That morning, she had deliberately dressed up in her most businesslike outfit, stopping just short of wearing pants, because she knew he wouldn’t like it. Not to antagonise him exactly, but there had definitely been something pointed in her choice. Some barbed reminder that she was a whole person with a successful, fulfilling life that went on out of his sight line. She wasn’t one of the no doubt many girls around the country just waiting for his call, their life outside of him just filler that happened between their time with him. 

In the ‘guest’ dressing room off his office, he showed her the row of plastic covered outfits that he had bought her on tour as if they had been there ever since he returned and not, as was more likely, hastily moved in that day after the last girl had left. 

“You don’t like what I’m wearing?” she asked as he hovered in the doorway. He shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth, clearly still formulating his reply. “I’m teasing you. Go on now, let me change.”

“Oughta tan your hide,” he muttered, giving her a sideways look as he retreated from the door. “Don’t change your hair.” 

“Saying please don’t hurt you know!” she called out the door. 

“I know!” he hollered back from presumably the bedroom. 

In the small dusky pink dressing room, Chancy deliberately did not touch any drawers, no matter how painfully her curiosity niggled at her. She tried to be as dispassionate as she would be in a communal dressing room, which, essentially, it was. She made sure not to make a mess and folded her own clothes neatly, putting them back into her case. 

There were a few toiletries sitting on top of the dressing table and she leant over them in order to apply more make up to her eyes, appreciating the good lighting. When she had finished, she checked that she had not left a trace and came back out into the office. 

Elvis was sat at his desk with Joe standing over him and murmuring into his ear, his arms spanning the desk and the back of Elvis’ chair. His broad back blocked Elvis from her view. The body language could not have been clearer. 

Without stopping, she tiptoed past them towards the bedroom, still holding her bags. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Elvis snapped over the top of Joe’s low mumbling. Chancy glanced over her shoulder almost guiltily. 

“Going in there? I got changed like you said.” Elvis visibly relaxed, his face smoothing and shoulders dropping. 

“I thought you were ducking out on me. What you got your bags there for?” 

“I didn’t want to leave all my things lying about. I’m trying to change my messy ways, you know.” He shook his head and waved his hand back towards the dressing room. 

“No, go ahead and put everything in there, honey, that’s yours.” She hesitated, but Joe had already resumed his whispering and Elvis was frowning at the console of his desk with its screen and knobs and switches. So, she tucked her cases inside the door of the dressing room and speed-walked past them back into the bedroom. 

The curtains were closed and, though the lamps were lit, the room still felt dark to Chancy. This was not helped by the enormous bed that was clad in black every way from the headboard to the bedcovers. She perched on it primly, her feet barely skimming the floor. She didn’t like that, being reminded that she was short. It made her feel like the room was patting her on the head somehow. 

Instead, she pushed off the bed and scanned the shelves of the units, smiling a little at the framed photos of a blond little girl and running her finger over the ornaments, some of them clearly from fans. 

There were a few records scattered around the record player, their labels a mess of scrawled handwriting that revealed them to be demos. And there were books, piles and piles of books with fuzzy, slightly scary titles like ‘The search for…’, ‘A Study of…’, ‘Explore the world of…’ 

One caught her eye, a small, slim volume with exotic gold patterns etched into the worn covers. She glanced up at the door before she opened it to the foreword. It was Sufi poetry translated from the original Persian. Chancy pressed her fingers to the pages in wonder, trying to make it fit into the already complex and contradictory picture of Elvis she held in her mind.

The man himself burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, but he stopped short when he saw her standing by the shelves as if he had forgotten she was in there. She could see him biting down and breathing hard, his nostrils flaring, like he was trying to change gears while still accelerating.

She didn’t say anything, looking back down at the book and reading the first poem silently to herself, giving him time to collect himself without being observed, to leave without feeling obligated or ask her to leave. She felt him as he drew close to her, his chest brushing her shoulder. 

“It’s good, you should borrow it when I’m done,” he said quietly, calmly. She smiled as she took her hand away from the page and turned towards him.

“What’s it about?”

“I- I can’t exactly say,” he shrugged. “It makes me feel like words and ideas, even sermons and laws, they’re just getting in the way and confusing people, distracting them from the truth and the real essence of God, you know. I-I-I ain’t saying it right, but the guys in this book, they pull back the curtain, you know, and you feel like you’ve caught a glimpse of something, just for a moment, that’s greater and truer than anything else.” 

Chancy tilted her head, letting that sink in.

“I do think I’d like to read it after you, thank you.” He leant past her and picked it up.

“Here, take it, honey. I can get another. Ignore the scribbling though, sometimes I just gotta work things out in my head. Try and get things straight, you know.”

“No, Elvis, I can’t, not if you’re enjoying it! I can wait until you’re done.”

“Baby, I want you to. Like I said, I can get another. And we can talk about it when you’re done reading it. I don’t- I don’t have no one I can discuss these things with. They all just get this damn pie-eyed look on their faces like ole Elvis’s gone nuts and they don’t know who to call to fix it.” He crossed his eyes and pulled a silly face while he pushed the book into her chest until she took hold of it. 

“That’s dumb,” she murmured, cradling the book to her chest. “Everyone knows you already went crazy years ago.”

“Yeah, well whose fault was that,” he returned, gritting his teeth and pushing his forehead against hers, smushing the tip of her nose. She wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him closer, simultaneously loving and resenting the almost painful wave of relief that rolled over her as she nestled into his arms and felt his soft lips brush against hers. The big sigh he let out as he squeezed her in tighter at least let her know that she wasn’t alone in this comfort trap. 

“I missed this silly little face,” he murmured, one hand gripping her jaw playfully but gently. 

“Really? This one?” She crossed her eyes and scrunched up her nose, tightening her lips so that it looked like she had buck teeth. 

In response, he wrapped one big hand over her face and put a little pressure into it, nudging her backwards. She went with it, trusting him not to have her tumbling on her butt down the stairs. The side of the bed pressed into the back of her legs and she grabbed him by the biceps to stop herself from falling backwards. 

“You missed me too, right?” he almost whispered, leaning down to kiss her again. “Tell me you missed me, Cha Cha.” 

Chancy heard her own voice as if it came from far away, muffled and almost whiny with longing. 

“I missed you, Elvis.” She continued to kiss him even as he turned his head slightly. She could feel his cheek bunch beneath her lips as he smiled, enjoying her affection. “I missed you, I missed you.” She felt his faint stubble grazed against her lips as she let them trail down his cheek and under his jaw. He was bent slightly at the knees so that she could reach, rubbing his thumb around in little circles on her back. Her awareness narrowed to only those points of sensation, the thumb circles on her back, the tingle on her lips, the warmth down her front. 

The phone started trilling. They both looked at it blankly for a second, before Elvis straightened and sighed, going to answer. 

Whatever was being said on the other end of the line irritated Elvis, he mumbled one word answers until he slammed the receiver back onto the hook. 

Without a word, he disappeared into his bathroom and left her yet again wandering around his room, running her fingers over his belongings and trying to pretend that she belonged there. She opened her new book at a random page and let her eyes trip across the words:

“That’s how you came here, like a star,

Without a name…”

She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded beautiful. She murmured it under her breath, finishing with a sharp inhale as Elvis stormed back out of his bathroom clad in a long leather coat, gloves and carrying a police flashlight. 

“C’mon, we’re getting out of here.” 

Billy was waiting at the bottom of the kitchen stairs, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He grinned, reflecting Elvis’ smirk as they converged in the kitchen. 

“They fell for it, huh?” Elvis remarked, knocking Billy’s shoulder with his knuckles. 

“Uh huh, I told ‘em we’d meet ‘em on up ahead.” “Joe bitchin’ and whining about it, I bet,” Elvis remarked gleefully, heading towards the back door with Billy beside him. Chancy trailed them, wondering what the hell was going on. 

The wall of wet heat hit as soon as they stepped outside and Chancy shook her head as she stared at Elvis’ broad back wrapped in black leather even as she was peeling tendrils of her hair away from her damp neck and face. 

Elvis was too busy crowing over his ability to fool everyone to notice the temperature. He and Billy were joking and laughing about it as they passed the car port and continued on down towards the back gate near where Chancy had parked her car. On the road was a white Cadillac coupe with an old, black truck behind it. 

Billy tossed some keys to Elvis, who was still laughing as he got into the truck, but Billy’s smile faded as he turned away and he looked at Chancy with something close to reproach. She couldn’t think why he would be mad with her or blame her when she had no idea what was going on. He was the one going along with whatever crazy plan Elvis had come up with. 

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked nobody in particular. 

“Shh, we’re being sneaky!” Elvis whispered in an Elmer Fudd voice, leaning out the window. “C’mon, Cha Cha, get in!”  

She looked to Billy again, hoping for something that made more sense, but he had already climbed into the Cadillac and the back gate was opening. Elvis beckoned her and she hurriedly circled the truck and jumped in. 

As they pulled out into the narrow road that ran down the side of the church next door, Elvis accelerated slightly and gave the Cadillac in front a little nudge on the bumper, grinning so wide that his dimples made an appearance. 

“Uh, shouldn’t you have your lights on?” Chancy asked, goosebumps of anticipation nonetheless breaking out over her arms as she caught his infectious excitement. 

“Now that wouldn’t be very sneaky of little old us, would it.”

“Billy’s got his on.”

“Exactly!” 

Ahead of them, Billy pulled out onto the highway and faintly they could hear a few people shouting. Elvis waited, engine idling with his lights off. Chancy watched him expectantly as he tapped his thumbs on the top of the steering wheel, humming quietly under his breath. He seemed to become aware of her eyes and glanced towards her, eyes narrow and cheekbones brimming with mirth. 

“Being bad feels good, don’t it?” 

“It might, if I knew what we were doing.” He didn’t reply, just flew out onto the highway, switching on his lights at the last minute and swerving around the oncoming traffic. 

Eyes on the rear view mirror, he murmured, “I bet they’re shitting a brick right about now, man. Serves ‘em right, serves ‘em right. I tell you, boy…” 

“So we’re not going to the recording studio?” Chancy asked, mainly to remind him that she was in the car too and he didn’t need to talk to himself. 

“You catch on fast, don’t you,” he remarked, shooting her a sideways look. “Baby, what are you doing all the way over there?” He reached blindly across the bench seat and clamped a hand on her thigh, trying to drag her closer to him. She made a series of unladylike noises as she left behind half of the skin from the back of thighs on the warm leather. 

“Where are we going then?” she inquired, once she was flush against him, her forearm resting on his thigh and her cheek stuck to his coat. 

“Well…” He tailed off. “Where would you like to go?” She bit down on her lip as he made himself sound very magnanimous and not at all like he hadn’t thought his great escape plan all the way through.

“I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch,” she reasoned. “Maybe we could-” He took a sharp turn that almost sent her sprawling. “Or maybe we could not die, Elvis, how about that?!”

He snorted and glanced at her with his eyebrow quirked playfully. She swatted at him, because he knew exactly what to do to take the heat out of her irritation, leaving her with just the intellectual understanding that she should feel annoyed. 

“Poor widdle Cha Cha, all moody and mad cos she’s hungry,” he murmured in that damn baby voice again. She was about to swat him a little harder when he did a double take out of his side window. “Hey, you know, I ran out of gas there one time.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, back when I was starting out. It was one of the first times it got really crazy, boy. The cops had to come out and everything. It was wild.”

“Uh huh, getting a ride in the back of a police car to the gas station is not something you ever forget. Especially after I got back and some girl called me your whore.”

Chancy watched his face as his brain worked overtime, recalling the little details that he usually airbrushed from the patter he gave his dates as he took them on a personal tour of his home town, like who else had been there.

“They called you a whore?” he echoed finally, focusing on the detail where he had no culpability. “I didn't know that.”

“Well, it wasn't something I would've wanted to repeat.” 

It had been the first time she had been the victim of jealous, spiteful resentment, but not nearly the last. She shook her head like she could dislodge the echoes of embarrassment, hurt and outrage she had felt. 

“Besides, you didn’t even remember I was there!” She smacked his leg and turned away slightly, playing at being mad. 

“Honey, I did! I-I remember, I was just testing you!” 

“Uh huh,” she murmured. “Well, I guess I passed.” 

“With flying colours,” He hit her with a poorly aimed kiss on the ear as he steered the truck into a parking lot. Chancy glanced around and realised he had pulled into Dairy Queen. 

“You do take me to the fanciest places,” she teased, already moving to climb out. 

“Well, I only know of two ways to get you out of this mood you’re in,” he returned with irritating insight. “One’s food and the other… Well, we’re in public, honey, you know.” She felt so much better about the shiver she had to fight back when she saw that, despite the naughty look on his face, he had gone pink. 

“You are terrible,” she informed him. “Hey, where are you going?” He paused as he pushed open his door.

“There’s only one way out,” he replied, looking bemused. 

“You can’t go in there!” she exclaimed, then wanted to rewind time and roll her tongue back in, because the one way to guarantee Elvis would do something was to tell him that he couldn’t. “Baby, you don’t have any of the guys with you. It’s not safe.” 

“It’s late, Cha Cha, I’m not letting you go in there by yourself,” he returned. Then, she witnessed the exact same expression of regret cover his face that must have shone from hers moments before. Because telling her that she wasn’t allowed to do something was like firing a starting pistol. 

“It’s not exactly Times Square.”

“I don’t give a damn. Cha Cha, honey, you got all kinds of characters out there now, crazy sonsofbitches and losers strung out on all these fucking drugs they’re pushing on the streets. Baby- Baby, you don’t understand because you don’t know what it’s really like.” She bristled at the condescending tone and folded her arms over her grumbling stomach. 

“Well, then it’s not safe for either of us.” 

After ten minutes of silent sulking and hunger, they came to a compromise. Chancy would go in and order the food, and Elvis would park as close as possible with his gun ready just in case. 

As silly as she knew all that was, Chancy still felt tingles of apprehension as she pulled on the metal bar and opened the door.

At that time of the evening, the place was full of teenagers hanging out and families grabbing a treat on the way home from the movies. None of them really spared her a look apart from a few pleasant smiles as she made her way to the counter. 

Not long later, she was juggling a sack and two milkshakes and stopped to thank a man who had jumped up to hold the door for her. He smiled back, nodding at her chest rather than her face. 

Turning towards the truck, she let out a little gasp as she saw a small knot of people standing by the driver’s door. Her heart hammering, she glanced towards the phone booth at the front of the parking lot, wondering if she would have to make a call to Graceland to get someone out to help. 

As she drew closer, she saw that it was just an older couple and their children. As long as they made a getaway before they attracted any more attention they would be okay. 

When she climbed in the cab, Elvis was signing a scrap of paper, what looked like a receipt, and he handed it over, ruffling the young son on the head. Chancy kept her head down so as not to attract notice. The only problem was that the family did not seem satisfied with the autograph and small talk and lingered, forcing Elvis to say that they had to leave. They even took a few steps forward as he backed out, like they were going to follow them on foot. 

“Just can’t stay out of trouble for a minute, can you,” she remarked, handing him his milkshake. 

“Well, you were gone so damn long,” he complained, spilling a little of the shake on his pants as he tried to negotiate the road. “Goddamn it! She quickly retrieved the paper cup before it was thrown, possibly at her. He was still swearing as he pulled into a rest area, the frosty drink slowly trickling into uncomfortable places. 

Seeing his mood souring, she grabbed a napkin from the sack but hid it at her side. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” she exclaimed brightly, ducking her head down towards his lap. 

“Chancy, no!” His voice went impossibly high, breathless and panicked. 

She burst out laughing, she couldn’t help it, and tossed the napkin at him as she collapsed against the back of the seat, gasping and giggling, wiping her eyes. She tried to get herself under control as he irritably wiped at his pants with the napkin, muttering under his breath, but every time she looked at him, all kitted out in his flashy badass outfit, she kept hearing his panicked protest like he was a sweet virgin being propositioned by an over amorous date. 

“Don’t see what’s so goddamn funny,” he snapped. “My fucking pants are ruined.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, her voice quivering very slightly as she bit on the inside of her cheek. “I…” She started laughing again and he smacked the steering wheel and started the engine, shaking his head. “No, baby, no, I’m sorry!” She lifted her milkshake and tipped it slightly as if she was going to dump the whole thing in her own lap. “Look, you give me the word and we’ll match. Want me to?” 

A fast diesel truck rattling by startled her and she jerked slightly, causing a large drop to splat onto her bare leg. 

“Damn, that’s cold!” she hissed. His eyes twinkled and a slow smile crept across his face. She realised that there was a very real possibility that he was about to knock the cup over her and almost resigned herself to it. 

“You’re crazy, you know that,” he remarked, before very slowly and deliberately leaning down and licking the milkshake from her thigh. He punctuated that by opening his mouth and pretending to take a bite of her, his teeth leaving a faint imprint in her pale skin under the light of the cab. Holding her breath, Chancy now understood how fish felt drowning on dry land.

They ate their food at the rest stop without much chat. Elvis was still mad at her for laughing at him. It was always a sore point for him, and she sensed that he was embarrassed by his unfiltered reaction to the idea of her going down on him in public. He always loved to give off the impression that he was unflappable, that there was no boundary that he would not push and no impulse he would not indulge, but that wasn’t true. Not really.  

Licking the salt from her fingers, she leant up and kissed his cheek as he chewed the last of his third burger. He didn’t reciprocate, but nor did he move away, just looked out the window at the shadowy brush. She stuffed the wrappers into the empty sack and slid a little closer to him, her bent knees knocking into his thigh. 

Rising on her knees, she nudged her nose into the hair at his temple, pressing butterfly kisses into his skin, catching her lip on the arm of his sunglasses. His fingers tapped on the ledge of his open window, almost like she was keeping him from a more pressing appointment, and she wondered if his mood had sunk too low to be recovered. She started to draw back, but the firm line of his arm just behind her shoulders stopped her retreat. 

She studied him, looking down from his turned cheek to where the tendon in his neck was just visible above his turned-up collar as he craned his head away from her. Almost tentatively, she pressed her lips against it, feeling his pulse pounding beneath the salty skin. She lapped at it with tiny kitten licks until he jerked away, trying to hide his smile.  

Leaning forward, he started the engine and pulled back out onto the road, executing a neat u-turn so that they were heading north. 

“Where are we going now?”

“Gotta get you back to the nuthouse before they send out the guys with straitjackets,” he replied, shooting her a sly grin. 

“Uh huh, I’m sure it’d be me they were looking for,” she replied, settling herself down at his side. He just kept smiling, dropping his hand into her lap and entwining their fingers. That didn’t last long, because he had to keep twiddling the dial of the radio every time the deejay started talking. 

“Wasn’t that George?” she asked, as he abruptly twisted the knob again, muttering a curse word. “I don’t care who it was,” he snapped. “Don’t talk over the goddamn song. What’s the point of them even playing songs if they’re gonna-” He let out some high pitched gibberish that sounded like an irate chipmunk after sucking helium. 

“So, where’s next on the famous Elvis’ hometown tour?” “Aw, honey, there’s no…” He didn’t even bother finishing his lie. “There ain’t no point showing you, you know more about it than I do. I ever end up writing that book about my life, you’ll be there…’No, Elvis, it didn’t happen like that, I was there.’” She shook her head at his usual high-pitched impression of her. 

“The two of us in rocking chairs, me trying to edit every story,” she added. “In my head, you’re old when you’re writing this life story.”

She felt her cheeks heat as she had basically admitted that she pictured them together when they were old. That was giving away too much and also trying to take too little. 

If he noticed her embarrassment or thought that the idea of them being together when they were old was far-fetched, he didn’t show it, huffing a laugh as he guided them back through more familiar streets. “We’re going back? So soon?” She thought of all the people back at the house, likely some annoyed employees and some tense phone calls to be made. She wondered if they would get to sneak out like this again during her stay, and considered that plans would probably be put in place to stop that happening. 

“Well,” he bounced a closed fist against the inside of the truck door. “I gotta change my damn pants and… It seems like you might still be in a bad mood, honey. I think it might be time to try the second thing.”

Tag lIst: @richardslady121, @dkayfixates, @fallinlovewithurlove, @notstefaniepresley, @heartbrake-hotel , @freudianslumber , @bbrtt777, @18lkpeters , @prompted-wordsmith, @literally-just-elvis-fics , @eliseinmemphis @lookingforrainbows , @stylespresleyhearted , @amydarcimarie , @returntopresley, @savedrebelcreation, @lettersfromvenus , @littlehoneyposts, @joshuntildawn13, @i-r-i-n-a-a, @from-memphis-with-love, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny

[centipededotgov]

Another character in the world of Transformers: Nexus, Vantage!

Vantage is an Autobot special agent/operative, specializing in spy work, diplomatic efforts, and being a robot who has a posh little mustache. Vantage is cool, calm, collected, and is the epitome of class and style - and he knows it. He speaks with a clipped and proper British accent and no one knows how he got it. All of the Autobots landed in the same part of North America at the same time. Why is he British

Based off of characters such as James Bond, Vantage's name comes from one of the cars James Bond drives - the Aston Martin V8 Vantage Series II. He doesn't turn into one of those, though. He turns into a 1940 Cadillac Limo. Way to dissapoint.

Vantage is mostly loyal to the Autobot cause and his higher-up, Asteria Prime. However, as a special operative, he's had access to information long before anyone else back at base gets it - and sometimes, there are things that no one should know about: for both the Autobots and the Decepticons.

He has an on-again, off-again relationship and rivalry with Decepticon special operative Corrosion. It's kind of weird. It's actually really weird. They occasionally work together on matters they deem far too important to be handled by Autobot or Decepticon factions.

...But they mostly get real snippy at each other. In a loving way. I think?

[drivelux]

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[deadpresidents]

Road Trip

On November 8, 1960, millions of Americans went to the polls in what would become one of the closest Presidential elections in American History:  John Fitzgerald Kennedy versus Richard Milhous Nixon.

That morning, Kennedy voted in Boston and Nixon voted in Whittier, California.  The candidates had spent months canvassing the nation, working to get every last vote – and every last vote was needed.  For the past several weeks, Kennedy and Nixon had criss-crossed the country, debated one another, and been working non-stop to be elected the 35th President of the United States.

After they voted that day, there were results to monitor, precincts to watch, election day problems to take care of, and many other things to worry about.  Imagine being on the cusp of the Presidency – with a 50/50 chance of being elected the next President of a superpower in the grip of the Cold War, with the threat of Communism and nuclear weapons hanging over your head, and the hopes of hundreds of millions of people pinned on either your victory or defeat.  Imagine being in the position of John F. Kennedy or Richard Nixon on November 8, 1960.  What would you do? 

John F. Kennedy put the control of his campaign in the hands of his younger brother, Bobby, and then took a nap.

And Richard Nixon took a road trip to Mexico.

Once Nixon voted that morning at a private home in a quiet Whittier neighborhood, he had been scheduled to head to the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles (where Bobby Kennedy would be assassinated eight years later) for the Election Day vigil and the long wait for the returns which would indicate whether he would be moving into the White House or facing an early retirement. 

Nixon was finished voting by 8:00 AM and hopped into his black Cadillac limousine to be driven to the Ambassador.  Several blocks away from the polling place, Nixon ordered the limousine to stop.  Along with a military aide and a Secret Service agent, Nixon jumped out of the limo and into a white convertible follow-up car driven by an officer from the Los Angeles Police Department.  Nixon took the LAPD officer’s place, got behind the wheel and ditched the press which had been following him.

Driving to La Habra, California, Nixon made a quick visit with his mother, making sure she had voted for her son in the Presidential election.  Nixon drove south along the Pacific Coast Highway, with no specific destination.  He stopped for gasoline in Oceanside and told a gas station attendant – startled to see the Vice President of the United States on a joyride on the very day that he stood for election as President – “I’m just out for a little ride."  Nixon confided that it was his only source of relaxation.

As the group of four men, with Nixon in the driver’s seat, reached San Diego – over two hours away from Nixon’s campaign headquarters at L.A.’s Ambassador Hotel – Nixon pointed out that he hadn’t been to Tijuana in at least 25 years.

As David Pietrusza wrote in his recap of Nixon’s road trip, "Richard Nixon – the ultimate control freak – was winging it on the most important day of his life."  Not only that, but the sitting Vice President of the United States and the man who many Americans were choosing to become the next President, impulsively decided to leave the entire country while those voters were still at the polls.

In Tijuana, Nixon and his party headed to a restaurant called Old Heidelberg.  Despite the fact it was owned by a German, Border Patrol agents told Nixon that it was the best place in Tijuana for Mexican food.  Joined at the last moment by Tijuana’s Mayor, Xicotencati Leyva Aleman, Nixon, his military aide, a Secret Service agent, and an average LAPD officer ate enchiladas in Mexico while John F. Kennedy took a nap in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts.

When Nixon’s press secretary Herb Klein was asked about the missing candidate, he had to tell reporters that Nixon often took some private moments on hectic days such as Election Day.  Really, though, Klein had no clue where Nixon was, eventually admitting that the Vice President was "driving around without any destination”. 

After lunch in Tijuana, Nixon and his companions headed back north towards the United States border crossing.  The LAPD officer took over driving duties as Nixon sat in the convertible’s passenger seat.  A shocked Border Patrol guard shook hands with the Vice President and asked the man who was currently on the ballot for the Presidency, “Are you all citizens of the United States?”.

Nixon and company drove to the Mission of San Juan Capistrano, which Nixon called “one of my favorite Catholic places” on the day he faced the first successful Catholic candidate for the Presidency in American History.  Nixon took his three companions on a quick, informal tour of the Mission.  “For a few minutes, we sat in the empty pews for an interlude of complete escape,” Nixon later recalled.

The missing candidate and his three road trip buddies arrived back in Los Angeles before the election results started rolling in.  Nixon had to explain his trip to reporters who had been searching for him all day.  “It wasn’t planned.  We just started driving and that’s where we wound up.”

In his Memoirs, Nixon didn’t go too far into explaining why he escaped on Election Day, but a paragraph about that day is pretty illuminating:

“After one last frenetic week, it was over.  Since the convention in August I had traveled over 65,000 miles and visited all fifty states.  I had made 180 scheduled speeches and delivered scores of impromptu talks and informal press conferences.  There was nothing more I could have done.”

Except escape to Mexico while JFK slept.

[frenchcurious]

Cadillac Fleetwood Seventy-Five Limo 1959. - source Amazing Classic Cars.

[urfriendlylocalidiot]

Since my prom is tonight :p

Also to make it less weird, the members are all like 16-18

blackpink x reader (high school au?)

Prom w/ Blackpink as your Date

Jisoo

Prom with Jisoo would be regal. You guys would definitely look and be the prince/ss and princess of the night. In the pictures you guys are even wearing crowns, at the insistence of one of your friends, since you guys literally look like royalty. You guys would definitely have pictures taken at a majestic place, and there would definitely be a limo, nothing but the best for you two.

Dinner would probably be at some fancy French restaurant nearby. There’s a little bickering over the bill, but you relent and let her pay. But don’t worry, you guys definitely buy ramen to eat after the whole event.

When you guys arrive at the venue, to say you turn heads is an understatement. Everyone’s eyes are on you. You both just look so magnificent, it takes breaths away. The pictures at prom though, are even better, in your opinion, goofier than the ones you took earlier. At the first slow song, Jisoo pulls you onto the dance floor. You guys are on the dance floor for the rest of the night. Until inevitably you guys leave to go to a chill party at one of your mutual’s house and eat the ramen that you bought earlier. It is the best night of both of your lives.

Jennie

Prom with Jennie would be relaxing somehow. You guys would probably wait and do an outfit reveal. And wow, are you glad you did, she looks amazing and so powerful. Little do you know, she thinks you look stunning, like she has to fight to keep her mouth closed because of how beautiful you look. Let’s just say the pictures came out amazing and the shock on your faces in the beginning is real.

Dinner would be one of your favorite restaurants. Probably the one from your first date, depending on how long you guys have been together. You guys would probably feed each other. The conversation would definitely be a look back at how far you guys have gone, and future plans career-wise.

You guys would probably drive there in a Cadillac, loaned to you from one of your parents. Not too much, but classy nonetheless. When you guys get to the venue, you guys go straight to the photo booth to take all the goofy photos and of course stolen kiss pictures that you can. You guys would end up getting separated, having to mingle with basically everyone. However, when your favorite songs come on, you meet up again on the dance floor. She will definitely dance with you on any and all the songs you want to.

Rosé

Prom with Rosé would be lyrical, like it came right out of a song. You guys would probably end up going in a group with some other couples in a limo. However, you guys are definitely the best dressed. The pictures are good, you guys manage to get some good ones, despite the place being in a random field.

Dinner would be at a nice restaurant, the conversation flows easily. The food is mid in your opinion, but that may have just been what you ordered. Rosé seems to really enjoy it. Inevitably someone in the group spills their drink and everyone gets involved in cleaning it up. You all have a good laugh about it later.

When you guys get to the venue, it’s nice. You guys take pictures in the photo booth and have a good time with everyone else. Of course you two dance to all the songs, and for all the slow songs, she would pull you close and sing the lyrics softly into your ear. You’d steal a few kisses while you two danced too.

After you guys get dropped off at your place though, the night is far from over for you two. You guys get into your convertible and drive to the nearest big city and 24 hour karaoke spot, belting all your favorite songs on the way, specifically, ‘Teenage Dream’ by Katy Perry. You end up retaking pictures on the roof of the car garage you park at, that overlooks the city’s twinkling lights. At the karaoke bar (and eventually hotel room that you guys end up staying at), you can’t help but think to yourself that this is what you really wanted, a nice night with your one and only. Rosé would definitely end up writing a song in the hotel room about this night after you fall asleep.

Lisa

Prom with Lisa would be chaotic but in the best way possible. You guys definitely get ready together. And will definitely end up looking drop-dead gorgeous anyways. In the pictures, you guys are intertwined in all of them, she just can’t keep her hands off of you. There are definitely more than a few pictures of you guys kissing… each other’s cheeks of course.

Dinner would wind up being at a local diner, since you guys both forgot to make a reservation, which was fine with you guys. The food was good and the company was even better. Lisa would definitely end up driving that night, a rented Rolls-Royce is the vehicle for the night. You guys roll down the windows and shout/sing the lyrics to every chorus that comes on.

When you get to the venue, let’s just say you better have good stamina. You guys are dancing to every single song of the night. At some point in the night, somebody tries to start a dance battle with Lisa, which she obviously wins. As your reward you give her a kiss and pull her away to the photo booth to take some pictures. As the night winds down, Lisa would drive you guys to a local hotel, and let’s just say you lose a little more than your clothes that night.

[legendslimonyc]

The show floor at the Marquee Ballroom in #LasVegas has Legends #Limousine tempted to add a few upgrades to our #fleet. What would you like to see on the roads of #NYC?

Reserve your ride at www.legendslimousine.com or call 1-888-LEGENDS now.

#RideLegendary

[dantakeyoman]

𝐉𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐘 | 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐰𝐨

♡ 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

♡ * 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒚, 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆, 𝒛𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒆-𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏. 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔. *

♡ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐦 (𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬), 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐨𝐟 𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬), 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

♡ * 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒚: 𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 *

𝐎𝐍𝐄

The last six years had been the best years of your life, including pre-Z day.

...

Okay, maybe not best, but very high up there.

Never, in this life or the next, would you have guessed that these people would become such an important part of your life.

Or that your relationship would begin to feel nothing short of familial.

Save for Tallahassee, of course.

You had taken on a sort of motherly figure towards Little Rock, and for Wichita and Columbus...

Maybe one of those laid back aunts?

Anyways, your East Coast tour with the apocalyptic Brady Bunch had brought you to the White House...or whatever's left of it.

The five of you decided to hole up there for a little while and rest in style.

But after a month or so of being cooped up in the mansion, you decided to take up your own form of relaxation by working on one of the limos left in the White House Garage.

It actually worked as a sort of bonding activity for you and Tal, seeing as he was looking for something to fill the Cadillac Escalade sized hole that had been left in his heart.

"I love you so much, baby," Tallahassee cooed, lifting his welding mask with a look of pure admiration, "You're gorgeous."

You rolled out from under the car and lifted your grease smudged goggles, shooting him a glare.

And as if he could feel your gaze, he turned to you, changing his tune.

"Of course, not as much as you, darlin'," he assured, flipping his mask back on and getting to work, "The Beast here's a close second."

"Lucky me," you sarcastically smiled, standing up and grabbing a rag to wipe your hands, "Ya hear that, Little Rock? I'm a narrow first to a car."

She laughed, sitting herself on the table and handing you your toolbox.

You and Tallahassee still hadn't hashed out exactly what you were, or labelled it in any sort of way.

You two had kissed, made out, fucked, but never actually talked about what it meant to one another.

Shoot, you two hadn't even said the L word yet.

But it was just known within the group that you were together exclusively, no names attached, and that was the way it would most likely stay.

"Just goes to show that romance is a bust. There'll always be a tricked out car ready to replace you."

Little Rock looked like she was thinking for a moment, before a smile stretched on her face.

"Well, maybe being first to a car wouldn't be so bad...if we find someone for me," she suggested.

Just as you were about to respond, Tal lifted his mask with an obnoxious laugh.

"Shouldn't be a problem," he chuckled, "As long as you're open to dating zombies."

You facepalmed.

Sometimes you wondered if he had the bone that helps you sympathize just completely taken out his body.

"So you're saying what? I'm never gonna find a boyfriend? Or get married? Have a family?" She asked.

"We're your family, so one outta three ain't bad," he shrugged.

You sighed, covering your face.

That was the worst possible answer.

In an upset huff, Little Rock stormed off, leaving the garage.

And when she was completely gone, you hit Tal in the head with a bolt.

"Ow!" He winced, sharply turning to you as he rubbed the area, "The hell was that for?"

"You need to stop babyin' her," you scolded, starting to pack up your tools and such for the day, "She's eighteen, and she feels a little cooped up at the moment. It's normal. We just gotta find her some people to hang out with."

"We're people," he scoffed, muffled by his mask as he turned off his blow torch.

"Other people her age, Tally," you clarified, turning to him with a tired look.

He let out his own sigh, climbing out the tiny cock-pit of the Beast and taking off his mask.

"I don't understand why she's so antsy. We got everythin' you could ever want right here," he shook his head, undoing his welding apron.

"She's an adult, and she has needs," you started, putting your toolbox in its assigned cabinet, "Needs which, believe it or not, will not be satisfied by killin' zombies or fixin' up cars."

He tilted his head, confused about what you were talking about.

Until you raised your eyebrows with a knowing look, and the realization hit

"She's too young," he immediately denied.

You scoffed.

"How old were you when you had your first?"

...

"That's not important."

"I rest my case," you smirked.

"Even if that was something that was...needed...there isn't a soul for miles," he waved you off.

"Well then maybe soon, we might wanna travel some miles to find her somebody," you huffed, starting to get frustrated with his stubbornness.

"Who? Some random twenty somethin' that wants ta get his wick wet? Or a desperate teen that doesn't know his own ass from a hole in the ground?"

Fair point.

You scoffed.

Annoyingly fair point.

You rolled your eyes, turning away from him to finish cleaning up.

Tal smiled to himself, happy he had won the argument, but after a minute or so, he noticed that you were still icing him out.

And he'd rather have lost then face your cold shoulder.

So he rested his hands on your waist and gently turning you around to face him.

You cocked an eyebrow, and he placed a kiss on your hairline.

"I just wanna do what's best for her. You know that," he said sincerely, leaning his forehead into yours.

In your head, you cursed at yourself, pissed and embarrassed that you were already melting for him.

You knew he hated the cold shoulder.

He knew you liked it when he got soft all of a sudden.

You knew that he hates it when you don't react.

And he knew you went crazy for his accent.

Unstoppable force meets immovable object.

...

You caved.

"You love playin' me for a sucker, donchu?"

He chuckled.

"My favorite pass-time."

"I hate you."

"Wasn't what you was sayin' two nights ago."

"You're sleepin' on the couch."

"An' you're comin' with me," he smirked, pulling you in for a kiss.

You rolled your eyes, but eased into it, throwing your arms over his shoulders.

'This man's gonna be the death of me.'

𝒛 𝒐 𝒎 𝒃 𝒊 𝒆 𝒍 𝒂 𝒏 𝒅

"Hello? Ho, ho, ho!" Tallahassee smiled, popping out from behind his Christmas tree, "Merry Christmas!"

He was dressed in a red blazer with a Santa hat and cotton balls he'd glued in the shape of a beard.

'Oh, no.'

"Hey, Tal," Little Rock sighed.

"Santa," he corrected.

Columbus and Wichita were trying desperately not to laugh, and you pinched the bridge of your nose, tired.

He plopped himself down in a chair, patting his knee for Little Rock to sit, "What would you like for Christmas, little girl? A pony?"

"No, I'd actually really like you to stop calling me little girl," she shook her head.

"Well, technically, you are little and you're a girl," he corrected again.

"Well, uh, I am not a little girl, Santa," Columbus chimed, handing his gun to Wichita and sitting down on Tal's knee, "But do you know what I would like?"

"I don't give a fuck what you like," Tal denied in his Santa voice, shoving Columbus off his knee.

"I'm getting a drink," you sighed, walking over to the President's desk and grabbing his mug, pouring yourself some bourbon.

"That reminds me," Wichita perked up with a smile, "Gifts. We have gifts."

Everyone took a seat on the couches as she grabbed a brown paper bag out from under the tree and handed it to Columbus.

"Oh my God," he went wide eyed with a smile as he pulled out a book, "It's a first edition Tolkien. And you wrote in it. There's my name right there, marring this perfectly preserved paper. And yours, too."

"I actually drew the portrait of you in the back," you smirked, kicking up your feet on the table.

He flipped the book over, opening to the back page to see you had made a horribly drawn stick caricature of him that had an odd emphasis on his hair.

"You didn't stop. Thank you so much," he smiled, giving you a thankful nod before moving to Wichita's couch and giving her a kiss.

"Touching," Tal nodded, going over to the tree and picking up a present, handing it to Little Rock, "I couldn't find any wrapping paper but don't worry, just tear it open. It doesn't matter. S'only Taft."

He literally wrapped the present with a painting of Former President William Howard Taft.

"He was our fattest president, so there's actually quite a lot left over. If you need some wrapping paper," he sighed, "Columbus, I didn't get anything from you."

"I didn't get anything from you," you added, taking a sip of your bourbon.

"Your gift's later," he assured, giving you an awful wink-smirk combination.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as the others caught on to what he was implying.

"With Santa..." Columbus shook his head disapprovingly.

"No one wants to know that," Little Rock shivered.

"Do you ever get sick of sleeping on the couch?" You wondered out loud.

You weren't against the present, not one bit.

But the concept of time and place is something that Tallahassee just couldn't grasp.

Little Rock had torn through the Taft wrapping paper and opened the box to see that it was a fancy looking revolver.

"Just what I wanted. Another gun," Little Rock sarcastically smiled, visibly sinking at the sight of it

"Oh, hey, well, not just any gun. A Colt .45," Tal corrected, pulling out the weapon, "And not just any Colt .45, the King's."

"England? Denmark? Lichtenstein?" Columbus guessed.

"Here we go," you sighed, already knowing what was coming.

He'd talked your ear off so many times about him that you might as well have known the man personally.

"There's only one king," Tal held up a finger, posing like a certain 50s rockstar, "Elvis Aaron fuckin' Presley, the greatest who ever lived. The king of kings."

"Yup," you popped the p, taking another sip of your drink.

"He gave this gun to Nixon when he visited the White House, and I give it to you locked and loaded," Tal smiled, handing it back to her, "Yeah, he used to shoot that Colt in his backyard. King's palace. Memphis, Tennessee. I tell you about Graceland?"

"Only like a hundred times," Little Rock quickly answered.

"We'll go there together someday," he nodded.

"Actually, I'm gonna go shoot this right now," she stated, standing up, "I think I saw some Zs down by the reflecting pool."

"I'll go with," he suggested, but more like insisted.

"I'll go by myself," she assured, frustration showing plainly on her face.

'Oh, shit.'

"It's Christmas," he gasped, offended.

"It's not fucking Christmas, it's November 17th," she scoffed, walking out and slamming the door behind herself.

Tal looked shocked at her sudden outburst, and also slightly hurt.

You groaned, letting your head fall back for a moment.

'It's like shit just goes into one ear and right out the other with this man.'

"Tallahassee, what did we discuss a couple days ago?" You rhetorically asked.

He paused for a moment, slightly nerved by the use of his full name and the sudden question.

...

"I need to stop babyin' her," he answered, the wheels starting to turn.

"And what did you just do?"

".............Baby her."

"Thank you," you smiled, "Now give the damn girl her space."

𝒛 𝒐 𝒎 𝒃 𝒊 𝒆 𝒍 𝒂 𝒏 𝒅

"I mean, it's not like I started wedding planning or anything. I'm not crazy," Columbus vented, now going on month two.

"Who wants to get married in winter? Spring, sure."

You, Columbus, and Tallahassee were currently riding motor scooters around a mall, trying to get over the events of last month.

Tal's Santa display was the final straw for Little Rock.

She was sick of him treating her like she was still twelve, and was sick of having no one her age to talk to about it.

And on top of that, a horribly timed proposal from Columbus to Wichita, which made the woman incredibly uncomfortable.

So they took the Beast and hightailed it.

Again.

So for the last two months straight, the only thing Columbus was willing to talk about was Wichita, Wichita, Wichita.

And it was driving you and Tallahassee up a wall.

Until, he eventually broke.

"I mean with my hair and the humidity-." "Oh, my God, man! I cannot listen to this shit anymore! It's been over a month!"

"Yeah, I'm bereft," he agreed.

"I'm giving you one more day to mope around, and then you gotta snap the fuck outta it," Tal sighed, "This whole finding a home idea of yours has made us soft, and by us, I mean you."

"It's high time that we nut up and hit the road again. And by we, I mean me. That's where I belong. Lone wolf. You are welcome to tag along."

You sighed, massaging your temple.

You had the feeling that Little Rock was going to crack soon.

You knew something like this was gonna happen.

And yet you had done nothing to prevent it.

Now, you were paying the price.

The girls gone.

The guys arguing.

And one skull-splitting headache.

The snarls of a zombie snapped you out of your self-reproaching thoughts, and you let out a sigh of relief.

It was huddled near the mirror of a destroyed clothing store, dressed as if she was once a shopper there.

Tallahassee lifted his gun, about to shoot it when you held your arm out in front of him.

"I'm taking this one," you stated in a tone that left no argument, hopping off your scooter.

The two men turned to each other, one with a look of worry and one with a look of pride.

The zombie continued to hiss, staying in its place as you walked closer, a pissed look on your face.

Noticing a halfway broken bottle on the ground, you kicked it into the monster's face, it letting out an agitated roar and sprinting towards you.

You quickly unsheathed the crowbar from your pants loop and wound up your swing, slamming a full force hit right into the zombie's face.

It fell to the ground, gurgling and spitting up blood, but you pressed on, bashing the poor thing in any and every spot you could reach.

Until eventually it looked like a pile of mushy, bloody ground meat.

"That's gotta be, like, a thirteen-tuple tap," Columbus chimed, feeling sorry for the zombie as you were still beating the living shit out of it, "I'm pretty sure it's dead."

Landing a final hit on her face, you stopped, panting as you looked down at your work.

...

'Yikes.'

Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely about Little Rock.

In all honesty, Tallahassee's talk about striking out on his own made something pang in your chest.

Something sharp.

Something that had never happened before.

You were self-aware enough to know that you'd gotten seriously attached to the man over the last six years, and while he was a major pain in the ass, it would be incredibly hard for you to press on without him.

So, seeing and hearing him say so easily that he should just go off on his own, made you feel like shit.

And a little ashamed, too.

"Got it all out your system?" Tallahassee cockily asked, practically glowing.

He was proud to say that you were his gal.

His sexy, zombie-beating gal.

"Yeah," you caught your breath, tossing the crow bar, "Just needed a punching bag."

"Y'know, I never told y'all this before," he started, your display suddenly reminding him of something, "In fact, I never told anybody."

You turned around to face him, cocking a brow.

Columbus was also intrigued.

"But I have Native American blood coursing through my veins."

...

You did your best to suppress a snicker.

"Like, right now?" Columbus asked, fighting back a smile.

"Yeah, right now. Blackfoot Indian to be exact," Tal nodded, stepping off his scooter and walking over to one of the stores, "The freest men in history. Mid-1800s, roamed the plains, no houses, no laws, no possessions, no chiefs to report to, no wives to listen to."

'Wonder how long they lasted.'

"They listened....to the call of the Buffalo," he smirked, starting to push a bunch of jewelry off a table, "And the hunted those buffalo by herding them off the cliff to their deaths. The Great Buffalo Jump."

You rolled your eyes and turned around to go look for another blunt force object, already sensing a rant coming on.

And Columbus did, too, whipping around his scooter to look for a candle store.

"I don't know why I never told anyone about my Blackfoot blood. I guess it's just a sacred little secret. Honestly, you two are the first non-tribesmen I have genuinely trusted because you've always been there for me. You care and you listen. You really listen."

𝒛 𝒐 𝒎 𝒃 𝒊 𝒆 𝒍 𝒂 𝒏 𝒅