#her 60s hairdo :')

[spirk-trek]

Sandra Smith as Dr. Janice Lester/Captain James T Kirk | Star Trek the Original Series, 1969

[homunculus-argument]

I always love when people explain something in an anecdote by saying "because it was the [decade story is set in]", because it either really puts the story into historical perspective, or sounds hilariously unhinged simply by implying that this was ever the norm. Like

"They were playing darts while using one guy's back as the target because it was the 50s and there wasn't anything else to do."

"She named her baby Moonshine because it was the 60s."

"So he sailed off and faked his own death in Argentina because it was the 70s and people could just do shit like that."

"My aunt pulled a switchblade out of her hair - yeah her hairdo was big and puffy enough to hide a concealed weapon in, because it was the 80s - and"

"They didn't like each other but got married and had kids anyway because it was the 90s and everybody else was doing it."

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

As You Wish Pt. 2 | Neil Lewis x fem!reader

Summary| Neil, still thinking about the other day, invites y/n to Gumshoe Video's movie night. The theme (besides vampires) is the 1960s and so she dresses for the part. And like any good vampire thriller- only the good stuff happens after dark...

Warnings| age gap- reader (19) Neil Lewis (27), cursing, kissing, groping, teasing, unprotected sex, penetration, no fore-play.

word count: 4261K

Midnight City- M83 🎶

Our Swords- Band of Horses 🎵

Shout out to the lovely reader who requested a part 2! This is for you!

Please read warnings and continue at your own discretion, thanks!

She can hear the chatter from outside as rain plasters the wide display windows. She stops outside Gumshoe Video and peeks her head inside, sparing her hairdo from the storm outside. Her hair was pinned into a half-beehive and curled up around her shoulders like a young Pattie Boyd. The guests inside turn when the bells above the door announce her presence. They cheer and raise their red plastic cups in greeting and she laughs back, her smile dragging widely across her face. And there he is: Neil Lewis. He’s standing beside the box tv set with a bottle of cheap beer in his hand. He’s wearing a powder blue dress shirt from the seventies and a dark blue suit. His longish hair is swept out of his face and he smiles at something someone has said. When he looks over, he sees her, and his mouth falls open. 

“Oh my God! Where did you get this?” A woman swoops in from the side and admires her dress. 

“It’s a replica mod dress from the 60s. I made it,” she answered with a polite smile and allowed the woman to inspect the stitching. As she raised her eyes, they met Neil’s. His eyes widened slightly as he dropped them down to her thighs before traveling back up to her face. Her dress was boxy, like that of a mod dancer, and so short that it was barely fingertip length (to use school-girl terminology). She was dressed up as a gogo dancer, red vinyl boots and all, for the showing of Gumshoe Video’s The Kiss of the Vampire. Neil bit his tongue as his eyes crawled down her body. Her dark red dress had a high modest neckline but was sleeveless and short. The fabric was a tautly starched linen that didn’t move much as she walked. It hugged her waist with a thick belt but fared out around her thighs in a fixed shape. Her makeup was a copy of one of Twiggy’s famous looks with the exaggerated eyelashes and dark eyeliner. Her eyelids were a bright blue that clashed with her red clothing, a mixing of primary colors. When the woman stepped away, she advanced shyly, resisting the urge to bite her lip and ruin her lipstick. Neil cleared his throat and nodded quickly at Lucien whom he was talking to when she had come in. His eyes darted back and forth, between her and Lucien’s prop pipe. His long eyelashes fluttered as he stole glances at her between pretending to listen to Lucien. 

“Hey! Nice of you to join, I’m Jonathan.” Jonathan appeared beside her and offered his hand not holding a beer. She shook it and smiled. 

“Y/N, I tried to dress for the theme.” She looked down at her costume and he nodded emphatically. 

“I did too. I was going for Ringo Starr.” Jonathan twirled, showing off his bright pink military costume like the one Ringo wore for Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. She nodded and smiled. 

“I see the resemblance. Who is Neil supposed to be?” She jerked her head at Neil and Jonathan sighed. 

“He said that he was going as one of the Monkees but personally, I don’t see it.” 

“He must have run out of costumes,” she laughed and Jonathan shrugged dramatically. As she finished that sentence, Neil broke away from Lucien, slightly breathless and placed a hand on her back in greeting. She looked up at him, curling her toes inside her shoes. 

“You’re one of the Monkees?” She teased him lightly and Neil chuckled and shook his head. 

“I did have a hat on, it made more sense when I was wearing the hat.”

“So you were Micheal?” She asked and he gestured wildly at her for Jonathan, “See I told you someone would get it.” 

“That’s only because you both have weird niche knowledge,” Jonathan wrinkled his nose. “Uh oh, Lucien is talking to two strange women. I’m going to swoop in before he says something weird,” he hurried over to Lucien and patted him playfully on the head. Neil immediately looked down at her, his cool resolve slipping slightly. He was flustered. 

“Wow,” he gestured with both hands at her costume and she blushed self-consciously. He stuttered as he tried to say something coherent. “I’m uh, just uh… wow.” He scratched the back of his head and shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing around quickly before leaning in close to her ear. “Jesus Christ you smell good too.” He shook his head, forgetting what he was originally going to say. She smiled giddily. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“Do you want to see my office?” Neil cleared his throat as he looked around, trying to look natural to everyone else in the store. His slumped posture and darting eyes would betray him if anyone cared to look at him long enough. He replaced his hand on the small of her back and swirled a finger across the fabric. She played with the hem of his blazer, blushing hard. 

“Hey, Neil!” A couple stopped in front of them and Neil jumped back to attention, his arm flying back behind his head and off of her body. He coughed briefly and cleared his throat. 

“Hey- hey! How’s it going?” He smiled distractedly and greeted his friends. They waited expectantly to be introduced to the girl and Neil gasped slightly, remembering. “Oh sorry, this is Y/N and Y/N, this is Buddy and Marcia.” He waved between them and they all nodded at each other politely, exchanging handshakes and smiles. “Enjoy the movie!” Neil said a little over enthusiastically and Buddy furrowed his brow, slightly concerned as they walked away. Jonathan found them at the makeshift bar and chuckled. 

“That’s the new girl,” he gestured with his cup and Marsha pursed her lip approvingly. 

On the other side of the room, Neil turned back to her and licked his lips. “So… my office?” He raised his eyebrows and jerked his thumbs at the separate office space in the back of the store. She giggled as she dug her toe into the ground and swayed slightly against him. Neil’s smile grew as he led her from the main store area and back into the office. When she passed through the door after him, Neil closed it and lowered himself slightly, his arms going out wide as he looked her up and down again mouthing, “oh my god.”

“So you like it?” She ran her hands down the front of her dress and shifted the weight on her feet proudly. 

“I mean, just look at you!” He ran his hand over his mouth and stepped in closer. The desk knocked softly into her tailbone as she retreated. “I love it,” he emphasized and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was leaning back against the desk, her legs spread and her weight evenly distributed. Neil stepped closer, his body firmly between her legs. She worked up the courage to touch him, sliding her palms around his waist beneath his blazer. 

“Your fucking thighs,” Neil whispered breathlessly as his index fingers traced around the small hairs on her upper thighs. “God…” he gasped softly, already feeling himself get hot under the collar. She rubbed her nose against his and gave him a soft peck on the mouth. 

“Is that all I get?” He whispered with a furrowed brow. He ran his knuckles down her neck and tried not to gasp when he found her breasts. She kissed him again, pulling herself up higher by his shoulders. Her fingers dug into the plush fabric of his jacket’s shoulder pads. He responded immediately, shoving his tongue into her mouth. Neil pawed desperately at her, his hands grabbing at her thighs, her breasts, and her head. He pushed her up onto the desk and she whined in protest as he now towered above her. He chuckled breathlessly and dragged his hands up the inside of her thighs. 

“Shh,” he smiled when she glowered, wanting to cling to him as she kissed him. When she stopped wiggling, he leaned down and kissed her slowly. She held onto his hips by hooking her fingers in his belt loops. His hands prodded further, stroking the elastic band of her underwear around her pelvis. She was wearing cotton underwear and Neil could feel the wetness pooling at her opening through the fabric. He started to fall apart as he stroked her clothed cunt with his long fingers. She squirmed on the desk in front of her and the heels of her gogo boots knocked against the desk, her back arched into him. She moved his hands beneath her skirt, looking up at him with wide suggestive eyes. 

“Here? Now?” Neil whispered, slightly shocked at the girl’s suggestion. “Are you insane?” He whispered beside her ear, his voice laced with perverted desire though he tried to shake it from his voice, still wanting to be the voice of reason. 

“Neil…” she muttered at him and petted his crotch with slow, heavy moves. 

“What?” He whispered, an edge in his voice. His forehead was still creased and he tried to even out his breath as his cock pushed against every touch of her hand. 

“You’re supposed to say, As. You. Wish.” She squeezed her thighs around his legs, just below his hips and wrapped her hands around his hips. Neil raised an eyebrow and laughed lightly. He watched her as she bore into his eyes, thick with desire. He looked her up and down and reached both hands beneath her skirt again, pulling her underwear down over her butt. She had to lean back slightly as he dragged the cotton wad down over her gogo boots. He looked down at the underwear in his palm and trilled his lips lowly. 

“This is a bit more involved than I was expecting but I’m all for it,” he shrugged with a loose smirk and put the underwear on the desk beside them. She smiled and pulled on his dress shirt, prompting him to give her a satisfying kiss. 

“You were the one who suggested that I see your office,” she giggled quietly. 

“I needed a sense of adventure.” He muttered against her lips, his eyes closed. 

“Neil… Adventure?” She smiled lazily and stroked his jaw, her short nails running dully down his neck. 

“I like the sound of that,” he continued to kiss her, his nose crushing against her cheek. A knock at the door made them both jump and Neil turned around quickly, shielding her from the view of whomever was at the door. 

“Neil! We’re starting the movie now and Jonathan doesn’t know how to work the player. You gotta fix it.” Lucien yelled through the door. His silhouette showed through the frosted glass. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned quietly and rubbed his face. His erection fell slightly at the interruption and he sighed. “Ok, Lucien. I’m coming!” He smiled falsely as he yelled back his response.   

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Lucien mumbled beneath his breath and hurried back into the store area. 

“I’ll see you out there,” Neil cringed and fixed his suit as much as he could. 

“Break a leg,” she smiled and hopped off of the desk, her underwear still sitting on the desk. She pulled them back on over her gogo boots and followed him out. Neil walked around to the back of the tv and checked the cables. She watched from the back of the room, a deep blush spreading across her face as she noticed the places where her red lipstick had left smudges around his mouth. She smiled down at her boots and bit her lip, trying to compose herself. Neil stepped back in front of the tv with Jonathan and announced the movie, lipstick still smudged around his wide lips. 

“And now, Gumshoe Video presents the 1963 The Kiss of the Vampire,” he extended his hands to the small square tv and waggled his fingers. The audience laughed and hooted. Some glanced over at her and smiled, she blushed deeper. 

“Nice touch,” one guy called from the couches and Neil stared at him blankly, his eyes then slowly drifting to her. She pointed at her mouth and rested her chin on her fist. Neil laughed it off and winked as he stepped aside and the movie started. She sat down on the couch in the back and scooted to the side as Neil joined her, collapsing with an anxious exhale. 

“Kissed by a vampire,” he shook his head, “why didn’t I think of that? That would have been a perfect costume.” He spoke with his hands, and shrugged his shoulders. She hid her face in her hands to hide her smile. “Was it really that noticeable?” He whispered and she nodded, embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” she giggled quietly and wiped the lipstick smudges from his face with her thumb. Jonathan moved around the spread of couches and perched on the edge of the couch beside them. 

“Nice touch, Neil. I think it makes the viewing experience more realistic.” Jonathan snarked and Neil rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, Jonathan.” Neil sighed and massaged his face, pulling down on the skin. Jonathan winked at her and she smiled. Jonathan drifted off as the movie started and the title card appeared. As Neil relaxed into the couch, his hand found her thigh and rubbed his knuckles across her thigh. She leaned against him, her head resting against the wing of his shoulder as he moved his arm around her. 

…

“What’d you think of the movie?” Neil shoved his hands into his pockets as they locked up Gumshoe Video, the store now completely dark. 

“It’s a classic vampire movie,” she shrugged and smiled, “no notes,” she added. 

It had stopped raining but the sidewalks were littered with shallow puddles of dark water. Neil chuckled and placed one hand on the small of her back as they turned away from the store. 

“I thought you’d like it,” Neil smirked and she raised her eyebrow. 

“Why?”

“You would 100% be the kind of girl to get abducted by an insanely attractive vampire and fall in love with him.” 

“Well would he suck my blood at the end and kill me?” She pretended to consider the universe that Neil was suggesting. 

“Oh of course,” Neil shrugged his shoulders up to his ears and furrowed his brows playfully. 

“I can’t see it,” she shook her head and clasped her hands behind her back as they walked. She looked down at her shoes and smiled. Neil fell silent for a moment, his eyes once again trailing her up and down. 

“Have I told you how amazing you look?” Neil cleared his throat. 

“Yes, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” she blushed and cocked her head to the side, looking into his eyes as they walked. Neil wet his lips and stopped, looking her up and down once again. 

“You look amazing.” He said seriously and she looked away, self-conscious. They were stopped in front of Neil’s house, a two-story craftsman in a dark green color that looked dark blue in the darkness. She looked from the house to Neil’s face, the front porch light reflecting in his bright blue eyes. Neil laughed awkwardly when he realized that they had stopped at his house. 

“Will you come inside?” He twisted his hips casually, jerking his head once at the front door. The girl exhaled shakily and nodded. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She answered with a nervous smile. 

Neil broke into a large smile, the lines of his cheekbones stretching down to the edge of his jaw beside his pink lips. They climbed the stairs to the house and Neil let her inside, his eyes traveling up the length of her body as she stepped into the house in front of him. Neil closed the door behind him, exhaling slowly. She met his eyes when she turned back and smiled shyly when she noticed how he stared at her. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” She asked him quietly. Neil nodded emphatically, his hand still on the doorknob behind him. 

“Then come here and kiss me,” she whispered and turned fully to face him. She felt her cunt grow hot and heat billowed down her thighs. Neil clenched his jaw and swallowed, his eyes now fixed on the girl’s mouth. He pushed himself off of the door and approached her, his hips swaying slightly as he walked. She kept her arms by her side as Neil wrapped gentle fingers around her upper arms, right above her elbows, and held his lips within inches of hers. She savored the way he smelled, like laundry detergent and mouthwash. He smelled like what she imagined domestic masculinity would smell like if it could be bottled. She sighed softly before he kissed her, his lips drawing hers between his. He held her in place, not aggressively, and kissed her, moving his head occasionally to taste her from different angles. 

When he broke away she took a step back and clasped her hands behind her back girlishly. Neil laughed like a schoolboy, shocked by the surge of desire and energy he felt just from the kiss. 

“Can I take you upstairs?” He leaned his arm against the wall and pointed to the staircase in front of them. She bit her lip, trying to stop from laughing hysterically from nerves. She took a step backwards and stepped onto the bottom step, facing Neil. 

“Ask me again,” she teased and bit her lip harder. Neil exhaled sharply as he felt his cock twitch aggressively in his pants. The dark room threw her body into shadow and the windows above the stairs illuminated her silhouette. He wet his lips and asked again. 

“Can I take you upstairs?” 

She could still make out his blue eyes in the dark as the windows provided enough light to catch their color. She took a few more steps up, still facing him. 

“As you wish,” she whispered. Neil laughed, thrilled by her little game. He hurried up the stairs but she kept a few steps between them at all times until she reached the top of the stairs. She backed up into the wall beside the window and allowed Neil to close in on her. Neil held her hips in his large hands and kissed her again, this time snaking his tongue into her mouth, testing the waters. They stumbled away from the stairs and rushed into a doorway, Neil catching himself on the doorframe with both arms so that he could turn her around. He twisted her around so that her back was to his bed. 

Neil’s room was exactly as one would expect. His walls were decorated with movie posters with the addition of a few select female movie stars that he had the hots for. He helped the girl back onto the bed and leaned over her on the bed. She weaved her fingers through the hair on the back of his neck and traced his jaw with her palms. He worked quickly to pull off her gogo boots and slipped off his suit jacket. She moved onto her knees on the edge of the mattress and slid each button out of its eyelet on his power blue shirt. Neil shrugged it off and pulled each sleeve over his wrists, dropping it to the floor. She pressed her hands against his chest and placed a few shaky kisses against his warm skin. Neil sighed pleasurably and swept her hair over her shoulders to lie flat down her back. Looking up at him, she moved her hand down to the zipper at his crotch. Neil’s eye widened as she unzipped his fly and slid her hand down into the front of his hands, beneath his underwear. She cupped his erection in her hand and rubbed her hand down the hot and trembling length. Neil sputtered as she stroked him, his hands returned to the bed on either side of her body. She leaned down so that she could kiss the side of his neck while she jerked him off. Precum coated his cock so her hand slid easily over him and she shivered when she heard Neil gasp softly beside her ear. 

“Fuck, you’re full of fucking suprises,” he panted and squeezed his eyes shut. She exhaled against his neck and left a fresh hickey before responding. 

“This isn’t a movie, Neil. You can’t predict the ending.” 

She pulled her hand out of his pants and kissed his briefly as she scooted farther into the bed. Neil watched her breathlessly, his face hot. He watched her as she unzipped the side of her dress and pulled it over her head. Her bare breasts confronted the cold air by hardening. Neil’s jaw nearly fell open when he saw her, exposed like that. All that remained on her body was the cotton underwear which he allowed his gaze to linger on, camouflage by her thighs. She laid back on the bed and propped herself up on her elbows, her stomach trembling with nerves and desire. Neil’s erection pushed noticeably against his boxers. With his eyes still trained on the girl, he pushed down his pants and crawled onto the bed, stopping over her. He lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed the soft flesh there, savoring how warm she was against his mouth. She worked her underwear down and he could feel her hips shift on the mattress which thrilled him. He sat back to look at her, fully nude now. He raised her leg into the air and kissed down her calf, stopping at the underside of her knee. 

“I want to fuck you,” Neil saidbreathlessly as he moved his fingers down her thigh. She smiled darkly, her bow mouth drawn up into a smirk. His cock throbbed in his underwear and hovered above her navel.

“Say it again,” she whispered. Neil raised an eyebrow and exhaled anxiously.

“I want to fuck you.” 

“Again.”

“I want,” he leaned down to her ear and shoved a finger inside her gently, “to fuck you.” She whimpered and bit her lip. 

“Again,” she struggled to say the words, her cheeks flushed. 

“No, honey. You’re supposed to say, as you wish.” Neil whispered against her skin, his finger curling inside her. He smiled when she squirmed and moaned. 

“Ah, fuck- fuck me,” she gasped before Neil crushed his mouth against hers. He pulled down his boxers just enough to free his erection and centered himself at her cunt which was throbbing as much as he was. 

“As you wish,” he chuckled and removed his finger, swapping it out for his cock. He pushed in gently, working his tip inside her slowly as she squirmed needily beneath him. She was tight from nerves and inexperience and he whined despite himself as he went deeper. Her hands found his back and gripped into his flesh. He watched as his cock struggled to fit all the way inside her and moaned loudly when he saw her mouth held open in pleasurable shock. 

“Is it ok?” He groaned and stroked her flushed cheek. Her red lipstick was smudged again on her chin and he swiped his thumb across it. 

“Mmhm, yes.” She nodded and bit her lip as he thrusted in farther. Once her body got used to his length, he was able to pull out and thrust back in. It took only seconds but the sensations felt as though they were happening over hours. He fucked her gently but fast, his hips rocking against hers and shaking the mattress. She pushed her heels into the mattress and arched her hips up into his pelvis. Neil found it delightfully needy and thrusted deeper, eliciting a loud gasp from the girl.  

“Do you like that?” Neil smiled and cupped her chin with his hand. 

“Uh huh, yeah.” She panted as her eyes rolled back into her head. 

“You’re being such a good girl,” Neil praised her and cussed beneath his breath as he felt her walls tighten around him. His hips bucked aggressively into her over and over again and she yelled and gasped in pleasure. He looked down at his cock, slick with her precum, sliding in and out of her. He held her thighs and coaxed her deeper onto his cock, she gasped and bit her lip, her breasts bouncing against her chest. Neil groaned at the sight and fucked her messily, lossing control as he felt how wet she and tight she was getting as she neared her orgasm. 

“Good girl! I’m so close.” He panted quietly and she wrapped her fingers loosely around the nape of his neck. 

“Cum inside me,” she pleaded. 

“What?”

“Cum inside me,” she repeated, more delirious with pleasure.

“Say it again,” he smirked, playing her at her own game.

“Cum. in. me.” Her words tumbled out in a jumbled mess as she started to climax. Her thighs were tightening and her muscles flexed. He groaned helplessly as she came around him.

“As you wish,” he managed to answer as he buckled his hips against her and prompted himself to finish inside, spilling cum into her. He thrusted as he finished and exhaled when he finally pulled out. She worked to catch her breath as he collapsed beside her on the bed. 

“Fuck.” He sighed and rubbed his face. 

“Yeah.” She laughed lightly and cupped her cunt, still riding out the lasting waves of climax. 

[melospace]

mirandy x time travel au

miranda invited andrea to a benefit as her companion for the night then andy shows up in a 60s hairdo, clad in a chanel black velvet dress topped with black tweed coat dress. miranda who's wearing her black donna karan ballgown-style skirt and an off-shoulder top, was stunned as to how well andy carried herself as she walked down the stairs to meet her 🥹🫠🖤

yes, it's me and my mirandy x time travel au against the world.

[painehell]

fic sneak peek for beatrice's introduction and one of charles' many internal dilemmas :

However, the only other customer in the store besides them has noticed, and is openly glaring at the owners, long ginger hair pulled up into what he distantly remembers being called a beehive hairdo. It's reminiscent of the 60s, which is weird, since this girl looks around Jenny's age, and he hasn't heard of any 60s comeback unlike how he's heard of 'the comeback of the 80s', but Charles himself notices something weirder than that.

This girl, with the hairdo that most likely predates her fucking existence, has Edwin's jawline, has exactly the same type of nose, and in her dark hazel eyes he can see a shimmer of green. Of course, as he realizes that, he also has to yell at himself for even noticing that, since he cannot decipher if that is just because he has an inner detective, or if it is because he has spent the last 30 years gazing into Edwin Payne's face and observing every single thing the Edwardian does.

------------------------------------------------

her hair inspo , if anyone needs a visualization :

if anyone could make image IDs i could add that would be great. i'm not good at describing images fully </3

[justforbooks]

Paul Morrissey

Film director whose close collaboration with Andy Warhol included the trilogy Flesh, Trash and Heat

Andy Warhol’s films, which tested the endurance of audiences and made icons out of the marginalised and dissolute, altered profoundly the nature of cinema. Much of the work which bore his name from the late 1960s onwards, however, was made by the writer-director Paul Morrissey, who has died aged 86. “Warhol is a trade term,” said Morrissey. “Like Disney.”

About his famous friend and collaborator he could be comically scathing. “He didn’t have many points of view,” he said in 1996. “He didn’t have many ideas at all, actually. Maybe three. If he made a choice, it was almost always the worst possible choice in the world.”

Stephen Koch, the author of Stargazer: The Life, World and Films of Andy Warhol (1991), called the two men “mutually incompatible talents … Morrissey utterly blind to the refined complexity of Warhol’s experience of the world; Warhol wholly incompetent to assemble the often beguiling commercial product Morrissey sells under Warhol’s name.”

The first decade or so of Morrissey’s career was given over to orchestrating and managing projects under the Warhol name: not just the films but the stewardship of the avant garde rock pioneers the Velvet Underground (whom he had brought to Warhol’s attention) as well as the launch in 1969 of the influential magazine Interview, which Morrissey co-founded. It sometimes seemed as though the rest of his life was spent fighting to have his contribution recognised.

Morrissey was also Warhol’s personal manager from 1965 to 1974. Asked what this entailed, he said: “I had to think of things that he might do, I had to do them, and then I had to pretend that he was involved.” The two men met in the early 60s when they were both showing their work in New York. After Morrissey had assisted on, and co-directed, Warhol’s films for several years, a turning point arrived in 1968 in the shape of the camp western Lonesome Cowboys.

“Before that, I had been helping Andy make the kind of movies he wanted to make, which was the kind of movie which looked like nobody had made it,” Morrissey said in 1978. “Lonesome Cowboys was the first time we were making an effort.” The characters, including gay gunslingers, were still bickering and flirting and talking about their hairdos, as they had always done, only now they were doing it outdoors in Arizona, wearing costumes and riding horses, rather than lounging around in ratty Lower East Side apartments. This combination of tones and styles (timeless genre conventions side by side with a modern, spaced-out looseness) introduced a new piquancy.

Morrissey achieved his most striking results with the acute, funny and freewheeling trilogy of Flesh (1968), Trash (1970) and Heat (1972). Each showcased the sullen, swaggering beauty of Morrissey’s discovery Joe Dallesandro (immortalised as “Little Joe” in Lou Reed’s song Walk on the Wild Side), alongside “Warhol superstars” such as Viva and Jackie Curtis, and the transgender actors Candy Darling and Holly Woodlawn.

The pictures presented a compassionate portrait of outsiders struggling to make and maintain emotional connections. The great director George Cukor declared himself “lost in admiration” and even instigated a campaign, ultimately unsuccessful, to land an Oscar nomination for Woodlawn for her performance in Trash.

The plots of these movies were threadbare – Flesh, shot over the course of five Saturday afternoons, follows a hustler trying to drum up the money for a friend’s abortion – and sometimes second-hand. Heat, for instance, partially recycles Sunset Boulevard. But it was the attitude that counted, as well as the ambiguity over whether the films constituted art or reality. Though the performances could be affectless to the point of mundanity, Morrissey was adamant about the dividing line between cinema and life. “If a person is in front of a camera, they’re acting,” he said. “It’s not possible to live in front of a camera. What I always believed in was the truthfulness of artificiality.”

Born into an Irish Catholic family in New York, Paul was the son of Joseph, a lawyer, and his wife, Eleanor, and he remained a devout Catholic all his life. He was educated at Fordham preparatory school and Fordham University, where he began making 16mm films.

His first short depicted a priest saying mass on the edge of a cliff before throwing the altar boy to his death. Another, Civilization and Its Discontents, featured “a hood in a pea jacket strangling a fat albino” while Like Sleep showed two drug addicts nodding off. These brought him to Warhol’s attention and led to his involvement on films including My Hustler (1965) and Bike Boy (1967). His first feature-directing credit, shared with Warhol, was on the three-and-a-half hour, split-screen Chelsea Girls (1966). It was precisely the formalist experimentation of that film which some Warhol loyalists accused Morrissey of betraying when he manoeuvred the artist’s brand toward the ordered narratives of Hollywood melodrama.

While Warhol was recovering after being shot by Valerie Solanas, founder and sole member of the Society for Cutting Up Men (SCUM), Morrissey assumed full creative control over the films – or, rather, his creative control over them was finally made explicit. After Flesh, Trash, Heat, and Women in Revolt (1971), which included a send-up of SCUM in the shape of PIGs (Politically Involved Girls), Morrissey moved in a different direction. Taking Dallesandro with him, he made a pair of kitsch, gory but technically accomplished horror films in Italy: Flesh for Frankenstein (1973) – released in the US as Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein – and Blood for Dracula (1974). “I’m always a little afraid of getting stuck doing one thing,” he admitted.

No one could accuse him of that. Flesh for Frankenstein was shown initially in 3D, so that a man whose hand is sliced off seemed to bleed all over the stalls, his guts wobbling in the audience’s faces on the end of a sharpened pole.

Morrissey’s next film, The Hound of the Baskervilles (1978), was even more unlikely: a madcap take on Sherlock Holmes starring much of the British comedy establishment, including Peter Cook, Dudley Moore and Kenneth Williams, as well as the theatrical giant Joan Greenwood, who remarked of Morrissey: “He’s a dear, really, but the first few days one didn’t know where one was. One got used to him. He’s jolly clever.” Critics were less impressed: Time Out magazine remarked that “a first-year film student would be ashamed”.

He continued making films, including Forty Deuce (1982), starring Kevin Bacon as a hustler, and Mixed Blood (1984, aka Cocaine), about Hispanic drug dealers in Manhattan, and spent most of the rest of his life talking about, and clarifying his part in, the Warhol story.

He remained throughout his career proudly rightwing, outspokenly moralistic and wholly indignant, railing against everything from drugs – “There’s no difference between a person using drugs and a piece of refuse” – to method acting: “When you see people like Daniel Day-Lewis and Ralph Fiennes screaming and hyperventilating, you’re seeing the phoniest kind of bad acting. You may as well have a ‘men at work’ sign. It’s not acting if you can see it.”

Despite the marginal nature of much of his work, he was at heart a populist. “I’m very traditional about everything,” he said. “I like action, comedy, pretty colours, pretty people. Art is a formula any idiot can manage. Competing in the marketplace is the only challenge left.”

He is survived by his brother, Kenneth.

🔔 Paul Morrissey, writer and film director, born 23 February 1938; died 28 October 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[notchainedtotrauma]

This is a music video analysis of Why Don't You Love Me sung by Beyoncé Knowles-Carter (written by Solange) and directed by Melina Matsoukas. It's exclusive to my Iced Green Tea patrons (5$) and Raspberry Lemonade patrons. Basically, it's a discussion on how the visuals play around the idea of a Black woman transmogrified as the luxurious and neurotic cinematic white woman of the 1960s, while allowing the threat of a real, actualized Black womanhood through.

Beyoncé Knowles-Carter, act I

Beyoncé Knowles-Carter, act i

Screenshot from Lemonade

The photographs and screenshot above best visually describe the music video analysis. Here are some excerpts to whet you appetite:

 Beyoncé simultaneously inhabits and manipulates the personae of the despairing bourgeois wife, trapped in a loveless marriage, sunken into martini glasses and mascara tears. Cigarette in hand, carefully composed hairdo threatening to unravel, following a personal choreography of collapse yet high heeled, bejeweled, and even a pearly, trailing tear, can barely upturn her meticulous make up.

and

Beyoncé employs, performs, and produces a tangle of iconographies in which the Black woman, previously unvisible, penetrates and brims space, focus, and reveries. Melina Matsoukas, the director, plays around the grainy texture and the announcer's voice (read as white) of the 60s, anticipating a 60s housewives aesthetic, in which the commodified imagery of the ravished white 60s housewife would be replaced by her Black feminine counterpart.

and

Beyoncé is knowingly and theatrically acting out an alluring vision of the housewife, hot pants and kitchen playfulness, scrubbing an already clean windowpane in a one piece suit while frowning at the camera. She waters the plants with twee joy, even as interrupted by a shot of her furiously dishwashing, twirls around, sets a bucolic atmosphere, that's quickly interrupted by the vision of a dominatrix Beyoncé. The shot interrupts the fantasy, or the distorted recognition of the housewife imagings, and even the makings of the chorus girl, to exhale an undisguised, hypnotic sexuality.

[hayscodings]

the way that svetlana was shot in s3 is so superior. the close up of her lighting her cigarette on the street? the deleted scene where she walks into the dimly lit massage room with the silk robe and the cigarette in her mouth? the shot of her walking down the aisle in that 60s bouffant hairdo? godddd

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

DADDY ISSUES - Part Fifteen: Him & I

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: It's finally all over. After everything that you went through alongside your daddy, it's all over. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: mentions of drugs, alcohol, guns, lots of angst, i think that's it but as always please lmk if i missed something!

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 7444

A/N: me, expecting this chapter to be shorter than the other ones 🤡 also this is the article i mentioned, if y'all are interested!

Song Rec: him & i - halsey and g-eazy

This is Part 15 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

As you sip your first taste of coffee for the day, you absentmindedly flip to the entertainment section of the newspaper. You almost spill your cup as you read the big, bolded headline at the top of the page: Elvis Sues to End Marriage of 5 Years

You put your cup down and raise the newspaper to your face. Your eyes peer through the grainy print of the photograph attached to the article, a beautifully captured moment of Elvis and Priscilla from the 60s. You can tell by her famous beehive hairdo, the one which inspired so many other women in that era. They both look so young, so beautiful, like such a perfectly matched couple. The caption doesn’t match the photo in the least.

Elvis Presley and his wife, Priscilla, in 1968 photograph, agree to end their marriage.

You gulp and continue reading.

Singer Elvis Presley has sued his wife, Priscilla, for divorce, attributing the breakup to the pressures of his frequent traveling. Elvis and Priscilla have agreed to termina-

You stop abruptly, crumpling the paper in your fingers and tossing it into the trash can. You can’t bear to read any more. You shakily reach for your coffee cup and down a bit of the liquid. After which, you realize your anxiety will probably only get worse thanks to the additional caffeine.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to flash back to sixth months ago, the last time you saw Elvis. Your brain can hardly even compare the two images, from the newspaper and from what you saw before you left. They are and will always remain two separate people in your mind. You can hardly keep track of the different versions of EP. And Priscilla was just a child in this photo. Now, she seems aged, drawn, hollow. Like a ghost of herself.

“Hey, how are you this morning?”

You glance over your shoulder at the soft sound of Trixie’s voice and smile. She’s wrapped in a purple robe and matching slippers as she shuffles over to you. You silently thank the universe for allowing Trixie’s heart to be so big.

You were shocked when she didn’t hang up on you completely. You were so expecting her to slam the phone down in your face (or in your ear) but she didn’t. Trixie waited, patiently, for you to explain your situation. You told her how far Elvis had fallen, right in front of your eyes. You told her how sour your relationship had become, how you were alone, poor, distraught. After you, quite literally, fell onto your knees to beg forgiveness, Trixie somehow found it within herself to forgive you for being probably the worst friend ever. When you burst into tears on the phone, she was as supportive and caring as ever.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. How can I help, honey?” he asked.

With a sniffle you replied, “I just want to come home, Trix. I’m so tired of this place, this prison.”

And that was that. You spent the evening packing up your belongings, just the ones you absolutely couldn’t live without, into boxes. First thing in the morning, there was Trixie in her Jeep Wagoneer, waiting with the warmest hug you’ve ever received in your life. With one foot in the car and one firmly planted on the pavement in front of the hotel, you looked up and scanned the rooms. You knew Elvis wasn’t looking down at you and, in fact, most of you hoped he wasn’t. But part of you…it still wanted him, despite everything. And when you thought you saw a reflection glimmer in one of the windows, you wondered if it really could be him. But then it was gone and you had to accept the fact that you would never know. You took one last look at the golden bars of that prison and, with a deep breath and all the courage you could muster, ducked into the car and shut your door.

“Fine. Just fine,” you reply. “A bit tired. How are you doing, Trix?”

“Oh, you know, a bit tired but excited,” she repeats your words with a smile. “How about some breakfast before we get going?”

You nod and she stands, waddling into the kitchen.

“You know, I think this will be good for you,” she says as she disappears behind the door to the fridge.

Trixie is referring to a vacation you’re both taking. You booked the trip the week after you returned home and today is the day. You’re leaving on an afternoon flight to travel down to Florida for a girl’s trip to Disney World. Trixie wanted something wholesome and sweet that wouldn’t require you to face any real life problems.

“It’ll give you something to think about other than…” Trixie trails off.

Neither of you have said his name since you returned. You used up the drive home to explain everything you could remember to Trixie, the events and emotions you suffered through during your time in Vegas. Of course, at first, it wasn’t easy to forget him. He was everywhere - on magazines, billboards, television, the record store. You saw his face everywhere you went and it hurt each and every time. You couldn’t sleep you didn’t eat, and you wouldn’t dare waste your time with any enjoyable activities.

Eventually, Trixie’s company announced an opening for a secretarial assistant, which you took greedily when it was finally offered to you. You threw yourself into work, trying everything you possibly could to forget him, for good this time. After a while, you became desensitized to seeing him around. You stopped paying attention and it seemed, almost, that he faded right before your eyes.

“Speaking of…that,” you say, propping your knees up onto the chair. “I saw an article in the paper this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” Trixie turns her head with wide eyes as she pours some pancake mix into a pan. “What’s the bastard up to now?”

“Getting divorced, actually.”

Trixie drops the spatula into the pan and turns back to you.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asks with an open mouth. You shake your head.

“I threw the paper away but it’s in there if you want to read it for yourself,” you gesture to the trash can.

Trixie scoffs, shakes her head, and returns to cooking breakfast.

“Did they say why in the article?”

“‘The pressures of traveling,”’ you reply, curling your fingers for emphasis.

“Yeah…I’m sure that was it. Asshole,” Trixie mutters to herself. “That poor girl. I hope she has another, better one lined up. She deserved so much better.”

You gulp guiltily as you think about how you treated her, the disrespect and anger. The way you insulted her and probably hit her in a place that was already gravely wounded. You shake your head, hoping karma can hear you when you respond.

“She did. From everyone.”

Silence settles as Trixie continues cooking and you mindlessly read the paper. Your eyes are tracking each word but you’re not really taking anything in. Six months already. You can’t believe it. You were in Elvis’ service for almost four years and, in all that time, you still felt like you never really knew him. You didn't know how to get back to a normal life after the chaos of living in Vegas. Sometimes it still takes you a moment to remember where you are when you wake up.

When you arrived home in LA, thanks to Trixie, you hardly had the energy to carry your boxes inside and you still haven’t gathered enough interest to unpack everything. There’s one unopened box in the corner of your room, filled to the brim with all the gifts Elvis had given to you. You’ve managed to get everything else put away, back to the places they were before. Minus some key pieces of decoration: Elvis memorabilia. Every item you had with his likeness or name on it went out to the curb to be dmolished in some junk yard far away. Your records, posters, books, magazines, everything. All of it. Every last piece.

The sudden sound of Trixie’s spatula clinking loudly against the metal pan snaps you out of your thoughts. You glance up to see your roommate drop her head into her hands, whimpering. You immediately jump to a stand and stick to her side, making sure to turn off the stove before wrapping your arms around her. You hold her thin body close to yours, rubbing her back gently.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Trix? What are you crying for?” you ask, pressing your cheek against her head.

“I just…” she sniffs coarsely. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s partly my fault, too, since I’m the one who finally convinced you to go there and see him. I’m the reason you even agreed to his stupid proposal, so I’m to blame for all of this too,” she explains through snotty tears.

When she finishes, her shoulders start to shake harder and you both melt onto the floor. You gently manuever her head into your lap and stroke her hair back from her forehead. Your face screws up as you feel tears threatening to spill. You clench your jaw. No. You refuse to cry over this again. You did all your crying on the car ride home, confident and resolute in the fact that once you stepped food back on your own soil, you would never shed another foolish tear over that man again. Ever.

“No, Trix. Don’t say that. This was not your fault. Don’t you even think about blaming yourself for one second. You didn’t do this. I knew what I was accepting when I said yes. Well, most of it anyway. Steve even warned me and I didn’t listen. I could have still said no, but I caved like a pathetic little…little…”

“Groupie,” Trixie finishes.

You glance down at her with a stern expression.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” you dramatically hold a hand to your chest and gasp. “Is that really what you think of me?”

Trixie laughs through her nose, which is already stuffed up by, judging the sound of her voice. You smile fondly down at her and thank the universe once again.

“Trixie, please don’t blame yourself. This was my fault and mine alone. My decision, not yours. Plus, I mean it wasn’t all bad. I did get some pretty nice gifts.”

“But you never even wear them. You might as well not have them,” she says, sitting up to wipe her eyes.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true…he did also buy us this vacation, though,” you say with a shrug.

The money you earned from your arrangement with Elvis did finance a lot of happiness. Not only has it been more than enough to pay off the remainder of your debts, but you’ve also been able to pay for a vacation with quite a bit to spare.

“Thank god, huh?” she laughs and you lean over to bring her into a hug.

“I never could have made it without you,” you whisper. “You have no idea how much you mean to me. How much you’ve done for me. You saved me, Trixie. I mean that.”

“Oh, Foxie…” she replies squeezing you tightly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Trix.”

You pull back and hold up your hand, sticking your pinkie finger out for her to wrap hers around yours. You both giggle as your fingers intertwine. After breakfast, you start getting packed for the trip. You’re scheduled to leave this afternoon for the plane ride all the way down to Florida. You and Trixie listen to the brand new Elton John album and dance as you pack up your belongings for the vacation.

As you board the plane that afternoon, you breathe deeply and feel your chest untighten. Despite yourself, you find a small grin spreading across your face. Happiness, pure and real, for the first time in a long time.

~ four months later ~

You jolt up at the sound of the telephone in the living room. Before you have a chance to remember your surroundings, you’re hopping up and stumbling out of bed. Your feet are tangled into the blankets as you trip through the apartment and lift the phone from the receiver. You glance over at the digital clock on the kitchen counter and read 3:34 am. Your eyes widen and you yawn.

“Hello?” you say groggily into the speaker.

“Hi, sorry for contacting you so late, but I’m calling for Y/N Y/L/N,” the voice sounds vaguely familiar but with the early morning and your exhaustion, you can’t place it exactly.

“Yes, this is she. Who’s calling, please?”

“Oh thank god. Y/N, it’s Jerry.”

“Jerry? Oh my god…”

“Y/N, something terrible has happened.”

“Oh no, what?” you drop onto the couch, your heart starting to slam against your chest. You grip onto the phone cord as you anxiously await his response. “What happened?”

“It’s Elvis. He needs help. He blacked out today and…I’m really worried about him.”

“Oh my god. How did that happen?”

“Well, you know how much he’s been working. He just got back from a third U.S. tour and he’s been hopped up on drugs like crazy. I’ve tried to help him cut back but I just can’t get through to him, no matter what I do.”

“I understand, believe me. Where is he now? Is he okay?”

“Yeah. We were going down for his show, the later one, and he just sort of collapsed there in the hallway. Y/N, you should have seen it!” his tone changes into one of anger. “The nurses were trying to say that he needed to go to the hospital, for god’s sake. But the Colonel…he just said nothing mattered so long as Elvis got up onstage to perform. He told them to shoot him up, Y/N. And Vernon, Elvis’ father, just agreed. Just like that with no argument. I tried to stop them but I...I didn’t know what to do. Elvis is upstairs now in his bedroom, asleep. God knows what else they’ve given him since.”

“Oh my god…that’s horrible,” you reply, shaking your head. “Not surprising but god awful. I’m so sorry, Jerry. I don’t know wha-”

“I think he’s going to fire the Colonel.”

“Wait what?” you ask, doing a double take.

“Yeah…they got into it the other night backstage. It was pretty ugly. Elvis was high and drunk and he just started slurring and shouting…it was…hard to watch. He just wanted to know what was going on with the Colonel. Oh, speaking of which. You’ll never guess what I found out.”

“Hit me.”

“The Colonel isn’t even a citizen. He has no citizenship here in the United States. He has no right to be ruling Elvis’ life like he is, morally or legally.”

“Oh my god, are you joking? That’s…I can’t believe it. I mean I can believe but I just don’t understand how someone could be capable of such deception and manipulation. That fucking asshole…”

“I think Elvis is going to fire him tomorrow night onstage, although I can’t be sure. He mentioned something about it to me, but I never know how much of him is really there or not these days.”

“Well, he damn well should. Jerry, I know how much you care about him. Do whatever you have to do to make him fire that bastard. Whatever it takes. He has to be freed.”

“My thoughts exactly. Actually, that’s why I called.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“We need you here.”

“What? What could I possibly do?”

“Don’t be so modest, Y/N. He needs you.”

“No, that’s ridiculous. He very clearly does not need me. I-I’m incapable of helping him. I couldn’t do it when I was there, and I just made everything worse for him anyway. He needs therapy not me.”

“No, he needs you. Listen, I know that your relationship didn’t exactly work out. I was there every step of the way, I remember. But what you two had…it was like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“What about Priscilla? They were so in love and they were married with a baby. That’s so much more than whatever Elvis and I were. We were just…convenient, that’s all.”

“You were so much more than that, Y/N. And everyone knows it. Everyone saw those pictures on the tabloids of you together. Did you ever actually read any of those stories?”

You tilt your head as you realize that no, you hadn’t actually ever read what the press was saying about you. You didn’t want to know; you were afraid they were spreading horrible lies about you.

“No…I never did. I guess I was worried I’d see something I didn’t want to.”

“Well,  I read them. And so did millions of Americans. Maybe you didn’t notice, but the way he looked at you, the way he looks at you, it’s special. I saw it every time you were together. It was like the room lit up, even when you were fighting, even when you weren’t getting along. Priscilla may have been his wife but you’ve always been the one. Why do you think he chased after you for so long? Why he wanted you so badly? Why it broke him into pieces when you left? Since you’ve been gone, he’s asked for you repeatedly, over and over again. After the divorce, especially, he’s been a shell of a human being, barely hanging on. He needs you. He was at his best with you, you made him a better man.”

His words overwhelm you. You release a thick breath and reach up to touch your head. You can feel your pulse throbbing through your skin. You also feel woozy, like you stood up too fast. Your head swims in circles with images of Elvis. The way he looked at you, how his crystal blue eyes gazed down at you, moments when you felt seen, understood, adored. Moments when you felt loved in the quiet dark hours of the morning, the intimate spaces between you, the warmth of his touch on your skin. You feel a tear streaking down your cheek and reach up to catch it, wiping the wetness between your fingertips as you stare at it in the moonlight.

“Don’t you remember what I said to you when you were leaving?”

You hear Jerry’s voice but you can’t reply. Goosebumps raise on your skin as you think about the moment Jerry’s referring to. Before you left Vegas, you did your rounds throughout the hotel, saying goodbye to everyone you came to know and love there. You gave Stanley the security guard a big hug and he wished you all the best. You even managed to get to Max and apologize for everything you put him through. To your surprise, he accepted and even pulled you in for a hug. He asked you to keep in touch, hinting at another possible date. You always knew he was a good one. And maybe, one day, when you aren’t still broken into pieces over Elvis, you’d take him up on it.

Of course, you also said goodbye to Jerry. When you first met him at the special, you thought he was a cynical, judgmental, typical Hollywood producer with no genuine concern for Elvis at all. You have never been more wrong. Jerry tried to convince you not to leave, asking you about a thousand times if you were sure this was the best decision. You assured him again and again that you had to leave. You just couldn’t take it anymore. You wouldn’t stand by and watch as Elvis faded into something unrecognizable. Of course, Jerry supported your decision and offered his help should you ever need it. As you hugged Jerry, he whispered in your ear.

“You always have a place here if you decide to come back. You helped him dream. You helped him hope.”

At the time, you didn’t think anything of it, too emotionally compromised to pay attention to the words but now…everything in your body pulses with a desire, a need, a yearning. You’re wide awake. You’ve never been more awake. Your heart stills and a tranquility settles itself in your brain, heart, and body. You’re at peace.

“I love him, Jerry. I thought I knew before but…now I’m sure. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I love him.”

“I know.”

“How long have you known?”

“The special. When you were spying on the ‘If I Can Dream’ recording session. Yes, I saw you,” you open your mouth to speak but clamp it shut when he answers your question. “The look on Elvis’ face was…I could just tell. That’s why I pushed you so hard to be together, to take him up on his offer. Because I knew that you were meant to be, in one way or another. You made him happy, truly happy, for the first time since I’ve known him. You fill a void that no other person in the world has been able to. He needs you, Y/N. More than ever now.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Promptly after hanging up, you gently wake Trixie to tell her what’s going on and why you have to leave as soon as possible. Being the most amazing person in the world, she understands immediately.

“I love him, Trixie. I really do,” you say with a shrug.

She smiles and gently reaches out to stroke your arm comfortingly.

“I can see it in your eyes. What can I do to help? Anything for true love.”

“I have an idea that I think you might be able to help with,” you say and Trixie nods determinedly. You explain your plan to her and she smiles.

“We’ll have to wait until the morning to call, since no one will be in the office until 9. But as soon as the clock hits that time, I’ll make my calls. I’m sure I can make it work. I’ll find a way.”

“You’re the best, Trix.”

You’re far too wired to go back to sleep but, seeing as there’s nothing more you can do until the morning, you spend your evening unpacking the final box. You lift out some of the trinkets and photos that you stuffed inside and pause rigidly when you spy a record album. The Genius Hits the Road. You lift it out and press it to your chest, remembering when Elvis had given it to you. At the time, it was everything. It showed you that E paid attention to you, that he listened to you, that he knew what you cared about. That was when you could see that he understood you in a way no other man had before. You carefully set the album up by the rest of your records.

As you start to stuff your clothes into a duffel bag, your eyes drift over to a very specific spot on your dresser: the corner where you keep your jewelry. Although you refocus on packing, you find your attention constantly returning back to that spot. Giving in, you drop the shirt you’re folding and walk over to your stash, reaching immediately for a familiar blue velvet jewelry box. You run your fingertip over the soft fabric before opening it. You suck in a breath at the sight of the ring, still there in all its glory. You run your finger over the letters TCB. Takin care of business, just what you intend to do.

By the time the sun is finally rising, you’ve already packed and Trixie is in talks with her family friend on the phone. You call the airline and pace while they try to fit you on the next flight to Vegas. You could drive but the flight will get you in so much faster and you want to be there as soon as possible.

“What do you mean there are no flights? None, at all?” you shout into the phone.

“Well, it is Valentine’s Day and Las Vegas is a very popular destination for newlyweds. Perhaps if you had called before now, w-,” the airline worker responds. You sigh frustratedly.

“Well…thanks anyway.”

You flop onto the couch and drop your head into your hands.

“Okay, I’ve gotten everything set up,” Trixie’s voice snaps your head to the side. “You have a meeting with Mr. Benson, my family friend, in an hour. He’ll get everything wrapped up for you and you should be good to go by this afternoon. How’s the flight search going?”

“It’s not. There’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. Not a single open seat.”

“Well, fuck them then. I’ll drive you.”

“Trix-”

She holds up her hand.

“We’re on a mission to save Elvis Presley but, more important, we’re on a mission to save my best friend. Anything for true love.”

“Anything for true love,” you nod. “We better get ready for that meeting.”

It took you a good while to sort out the special plan you had and, as a result, you leave far later than you would have wanted. Nevertheless, five hours later, you and Trixie are in the car with your bags and materials, ready to make yet another trip across the dessert into Las Vegas, Nevada. You waste the entire drive nervously ringing out your fingers and, when you encounter a massive semi-truck wreck on the highway, you practically rip your hair out. The sun set hours ago and Elvis is probably already preparing for his second show. You’re still an hour out from the city.

“I have to get there before the second show,” you say, shaking your head.

“What exactly are you going to do?” Trixie asks nervously, glancing over at you as you uselessly try to peer around the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

“I don’t know, but I have to do something to stop this. I have to save him. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Finally, somehow, you arrive at the International Hotel. You feel physically sick at the sight of it, but you stomach the view anyway by summoning every ounce of anger you have for the Colonel. Before hanging up, Jerry had told you to meet him at a specific place at a specific time, where he would explain everything. You’re quickly coming up on the specified time. You were planning on changing into something a little nicer to see Elvis again. The thought of him laying eyes on you after so long makes your stomach tingle. But you’ll never have enough time now. As Trixie pulls up, the clock hits the time of the second show: 11 pm exactly.

You hardly even wait for the car to stop rolling before you hop out and run around the parking lot toward the back of the hotel’s entrance to the showroom. You know it well. You used it several times when you and Elvis returned from being out or just wanted to sneak around without being detected by paparazzi or suspicious staff. You stop short when you see someone standing in front of the door. This back door has never been guarded before. Bur as you approach the entrance, you smile.

“Stanley! It’s so good to see you,” you say with a smile.

“Miss Y/L/N! What are you doing back here?” he replies, looking up at you with a smile.

“I’m just here to visit. I guess I couldn’t stay away,” you laugh. “What are you doing back here? I thought you were stationed inside by the stage doors?”

“I was but the, uh, Colonel wanted me moved back here. He said it was a better fit for my personality, whatever that means.”

“Oh, Stanley. I’m so sorry. Don’t you pay any mind to that asshole. He’s nothing. In fact, why don’t you just come inside with me now. I don’t want you getting too cold out here.”

“Oh, Miss Y/L/N, you’re so kind. Do you know, interestingly enough, the Colonel told the security staff to watch out for you.”

“Oh, did he?”

“Yes. He said something about suspecting that you’d be crawling back and not to let you in if we did happen to see you.”

Your face falls at Stanley’s words. After all this time, you can’t imagine that Stanley would prevent you from coming in but, then again, he does have a job to do and the Colonel is ruthless when it comes to those who don’t play by his rules.

“But,” Stanley says, leaning forward just slightly. “Since I see you’re wearing your ring,” he gestures to the TCB ring and you grin, glancing down at the shining diamonds.

You slid it on right before getting out of the car, hoping it would embolden you and also remind you of the Elvis you used to know.

“I know that Mr. Presley is expecting you,” Stanley continues. “And Mr. Presley is the boss, after all, so whatever he says goes.”

You smile and throw your arms around Stanley’s neck, hugging him tightly.

“Thank you Stanley. You’re amazing. Don’t let the Colonel tell you what to do. You keep doing things how you do them.”

Stanley opens the door with a wink and you rush inside, trying to be as sneaky as possible. Music from the show rages in the background as you push past the stagehands and vaguely familiar faces of the staff. You search desperately for Jerry and breathe a sigh of relief when you finally recognize the back of his head.

Before you can get to Jerry, you notice the horrible figure of the Colonel standing beside him. You stop and drop back, pressing yourself behind a column. Your eyes take the Colonel in. He’s not a stupid man; he knew you would be returning for Elvis. And you finally realize his game: eradicate anyone who is capable of helping Elvis. He killed Gladys, played Vernon like a fool from the start, cut off Jerry and all of Elvis’ previous friends and band members, pushed away Priscilla, and then barred you from seeing Elvis. He even went so far as to prevent Steve from contacting EP. Anyone who tried to be there for him, support him, or love him. The Colonel eliminated them all, one by one. Your attention is pulled to the stage as you realize Elvis is out there now.

“Fuck the international,” he says and your eyes widen. You peer closer to try and get a better look at him. He’s stumbling around with his head turned upward to the ceiling. “And Las Vegas.”

Elvis continues to mumble around as you watch the Colonel and Jerry whisper to each other. You can tell by his body language that the Colonel is irritated.

“Ohhhh, security,” Elvis slurs, gesturing toward the side stage. “Securityyy, securittyy!”

You watch from the wings, unsure of what to do. Elvis turns to face the Colonel directly.

“800 hundred shows!” he shouts. “You don’t have a goddamn passport you son of a bitch!”

Although you’re terribly worried about Elvis, your heart leaps with joy at the fact that he knows the truth now. That Jerry told him everything. As the curtain starts to drop down, your day just gets better.

“You are fired!” Elvis shouts and you step out from behind the column. “You are fired!”

The Colonel approaches Elvis and you step up to take his place next to Jerry. In the awkward silence that follows, Elvis repeats the phrase to the Colonel’s face and drops the microphone before spinning on his heel to stomp away. The moment Jerry’s eyes lock on you, you can physically see the relief on his face. He pulls you into a hug and you close your eyes.

“Hi, Jerry.”

“Y/N, you don’t know how glad I am that you came.”

“Of course. You know I’ll do anything for him,” you offer a tight smile. “I take it you broke the news already.”

Jerry nods and opens his mouth to speak but, before he can get a word out, the Colonel’s irritating presence breaks through yet again.

“You! What in god’s name are you doing here?”

You turn to see him pointing a finger out at you. You cross your arms over your chest as he waddles closer to you.

“Mr. Presley released you from his service, you stupid girl. That means you leave and don’t come back.”

“Oh? Well, I believe Mr. Presley just released you from his service, you asshole,” you say, leaning in close to him but speaking loudly enough that everyone around you can hear. “And everyone just saw it. So that means you leave and you don’t come back.”

You step closer to him, your eyes bearing into his face. Summoning every ounce of rage that you have into your next words, you shove your finger into his face.

“You stay the fuck away from him. Do you understand me?” you hiss.

“Or what? You’ll call your little stagehand boyfriend to save you?”

“No. I’ll do what Elvis should have done a long time ago.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“That’s for me to know. If you’re smart, you’ll never find out. But if you come near him again, believe me when I say you will.”

The Colonel laughs and takes a puff of his cigar.

“You’re clearly bluffing and you’re not very good at it, my dear.”

“Afraid not. I’m not about to reveal my entire plan to you so you can find a way to con yourself out of trouble. Not this time. Let’s keep it simple, Colonel. You should be scared of the information I have.”

You watch as a momentary glimmer of panic shines in his eyes. You don’t give him a second more to consider your offer and turn around to grab Jerry by the wrist, pulling him behind you.

“That fucking bastard has no idea what’s coming,” you mutter as you and Jerry sprint down the hall toward the elevator. Once safely inside, you turn to him and let your hard exterior fall. “Jerry, he looks awful. He looks so high and bloated, I hardly recognized him. I…”

“I know. But listen, you’re here now and it’s the best possible thing you could have done for him. When he sees you,” Jerry shakes his head with a smile. “I think it’s exactly what he needs right now.”

“Tell me everything, Jerry. I want to know it all.”

The short elevator ride is just enough time for Jerry to fill in the blanks, describing how the Colonel can’t leave the country and that’s why he refused to allow Elvis an international tour. It never had anything to do with money or Elvis’ safety. It was for the Colonel’s own selfish reasons. Not surprising, but your blood is boiling even hotter now. In turn, you proceed to explain your plan for freeing Elvis for good this time. Jerry nods enthusiastically.

“I don’t know how you pulled this off but I’ve never been more simultaneously impressed and scared. I think it might just work,” he says.

When you step out of the elevator, your entire body suddenly floods with fear. What if he doesn’t really want to see you? What if he doesn’t even recognize you? What if he’s even less the man you used to know? When Jerry’s fingers curl around the door and pull it open, your heart pounds in your chest. As soon as it swings open, Elvis’ head lazily tilts upward. He’s wearing a bright blue jumpsuit which is now half-unbuttoned all the way down to his navel. Your eyes immediately fall to his chest and you remember the feeling of his hair, his skin, his warmth, the way he used to sigh happily when you gently touched him just as he needed it.

“Elvis, it’s Jerry. I have…someone here to see you,” Jerry says before he steps out of the way.

Your heart hammers loudly in your ears as you step into the room. You’re nervous, anxious. What if he doesn’t like you anymore? What if he doesn’t care about you? You shakily breathe and glance up to meet Elvis’ glazed-over eyes. You can tell that it takes him a moment to understand who you are but his expression immediately clears and brightens when he finally sees you.

“Princess…” he says quietly, reaching to stabilize himself on the back of the couch so he can stand.

He wobbles a little and you take an impulsive step forward to help support him. You wind your arms around his torso and allow him to lean on you. You breathe in his scent, familiar and musky. As you help maneuver him to sit back down, you feel the sticky sweat on his forehead and his back. When you hold him, you can tell that he’s much thicker than he used to be. He feels bloated and pudgy, not firm and healthy like he once was. When he’s seated, you drop to your knees between his legs, a comfortable spot that you’ve missed dearly.

“How are you here?” he asks, his head tilting as his eyes trace around your face. “You really here?”

He reaches out and places his warm palm on your cheek. Without thinking, you lean into it and close your eyes, his touch like drinking warm tea on a frigid winter day. His fingers curl around your face.

“Yes, I’m really here, Mr. Presley. I’m right here,” you take his other hand in yours and grasp onto it firmly.

“I’ll leave you two alone for a while. Let me know if you need anything,” Jerry says with a curt smile. You thank him as he shuts the door behind him.

“Oh, Mr. Presley, what’s happened to you?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing in sadness as you look at him.

“How can you be here? Why would you come back here? To this prison,” he slurs slightly, neglecting to answer your question.

“I came back to help,” you say, squeezing his fingers and then releasing them. His hand falls from your cheek “I want to help you get out of this. The Colonel is a very, very bad man. We need to get you away from him as soon as possible. Jerry and I have been working on it and we can finally do it. Everything is ready. But we have to leave tomorrow, okay? You and me both.”

“Leave? C-can I do that?” he asks, shaking his head. You can tell that he’s still a little buzzed from whatever drug cocktail was shoved down his throat tonight.

“Of course you can. No one can keep you here anymore, Mr. Presley. Not even the Colonel.”

“How did you do this?” he asks.

“That’s for me to know and you not to worry about. I have it all figured out. You just need to take care of yourself, sober up, and pack up what you want to take back home to Graceland.”

Your own mention of Graceland shocks you into the same vision you’ve had a thousand times: a healthy and strong Elvis sitting on the front lawn of Graceland with your children, playing with them, laughing and tickling them, smiling from ear to ear as the orange sun sets behind him, casting beautifully golden shadows on the house. And you, watching from the front step, with a hand on your swollen pregnant stomach. You shake your head, scolding yourself for dreaming.

“What bout Cousin Billy and Jerry and all them?”

“They’re coming, too, of course. All of us. We’re going to escape, okay? Everything is going to be just fine. The way it should be. You’ll be free. You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

You hold out your open palms, begging him to place his hands in yours. His eyes drop down to your wiggling fingers and he stares at them with furrowed eyebrows. You take a deep breath. His fingers lazily drop into yours and you immediately curl your grasp over him.

You help him up and to the bathroom, where you turn the water on warm and help him bathe himself, washing off the sweat. You run your fingers through his hair gently and he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. You make him drink lots of water before bed and, once finished, dry him off and get him dressed in something comfortable. Lastly, you tuck him into bed.

“How bout some television?” he asks.

You glance over your shoulder to see that one of the shot-out televisions has been replaced. Just one. You sigh at the horrible memory and shake your head.

“No, I think you need to rest tonight, Mr. Presley. Just rest,” you say.

When you pull the blanket up to his chin, his fingers curl around it like a small toddler and you can’t help but smile. He already looks so much better, cleaner and fresher. You gently place your hand on his forehead, smoothing his hair back. He closes his eyes. You consider leaning forward to press a kiss to his head but you still can’t do it.

“I’ll be out on the couch if you need anything. Just shout for me. Goodnight, Mr. Presley,” you say, moving to pull away.

But as soon as you take a step back, he jolts up in bed, grasping at your arms.

“No, no, no,” he says panicked, his fingers literally pulling at your skin. His force pulls you forward, and you collapse onto the bed as he pants with wide eyes and grips at your wrist. You wrap your fingers around his hands and hold him steady.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” you say, carefully maneuvering him back down onto the bed. “No, Mr. Presley…Mr. Presley, what’s wrong? Everything’s gonna be okay. Everything is just fine.”

“Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave,” he repeats over and over, his face screwing up in grief.

You stroke his forehead as he begins to cry. His voice cracks and his body shakes, tears streaming down his face. You bite your lip to keep from crying and climb further onto the bed. You pull him down on your lap and he rests his head there, his hands gripping harshly onto your thighs. You can feel the wetness of his tears as they fall onto your jeans. You repeatedly stroke his head and cradle it in your arms, gently rocking back and forth with his body.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” you repeat in whispers.

“Please don’t leave me, princess,” he says in between shaky breaths. “Errebody leaves me. Mama left me, Priscilla left me, you left me. I’m so lonely. Please don’t you leave me again.”

He breaks into sobs, burying his face in your legs. You lean down and press your lips to his hair, holding him tightly.

“No, no. I’m never gonna leave you again. I won’t leave you, baby. I’m gonna make it better, daddy, I promise. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna fix this for you. I will. I’ll never leave you, do you understand?”

You slide your hands underneath his cheeks and lift his gaze to yours. You hold firmly onto his cheeks in the darkness, stroking your thumbs over his cheekbones.

"You gonna fly away with me? Aren't you princess?"

He gazes up at you with wide glassy eyes. He looks like a kicked puppy just begging for someone to give him pets. You clench your cheeks and nod.

“We're gonna fly away, baby, together. I love you, Elvis.”

His tears have stopped and his shoulders rise and fall evenly now. He gazes into your eyes in the darkness, his attention so unwavering that you feel goosebumps rising on your skin. Your stomach flips and you feel them again, those pesky butterflies. You’ve never been more terrified in your life than you are right now. You’re both frozen, caught in one another’s gaze, in the other’s trap. He darts forward and you lean toward him, his lips catching the very corner of your mouth. He presses a warm kiss there and then rubs his cheek against yours, his arms snaking around your torso. He pulls you forward, against his body and up onto his thighs as he sits on his knees. You wind your legs around his back and squeeze yourself against him. His head drops into the crook of your neck, his breath warming your skin. He rocks back and forth as he embraces you.

He doesn’t say it back but he doesn’t need to. You can tell by the way he holds you.

He loves you, too.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know! :)

taglist: @mrsjna @floralcyanide @austinbutler17 @slutforsomegoodlettuce @datsavageavenger @misspygmypie @yourfriendhenrywinter @queenslandlover-93 @kittenlittle24 @slutforblueeyes @theliterarybeldam @guns-n-queen @x-earthangel @adoreyouusugar @butler-trouble @kaycinema @mamaspresley @dontbesussis @littledanette @yagirlalexx @hangmanswhore @dark-as-love @adoreyouusugar @gemstone9 @austin-butlers-gf @dollfaceyourfear @tis-the-season-of-the-witch @coldonexx @austin-butlers-gf @sagesolsticewrites @mommy-maia @atombombbibunny @lexlexl3x @solo-pitstop-vibes @hopefulinlove @lordandmistress @domaniquessidehoe @elvismylove-blog @amiets2 @itsametaphorbriansblog @powerofelvis @beautyofelvis @austinstyles @18lkpeters

[winns-stuff]

LO APPRECIATION:

Lord, I am so upset at myself for forgetting about one of my most favorite character in the series. I’m sorry y’all I’ve been doing so many damn rants that I’ve been lacking with the appreciation side of my page. Anyways, I would like all of you to give a standing ovation to a nymph who’s more than worthy of the spotlight (although I hated the way they decided to present her) and is more beautiful than half of the main cast because she was absolutely gorgeous, I’d like you all to give a warm welcome to Leuce.

Listen, I wanna get out one thing. I love her so much, I was literally one of the people defending her when the fans tried to tear her a new one for even being close to Hades. I’m gonna say it now, if Leuce was really into Hades and genuinely wanted him for herself she could’ve had him in any universe. But he honestly doesn’t deserve someone as beautiful as she is. I love everything about her and she didn’t deserve half of the haters she gained from that fucking chapter, it will forever irk the hell out of me. Now y’all know how Minthe felt when Persephone literally did the SAME THING.

But onto the things I love about her, one thing is her personality. She seemed so kind but she had so much self confidence, like in that moment I felt like she could flip the conversation to her at any given moment. I never had such interest in a character, or no that’s a lie I have but it’s been a while since that interest had been brought out. I’m glad that Leuce knew who she was, even when Hades declined her she still held her head high and walked out of the room, unlike Persephone who can’t take no from anyone and starts begging and crying like a literal baby, Leuce was always mature and so sophisticated. She never spoke out of turn or tried to manipulate the conversation to be in her standard, no meant no with her and I’m glad that the “replacement Persephone” was way better than the actual one.

Also speaking of that nickname, Leuce was never a replacement just an upgrade.

Next thing I wanna talk about is her aesthetic, she has one of the most beautiful designs ever and I absolutely hate the fact that she was really just used as more HxP leverage. She’s so much more than that, she was so pleasing to the eye and whenever I saw her it was like smelling a person who bathed in lovely soaps for like 60 years (weird analogy but think about it cause that’s how it felt for me) and whenever she spoke every word made me want to hear more from her. There’s never been such an alluring and captivating character like that in the whole series! Yes, I know it’s a shame that Rachel didn’t try to make Aphrodite more like that but what can you do I guess.

Another thing I loved about her is her dress, I know we’ve seen similar looking dresses in LO but something about hers is just gorgeous to me. I love everything about it that dress is amazing to me. The silhouette, the little corset in the middle, the armband, the way it just mysteriously travels down her body and everything is amazing. I’ve never loved an outfit more, except maybe Artemis’ god form, but none of the outfits in LO have been as good as hers and there’s a few people I can think of who equate to her but not many.

I adored the way her hair looks as well, I’ve never been so mesmerized about seeing curls in so long but everything about it is so amazing and wonderful. The length is perfect, the way the curls sit on top of her head are perfect, everything about her hairdo just exudes perfection. I feel like if they gave her any other hairstyle, believe me she’d still look absolutely amazing, it wouldn’t have the same effect as the bun does. Especially since the little flowers are just decorated in her hair, it’s amazing and even though I wish she were more accurate and not a flower nymph because let’s be real, flower nymphs are not the only nymphs in Olympus I’m still so obsessed with the way they look on her and her only.

Last thing I loved about her appearing in the episode was how many beautiful redesigns came out of it. I personally love seeing redesigns because they’re all always so good and well thought out but the way that Leuce’s appearance brought out so many talented people is crazy. No matter who it is they’re always so good.

Anyways, that’s the end of the appreciation for this post but it won’t be for me of course. I’ll always love and appreciate Leuce, she could’ve been one of the best characters honestly. But I just hate that she was just supposed to be a sugar baby for Hades, not that the sugar baby part is the bad thing I just hated how Rachel tried to make it seem like that was all she was. I hate how Leuce was only used to make Persephone look like “the better woman”, it’s always with women who are either more confident or comfortable in their own sexualities. Like it genuinely irks me so much that no woman is deserving of a good ending or happy love life in LO if they’re not HxP. There’s more things about the way Leuce is introduced that pisses me off but I can’t think of it now and besides, this is supposed to focus more on the appreciation of Leuce not how terribly the comic treated her.

[relaxxattack]

i love roxys stupid little hair floaties by the way. look at her

60s futuristic housewife beehive hairdo turned magic genetic flyaways/curls or something ??? i adore her

[eldritchdemonfox]

ello!! i have a gift for thee!!

“.. However, the only other customer in the store besides them has noticed, and is openly glaring at the owners, long ginger hair pulled up into what he distantly remembers being called a beehive hairdo. It's reminiscent of the 60s, which is weird, since this girl looks around Jenny's age, and he hasn't heard of any 60s comeback unlike how he's heard of the 'comeback of the 80s', but Charles himself notices something weirder that that.

This girl, with the hairdo that most likely predates her fucking existence, has Edwin's jawline, has exactly the same type of nose, and in her dark hazel eyes he can see a shimmer of green. Of course, as he realizes that, he also has to yell at himself for even noticing that, since he cannot decipher if that is just because he has an inner detective, or if it's because he has spent the last 30 years gazing into Edwin's face and observing every single thing the Edwardian does."

:3. beatrice!! also Charles... inner pa(y)in(e)

-🧃🪡

HOLY SHITTT YO THIS IS GOOD IM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

She’s ALIVE

[arianaofimladris]

Old beads, new life.

I got mother of pearls necklace from my grandma at First Communion, over twenty years ago. There were tiny coral beads between the mother of pearl and I didn't really like the color. I wore them occasionally, but finally I decidied to change the jewellery to something I will enjoy more. I bought tiny malachite beads and changed coral for malachites. Since they were bigger, and since I shortened the necklace about ten years ago, I had enough mother of pearl beads to make a bracelet - or rather, two bracelets which I can wear sepatately or join into one.

My gran liked the necklace I showed her a few days ago. I have yet to show her the bracelets (or rather I will have my brother show her the picture before I go home next time).

I like the final result. It's definitely not an everyday jewellery, and definitely a bit old-fashioned, but I think with a nice handmade dress and hairdo the set will work just fine and make me feel special. The mother of pearl beads are probably 60-70 years old.

[painehell]

beatrice's appearance

will be updated (hopefully!) every time something is added.

" However, the only other customer in the store besides them has noticed, and is openly glaring at the owners, long ginger hair pulled up into what he distantly remembers being called a beehive hairdo. It's reminiscent of the 60s, which is weird, since this girl looks around Jenny's age, and he hasn't heard of any 60s comeback unlike how he's heard of 'the comeback of the 80s', but Charles himself notices something weirder than that.

This girl, with the hairdo that most likely predates her fucking existence, has Edwin's jawline, has exactly the same type of nose, and in her dark hazel eyes he can see a shimmer of green. .. "

hair photos / inspiration

ginger

messy / curly + wavy hair

beehive hairdo (60s-70s)

2nd & 3rd are most accurate) :

..keeping his attention on the girl who seems straight out of his childhood. Now that he's actively watching her, he sees how she blends the 60s and 70s into one singular thing and pulls it off. She's wearing one of those crop-topped shirts (....) and it's like a grape kind of red. Over that is a blue, obviously hand-chopped, tank-top, and she has an odd assortment of jewelry on, but (.....)The pants that, honestly? Pair ungodly well with her outfit, are tan flare pants, made out of whatever fabric cargo pants are made out of, and they have blue and grape-red stars sewn towards the ends, where he can see the ends of her… Heels? Boots? Heeled-boots? What are those?

clothes photos / inspiration :

flare pants

layering

60s-70s + modern twist

lots of jewelery

stars. so many stars

platform heel boots

voice :

midatlantic (tv voice from the 50s , etc. blend of brit & usa accents)

country twang

[x5red]

HI，can you tell me which comic said :Supergirl wore very plain clothes, long-sleeved blouses and long skirts to hide her muscles.? this from pre crisis supergirl wiki,but I just cant found this anywhere in pre crisis comic,can you found it?

I don't know about hiding her muscles, but the very early adventures of Supergirl, before her Linda Lee secret identity was adopted from Midvale Orphanage, saw her repeatedly wear very long plain dresses and her hair (wig) in pigtails.

The Danvers adoption story line was used by DC to revamp Supergirl, giving Linda (Lee) Danvers a more adult hairdo and teenage clothes. From that point on she usually followed the fashion of the day, which in the 60s meant very short skirts and tight tops. This is how Linda was dressed during much of her Adventure Comics run. But when 70s fashions shifted towards longer flowing dresses and more Bohemian themes, Linda very occasionally wore those too, for example once or twice during her Supergirl Volume 1 run.

It wasn't until her second comicbook volume in 1982, named The Daring New Adventures of Supergirl, that Linda again started to consistently wear longer sleeves and dresses, and again that was largely due to women's fashions in the early 1980s with their piecrust collars and billowing multi-layered skirts..

[yoursyashi]

Evolution of Women Fashion in India

Every woman has an innate desire to look good and be appreciated for what she wears and how gracefully she carries herself. Indian women have primarily groomed themselves throughout various fashion cultures. From bell-bottoms to the classic salwar kameez, and from high-street shoes to bold chokers; Indian fashion for women has undergone a significant transformation over the last few decades.

The begging

The Indus Valley Civilization is where it all seems to have started. Records of some of the very first traditional Indian clothing were found during the Indus Valley Civilization (AKA the Bronze Age of Civilization) that lasted from 3300 BCE to 1300 BCE.

In 1950’s the fashion was modest, understated and formal. Men mostly wore dhoti-kurta, while women wore simple ghagra-choli. Movies shot in rural areas also had the same clothing scheme. However, the elite classes were more inspired by European fashion- dapper suits for men and elegant sarees for women. Puff sleeves were trendy and hair worn in graceful buns, with pearl becoming a staple piece of jewellery.

Fashion for both men and women varied based on class.

The 60s era

The 1960s was the decade that brought us Madhubala’s Anarkali suit and the tiered orange saree on Mumtaz. Moving into a new decade, women’s clothing became more fashionable and everyone embraced bright colours and prints.

With body-hugging churidar suits, shorter blouses and a hint of skin on display, the ‘60s were also big on embracing curves. Not to forget, the poufy hairdos, winged eyeliner and the uber-popular Sadhna cut were also from this decade.

The 80s era

This era was characterized by expansion of Fashion schools in India which was tagged by an outbreak alteration to Fashion in Indian clothing. It also marked the entrance of women in the workforce at a huge pace. The 80s brought the advent of Disco with an introduction to some shimmery and glittery costumes, denim and leather biker jackets, and chiffon sarees in varied colors with a fusion of Indian and western clothing styles. The 1980s also marked the active participation of women in the Indian Fashion Industry and altering Indian attitudes towards multiculturalism.

The 90s era

Fashion in the 1990s was defined by a return to minimalist fashion. The 90s marked the arrival of full-sleeve salwar kameez, floral dresses, long skirts, denim, shades, and dungarees. The decades following the 90s are touted to be the era when Indians adopted more westernized concept in the fashion making bold and stylish choices.

2000s to current era

Fashion during 21 st century brought revolution in trends. Today, one can find women in the urban areas dressing up in modern Indian clothes by Indian brands. The modern young woman still has space for her heirloom Kanjeevaram or Benaras sarees and other handlooms for those special occasions. The Indian woman is carving out a niche for herself in the world of fashion. It is safe to say that Indian fashion is weaving together international inspiration with traditional sensibilities. Dresses, tunics, pants and skirts made from Ikat, Khadi, silk and Chanderi fabrics and thread work are a rage among the modern women today.[1]

Conclusion

The evolution of Indian women’s fashion reflects a tapestry of cultural shifts, from traditional opulence to contemporary minimalism. As India embraces both heritage and innovation, women’s fashion will likely continue to reflect the dynamic essence of a society that values its roots while moving forward. Whether it’s through a beautifully draped saree or a chic Indo-Western ensemble, Indian fashion will always be a celebration of diversity, grace, and resilience.

.

.

.

.

.