#paisley dreams part 1

[missmaywemeetagain]

Read Paisley Dreams Part 1 🏵 NOW!

Hello, my wonderful darlin’s! (And Happy 1st Bday to Pink Scarf!💗) This week's story is a special request from a dear Sugar Mama regarding Elvis’ sexy yellow shirt from August 6th, 1970 and how it disappeared. It’s coincidence that I happened to be working on it on the anniversary of him wearing it, but I just take that as a good sign from the universe LOL.

This one definitely got away from me, and because of that, I’m splitting it into two parts—consequently, Part 1 is more tension building and not very smutty but I promise Part 2 will have more spice!

Enjoy babies, and let me know what you think!

xoxox, Madi 💗

TW: attempted sexual assault, cussing, ass kicking, protective!e, passing reference to his weight/ed/drug issues, masturbation

Paisley Dreams (Part 1) 🏵💛🔥

August 1970

Elvis has a love-hate relationship with going out on the town, especially when going to his fellow entertainer’s shows. He loves the novelty of it, being able to be out in the world like a (somewhat) normal human being, to be able to interact with people that aren’t necessarily there to see him. He likes that the focus is on someone else for a change, and he loves talking with people who aren’t part of his immediate circle.

What he hates, however, is pulling focus from the people performing. It’s the reason he shows up a little late and gets seated after the lights go down. Contrary to what some idiots may believe, he does not want it to be The Elvis Show all the time. And while he likes being around new people, he doesn’t always enjoy the hobnobbing that is seemingly required with other celebrities, if in attendance. No, he’d rather talk with people he cares about or regular, everyday folks instead of putting on airs for some Hollywood types.

There is also something to the fact that he’s not in 100% control of those situations when things are not revolving around him, and while a little of that is thrilling and breaks through the boredom that can happen in his insular life, it can also be disconcerting. It leaves him a little more jittery than usual, but the stubborn part of him refuses to let it overcome him tonight.

Somedays, he wishes he could be invisible and could mull about as he pleases in obscurity. Problem is, he’s way too used to the attention being him brings, and whether or not he’d admit it to anyone else, it would make him feel mightily insecure if no one at all knew who he was, if not one person came up to say hi or get an autograph. He had a little taste of that with Steve before the ’68 Special, when he’d been told in so many words to get over himself when no one stopped him on the street in front of the studio.

He hadn’t liked it, no siree, despite the freedom and lack of pressure it offered in the moment. No, he was much too used to being Elvis Presley. It is the conundrum of his life, of a fame unlike any other, that leaves him to continually pendulum from being trapped by it on one end and unable to live without it on the other.

Tonight, he fortifies himself for a night that won’t be entirely under his control and heads over to Nancy Sinatra’s show at Caesar’s Palace. Something about the unpredictability makes him feel a little more alive, like something exciting is just waiting for just the right moment to happen and bring him along with it. He much prefers thinking in those terms and not in terms of threats of harm.

Since Nancy is a good friend, he keeps himself rather understated for the evening. He knows he looks sharp in his high-collared, well-tailored chocolate suit, with a paisley yellow shirt underneath. His belt is simple (for him, at least). The outfit does not scream “look at me!” He wants the attention to be on Nancy and not him.

He also refused to bring the whole damn entourage tonight, feeling a little bit smothered by the sea of men he’s cultivated around him. He’d settled for Charlie, Richard, and Felton as his companions for the evening, despite Joe and Red’s protestations. All he wants is a little fun, a little music that isn’t his, and a little break from the pressure of rehearsals for his own engagement that starts in a few days—complete with a movie crew from MGM to film the damn thing.

He likes rising to the challenge of it, but hell, it makes him more nervous than usual. A lot is riding on his ability to deliver a fabulous show, and not only that, but they’ve been filming the rehearsals, too, so he feels like he’s under the microscope even when he normally isn’t. That coupled with learning three times as many songs as usual has his brain feeling fuzzy and him sleeping worse than usual. Nothing a pill (or three) can’t fix, though.

At least it’s all…stimulating. And Lord knows he’s a man that needs stimulation and variety, something that is harder and harder to come by with his life being the way it is.

But tonight isn’t about him. And everything seems to be going according to plan—there’s a little attention on him with fans and photos and such, enough to make him feel good, but most of the focus is elsewhere. It feels like he can breathe a little.

The show is great; he enjoys seeing Nance after, though his heart always does a little flip around her. She’s been a soft spot for him for a long time, and despite his multiple attempts to endear her a little more intimately to him, she’s always kept him mostly on the straight and narrow. He loves her even more for keeping him in check, though he still wouldn’t mind a tousle in the bedroom with her.

And it’s here he finds himself, ruminating pleasantly, if not a bit hopefully, on the past, when the lot of them sneak out through the back kitchens in order to avoid the crush of people out front waiting for a glimpse of him.

He certainly doesn’t expect to come upon some drunken asshole aggressively throwing a young woman up against the wall down the dark alley behind the Palace. His eyes narrow and a surge of adrenaline wafts through him as he tries to figure out what exactly is happening and why. Body standing to attention, he’s grateful his karate training comes in handy in times like these—which is precisely why he keeps up on the craft.

“Don’t think we should get involved, EP,” Richard warns, putting his hand out as if to stop him from moving towards the scuffle, but he bats it away like a fly.

“Come on, you little tart. I know you want it. You know you’re jus’ askin’ for it up there in those skimpy costumes, don’tcha?” the guy slurs at her, groping at her breasts.

Elvis hastens his stride down the alley, blood up, nerves tingling, and ready to kick this guy’s ass for assaulting this poor showgirl.

“Get the fuck off me, creep!” she screams back at the guy, slapping his hand away, and looking more angry than afraid, she stomps on the guy’s foot and knees him hard in the nuts.

Elvis can’t help but cringe, but the guy deserves it. Good on her.

“You bitch!” the asshole shrieks, clutching his groin. Unfortunately, in his pain, or maybe just because he’s that much of a dick, the man yanks down on her flimsy top, ripping it apart and right off her chest, exposing her braless breasts. Then, he lunges for her throat.

With a growl, Elvis takes his last few steps quickly, easily knocking the drunk bastard off his feet with a well-placed kick and sending him sprawling onto the dirty pavement. The guy lands with a groan, shaking his head. Elvis goes down on one knee and pulls him up by the shirt.

“Hey, fuck you, man! This ain’t none of your business—” the guy starts, flailing up at him drunkenly before his eyes go wide and he stops abruptly. “Holy shit, you’re—”

“I’m the guy who’s gonna kick your ass from here to Sunday if ya don’t apologize to this nice young lady and get your ass back to whatever sewer you crawled outta,” Elvis spits out, quick and cutting, his blue eyes flashing with something the man doesn’t want to test. He is self-aware enough to know that his presence is big enough to knock even sober men for a loop, and that’s when he’s not angry.

The guy opens and closes his mouth like a guppy, looking altogether wrecked and muddled by his predicament.

“Boss?” he hears Charlie’s cautioning voice from behind him, and Elvis puts up a hand to tell him he’s got this. There are some things he can do on his own.

“Well?” Elvis asks, turning his attention back to the jerk on the ground, dragging the guy up by his ugly polyester shirt.

“I-I-I—” he stutters, looking bleary eyed from Elvis to the young lady.

Elvis uses the toe of his boot and grinds down slowly on the man’s fingers.

The guy yelps, then sobs, then looks helplessly at Elvis, “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Don’t tell me. Tell her,” Elvis emphasizes, still wanting to make this guy pay. He points up to the young lady, who is standing there frozen against the wall, her arms desperately trying to cover her bared chest.

The man’s eyes narrow, obviously feeling it’s beneath him to apologize to a girl.

“Okay,” Elvis sighs dramatically, easily raising himself from the ground without using his hands, “but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He brings his foot back as though he’s gonna kick the man in the gut, and it has the intended effect.

“Alright, alright!” the guy shouts, curling in on himself while holding out his hand to stop Elvis. He begrudgingly looks at the woman. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!”

“For what exactly?” Elvis asks, raising an eyebrow. He is getting more of a kick out of playing with this drunkard than he should, but he can’t deny he enjoys the pulse of blood through his veins as he gets to be the hero.

“I-I-I’m sorry…for…for touching you a-and ripping your top! I’m sorry!” he cries defeatedly.

“Was that so hard?” Elvis muses. “Now get the hell outta here before I decide I’m bein’ too nice and let my boys have a crack atcha.”

The man gulps and nods, then his legs wheel a bit as he tries to get up too fast and clambers clumsily out of the alleyway.

Adrenaline waning, Elvis turns to the woman, immediately softening his features and his voice—a well-honed skill. “Are you okay, Miss?”

She looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “Yes. No. I’m not sure…I had that under control, you know,” she adds a little bitterly.

“Oh, didja now?” he replies, amused by her fiery response.

She does not look amused as she shrugs her shoulders defiantly, then remembers she’s got no top on. Her green eyes widen to saucers, and she grasps her breasts tighter, succeeding in pushing them together and creating ample cleavage that in any other circumstance would have him looking twice. But this is not the time, and he feels guilty for even glancing at her in this state.

“Shit. I’m an idiot,” he mumbles, realizing how uncomfortable she must be half naked in a dark alley full of men she doesn’t know. He scrambles to unbutton his already half-open yellow paisley shirt the rest of the way, then shrugs out of his jacket, pulling the shirt along with it.

Her mouth parts in what he assumes is disbelief as he becomes as bare as she is from the waist up. It’s vulnerable and disarming in a way he doesn’t initially intend—he more just wants to give her something she can truly cover up with and his jacket only has the one button. He’s not in the habit of running around with his shirt off these days, even though he’s slimmed down for his upcoming performances (because God knows the cameras will add ten pounds whether he likes it or not). Years of being shamed about his weight in one way or another by directors, the Colonel, and the gossip magazines always have him self-conscious, even when he’s slim, which is perhaps why he is so readily understanding of the girl’s current predicament. The August Vegas night is hot, and he feels a tinge cooler now when the air hits the sweat beaded over his skin.

“Here, honey, put this on,” he says and holds the shirt out to her.

Her mirth shifts to guarded thanks, but then she shakes her head and tightens her arms around herself. He realizes that she can’t take the shirt without exposing herself more.

“Oh. Turn around, sweetheart,” he coos at her. “I won’t hurt ya none.” He throws his jacket to Charlie, who is suddenly by his side, and holds his shirt open for her.

She turns cautiously, letting him help her as she slips her shaking arms into the oversized sleeves. “Thanks,” she whispers quietly, and he watches as she fumbles unsuccessfully with the buttons because her hands are trembling so badly.

“Lemme help, darlin’,” he says, reassuringly, “I promise I ain’t gonna look atcha.”

Seemingly frustrated at herself for needing his continued assistance, she relents and turns back to him, her doe eyes brimming with unshed tears.

He does everything in him to not look at her pretty, soft skin, or her legs that go on for days, focusing the best he can on the task of doing up the highest buttons in order to give her some modesty. Of course, his shirts being designed as they are, specifically for him and his open-chested style, there aren’t buttons as high up as there should be. The shirt is already too big on her, so she’s still showing quite a bit of skin, but is certainly better than it her previous nakedness. He looks up at her as if to say sorry, and she just looks away uncomfortably.

Elvis nods, then races to do up the rest of them, needing to kneel before her to get the lowest ones. The act feels very intimate, him half-undressed but dressing her in this prostrated position, and it sends a warmth spreading across his bare chest. He looks up at her, finding her watching him carefully for any impropriety. He is determined not to give her any, but when her intense, tearful green eyes meet his, he feels a bit off-kilter for the way it makes him feel. His heart drops into his stomach like he’s on a roller coaster.

Uh oh. He knows that feeling all too well, and it usually ends with him neck deep in infatuation at the very least and in love at the most.

“All set,” he says, looking down almost bashfully. Clearing his throat, he raises effortlessly up to standing, and Charlie hands him his jacket to put back on.

“Thank you, Mr. Presley,” she says quietly, the edge in her voice gone now that she’s swimming in his yellow shirt and the threat is gone. Her pretty pink lip bottom lip wavers.

Then she bursts into tears.

There is nothing that pulls at his heartstrings quite like a pretty young thing weeping. She’s proven herself anything but helpless but having been through such an ordeal would be frightening regardless.

“Aww, it’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe now. Let’s get you home,” he says. He suddenly wants nothing more than to swoop her up into the protective cocoon that is his penthouse so no one can ever hurt her again, but he gets the distinct impression that bringing her into a private den full of older men is not the right move in this situation.

Sniffling, she swipes angrily under her stage makeup-smeared eyes as she attempts to get ahold of herself. He recognizes her need to not appear weak, to retain her dignity, so he gives her a minute to collect herself even though he wants to sweep her into his arms and tell her he can make everything alright.

It takes her a moment and he can tell she wants to tell him no, that she can get home on her own, thankyouverymuch, but after closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she finally nods in acceptance.

Something in his heart soars because he likes feeling needed, likes truly helping people, and enjoys the warmhearted feeling it gives him to put others before himself. It is also the least he can do after what she’s been through.

Though it certainly doesn’t hurt that she’s a looker with her long, caramel colored hair, intelligent jade eyes, and showgirl body. He knows he would’ve helped her regardless of all of that but, even so, at 35 he’s still a virile man who can see what is plain in front of his face. And there’s something about her resilience that attracts him beyond her looks. A flash in her eyes that tells him her soul is guarded and complex and beautiful all at once. There’s a hint of darkness he can relate to, one that, combined with all the rest, sends his overly romantic heart into overdrive.

As he, Charlie, Richard, and Felton lead her trembling but head-held-high form to the car, he can’t help but think God put him in the right place at the right time tonight.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks gently once they are in the car.

“Pepper. My name is Pepper.”

*

This night is turning out to be incredibly strange, Pepper thinks as she shakily unlocks the door to her apartment. She hates that she can’t seem to stop shivering after the whole ordeal in the alley. No matter how many deep breaths she took in the car, she is still shaking like a leaf and she can’t decide if the fact that Elvis Presley is at her elbow is making it better or worse.

Finally jimmying the door open, she nearly falls inside, feeling all too unsteady in her high heels. Exhausted, it doesn’t help matters that she can’t remember if she ate today, between her waitressing shift at the diner and her showgirl gig at the Palace. She forces herself not to cry the stupid tears that pool stubbornly in her eyes. No, she doesn’t think she ate today and she’s cursing the fact because she’s quickly turning into an embarrassing pile of weepy nonsense, in front of Elvis Presley, no less.

This isn’t like her. She is no damsel in distress. She’s a strong, capable young woman who’s been dealt a bit of a shit hand, but she’s got it under control. She’s always got it under control.

Liar.

Pepper turns in the doorway to say goodnight and thank you to the man who so annoyingly but luckily had her back in that alley. She doesn’t want to think too hard about what could have happened if Elvis hadn’t appeared when he did, like some sort of movie star hero. Unfortunately, the spin towards him makes her dizzy and her wobbly knees start to give way.

“Hey now, little one, let’s get you settled, huh?” Elvis drawls out at her as he puts an arm around her waist and effortlessly ushers her into the apartment. She’s suddenly too exhausted to protest. It’s not often that anyone takes care of her. Honestly, she can’t remember the last time someone did, or the last time there was a man in her apartment.

He deposits her on her secondhand couch and its one of the many things tonight that has her embarrassed. Then again, she wasn’t expecting an incredibly handsome superstar to be gracing the walls of her tiny, dingy apartment.

Elvis stares down at her for a moment and his gaze is heavy and all-encompassing. It’s not what she expects—she’s used to the heated, horny looks she attracts from men—because it’s as if he’s surveying the situation, reading her with an intuitive intelligence she is not prepared for. She knows how to deal with men gawking at her—but treating her kindly with no expectations in return? This is unfamiliar in every way.

He nods to himself, making some sort of decision. His stance, one hip jutted out, hands on his hips and looking off to the side with his pouty lips parted, makes her feel a little funny in her belly.

Or maybe that’s just the hunger talking.

Her pride wants him to go, to not survey her poor existence and pity her. But the rest of her, the weak part of her desperate to have someone take care of her for once, wants him to stay.

Surprisingly, his face is devoid of judgement of her circumstance when his oceanic blue eyes meet hers again. There seems to be only concern and a bit of humor there. This confuses her.

“I’m starvin’,” he declares suddenly. “What would you say to some hamburgers?” His eyes sparkle—actually sparkle—when they look at her for approval.

Her stomach growls and before she can think better of the strangeness of eating hamburgers with Elvis in her crappy apartment, she’s nodding her head furiously.

“Charlie! Hey, man, get us some hamburgers and fries and shakes, will ya?” he tells the tiny guy who seems to be some sort of friend/employee, probably part of his infamous Memphis Mafia she’s read about in magazines.

It comes to her then that the man she’s read about and listened to and watched on screen for years is now in her home, and she is swimming in his yellow shirt. It smells wonderful—a heady, spicy mix of cologne and soap and sweat—and a silly part of her never wants to take it off.

Oh, god, he’s seen my tits, she realizes, her cheeks flushing.

“Hey, lemme get ya somethin’ to drink, honey,” he says, extraordinarily and infuriatingly observant, as he goes to pilfer around her kitchen.

“Oh, I’m just the worst hostess. I can get it,” she murmurs attempting to push herself off the couch.

He stops abruptly and points at her. “Stay.”

Pepper freezes. The command in his deep, drawling baritone is assertive and unarguable, sending a thrilled shiver down her spine that she’s not ready for. Almost as if her body were not her own, she slides back into the sofa.

“Whatchu got in this here ree-frig-er-a-tor?” he says, rummaging around in what she knows is a sad excuse for one. Her schedule hasn’t allowed time for her to go grocery shopping. She can hear him humming a familiar tune as he goes, and there’s something beautifully domestic about the whole thing that she doesn’t feel she deserves. He returns with two cans of Pepsi, popping the tab on hers before handing it to her, then doing his own.

She can’t quite bring herself to look him in the eye. “Thank you,” she says quietly, suddenly parched. She tries to be ladylike about it but can’t help but gulp some of the fizzy cola down as fast as possible. Of course, this all goes awry the moment the carbonation hits her empty stomach, causing an uncontrollable rolling belch to erupt her throat.

“Oh my god!” she gasps, throwing a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry!” For some reason, this rudeness feels almost more humiliating that her top being ripped off earlier. At least with that, it hadn’t been her fault. This was just bad manners.

Elvis looks at her seriously, blue eyes narrowed as if he might scold her, and she holds her breath, wanting to crawl into a hole and die. Then he starts laughing.

It’s a giggling, hiccupping, musical sound that immediately disarms her in its contagiousness. She can’t help the way her own giggles bubble up. Suddenly, the absolute ridiculousness of this entire night has her doubled over with exhausted, hungry laughter, and he follows right along with her.

They are just starting to get themselves under control when she snorts. Elvis completely loses it and falls apart all over again.

Tears are pouring down her face now, and she’s grateful for this release in this way. It’s better than her weak and frustrated tears from earlier, and as she watches Elvis, she sees just how utterly beautiful, unselfconscious, and almost innocent he seems in his laughter.

She wonders if he laughs often. She hopes so.

Eventually, they are both wiping their faces and the giggle fits are dying down.

“Peppercorn, you are too much,” he smiles, shaking his head with a few lingering chuckles. “Who knew such sounds could come from such a pretty little girl like you?”

Peppercorn? She smiles at the nickname. If anyone else had called her that, she might have their head, but Elvis…well, he can call her anything he wants. Butterflies start rolling in her empty stomach when she realizes he’s called her pretty in such a way that it sounds like an obvious fact and not a come-on. Oh, he’s skilled.

The fact is, it’s almost bashful the way he looks down and then his eyelashes flutter back up to meet hers from the other end of the couch. As if she had called him pretty and not the other way around.

He opens his mouth to speak, and she thinks he just might say something profoundly charming, but his friend Charlie chooses that moment to reemerge with an arm full of food and shakes. And her stomach chooses that moment to growl loud enough for the room to hear, sending Elvis and her back into peals of laughter.

Charlie looks confused, but laughs along anyway, pretending to get the joke as he sets the food down on the rickety second-hand coffee table in front of the sofa. Then, without a word, he makes himself scarce.

Elvis digs right into the bag, taking everything out of it, handing her a wrapped burger and then tearing the bag apart to make a sort of makeshift tray on the table.

“I do have plates, you know,” she says with a lingering chuckle, moving to get up. She’d certainly never seen a man of his caliber of celebrity—probably one of the richest in this town—eat off a greasy paper bag before.

“Don’t you worry yourself. I’m just fine,” he says, unwrapping and taking a giant bite of his hamburger, followed by a handful of fries. “Eat your food, Peppercorn.”

She’s way too hungry to argue. After the burp and the snort, she doesn’t put on too many airs about eating daintily, either.

“Tell me about yourself,” he says in such an earnest way that she cannot stop herself from doing so. As they devour the food, he asks her questions, and she finds herself telling him about how she’d moved here because there wasn’t much work in her small town, about how she sends most of what she makes back to her house-bound mama and little sister.

These are things she doesn’t tell people here, preferring to tell a common tale of wanting the glitz and glamour of being a famous showgirl, instead of sharing that she’s using what God gave her only to support her kin. But by the haunted look in his eyes, it’s as if he knows, like he truly understandswhat it means to keep family at the forefront and tell the world something different. So her mouth keeps moving and she shares too much, but she’s weary and hungry and Elvis Presley is in her damn living room eating burgers like it’s a completely normal occurrence.

“So, you’re tellin’ me what you’re doin’ now ain’t your dream?” he asks.

She can’t help but choke a little at that. “Um, no,” she says, wiping sauce off her lip with a finger. “Waitressing all day and being eyed-up all night is not my dream. It’s a means to an end. And I’m happy to do it.”

“For your family.”

“Yes, for my family.”

“And what about you, honey? What’s your dream?” He says it in such a perfunctory way that it takes her aback. It’s a question no one’s ever bothered to ask her.

“I…I don’t know,” she says, looking away from his curious, reading stare.

“Mmm, not sure that’s true, baby. Ev’rybody’s got a dream,” he says. “Hell, I was just a poor boy drivin’ a truck ‘fore all this took off. Could barely sing in front of anyone but there was this…this thinginside me I can’t explain, pushin’ me forward in spite of it all.”

“Really?” she says, shocked at this revelation. She didn’t know those things about him, and they make him seem more human and all the more unique all at once.

He nods. “So, what’s your dream?” he says, looking at her with a curious expectation she can’t deny.

She gulps down a mouthful of burger. “Okay, well, this is probably stupid, but I’ve always liked numbers.”

“Numbers?” he questions, confused.

“Yeah, I like solving problems. Making everything add up. Numbers are…calm, predictable, I guess. I’m sure that sounds strange, a showgirl telling you she likes math. Most men…well, they think it’s weird,” she rambles, feeling her face get hot.

He shakes his head. “Naw, it just weren’t what I was expectin’, is all. Usually pretty girls like you, they…” he trails off, not needing to finish the sentence to get the point across, “but I like that you’re different. Special.” He looks at her with a sort of pride, like he’s discovered some treasure in her she can’t see in herself.

This sends a wave of appreciation over her that she isn’t prepared for, and she smiles broadly. “So, I suppose my dream is to work with numbers. Money, maybe? I guess I’ve never really let myself think that far into it. I haven’t been able to, with everything else…That must sound silly,” she says, feeling too exposed all the sudden.

“Not at all, honey,” he reassures her, finishing off his burger and fries. She gets caught up in looking at his full, pouty lips covered in grease and has the inappropriate urge to touch them. Blinking, she looks away, hoping he didn’t catch her staring.

“Sorry I’m talking too much. I usually don’t tell people...I don’t…I’m not one to…” She hides the floundering embarrassment of both her circumstance and her attraction behind the last loud slurp of her milkshake.

“Naw, Peppercorn, don’t go bein’ ashamed of doin’ what it takes to take care of your family or about havin’ dreams for yourself. We’re more alike than you think, darlin’,” he says, wiping his hands on the paper napkins from the bag.

She quirks her eyebrow at him.

He sighs, as though he’s been holding a weight on his shoulders. “I’m know I’m lucky. My dream came true and’s put me in a position that most don’t ever get to. I’ve spent a long time makin’ sure my people are taken care of, and I love to be able to do it, but I also know it can be…” he trails off, a look of guilt flashing over his features as he waves his hand in the air.

All she can do is nod at this confession. He doesn’t need to finish for her to know exactly what he means. Burdensome. Difficult. Soul-sucking.

He shakes himself off, whistling lowly, a shy smile curving up on his face.

Pepper’s heart starts pounding in her chest partially because he’s trusted her with this knowledge of himself and she’s trusted him with her own. The vulnerability of that is strange and somewhat uncomfortable to sit with. But it pounds also because she realizes with chagrin the meal is over and she doesn’t know what he expects of her next.

Despite her job, she does not have a habit of spending the night with men she’s just met, but Elvis is not just any man. There have only been a handful of boyfriends, half of which were back at home, and certainly none recently with what little free time she has. She’s no prude but she’s not exactly experienced, either. And one-night stands are not her thing.

He has been nothing but a gentleman this whole night and didn’t even ogle her when her top had been ripped. There was no reason to even think that he wanted such a thing from her, yet there is tension building in the air that she doesn’t know what to do with. Maybe it’s because when she looks at him in his well-cut suit with no shirt underneath (shivering at the fact it’s because it’s on her) and sees the sweaty tuft of chest hair that is exposed against his tan skin, something deeply primal rises in her and she wants more than anything to feel it beneath her hands.

Pepper blinks and quickly looks away. She knows what it’s like to be eyed up and down by the opposite sex and thinks it’s a little strange that they share that in common, too. Making him uncomfortable is the last thing she wants to do but now she is not sure what to do with her eyes and finds herself staring at a tear in the fabric of the sofa instead.

Elvis coughs, and she can’t help but look up at him then. Getting caught in those endless, sparkling eyes, mere feet from her, she wonders how in the hell the world is supposed to go back to normal after tonight. How she is supposed to go back to working her multiple soul-sucking jobs, to try to forget the way he is looking at her now, like she is actually something special? That she matters enough to save her in a back alley and is worth him literally giving her the shirt off his back?

Her body betrays her, then, a huge yawn escaping her mouth of its own accord. It reminds her it has been an extraordinarily long day and that she has the monotony of another tomorrow, despite everything that has happened in the last few hours.

“I think it’s time for me to go and let you get some rest, little one,” he says quietly, that little smile of his pulling at his mouth in a way that makes her think he doesn’t want to leave but will anyway because that is the kind of man he really is—not some sex-crazed superstar locked in an ivory tower that the magazines might try and make him out to be. He stands and makes for the door.

Jumping up abruptly, Pepper follows him to the door. She is not ready for this to end. She is not ready for this to be the last time she ever sees Elvis Presley. But she is also realistic and practical. Her life is no fairy tale, nor does she need a prince to save her, as tempting as it all may seem in the moment.

“T-thank you…for earlier. As much as I’m loathe to admit it, I don’t want to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t come along,” she says quietly, feeling utterly caught in his blue-eyed gaze. “And thanks for the food, too. I’m feeling much better.”

There is a twinkle in his eye. “I’m glad I could be there for you when you needed it, Peppercorn,” he says with such kindness that she thinks she might cry.

Silence sits heavily between them and she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from his. He finally turns to go, hand on the knob, and she moves closer to hold the door, but suddenly he pauses and turns back. She nearly runs into him. This close, she can feel the heat radiating off his body and it scares her how much she craves the comfort of it.

“My show o-opens this w-week,” he says, stammering endearingly. “I’d like you to be there.”

Her heart jumps into her throat and her limbs feel tingly. “I would love to,” she gushes but then reality hits her and her face falls, “but I have to work. I-I can’t afford to lose my job. I’m so sorry.” She wants to cry, but that would be even worse than rejecting his offer. Don’t be a baby.

Pepper thinks she might imagine it, but Elvis seems defeated, too, for a split second before he smiles knowingly. “Well, we’ll see what happens, honey. The universe works in mysterious ways, don’t it?”

Cocking her head to the side, she wonders what he means by this, but she is too disappointed to try to piece it out now. She is also distracted by his bare chest rising and falling so close, the scent of him permeating her senses. The air in the room feels thick and hot, despite the whirring of the air conditioner in the window. He starts to turn again towards the door.

I don’t want him to go.

“Wait!” she shouts, a little too loudly for the proximity and he jumps a bit. “Your shirt—let me get changed real quick and I can give you back your shirt,” she rambles out, making for her bedroom.

His hand encompasses her small wrist, his firm touch branding her in such a pleasurable way that she gasps. He turns her back around to face him, bringing her closer towards him. She goes willingly, too enthralled by the nearness of him to keep her distance. She’s usually better than this, keeping a safe distance from the wiles of men, but she has never felt the pull of someone so strongly. It’s like he’s magnetized. And he’s succeeded in making her feel safe and valued in a way she’s not used to, leaving her rather defenseless against his charms.

“Don’t bother, sweetheart. It looks better on you anyway,” he says, his lips curling up into a grin that melts her heart into a pile of goo. He runs his fingers along and down the tall collar of the shirt, and the action, while innocent, sends a glorious heat into her belly.

“Oh,” is all she can manage to get out, her tongue tied into knots. She desperately doesn’t want this to end. She considers asking him to stay, but both courage and words fail her.

His eyes scan her face and then he brushes her long hair back over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Peppercorn, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other soon,” he says, as if reading her mind, as if he doesn’t want this to end either.

She nods, as if this makes all the sense in the world. It sets her heart galloping. She feels like it is about to beat out of her body when his long finger tilts her chin up to him, and he leans in and kisses her ever-so-gently on the cheek.

Her breath catches at the feel of his soft lips on her skin. It is somehow chaste yet incredibly erotic all at the same time. As a long-neglected warmth pools between her legs, a giddiness that washes over her that makes her feel like a schoolgirl.

Elvis lingers perhaps a moment too long before pulling back. “Goodnight, honey,” he whispers, then turns and leaves.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” she manages to squeak out before he disappears into darkness.

Once he’s out of sight, Pepper closes and locks the door, befuddled and hopeful and confused all at once. Her forehead lands on the wood as she closes her eyes, trying to reconcile this whole night with some semblance of reality.

He surprised her, truly, in his ability to be so down to earth. She is astonished (though perhaps she shouldn’t be) that he seems so complex, and she can’t help feeling connected to him because of all the small ways they are unpredictably alike. There is a part of her that very much wants to believe him when he said they would see each other again, but she knows her life isn’t build on wishes and dreams. It never has been, and she doesn’t expect that will change anytime soon, despite the bizarre fact that she can still smell the lingering scent of Elvis’ cologne in her living room.

Just be glad you had any time with him at all, she tells herself to try and manage her expectations. It would take a miracle for us to cross paths again.

Suddenly exhausted, she floats through her bedtime routine in a daze. But her doubts about the future don’t stop her from sleeping in his shirt, though, savoring the lingering scent of him on her skin and in her bed. And the feel of his lips on her cheek replays in her mind over and over as she reaches into her already damp panties to relive the ache he’s left her with. It doesn’t take much to bring her over the edge—imagining his sweet, pouty lips on her and his long fingers deep inside her does the trick—before she arches up with a strangled cry, clenching around nothing but a fantasy.

Breathing hard and barely sated, she collapses into the bed, wishing she’d been bold enough to invite him in with her. Refusing to wallow in regret, she finally manages to drift off to sleep with the unrealistically hopeful thought that his knowing smile means she’ll get to see him again someday soon, just as he promised.

Era One-Shot

A/N: This one has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for quite a while. Sweet Symphony started as a special request for '68 Special era Elvis from my Get to Know Me Gala way back in March! I also included the prompt, "Do it again, please." Nothing like a good two-fer!

A professional violinist Reader gets a little more than she bargains for after rehearsal for Elvis Presley's '68 Special...

Mature 18+ || Word count: 9.2k

TW: Sexxx in various forms, fluff, cussing, dubious use of a piano

For my most patient baby, @savedrebelcreation 💗

(If you want to get stories like this early, come join my Patreon!)

GIF by seredelgi

Sweet Symphony

A ’68 Special Era Request

You’re early. Too early, in fact, but your mother always said, “If you’re on time, you’re late,” so it goes to reason that for such an important job, you find yourself clicking your heels into the rehearsal room a full hour before it’s set to start.

The only reason they allowed you in this early is that your brother-in-law, Billy, is the one in charge of this portion of the production rehearsal, arranging the music for Elvis Presley’s television special due out in December. He had been tasked, rather last minute, to take over the musical arrangements. When your sister called on Billy’s behalf, saying he desperately needed a professional violinist to fill in for the one who’d been suddenly struck with a bout of appendicitis, you were a little confused at first. Why in the world would Elvis Presley need a violinist? had been the first thought in your head, but a job is a job, and you figure a television special of this magnitude wouldn’t hurt your classical resume.

Sure, why not? you’d thought, then packed up your violin and got a ticket for the next plane out to LA. If nothing else, I’ll get some sun.

Since your plane arrived late, you made the executive decision to go straight to the studio rather than chance the traffic by checking into your hotel first. Which is how you find yourself in the near-dark rehearsal space before anyone else has even thought to arrive, violin and suitcase in tow. At least you’ll get a chance to look over the score Billy just handed you before anyone else arrives, you think, finding a chair and settling in to unpack and prepare your instrument.

So focused are you that you don’t really register the door opening and then latching closed. You figure it is just Billy, who had been frantically going over sheet music up in the booth. When the piano begins to play, softly, you nearly jump out of your skin with surprise, having been so lost in sight reading and humming your part that you were oblivious to the presence of another in the room.

“Oh my god!” you gasp in surprise, managing to knock the loose pages of the score off the music stand as your hand flies up to your chest. “Damnit,” you mutter under your breath, scurrying to pick up the pages and put them back in order.

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to startle ya,” you hear a gentle voice drawl out from the darkness.

“Oh, no, I just wasn’t expecting anyone in here so early and I was so caught up in…” you taper off, furrowing your brow and trying to get your sheet music situated.

“Here, lemme help you with that,” the voice says, kneeling to pick up loose pages.

“Oh, thank…” your voice hitches when you look down at the man holding up more music that had fluttered away across the floor.

It’s the sparkling sapphire blue eyes that catch you first, framed in criminally long, dark lashes, blinking up at you from where he’s kneeling on the floor next to your chair. They are utterly mesmerizing in the way they search your face apologetically. Your voice dies in your suddenly dry throat, and so mesmerized are you with those eyes that it takes you much too long to take in the rest of him.

That’s when you realize that the man with the pretty eyes on his knees near your feet is the one and only Elvis Presley.

“…you. Thank you,” you manage to finish, gingerly taking the pages from his grasp.

Elvis smiles up at you so bashfully, so charmingly, that it takes your breath away.

It doesn’t hit you until this very moment that you are playing for the Elvis Presley. Between everything happening so quickly and you assuming you wouldn’t get to meet the man himself, you just hadn’t considered the magnitude of the job.

You’d just hit your teenage years when Elvis came into his stardom, the timing perfect for swooning over the Southern boy with the rebellious good looks and the completely unique sound. But your parents had been strict and conservative, opting for your upbringing to be filled with learning and playing classical music, so the only chance you’d had to listen to Elvis was when you went to your girlfriend’s house. There you could swoon over him unimpeded, but it was more vicarious than anything else. And by the time you were old enough to properly swoon to your heart’s content, you were so busy with your music degree that it hadn’t really crossed your mind to ogle over Elvis.

To be quite honest, you had become a bit of a music snob at that point, so Elvis wasn’t really on your radar, though you had been impressed by his reworked English version of O Solo Mio. His It’s Now or Never had been a massive hit, and he had amazed you with his vocal talent, which you were convinced was wasted on silly pop songs. Needless to say, Elvis and his music had been off your radar for a long, long time.

You certainly hadn’t realized the man had only gotten more attractive as time went on. Magazine pictures and even his movies (which you hadn’t cared to watch since the beginning of the decade) don’t do him justice, which is saying something since you’d never once seen the man look anything less than handsome. But those damn eyes pop against his tanned skin and raven hair, and that curved-lip smile has butterflies flying in your stomach like a schoolgirl.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, still kneeling at your feet.

“My name? Oh, um, my name is y/n,” you stammer out. You could kick yourself for how gobsmacked you sound, a grown professional woman nearly forgetting her own name in the presence of an attractive man. But the thing is he isn’t just attractive—he’s ethereal.

“Well, hello there, y/n. I’m Elvis,” he says, as if he were just some regular Joe and not one of the most famous men alive. “What do you play?” He motions to your music.

“Uh, violin. Well, and piano, but violin professionally,” you reply, unable to take your eyes off him.

His eyes light up at this. “I play piano, too,” he says, with such a little boy quality that you can’t help but smile.

“Oh?” This surprises you quite a bit since he is so synonymous with the birth of rock and roll and you’d only ever seen him with an acoustic guitar.

“Yeah, a lotta people don’t know that, but between you and me, I like playin’ piano more,” he says, with a wink. Elvis stands up from his crouch with little effort, so lithely that you equate it to a dancer. Your eyes follow up, up, up his lean frame, and you try not to notice just how well his tailored outfit fits him.

He walks back towards the piano he came from, and you blush when you catch yourself staring at his backside, like some sort of lecherous creep. Quickly turning your attention back to the pages of music in your lap, you force yourself to try and make sense of page numbers, shuffling them back into order.

“Do you know this one?” Elvis suddenly asks, shocking you by playing the opening notes of a well-known Beethoven piece.

“Yeah, I mean, yes. I do,” you respond, still stumbling over your words. “That’s Moonlight Sonata.”

“What happens after this part?” he asks, playing the beginning again. The question seems quite honest, still having that curious, young quality about it. Before you think better of it, you’re walking over to the piano.

“May I?” you say, standing near the bench. Music is your language. You’ve always been better with an instrument at your fingertips than with your words. It makes you feel bolder, so when Elvis only scoots over instead of yielding the bench, it doesn’t stop you from perching next to him.

It only takes a second for the movement to come back to you and you place your hands on the keys, letting them speak for you. You’ve done your share of teaching, so it doesn’t take but a moment to fall into that role. You just try not to think too hard on that fact that it’s Elvis Presley that you’re teaching.

He’s nodding along, eyes focused solely on your hands. So close to him, you can feel the way the music affects his body. It’s something you can relate to.

You stop yourself from speeding too far ahead in the music and pull your hands away from the keys. “Is that…do you want me to go again, or do you want to try it?” you ask.

“Do it again. Please?” he asks watching your hands with incredible focus.

You do, trying to keep it simple and without too much flourish.

“Okay, so it’s like this then?” he says after you finish, and as his long, slender fingers glide across the keys, you realize they are musician’s fingers. They may be dripping with jewels that are likely more expensive than your apartment, but they are quite perfect for the kind of instruments he plays. It strikes you he was made to do this.

You recognize then that Elvis is truly a musician and not just a performer. The way he concentrates, learning and adapting quickly as you show him more of the song, only by ear and sight, amazes you.

It's through the music that you begin to calm. Talking one musician to another is much more manageable than considering the magnitude of the person you’re speaking with. Frankly, you are completely amazed by how incredibly gentle and disarming the man is.

When the door opens again, both of you are consumed enough in the music that it doesn’t faze you much.

“Oh, hey Elvis! Just the man I needed to see. I hope y/n isn’t bothering you,” Billy says, in a teasing tone only a family member could produce.

“Hello to you, too, Billy,” you say, a bit annoyed at the interruption and at feeling put in your place as if you were still a child.

“Oh, no, not at all. She’s a great teacher,” Elvis grins, bumping your shoulder. “You two…know each other?” he then asks, his smile faltering in the slightest as he looks from you to Billy. The question is innocent enough, but the way he says it gives you pause and your heart flips.

“Since she was practically in diapers. She’s my sister-in-law,” Billy says.

“Twelve isn’t in diapers, Billy,” you scoff at him, then turn to Elvis. “He’s married to my older sister yet has never hesitated to treat me like a baby. Lucky me.”

“Aw, you know I only put up with you because you’re too talented for your own good,” Billy ribs, making to muss your hair.

You duck swiftly out of the way, bumping into Elvis in the process. “Oh, sorry!” you breath out.

Elvis just chuckles at the two of you, looking pleased as punch, though you’re not exactly sure why.

“I think what you meant to say is, ‘Thank you for dropping everything to fly across the country last minute to help me, dearest sister-in-law,’” you throw at Billy, batting your lashes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it. Now, skedaddle. I need to talk to Elvis,” Billy shoos you.

You suppress the urge to stomp your foot and pout, but you realize you really should act more professional than you are. Settling for a huff at Billy, you turn to Elvis. “It was nice to meet you,” you say, all the spunkiness you had towards Billy deflating into shyness the moment you look into those dark blue eyes again.

“Oh, I have no doubt we’ll be talkin’ again soon, honey, and thank you for the lesson,” Elvis drawls softly.

His words send a cascade of shivers through your limbs. You feel heady as you stand from the bench, shooting a familial glare Billy’s way, noticing the frown on his face as you do so. God, even with you being 27, Billy had the ability to make you feel like a scolded younger sister.

You force yourself not to look back as you head to your chair. Be a professional. Just because Elvis is handsome doesn’t mean he’s not the man you’re ultimately working for. Busying yourself with rearranging your music, you hear Billy usher Elvis out and up into the booth.

Well, that’s that, you think, rosining your bow, and you get to practicing.

*

You’ve been at your share of long rehearsals, but you will admit this one is both long and intense. The music Billy has arranged—this “Guitar Man” medley of some of Elvis’ songs—isn’t difficult music to play, per say, but you can now sense an underlying importance around this entire operation. Part of it is the barely held back frantic look in Billy’s eyes, and knowing him as you do, for him to be this frazzled means there’s a lot on the line. However, it’s when Elvis comes back, much later, to run through the medley with the orchestra, that you realize you can sense it in him, too. It’s well-hidden, to be sure, when the man introduces himself and shakes hands with the members of the orchestra, and you probably wouldn’t even have noticed if it weren’t for the relaxed way he’d been with you earlier in the day, but it’s an undercurrent all the same. Then, they send him into the booth to do his thing.

And, boy, does he. You’ve worked your share of Broadway musicals and operas, but you’ve never seen a man completely give himself over to the work in just a rehearsal quite the way Elvis does with this medley. It’s like he’s singing for his life. By the time it’s all through, Elvis exits the booth, dripping with sweat, exhausted but exuberant. His eyes sparkle and his body hums, some part of him tapping or jiggling or wiggling every moment, as though the music had become electricity in his veins.

You try not to stare as you slowly put away your bow, your violin, collecting your music from the black stand. You try not to, but you keep stealing glances because not only does he look enticing, but it’s also more that you connect with the feelings he seems to be having. The way the music can just take over and become something else inside you, as if you are the conduit to something much bigger than yourself. This you understand. And you’d never imagined a sensation like Elvis Presley would feel the music that way, too. Perhaps this is the secret to his massive success.

Almost all the other musicians have packed and left by now. You tell yourself you’re stalling so you can say goodnight to Billy before hailing a cab and finally checking into your hotel by midnight. You are exhausted, after a day of traveling and frenetic rehearsal, yet you are buzzing with the excitement only music seems to bring you. And you can’t help that the part of you that feels that way is being drawn towards Elvis like a magnet.

When Elvis catches your less-than-sly stare, a million-dollar smile spreads over his face and your heart flip-flops in your chest so hard it takes your breath away. Caught, you quickly and conspicuously look up and away, as though that will save the burning embarrassment on your cheeks. Suddenly, all you can think of is how fast you can get out of here, and you finish packing up like a fire has been lit under you. You scurry towards the door, hoping to escape before making a fool of yourself further.

“Hey, Miss Moonlight,” Elvis says, fingers light on your arm, stopping you before you reach the door, “whaddya say you join us back at my place for a little get together?”

The nickname would usually make you roll your eyes, but coming from him so sweetly, you balk under the attention. It distracts you so much that it takes a full second to realize that he’s just invited you to his place.

“I…uh, it’s been a long day. I-I haven’t even checked into my hotel yet,” you stammer, the excuse so unconvincing you might laugh if you weren’t so befuddled and nervous that Elvis is asking you…well, you’re not exactly sure what he’s asking you.

He quirks a perfect raven brow at you. When he steps in closer, you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“Well, I can have Joe swing you by your hotel before headin’ over, if you’d like, though there’s plenty of space at the house. We can set up a room for ya…s’probably more comfortable than a hotel,” Elvis drawls quietly in your ear.

You’ve never heard a man make a pass so naturally in your life, so much so that you almost hesitate to believe it is one. His low voice and the open suggestiveness spear straight into your core, threatening to melt you into a puddle on the spot.

In any other circumstance, you would laugh in a man’s face for suggesting such a thing. Generally shy, reserved, and cerebral, you’re certainly not the kind of woman who just spends the night at a strange man’s place. But this isn’t any other circumstance. This is Elvis Presley asking you to stay the night with him.

And maybe he does just mean it casually—a “hey, come party with us and you can sleep on the couch”—but at the moment, your body doesn’t know the difference. Your inner pragmatist begins listing off all the ways this is a terrible idea, but the only thing that cuts through the noise is the regret you know you’ll feel if you don’t accept this invitation.

“Um…well, okay. I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose, of course,” you manage to breathe back.

His lip curves up into an almost bashful smile. “Oh, Moonlight, you couldn’t be an imposition if you tried. Plus, you hafta show me how to play the rest of that piece,” he says, running a calloused fingertip down your pointer finger.

You can’t help the shudder that runs through you or the way your heart catches in your throat. “Well, how could I possibly refuse?” you finally get out.

“Fantastic! Hey, Joe, this is my new friend, y/n,” he says enthusiastically, calling over the shorter man. “She’s gonna be joining us tonight.”

Joe seems kind enough, albeit barely looks or speaks to you after the main introductions. Before you know it, you, your violin, and your suitcase are packed into the back of what you assume is a ridiculously expensive vehicle. Elvis slides in behind you, and you, now sandwiched between him and the car door, think you ought to feel apprehensive about the situation, but all your attention is fixed on how Elvis’ side is pressed up against yours. The heat radiates off him, bleeding into you, his leg bouncing so quickly that you think he might need to get out and run laps. He makes conversation, asking about how you came to be a musician and you uncharacteristically and nervously start rambling about yourself. You’ve got to give him credit for the way he nods and hums, truly seeming to listen to you even though your mouth is running almost uncontrollably.

By the time you arrive at the house, you feel as if you’ve told Elvis your life story and you abruptly shutter your mouth closed. God, I am such an idiot. Way to play it cool, y/n, you berate yourself.

Elvis kindly helps you out of the car, walking you toward the house as Joe follows with your violin and suitcase in tow. The way your heart pounds against your ribcage threatens to do you in—it’s all suddenly become very real that Elvis Presley is leading you into his house where you are going to surreptitiously spend the night. His hand is guiding you so gently at the small of your back, but the heat of it blazes through you.

Oh, get a grip! The man has probably touched thousands of women, you’re no different. You’re not special.

Realizing you’re holding your breath, you force yourself to take in air as inconspicuously as possible.

��You don’t gotta be nervous, baby,” he says, a cheeky little smile gracing those luscious lips of his.

“Sorry, I…this just isn’t where I thought I’d be at the end of this very long day,” you chuckle.

“Well, let’s make you at home then.” His smile turns reassuring and warm.

He spends the next hour getting you comfortable and fed, having the most amazing ability to relax your normally nervous nature without hardly trying. You can’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach at the way he seems to be continuously touching you—the press of his leg, an arm around your shoulders, the graze of a finger against yours—in a familiar way, even though you’ve known him less than a day. If it were anyone else, you would have leapt off the couch and run for the hills.

What surprises you the most is that you aren’t uncomfortable at all. Excited and nervous, yes. But you don’t feel preyed upon or anything of the sort. Frankly, you are trying not to get ahead of yourself about what the rest of the night might bring.

An impromptu jam session with his old bandmates has you feeling even more surreal. If someone had told you yesterday that you would get a private concert with Elvis Presley and his former band, you would have laughed at them. You find yourself unable to take your eyes off him and how he seems to get completely lost in the music, and you right along with him. His gritty baritone combined with the sensual way he tackles each song has warmth pooling in your belly. Despite the cranked-up air conditioning, you find yourself sweating and parched, especially in the moments he smiles in your direction.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, only that you feel the heady exhaustion of being up too long coupled with an uncharacteristic hungry adrenaline running through your veins. When the jam session ends, you are both disappointed and exhilarated for what might come next.

Don’t get your hopes up, you remind yourself. This night has been amazing no matter what happens next.

“Did you enjoy that, Moonlight?” he leans over and whispers in your ear. It tickles you and sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod. “Oh, yes.” It comes out more breathless than you’d like.

You feel him smile against your cheek. “Are you up for teaching me more of that sonata, honey?” he asks. It’s an innocent enough request but you can’t tell exactly what his motivations are, though for the first time in your life, you’re not sure it matters.

“Of course,” you say quietly, starting for the piano in the corner of the living space.

His warm hand catches yours, and you look back, surprised, as he shakes his head and pulls you in the opposite direction.

Your heart threatens to beat out of your ribcage as he leads you down the hall and into what you assume is his private suite. It’s not until he closes the door and you realize that you are utterly alone with him that you feel a glimmer of trepidation.

It must read on your face because he jumps in to reassure you. “Oh, honey, I just want to get to know you better, away from the rest of them. I’d never hurt you or make you do anything you didn’t want to do. Honestly, I don’t want the other guys ribbing me…they don’t go for the classical stuff,” he says quietly, looking away, and you think there might be a little pink rising on his cheeks.

His sincerity is palpable, and you certainly never expected him to be bashful about playing classical music. There’s a softness to him now, almost a shyness, that wasn’t present moments ago around all his entourage. It is like a yearning for one-on-one connection, and this part of him melts all your reservations and tugs at your heartstrings.

“Well, I do…go for the classical stuff, I mean,” you say quietly. You smile and squeeze his hand reassuringly as his deep blue eyes find yours again.

He looks giddy as he leads you to the second piano in the house, a baby grand in the far corner of the large suite. You sit down, opening the lid, and he slides in beside you. The heat of him rolls around you, the smell of his cologne and a day’s worth of sweat combining into an alluring combination that perks up your senses.

“Show me what you remember,” you say, and he starts to play, long, nimble fingers gliding gracefully over the keys. It amazes you that he committed everything you showed him earlier to memory so fast and so accurately. Something about it tightens a coil low in your belly. Unsure whether it’s your attraction to him physically or musically that has you so aroused, you swallow hard as he finishes abruptly.

You shake it off as best you can as you show him more of the movement, hoping the music might quell the buzzing in your veins. You go through it a few times, getting a little lost in the notes, as you tend to do. It only serves to stoke the fire in you when he picks up what you’ve shown him so quickly.

He finishes a phrase, and you move to show him the next, but his hand suddenly covers yours. Surprised, you look over at him to find his oceanic eyes searching your face so intimately that warmth blooms across your chest and your breath catches in the silence.

Slowly, Elvis leans over, cups your cheek gently, and kisses you. It’s almost chaste the way his incredibly soft lips press into yours and your surprise is so great that by the time you register what is happening, he is already pulling away.

His eyes open slowly, those lashes fluttering along with the fluttering in your heart and belly. Shock has you outwardly frozen but it’s as if he lit every one of your nerve endings on fire with the touch of his lips.

He must register your surprise as hesitance because his gaze changes to something akin to apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare ya. I shouldn’t’ve—”

Before he can get the rest of that sentence out, your body miraculously obeys you and you unfreeze. Boldly cupping his jaw with both hands, you pull him back to you and plant your lips on his.

It surprises both of you, and it’s a second before either of you relaxes into the kiss. This permission is all it takes, however, and then his mouth is languidly searching yours and his arms are wrapping around you to pull you close. Soft, short kisses alternate with longer more passionate ones, and you feel utterly spellbound by him, every inch of your body aware and alert to his.

Never in your life have you been kissed so well or so thoroughly. It’s as if the music in his soul must find a physical outlet, and the way he explores and opens you up to him is like him playing a new instrument. When his tongue rolls softly against your lower lip, you can’t suppress the low moan that comes out of you, causing you to open your mouth. He accepts the invitation readily, expertly, and the wet plushness of his tongue slowly begins exploring.

The warmth that sparkles and blooms across your chest travels lower still, sparking fires as it goes, until you feel your pulse throbbing between your legs. It’s nearly unbearable the way he stokes you without hardly trying. You’ve never felt so aroused so quickly or so completely.

Your eagerness is impossible to contain, your fingers buried in that luxuriously soft hair at the base of his neck, your body rolling towards his of its own accord, as if magnetized. You follow his rhythm, meeting his music with your own.

When he pulls back to trail kisses down your jaw, you are left breathless and clutching the lapels of his half-unbuttoned shirt. The nuzzle of his nose on your cheek as he finds and licks the tender spot behind your ear leaves you gasping. Pleased, he does it again and your entire body shudders.

Every inch of you yearns to be consumed by him. It’s never felt like this, not with any man you’ve been with. Those were fumbling amateurs playing one handed melodies in comparison to the symphony Elvis is invoking. While he is leading and in control, you sense as much eagerness from him as there is in you. It’s reassuring and flattering all at once.

There is an embarrassing amount of slick between your legs already, soaking the cotton of your panties and leaving you clenching your thighs together in search of friction. He must notice this as he kisses down your throat and across your décolletage because then he’s looking up at you for permission with those pink, swollen lips and dreamy bedroom eyes.

It’s unspoken, but you nod and he continues his sweet journey, one hand deftly unzipping the back of your dress while his lips follow gravity as it slips down your arms and reveals your chest. Pushing the fabric off and to your waist, his hand is then hot against your bare stomach. He hums in approval when his mouth finds the swell of your breasts that spill from your simple, beige bra.

A low whine escapes you. His apt response is to thumb your nipple to attention through the thin satin before lapping at the bud with his tongue. The result is a jolt of electricity shooting straight into your core, sending you clutching his neck and writhing against him. Expertly, he undoes the clasp in the back and abandons your bra to the floor in what must be a well-practiced motion based on the speed of it.

Goosebumps rise across your now fully exposed flesh, both from the cool air in the room and the way his fingers brush so lightly over your breasts. He seems pleased with the way your nipples stand at attention under his heated gaze. You don’t have the wherewithal to feel your usual self-consciousness; instead, the sight of his pupils blown black with arousal has you shivering with nothing but anticipation.

The combination of the way his tongue darts between his lips as he lightly pinches the hardened buds has you begging for more. “Please,” you moan and that’s all it takes before he’s lathing his tongue over and around the sensitive nubs, palming the fullness of your breasts. You can hardly stand it, how everything he does makes your body sing and want to scream his praises.

A quizzical look crosses your features though when he stops his ministrations and slides to his knees on the carpet on his side of the bench. For a second you are worried something you’ve done something to hurt or displease him, but when he beckons you towards him at the end of the bench with such arousal in his eyes it nearly knocks you over, you obey without a thought.

Elvis scoots you forward and kisses your belly, sending a new wave of tingles over you. He removes one of your low-heeled pumps and then the other, ghosting kisses along your ankles before running his large hands up the smoothness of your pantyhose, pushing your dress up with them. As if under a spell, you can’t help the way your legs fall open for him when his thumbs drag up the insides of your thighs. The little coy smirk that graces that beautiful face when he feels the damp that has soaked through to the gusset of your hose has your cheeks flushing and your lips parting.

You can’t bring yourself to be too embarrassed at how wet you are because the pleased look on his face at the discovery makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. He pulls on the waistband, forcing you to lift your hips, before gently rolling the hose down your legs until they are off and discarded on the floor.

What you don’t expect is how he begins peppering soft kisses up your now bare calves, at the inside of your knees, and then up your inner thighs.

A swell of panic hits the farther up he goes, and you jerk up, unsure of what exactly he’s meaning to do. The men you’d been with in the past had been rather direct about the whole thing—once the clothes were off, they buried their pecker inside you and thrust above you, all with varying levels of success in getting you off as they did so.

But not a single one had kissed up your thighs and spread them open with a hungry and expectant look like the one Elvis had now.

Looking down at him, confused, you ask, “What are you doing?” in a voice that is a little too apprehensive for your liking, but you need to know.

He cocks his head at you a moment, as if trying to determine your level of seriousness. Then his eyes shine with understanding and in that low, Southern drawl of his says the downright naughtiest thing you’ve ever had a man say to you: “You ain’t never had a man take good care of your kitty before, have ya? Give her all the love and attention she deserves?” He runs a fingertip lightly over the wet cotton at your center and you shiver.

He can’t possibly mean what you think he means.

You must be gaping because he rises on his knees and catches your lips with his own before breathing, “Close that pretty mouth baby or you’re liable to catch flies up in there.”

You are speechless, unable to form words, but the question is written all over your face.

He leans back on his knees with a contemplative smile. “That sweet little kitty of yours ain’t never been eaten, has she, baby?”

Oh my god.

It’s all you can do to bite back a moan and shake your head at him.

He looks positively gleeful about this development, his shining eyes taking on a whole new level of arousal. Then he seems to notice your trepidation and reigns himself in.

“That okay with you, baby?” he asks.

You had never even considered it an option before, or that a man might like to do such a thing. Maybe he’s teasing you? Suddenly you feel very conscious of the mechanics of the act and breathlessly mumble, “You don’t…you’re sure?”

“Oh, I am.” The smile of anticipation on his face seems to echo the sentiment.

The enticing thought of that beautiful mouth of his being down there on you outweighs your uncertainty and prudishness. You nod your head. “O-Okay.”

You’ve never seen a man look so thrilled at the thought of being between your legs as Elvis Presley is. “Don’tcha worry, I’m gonna take real good care of ya,” he says comfortingly. “You just lie back and relax and let me make you feel good, honey.” Then he places a kiss just under the waistband of your panties and you let out a little sigh.

The piano bench feels slightly warm on you bare back as you lay down. Elvis, grabbing under your thighs, pulls you to the edge, and your heart resumes its pounding. You truly can’t believe any of this is about to happen and steel yourself for him to rip off your underwear and go to town.

But he doesn’t.

No, he takes his time warming you up, as if he’s trying to get you used to the idea. He kisses down one hip then trails down the panty line. You tense the closer he gets to your core but then he only ghosts a breath over it before jumping to the other leg and kisses up the crease on that side. The ticklish sensation is almost too much to bear as he works his way up to the waistband again.

You are panting by the time his mouth is grazing from your belly button downwards, pressing into the soft curls beneath the fabric. He stops just short of that forbidden little spot where your aching clit resides, and you push up on your elbows to shoot him a look.

A grin spreads over his features, his eyes narrowed like a crocodile’s and full of desire and he watches you intently as he finally places a light kiss over that sensitive little button.

The sensation is nothing like anything you’ve felt before and the whole scene has your body flaming white hot. You don’t recognize the low mewl that erupts from your lips and the only thing keeping you from throwing your head back is the way his eyes are locked on yours, as if feeding off your reaction. Then he uses his perfect nose to nuzzle into it before placing a firmer kiss there.

“Elvissss,” you whine, unable to keep from throwing your head back this time.

“You like that, baby? I barely even started,” he speaks, his hot breath puffing over the slicked core of your panties. He kisses down, down until over your entrance, where he then tongues the fabric, pressing it up and into you.

“Honey, you’ve done soaked right through,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure if he’s speaking to you or directly to your pussy. You’re not sure you care for the way you moan, the way your body shudders and writhes, suddenly starving for anything he’s willing to give.

“Lemme see how pretty she is,” he says, and God, if his filthy yet somehow sweet words aren’t stroking you in such a way that you wonder if you could come from his lilting voice alone. He pulls your underwear to the side, finally baring yourself to him, and he whistles.

“Just lovely, and all weepy for me, too,” he says, voice thick with lust now.

The anticipation has your heart racing and your fingers clawing at the wooden bench with a whimper.

“Okay, baby, I hear ya,” he murmurs kindly, then hooks his fingers in the sides of your panties and finally slides them down and off your legs. Then his hands are pushing them apart and his tongue is lightly skimming up your folds.

You gasp at the soft and silky feeling, unready even despite his preparations. When he circles your clit and then kisses it, bare this time, you are so aroused you’re afraid you might weep. But the teasing is done, and he tests you expertly. His tongue flattens and takes in the full breadth of you, licking a stripe up your pussy that sends your hips rolling.

He seems to gauge every reaction carefully, giving equal and alternating attention to every piece of you. Nipping, suckling, and kissing your swollen clit into submission and just when you think that heated coil in your belly might snap you in two, he moves down and kisses through your folds. When he laps at the arousal dripping from your tight little hole, tongues it, and then plunges it inside of you, you find yourself screaming out his name.

You can feel him smile and hum at your response, the vibrations adding entirely new sensations to the slew of new sensations you are feeling. He thumbs at your clit as he laps at your hole, and you think you might hyperventilate with how fast you’re breathing and how hot you feel.

So completely attuned to you, he pulls back and gives you a break, despite your whimpering protests. His full lips are swollen pink and slick down to his chin with you, and when his lip curls up into a knowing but almost bashful smile, you think this might be the eighth wonder of the world.

“You alright? I’m doin’ okay?” he asks, his left eyebrow quirking.

You giggle, almost drunkenly even though you’re entirely sober, because the question is so absurd but sweet of him. “Yes, yes, yes,” you say, words slurring.

“Okay, good,” he says, nodding. Then he rises on up on his knees and commands you forward with a come-hither motion so deft and quick, it has you drooling.

You are powerless to resist and push your dazed self to your elbows on the bench. He meets you halfway, kissing you deeply, lewdly letting you taste the tang of yourself on his lips. Distracted as you are by his wandering mouth, you aren’t ready for the way he slides two of those perfectly long musician’s fingers up through your silky folds and deep into your wet heat.

A shocked gasp quickly turns into a moan that he swallows with another kiss. He begins ever-so-slowly pumping those fingers into you and the rough pad of his thumb circles that sensitive bundle of nerves at the hood of your sex.

“Goddamn, you’re so perfect, so tight,” he breathes into your mouth.

You can’t stop the shiver that ripples through you. “I-It’s been a-awhile,” you pant. You can’t help but look down and watch the way he works you.

“Don’t you worry, baby. I gotchu,” he purrs, then curves his fingers just so and the pleasure that courses through you has you crying out.

Your brain is fuzzy, with only one thing on its mind. Luckily, Elvis seems to be reading it because he smiles that coy smile and returns those full lips of his to your clit.

For a moment you think you might die from the intensity of the sensations he’s procuring from you. Seems an awful lot like God gave him long fingers and a full mouth not only for music, you think. Though the way he’s playing you right now and the noises he’s coaxing out of you makes it seem like a whole different type of song he’s expert at.

The way he traces and flicks and suckles your clit, coupled with the obscene sounds coming from the way he’s fingering your pussy has you writhing on the bench and gripping his beautiful hair in your hands.

More, more, more, is the only thought left.

He hums against you with one last kiss and a wildly accurate thrust and curve of his fingers. The coil inside you explodes, then white-hot, full-body shudders violently overtake you as you silently scream and hold onto him for dear life as to not fly away into the stratosphere.

Your orgasm is utterly mind altering and earth shattering.

“Good job, lil’ girl,” Elvis coos, soothing you through the aftershocks with a lathing tongue.

You can’t think straight enough to respond, only whimpering from the empty feeling when he removes his fingers, then gasping again when he laps at the arousal pouring out of your core.

It’s all too much, and, overstimulated, you whine and clench and pull at him.

He sits up again, between your legs, looking mighty pleased with himself. “Come ‘ere, darlin’,” he says, pulling you up by your arms and sliding you onto his lap. Boneless and naked (save for the dress bunched in a ring around your waist), your legs fall open, easily straddling his hips. Your hands grip at his shirt and you bury your head into his neck, still dizzy with release.

He holds you steady. “Didja like that? Your kitty all happy and purrin’ now?” he whispers in your ear, sending a new set of shivers down your spine. All you can manage is a pleased hum and a nod. You kiss his neck, tasting salt on his tanned skin.

A soft moan escapes his lips at that. Suddenly, you become quite aware of the hardness in his slacks, pressing up near your swollen folds. The embers of your arousal have not died, and you kiss his neck again while slowly rolling your hips into his.

Groaning, he tightens his arms around you, holding you to him. You nip at the throbbing pulse point on his neck and are reminded just how talented and famous these hips of his are when he rolls them back into you in response. He’s rock hard, straining against his zipper, the tip of him bumping against your sensitive clit. You moan and find his rhythm, feeling the wetness between your thighs start to soak through the fabric of his slacks, creating a delicious friction.

Elvis pants heavily in your ear, murmuring curses and praises as he grinds into you. At this rate, you think he might come in his pants, which just won’t do. Not with the way your pussy is buzzing, and that coil is tightening again in your belly. No, you need him inside you. You need him to fill you.

You use what little returning strength you have and rise on your knees, away from his needy cock. The man actually pouts, his lower lip jutting out with a desperate little whine and it is so alluring you almost forget what you’re trying to do. You place a finger over his lips to quiet him, then set to the task of trying to undo his lavish belt and zipper.

Once he understands, he races to help, making much quicker work of the whole thing and finally his cock springs free. It’s quite long, and the deep pink tip peeking out of his silky foreskin is already shiny and weeping with precum. Of its own accord, your finger slides over his slit, circling the slick tip and spreading the wetness gathered there. He hisses. You bring your finger to your mouth, tasting the salty musk of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, his hand palming his length. He gives it a pointed tug, then another, his lips falling open as he watches you.

He’s gorgeous in every way and it’s almost intimidating the way he looks at you with such open and vulnerable lust. You can’t bring yourself hold back or tease any longer, needing desperately to give him all of you, to give him what he needs. Hovering over him, you help line him up, then slowly descend onto his cock.

You are plenty wet—he’s seen to that—but even still, the stretch of him burns. It’s been too long since a man has been inside you like this and he is much longer than you anticipated.

A quiet, “Oh, oh, oh,” is all you manage to puff out as you bob slightly up and down, taking a little bit more of him with each tiny pump. He presses gentle kisses everywhere he can reach and murmurs encouraging praises with each inch that you conquer.

By the time you settle on the hilt of him, snug in his lap, you’re both groaning. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders because you are so full of him you don’t know what to do. You’ve never been so gorged and the pressure is a little frightening.

“Snug as a bug in a rug,” he slurs happily, letting you adjust around him. “Little Elvis likes you lots and lots, baby. S’like you were made just for him.”

“Little Elvis? H-He’s not so little,” you say with wide eyes, then giggle a little, which causes you to gasp from the tightness below and how it makes you clench even harder around him.

He groans. “If ya keep doing that, he’s not gonna last very long, darlin’.”

You try to move, but in this position and after that orgasm, you feel weak and a little like he’s spearing you in two. You’re almost too full, and the angle is not quite right. You wiggle in his lap, your brow furrowed, as your arms grow tighter around his neck. A low whine escapes your throat.

He notices your distress. Petting your hair, he babytalks at you, which under other circumstances might be strange for a grown man, but it comes so naturally to him somehow it both comforts and arouses you, “Oh, shh, shh, baby, s’okay. He’s a widdle much for ya, ain’t he? Sometimes he gets too ‘cited and gets ahead of ‘imself. But he’s gonna take real good care of ya, I promise.”

And with that, he gingerly shifts sideways, leans forward, and lays you down on the plush carpet under the piano. The movement has him sliding partially out of you, giving you some relief from the bursting sensation, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Your body relaxes.

He looks so gorgeous above you, with his raven hair falling in his eyes and a soft, bashful smile gracing his lips. You can’t help but smile back at him.

“That better?” he asks.

You nod.

Leaning down, he nuzzles your nose, then places soft kisses on your mouth. He coaxes you back to him, the heat building between you with each deepening kiss. So focused on the rolling of his tongue against yours, you don’t even realize he’s pressing deeper into you until he’s nestled almost completely, but much more comfortably between your legs.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth. The pressure still has you feeling full, but in a delicious, silky way this time as you finally relax around him. He rolls his hips smoothly, the strokes slow and deliberate, in time with the movement of his lips. Each stroke is better than the last as your increased arousal combined with his own slickens your inner walls.

“There she is,” he moans quietly into the crook of your neck.

That feeling is back, a chant of want, want, want running through your brain as the tension and fire in your belly begin to grow once more. When he bottoms out this time, your punctuated, “Ah!” is from pleasure and not discomfort. He’s managing to hit places inside you that you didn’t know existed.

You writhe under him, starting to meet his thrusts with your own, trying as you might to find that perfect spot he keeps slipping past. If only you had the right leverage…

It comes to you once you’ve hitched your legs up around his svelte waist. You lift your hips and plant your bare feet against the grainy wooden underside of the piano, meeting his next thrust with your leveraged one. It sends him deeper, driving into that little spot just perfectly. You keen.

“Oh, goddamn,” he moans along with you.

Each thrust seems deeper than the last with your legs pressing up like this. They shake from the exertion, but it’s worth every ounce of effort for the way you feel driven into the earth by his cock. Sweat drips off his face and onto yours as he showers your body with pleasure you didn’t know existed.

He thumbs your clit, timed perfectly with the piston of his hips, and you can barely breathe at the sensation. Gasping, your entire body shudders of its own accord as you hurtle towards another release.

“I…I…I…” is all you can seem to manage as your second climax starts to crest, and he grunts with effort above you, his eyes glassy with unbridled desire.

He mutters a string sweet filth that only fuels you forward, slurring and panting, “Oh, fuck, yes…such a good yittle kitty…good girl for me…look atchu taking ‘im so deep…never been s’deep…Jesus, I can see ‘im in your belly.”

You both look at the swell of your abdomen on the next thrust and this time he holds you flush against him so you can see the tip of Little Elvis bulge out the slightest bit. The moan you let out is obscene. Holding you at the waist, he doesn’t let your hips down, instead running the palm of his hand over the protrusion while he flicks your clit furiously. Then he presses down at the same time he thrusts as hard and as deep as possible.

Your climax hits so hard and so fast that it knocks the breath out of you, leaving you gasping his name, “Elvis, Elvis, Elvis!” Flaming white stars flash behind your eyelids as you flutter and clench around his length. Molten fire spreads from your core outward. You shudder and claw at him, at the bottom of the piano, at anything that will keep you tethered to reality while the rest of you shatters into a million pieces beneath him.

“Good girl, s’good fo’me,” he praises you through it, losing himself to you as you come apart.

You feel his hips start to stutter into you again because a primal need has him beyond the point of waiting any longer. Somehow, through shivering aftershocks, you have the wherewithal to force your eyes open, even as the rest of your body goes slack. He looks like Adonis in the throes of passion, his full and swollen lips falling open. In one fell swoop, he drops your hips and pulls his considerable length from you, his knowing hand pumping his slick-covered cock with expert precision.

Watching him come is a marvel and you make yourself commit this moment to memory, knowing it will fuel your arousal for years to come. He tenses above you, those sapphire eyes fluttering closed. Shivering tension ripples over him with a choked cry and through gritted teeth. Thick and warm white ropes erupt and splatter over your torso and you moan along with him. Then his eyes pop open pointedly as he watches himself cover you with his seed. The poignant, dramatic end of a brilliant symphony.

“F-fuck,” he pants, finishing off with another shiver. Exhausted, he catches himself just before crushing you with his weight, instead pressing his sweaty brow into yours. Your hot, heavy breaths mingle as you both try to come back down to Earth. He nuzzles his nose into yours before kissing your cheeks and your mouth.

Eventually, you find your words. “That was…incredible,” you say breathlessly, with no exaggeration.

He pulls back to look at you, with a goofy, pleased grin. “I told you I’d take care of you, Moonlight. And boy oh boy, was that a neat trick with the piano there…that part of your classical trainin’?” he says, blowing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Putting that college degree to good use,” you say with a giggle.

His eyes go wide and then he laughs—a musical, beautiful, contagious sound—which fills your heart up in a way you don’t quite understand.

He crawls back and helps you out from under the piano. Your back is rubbed raw from the carpet, which he kisses gently with apology, but you barely feel the sting. You are too dazed and relaxed to worry about much of anything.

When he helps clean you up and pulls you into his big bed, slotting you in next to him, you want to savor every minute. How he smells delicious and masculine, how the heat of his long body envelops your own—you want to remember everything.

Exhausted, you fall fast asleep, sated and cared for, knowing that you’ll never, ever be the same.

*

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[swcowgal]

Wild rags I think each clone would wear : a clone cowboy au : part 5

Here is part 1, part 2, part 3, and part 4

Captain Howzer I know Howzer would have a collection of different patterned wild rags all in the teal family. This is just one of many

Captain Gregor He would also be a paisley fan. This one is perfect with the yellow. I will be dreaming about him wearing this…

Captain Keeli He would wear this because it matches his armor colors and he just seems like a paisley guy. Besides it also goes with his haircut.

Captain Grey Again, he would wear this because it matches his armor

Captain Wilco I picked this for him because he seems like a straight forward guy who follows the rules. He would wear this because it is simple and classy

Captain Vaughn 501st blue with a twist. This wild rag is just down right classy, perfect for a captain

Captain Fordo

I don’t think I really need to go in depth to justify this one. The colors are spot on. The pattern could differentiate, but let’s just stick with beautiful paisley for this badass beast of a man. Case closed.

[eminsunnytoons123]

The whatnot Show gang doodles:

Part 1, part 2 And part 3

Since I have promised yesterday that I'll post the whole whatnot Show gang, here it is =^_^=

And this is for all my loved ones in my tumblr family: @0lemonadefox0 @kxllboii @cheezekennith @aquamarine-dream-queen @dayzsac224 @oscarandgrinchfan @moshywoosh @ilovescaredysquirrel2 @nuggetaubrey @sharkyy599 @nightkit92 @familyoffood @animatronicdoozer @thelazzyblogzz @sugar-miss1 @shrimpathizer @shypeachrunaway @iggyguyy @sayuri-does-skits @typical-sophie @peaceforpeople @ben5569 @oxxjustfrankieandmikuloverxxo @ducktopia90264 @artismeyou-12 @blackstar044 @acen402 @diego-r-the-artist-2009 @nia1sworld @rumplestiltsbear @s4gefr0g @beeware-of-lulu @leafith @bluebird-in-a-cagedrawing @muppet-fan-frr @thegroovyskull @blo0st4r @vickymcsworld @fancytigercupcake @classywinnerpeace @dackychansworldofhoshino @itzbluecl0udd @alegriasweetblossom that always love me And support my work And always give me some much Joy And happiness in my heart, I'll always love And support them no matter what, And I'll always wish them all happiness And Joy =^///////^= 🩷💖❤️

Also, I know that I made these doodles on february this year And that I could've redraw them in my new improved artstyle after these couple months, I'm kinda lazy to do so ^///^; but! When I often draw them along with kermoot And the moopets, timrek And the teppums, And Lucille And the parodies, they WILL look more better =^_^=

And also! Before I start sharing their new updated infos, I wont go by the parts I was doing, because I wanna make every character be together in these new parts ^///^;

Now their NEW infos/bios:

Dermot the dog - dermot the dog is Kermit the frog's whatnot counterpart, he is the dog leader of the whatnot Show gang and he plays the bucket bass and likes to talk about cloudy Days. His headcanon voice actor is Phil LaMarr, And his voice claim is Wilt from Fosters home for Imaginary friends.

Miss Tiggy - Miss Tiggy is Miss piggy's whatnot counterpart, she is the primadonna Tiger lady but she is also very hot tempered, so beware of her! She is even Dermot's love interest. Her headcanon voice actor is Pendleton Ward, And her voice claim is lumpy space princess from adventure time.

Ozzy Woodchuck - Ozzy Woodchuck is fozzie bear's whatnot counterpart, he is the comedic Woodchuck of the Show And his jokes often suck and he often uses honks for entertainment of other whatnots. His headcanon voice actor is Doug Giorgis, And his voice claim is Bobby zilch from psychonauts.

Bonzo the amazing monkey - Bonzo the amazing monkey is gonzo's whatnot counterpart, he is the Daredevil Monkey that isnt afraid to do some dangerous acrobatics And stuff, And he has a thing for fairies that are taller than him. His headcanon voice actor is Gregory Micheal "Greg" Cipes, And his voice claim is Beast boy from teen titans go!

Paisley the persian cat - paisley the persian cat is rowlf the dog's whatnot counterpart, he is wise and laid-back just like rowlf And he plays the Mandolin. His headcanon voice actor is Keith David, And his voice claim is Husk from hazbin hotel.

Sid the British bulldog - Sid the British bulldog is sam the eagle's whatnot counterpart, he is a British bulldog that always has something to say about Britain or that the Show should he more cultural, And! He calls the other whatnots "freakos". His headcanon voice actor is Phil LaMarr, And his voice claim is Spike the bulldog from various tom And Jerry DTV movies.

Gustavo the King ladybug - Gustavo the King ladybug is Pepe the King prawn's whatnot counterpart, he is a sassy mexican KING ladybug of the Show, And! Dont call him a "fly"! His headcanon voice actor is Carlos Jaime Alazraqui, And his voice claim is juandissimo magnifico from fairly oddparents.

Pierce the chinchilla - Pierce the chinchilla is Rizzo the rat's whatnot counterpart, he is a cute looking yet sassy chinchilla on the Show with many mischiefs. His headcanon voice actor is Blake Roman, And his voice claim is Angel dust from hazbin hotel.

Victor - Victor is Walter's whatnot counterpart, he is a enthusiastic boy who is a big fan of the whatnots And he is even the part of them, he is even Snooper's best friend And he has a crush on him. his headcanon voice actor is Liam Ross-Mills, And his voice claim is Tractor tom from Tractor tom.

Snooper - Snooper is Scooter's whatnot counterpart, he helps Dermot for the show and he is even Victor's best friend And he has a crush on him too, And his sister Sneeker often teases him. His headcanon voice actor is Tom Kenny, And his voice claim is Preston from class of 3000.

Dr Aristotle un wonders - Dr Aristotle un wonders is dr bunsen honeydew's whatnot counterpart, he is the Scientist of the Show And Kiyoshi is his assistant but maybe even a crush. His headcanon voice actor is Jeff Bergman, And his voice claim is yogi bear from jellystone!

Kiyoshi - Kiyoshi is Beaker's whatnot counterpart, he is just as nervous and shy as beaker And he speaks like "breep!" And "ohh?". His headcanon voice actor is Richard Steven Horvitz, And his voice claim is Raz Aquatin from psychonauts.

And I wanna know who are y'all's favorite characters here in the whatnot Show, ya can tell me either in the replies or reblogs =^.^=

And I'll post the rest later or tommorow along with The moopets gang, And! I gotta draw class of 4000 characters now =^//////^=

I hope y'all will like these =^////^= 🩷❤️💖💛🧡

[artcenesse]

alright. it’s been seven years, but it’s finally time to explain a bit of the Paisley Lore™ now that i’ve made a comic about him, aka infodumping about this guy that used to be a one-note “what if i was a rat from hazbined hotel :D” self insert and now is. pretty much just an oc i project onto in some ways that vaguely resembles a sona i’d make.

there’s a lot, so i’ll break it into sections. if you’re just interested in the context of the comic rather than the entire full-length backstory, you can skip the first section. tl;dr for it, he hosted a game show in hell that got picked up by voxtek, and vox hired him to work for the company when it got cancelled under the condition that he wouldn’t appear on television again. the second part is probably worth reading for context regardless, but the third part explains the actual comic itself.

1. Sometime after Paisley arrived in Hell, he befriended a ring-tailed lemur demon named Bev (short for Beverly, but she barely goes by that in casual settings). I’ll spare the details of their entire friendship for now, but Bev ended up encouraging him to make something of himself, which he initially kind of dismissed, but he ended up realizing he did always want to host his own game show, and with his affinity for public-access television, he decided he would just secure a spot there. Little did he know at the time, Beverly (who was initially heavily involved in more technical aspects of the show having more experience with film and media but was also sometimes a contestant) had certain connections and partially led to the show taking off more than he anticipated, which he ended up embracing because he enjoyed the idea of being a source of entertainment in Hell.

Eventually, Bev was able to get the show picked up by VoxTek’s networks through some of her Mysterious Beverly Methods™, which was pretty much an absolute dream for Paisley as he enjoyed a lot of the company’s shows and Vox’s own entertaining presence (though it’s unclear how much of it is him simply not being immune to propaganda). However, their relationship on a personal level wasn’t ideal at this point, but by the time they ended up falling out, the show was out of Bev’s control and she couldn’t and didn’t really want do much to hinder Paisley’s success, as both of them wanted her pretty much out of the picture and she wasn’t obligated to stay on the show by any binding contracts, having primarily presented anything related to work contracts or creative rights or anything along those lines as something Paisley needed to figure out with the company without her rather than a package deal, taking a back seat when she felt so inclined before drifting away entirely.

At that point, a lot of Bev’s previous obligations could go to Paisley’s diffident hummingbird assistant Cedilla, but Paisley found that he missed some of the similar writing enthusiasm and connection he used to have while working with Bev, wanting nothing to do with her herself at that point but finding himself wishing he could just have that energy back, especially as things seemed to only ever get worse and more pressure was put on him to be consistently on top of things and he began to wonder just how much Bev was actually responsible for taking care of. All of these factors were a huge blow to his confidence and ability to function, and the show ended up being cancelled entirely after The Incident, the less-than-ideal final episode that finally showed just how vulnerable and shaky Paisley actually was at this point...

2. By what felt like yet another miracle and something out of a weird grandiose fantasy, Vox offered Paisley a job at VoxTek! Of course, it made sense at this point; the game show was successful for what it was, Paisley clearly seemed to have some creative talent outside of that performance, and he still had a name to himself to slap onto things, even if at this point he felt like sometimes it slapped him back. The only condition was that he couldn’t actually act or perform in anything he worked on in the future. It was devastating for Paisley (after all, the performance aspect was the main reason why he enjoyed working on the game show and wanted to start it in the first place), but he agreed that it was for the best, as the longer he was off the air and disillusioned with the show and its fans, the more he started to question whether anyone actually liked it genuinely or whether they saw Paisley himself as the joke the entire time with no real respect for him.

The evidence that piled up now only seemed to support the idea that, at least now, his reputation from the show was more of the latter. That, and even outside of Bev, he had his fair share of enemies in Hell, even if some them were over petty things. This combined with his paranoia made him feel as if he was constantly being targeted, and every time the idea that he is was enforced by someone following him or antagonizing him or seeming way too interested in him or any other...trolling, for lack of a better term, his fear only increased and he felt the constant urge to have SOMETHING going on for him or somehow protecting him so he wasn’t just openly targeted.

3. Unfortunately, it also made him feel like he couldn’t ever escape or leave his current job. This part’s a little more open-ended because I have a few different routes I’m interested in going down from that point, especially as I consider the possibility of writing/roleplaying Paisley with other characters from the show and not having much more after that be ‘canon’ to how I consistently write him.

However, one of the ways I like exploring writing Paisley IS through getting a job at VoxTek. Vox’s entire brand revolves around selling the idea of trust and safety, something Paisley is absolutely desperate for the promise of, and he finds it in the worst way possible, mentally treating the job as if it’s the only thing keeping his life from falling apart more than it already has and boldly assuming that somewhere very deep down Vox and his company do have some sort of personal affinity for him. Probably not a wise assumption, but he’s not exactly in a wise state of mind, so he clings to the job like it can actually somehow save him from everything...not really being able to be as consistent as he wanted to with his work due to his shattered confidence, fluctuating mental health, skillset not transferring as well as he’d want it to, issues with being social at all after everything that’s happened and loneliness, a seemingly endless list of factors that made him painfully aware he’s not an ideal employee for his own merits.

So, of course, when he can find a way to feel completely relevant to the company again, he’ll use it to his advantage at the very first hint of danger or job insecurity. This comic takes place in a scenario where he’s found a way to gain access to sensitive company information he probably shouldn’t have access to and decides to exploit that fact when Vox confronts him about his role at the company and declining work quality. It’s a perfect way to buy time in his mind. Until Vox can figure out what exactly he’s done with this information, the best option is to keep him safe and essentially leave him alone about work; with the unhinged ‘fans’ he has that can and will go digging through his stuff even if he’s out of the picture and keeping his current job being enough to make him functionally cooperative…and in the meantime, he’ll come up with something to actually prove that he’s actually worth keeping around and not causing more problems than he’s worth and jumping from one ridiculous reason he should be there to the next, right? …Right?

He knows the more he presents himself as more clever and capable than he feels like he can consistently keep up, the deeper he’s digging himself into a hole, but he feels like he can’t stop. He feels like, at this point, it’s the only other choice he has. Like he’ll either face the job he hates and barely manages his way through with the constant fear of being found out and doubt that he’s actually capable of anything he tries to do, or he’ll throw himself to the wolves and go back to the constant fear that they’ll finally completely tear him apart completely and erase that doubt in the worst way possible.

Rat race indeed.

also, ‘normal’ speech bubbles (black text, white font) under the cut. i can never tell how hard to read funky speech bubble colors are because my eyes are a little weird about needing certain levels of brightness. i should probably also transcribe the text at some point but i am very sleepy and have never done it before and don’t want to try to figure it out now and be very wrong about it

[kaythefloppa]

New S7 WK Eps - [Spoiler Free] Review + Predictions/Thoughts:

New Wild Kratts Season 7 episodes are on the premises after a 4-month hiatus. The episodes were found on https://metadatabank.pbs.org by a few Twitter users, with premises to boot.

Two of the episodes were uploaded on the TVO Kids' YouTube Channel. For anyone who doesn't know, full episodes of PBS Kids shows are uploaded on that channel and are only accessible directly to Canadian viewers. The only way U.S. viewers can access them is through a VPN.

To prevent heavy spoilers, especially for those who don't have a VPN/want to wait until the episodes come out in America, I won't provide any links. I have watched the first two episodes of the new batch, and I will be doing a [spoiler-free] review of them below the cut, again, because I know that not everyone is going to/is able to immediately hop onto a VPN and watch the eps months before they air on television. The other 2 episodes are yet to be televised or uploaded, so anything I say about them will be pure speculation until the U.S. airdate.

This is not a 100% spoiler-free thread. If you have seen the episodes on the VPN and intend on reblogging with spoilers, use the spoiler tag/cut appropriately; Spoilery comments in the thread are prohibited overall because there's no way to loop around that, so bear in mind:

Backpack the Camel:

The gang travels to the Gobi Desert to discover the last remaining wild camels in the world. They experience the harshness of the desert landscape and are rescued from it only by the wild Bactrian camels and their amazing survival skills.

No Name Dream:

Martin has a dream that he's forgotten to name some baby animals and awakens in a sweat. Aviva tries to reassure him that he named them all, but Koki, after checking the data base, confirms that Martin's right! The Wild Kratts' mission is to go back and name all the ,unnamed, and along the way, learn more about their creaturenality and share some wow facts about their animal friends!

Fish Out of Water:

After a Creature Power Disc mishap, the bros become marooned in the world of a mudskipper, a fish that can walk on land. They must find their discs within a foreign world of intense competition, with unexpected dangers at every turn

Our Blue and Green World: Parts 1 & 2:

While doing their annual Laundry Day, the Kratt Brothers disagree on what's better; blue oceans or green forests. Can the gang get Martin and Chris back in synch in time to save Planet Earth from Zach and Paisley's villainous plans?

Again, no confirmed airdates, so we know what we're in for, but we'll just have to wait. But I'll post my disjointed thoughts and predictions on each episode in this big-ass compiled post bc I'm too lazy for separate posts:

—————————————————————————————————

Backpack the Camel - REVIEW

How the fuck did it take us 12.5 years to get a camel episode? There was literally a live-action opener featuring camels and llamas which segwayed into a fucking Koala episode? I know it doesn't really matter, but it's so jarring

The episode's humor is..... not that good. It feels like they were trying too hard to make it "meme" material with a recurring facial gag but it gets old really quickly. Luckily it's not present throughout the episode, and compared to previous scenes in the show (ex. that awful dabbing and floss scene from the ant episode), it's pretty tame.

The camels in this episode are beautifully animated. I swear to god, you could clearly tell that they wanted the camels to look as detailed as possible but still retaining that WK-style look.

The Camel Power Suit, I thought it was going to be awful and at first I hated, but it actually turned out to be pretty good. It gets right what a the more recent quadrupedal power suits get wrong. Though I’m fairly certain that this is going to be an unpopular opinion once the episode comes out.

Wild Kratts has a pretty good track record for debunking animal myths so if you're frustrated with how the mainstream media misrepresents camels or how many myths and misconceptions about them are spread, then this episode is definitely for you.

Ranking: 7/10

No Name Dream - REVIEW

We started off the season with Chris angst and now we’ve got Martin angst. I can’t comment too much on the dream sequence but… let’s just say that the animators were having a lot of fun with it. It’s giving Zooboomafoo vibes if anything.

I feel like MK IRL realized that there were some unnamed baby animals, and decided to write this episode as a meta ref to that. Overall, it feels like the most self-insert-y episode of the show to date (even moreso than Liturgusa Krattorum)

This episode highlights what Wild Kratts does better than most shows nowadays. It knows how to do fanservice correctly. Mainly in the form of callbacks to inventions/locations, power suits, and animals that we haven’t seen in years. The reason they do this correctly is because they don’t do it for the sake of it, there’s a very intriguing plot around it that gives it a point/purpose and it overall makes sense. The crew goes around naming unnamed baby animals from past adventures. That’s something I have wanted to see in years (I even made up my own fan-names for some baby animals that didn’t get a name, though one of them is rendered non-canon in the ep.)

In fact, the modern seasons of the show do this pretty damn well, what with the return of Aviva’s rollerblades in the S6 finale, the tellurium crystal cameo in the raven episode, giving Paisley Paver a solo role in this season, and this episode, where we get a lot of cool callbacks to the earlier seasons when the crew travels around the world to name the unnamed. I think the reason they do this is because they know that after 10 years, people are going to get nostalgic - That and because PBS Kids’ horrible scheduling that forces viewers at home to wait months or even years for new episodes to come out, makes the show runners try and work their way around it through the episode’s quality, so that if it’s great, or hell, even if it’s good, that would compensate for the episode’s wait. It’s one of the many things that gives me hope for Season 7.

I kid you not, there is one scene in this episode that made me scream at my iPad when I first watched it. It’s clearly fanservice, but in the best degree. I’m not going to give ANY hints because it’s too spoilery, but let’s just say, as someone who is a longtime viewer of the show since S1, and has been begging for years for untapped stuff in the earlier episodes to make a comeback, this certain scene in this episode felt like an extremely detailed love-letter to my childhood, if not a very clever witty response to my brainrotting on the blog. This scene is kinda why I’m very adamant about the “no spoilers” thing; The majority of the fandom needs to see this scene televised.

The baby animal’s names vary. Some are cringe, (I guess,) some are okay, and then some are actually alright. Also, cute baby animals!!!!!

Ranking: 8/10

Fish Out of Water - Predictions/Thoughts:

Again, almost 13 years to give us a mudskipper episode? If it wasn’t for that one episode of Octonaughts, I wouldn’t have even known what a mudskipper was if you showed it to me. Side-note, mudskippers are cool.

Ok but a Creature Power Disc mishap? Even after getting disc-holders, these mf still loose these damn discs 😭

Going back to the “WK magazines show Creature Powers of future episodes,” there was a page of a mudskipper shown in a magazine from 2019 that I cannot for the life of me find.

Mudskippers live in Borneo. I hope this implies that we’ll see more animals/Creature Powers of that location since we haven’t gotten it since S4 (more than 5 years ago).

Here’s a Wow Fact about Mudskippers: Their eyes bulge out of their heads unlike other fish and can move independently from each other (not unlike chameleons). They can also live on land apparently and, well… they skip pretty well. I’m expecting the name of a mudskipper to be something like “Skippy” or “Skipper” or something along those lines.

Oh, these motherfuckers can also CLIMB.

Our Blue and Green Earth - Predictions/Thoughts:

This episode was hyped during the premiere marathon week of S7, where Martin originally called the special “Blue and Green: The Living Earth” and listed the animals we’d be seeing in the new special.

Honestly, am I the only one who’s kinda bummed that this is the 8th/9th episode of the season? I mean, didn’t the article that first disclosed this special say that S7 would be breaking the 200 episode milestone? I feel like a huge one-hour special with an aesthetic title like that would be a good contender for Episode 200. Unless this was 200th episode of the show to be produced, but the network fucked up and broadcasted this special early and had another one in its place… it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done that though.

I’ve gone on about a Paisley/Donita team up, but Zach and Paisley also fit too. Both have a grey aesthetic, have alliterative names, are executive CEOs who are both implied to get away from the law via nepotism/capitalism. And both villains have engaged in logging and habitat destruction. Whilst Donita and Paisley have an “opposites attract” thing going on with them when you put them together (which is one of the million reasons why I hardcore ship them), Zach and Paisley are like two peas in a pod.

I guess this is another “disagree” episode, like in Fireflies, Bass Class, or Wolf Hawks. Don’t know how they can drag it out for 40 minutes but let’s see how they do it.

I think they may be planning this as an Earth Day special. Blue and Green, whilst associated with the Kratt Bros, are also associated with the Planet Earth, so it makes sense to air this on Earth Day. Additionally, the 100th episode, Animals Who Live to Be 100 Years Old, had aired as an Earth Day special, as part of a week-long Earth Day marathon of S4 episodes (including Spirit Bear, Paisley’s debut episode). So I think it would be thematically appropriate to air this episode on Earth Day.

I think it’d be like, really funny if the double-episode had the “blue” as one part, written by Martin, and the “green” as another part, written by Chris.

I predict that the climax of the episode will involve the brothers having to defend the opposite climate of their preference. Like, Chris using Blue Whale Powers to defend the ocean animals from the Zachbots, and Martin using Indri Powers to rescue the forests from the Pavers. This is what brings them back in synch after realizing that blue and green are equally important and can rightfully co-exist… just like them (awww).

If there is not a Blue Whale Suit, I might actually cry.

Let’s hope that these episodes air on TV at the end of the year because this hiatus is killing me.

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 145 - New Year, New Problems, Part 2

The only thing Paisley needed help with upstairs was having an argument. Hard to do that alone.

Paisley: Why would you treat me like I'm stupid in front of all your friends?

Juan: I wouldn't really call those two friends.

Paisley: Well you still shouldn't talk to me like that!

Juan: Talk to you like what? I really didn't think you'd get it!

Paisley: I'm a GENIUS, Juan, I think I'd get the gist of your corporate hoopla. What advantage do you get from making your own wife look stupid?

Paisley: I worked hard to throw this party together and it really hurt my feelings that you would brush me off like that. I'm trying really hard to make things work but it just feels like you're annoyed by me.

Juan: My job is stressful, mi amor. I'm sorry if you took offense-

Paisley: No! That is NOT an apology!

Whoa, since when does Paisley yell at him? This is new.

Paisley: I know you get stressed and I cut you a lot of slack, but you were rude down there. I changed my entire life when I married you, the least you could do is be nice to me!

Juan: Oh, you thought it was really nice when I bought your parents that loft, didn't you? You didn't even ask but I did it!

Is he really going to hold that over her head right now?

Juan: And it was really nice when I bought you all that Joliebean CC!

Paisley: No! You don't get to throw money in my face and then be as mean as you want to me. That's not love, it's manipulation!

My girl Paisley has HAD it!

Paisley: You might have been able to take advantage of me before but not anymore!

Paisley: You are DONE treating me like a child. I might be younger than you, but I'm still an adult, and I can make my own decisions. To start, I'm NOT becoming a singer so YOU can make money off of me. You pressured me into it, but not anymore.

Paisley: I'm going to college, and I'm getting my medical degree, even if it means I have to go back to waitressing at the Stargazer Lounge to fund it. I love you and your kids, but I don't like what you've become. You're not my father, or my boss, you're my husband. Act like it!

Juan: I… Didn't know you felt that way.

Paisley: That's because you never ask what I want or how I feel about things, and I've had it! I've tried so hard to make this marriage work, but I need you to put in some effort too. Money can't solve everything.

It can't?

Juan dwells on this. Paisley has really made an effort to bond with his children. Even Trent's warmed up to her.

Having his wife working a waitressing job would be a bad look. He supposes he can throw her a bone.

Juan: Ay. I understand. I support your decision to go to school.

Juan: And, this is not me throwing money at a problem, but I will cover the tuition. Consider it an investment.

Paisley can't believe it, she stood up to Juan and he actually listened! She's going to finally accomplish her dream of going to college!

While all that's going down, Ophelia is really feeling accomplished. Being recognized for her hard work is amazing, but passing on those skills for a new generation of musicians is really something.

Ophelia has officially completed the Musical Genuis aspiration!

It's a party, so it can't be all work. Ophelia and Trent decide to call it for the evening and catch up.

Trent: Things between me and Paisley have been pretty good. She comes off ditzy but she's actually really smart. My grades have improved a lot since she started tutoring me.

Ophelia: I'm glad to hear things have been better between you two.

Trent: Yeah. I guess I thought she was just using my dad, but she's actually pretty cool… The twins love her too, it's nice for them to have another girl around. They were just infants when Mom left.

Trent: With how busy Dad is, it was always me, Claudia and Marina, and I love them to bits, but having someone else to help with the girls really takes the pressure off, y'know?

Poor kid, having to take on a parental role. He does seem like he has less weight on his shoulders.

Time for nectar and gossip! Ophelia could hear shouting but didn't know what it was about, so Paisley spills the beans.

Ophelia: Good for you, standing up for yourself!

While she doesn't think this marriage is the best, she admires Paisley for trying so hard to make it work.

It's time for the New Years Countdown. Sha shooby!

Happy New Years! Lots of hugs for everyone!

Ophelia hugs Jaden and goes over to hug her daughter but she has a big question to ask.

Gemma: Mom, Claudia said we can come to her family's ranch house during spring break to meet her horse! Can we, please?

She did promise Gemma she'd get to ride a horse when she's old enough. This seems like a good opportunity, plus it's nice she's making better friends with the Esposito girls.

Ophelia: Of course, muffin. That sounds like a lot of fun.

Gemma: Thank you, thank you!

Gemma leans in to whisper to her mom.

Gemma: Don't tell Daddy, but you're totally my favorite!

Ophelia: You don't need to have a favorite, honey. Daddy and I both love and support you.

That's what she says, but internally she's feeling very smug. Take THAT, Xander!

[the-void-writes]

FOP - Where Family Begins and Ends - Part 4

TW: Brief description of throwing up blood and growths

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 5

Lunch had been provided by Maria, who made a point to stay out of everyone’s way, especially her children. Vesely stood in the doorway between the viewing room and the lobby, watching Jason as he and Will talked with Vivian on the couch. His two former lovers looked happier than he had ever seen them before. Alma walked up beside her brother with a sparse plate of food.

“Have you spoken with Viv before today?” Alma asked.

“No,” Vesely said shortly.

“She seems more lively today. That’s good.”

“May I ask why you and Enzo are so friendly with my old partners?”

“Because they’re better than you in every way.” Alma pointed at the trio. “Viv is the sweetest lady I’ve ever met, aside from Mother.”

“And Jason’s a literal angel,” Enzo said, walking up beside them. “A god trapped in a mortal form, that’s what Father used to say. You were a goddamn fool to give him up, Gabe.”

Vesely clenched his fist. “I was trying to bring him back.”

“By killing his son?”

He bit his tongue, still staring at Jason and his boy, the family Vesely couldn’t provide for him. Alma’s voice shot through him like a bullet.

“You are the pettiest man I know, Gabe. Things could actually go your way for once if you would just stop and consider the fact that you’re the problem.”

“Why, thank you,” he hissed. “Since you’re feeling generous enough to give me advice, perhaps you’d like to help out on this plan to pass on Father’s legacy.”

Alma glared at him, and Enzo stepped between them.

“That’s not fair, Gabe. It’s not her fault. We all tried to give him grandchildren, and it didn’t work.”

“You went to a donor bank and called it a day, and Alma could have adopted— but no, it was just too hard for either of you. Everything fell back onto me. I had to give up the man I loved to carry your weight, I had to find a solution, and that’s exactly what I did. The company works, the serums work— Father’s dream will live on, thanks to our patients. If you have a problem with our progress, you should have stepped up before I lost my daughter.”

“You’re being pathetic,” Alma said. “You can’t blame us for Paisley, or for Jason.”

Vesely rested his hands against the doorframe. “Just remember the next time you accuse me of ruining my own chances— If either of you had contributed, at all, Jason would be a Vesely.”

“Perhaps it’s best that he’s not,” Enzo said. “He seems perfectly happy without us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Don’t be delusional,” Alma snapped. “All the times we’ve seen him, not once has he ever smiled at us the way he smiles at that boy. He’s more family to Jason than we are.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! You weren’t even born into this family, to begin with!”

Enzo’s hand flew to Vesely’s throat, knocking him backwards as he tried to catch his breath. The people around them gasped and ducked for cover, fearing a fight between Sal’s most powerful children.

“You don’t get to talk,” Enzo said. “Alma’s been around more than you ever have.”

Vesely removed one of his gloves. “You know better than to fight me, brother.”

“You stopped being my brother when you killed our father.”

They charged at each other, completely ignorant of the rest of their family who watched in horror. Their fists were inches away from each other… and then, they were frozen. Both men grasped their own wrists, hearts pounding in their chests as they realized they couldn’t move. Everyone’s gaze turned to the young boy in the middle of the room, with his jacket discarded on the floor, and his sleeves rolled up to reveal the grotesque disease that lived under his skin. Will had the same sharp stare as his godfather, his blue eyes full of fury.

The longer he held them apart, the heavier he felt. His knees started to buckle, until he finally fell to the floor, but he still kept his grip on the Vesely brothers.

“Don’t you have any shame?” he hissed. “This is a funeral, and you’re about to tear each other’s throats out. Does your father mean nothing to you?”

Vesely held his free hand out. “Will, you need to calm down—”

“I’ll calm down when you both back the fuck away!”

Enzo flinched. “Just do it, Gabe!”

He begrudgingly relented, and Will finally released his grip. The recoil from his powers was immediate. His head throbbed, and a bitter taste burned his throat, drawing out cough after cough. The dark, melted remains of infected veins spilled onto the floor in droplets, as though they were simply bits of blue paint spilled on the wood. Will glared up at the Vesely siblings, his voice already hoarse from coughing as he spoke. 

“You guys are ridiculous. You argue about who’s at fault, but the truth is that you’re all screwed up. If you really had a problem with your brother’s work, you would have shown up and shut it down already.” Will spit out more melted growths. “No, you’re just upset because he took your father’s power. If it weren’t for that, you’d be perfectly fine with all the kids that go missing in town for his experiments. You’d be fine with the parasite that’s eating my lungs as long as it didn’t belong to your dad.”

Enzo stared at the ground guiltily. Vesely tried to approach Will, but he was pushed back by a wave of energy that drew another cough from Will’s throat.

“William—”

“I wanted to be normal, sir. I only started fighting because you made me. I wasn’t trying to be a hero or a god… I just wanted my dad back.”

The eyes of the other guests bore into the back of his head. Now, they could see the extent of the damage that Vesely had inflicted on him, the damage caused by Sal’s vision. The Vesely household would forever be stained with this young boy’s blood.

Will’s jacket fell back on his shoulders, drawing off the chill that was starting to run through his arms. Jason stayed with him on the floor, holding a napkin to his mouth as his coughing fit subsided. He shivered from head to toe, unable to find the strength to stand again. Everything in his body felt like ice.

In one swift movement, Jason rose to his feet with Will in his arms. Lifting the boy was a painfully effortless feat. No one in the room said a word as Jason’s pale eyes fell on Vesely, filled with rage and disgust.

“We’re going home,” he said. “I hope it was worth it, dragging him out here like this, because I’m never letting you take him again.”

“Jason—”

“He’s not yours, and neither am I. The only reason I stay with you is to fix what you did to my son. You’re nothing to me, Gabe, and you’ll never have a place in my heart again.”

Jason turned to Maria, who looked at him with big sad eyes. He bowed his head to her.

“I’m so sorry for everything, Maria. I’ll try to talk to you more. Thank you for having us.”

As he walked to the door, his eyes met Vivian’s. She nodded once and opened the door for him, never uttering a word. The Vesely family watched Jason carry his son off the porch and down the sidewalk to a small black car. Will stumbled into the front seat, trying to find an angle for his head that didn’t hurt so terribly. Jason opened the glove compartment and handed something to him— his mask and medicine tank.

“I made sure to grab it when I left, just in case. I’ll sort Gabe out later for leaving it behind.”

“It’s my fault for not grabbing it—”

“You shouldn’t have been brought here, in the first place. It’s not your fault, love.”

Will relaxed his shoulders. “Thank you.”

Jason closed the door carefully and walked around the driver’s side. Will took slow, deep breaths from his mask, taking in as much air as his lungs would allow. When they were both settled, Jason pressed his head against the steering wheel, closed his eyes, and said nothing for a good minute. Will watched him as he took another breath of his medicine, over and over until the nauseous buzzing of the Infection disappeared. Jason leaned back against his seat and carefully opened his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

Will kept the mask against his heart. “Better.”

“Good, very good.”

His grip on the steering wheel loosened. When he met Will’s gaze, a small smile started to emerge.

“I say we take the long road home,” he said. “We’ve earned ourselves something large and not at all healthy for us.”

“Like diner shakes?”

Jason grinned. “You read my mind.”

[cacchieressa]

Eight Days in April

1. I broke a glass, got bloodstains on the sheet: hereafter, must I only write you chaste connubial poems? Now that I have traced a way from there to here across the sweet- est morning, rose-blushed blonde, will measured feet advance processionally, where before they scuff-heeled flights of stairs, kicked at a door, or danced in wing-tips to a dirty beat? Or do I tell the world that I have got rich quick, got lucky (got laid), got just what the doctor ordered, more than I deserved? This is the second morning I woke curved around your dreaming. In one night, I've seen moonset and sunrise in your lion's mane.

2. Moons set and suns rise in your lion's mane through LP kisses or spread on my thighs. Winter subsided while I fantasized what April dawns frame in the windowpane. Sweetheart, I'm still not getting enough sleep, but I'm not tired, and outside it's spring in which we sprang the afternoon shopping after I'd been inside you, O so deep I thought we would be tangled at the roots. I think we are. (I've never made such noise. I've never come so hard, or come so far in such a short time.) You're an exemplar piss-elegance is not reserved for boys. Tonight we'll go out in our gangster suits.

3. Last night we went out in our gangster suits, but just across the street to Santerello's, waited past nine for wine. We shone; the fellows noticed. "You have a splendid linen coat," Dimitri told you as he sat us down. (This used to be my local; now it's chic.) A restaurant table's like a bed: we speak the way we do calmed after love, alone in the dark. There's a lot to get to know. We felt bad; we felt better. Soon I was laid back enough to drink around the bend. You got me home, to bed, like an old friend. I like you, Rachel, when you're scared, because you tough it out while you're feeling it through.

4. You tough it out while you're feeling it through: sometimes the bed's rocked over tidal waves that aren't our pleasures. Everyone behaves a little strangely when they're in a new neighborhood, language, continent, time zone. We got here fast; your jet lag's worse than mine. I only had Paris to leave behind. You left your whole young history. My own reminds me to remind you, waking shaken with tears, dream-racked, is standard for the course. We need accommodation that allows each one some storage space for her dead horse. If the title weren't already taken, I'd call this poem "Directions to My House."

5. I'd call this poem "Directions to My House," except today I'm writing it in yours, in your paisley PJ's. The skylight pours pale sunlight on white blankets. While I douse my brain with coffee, you sleep on. Dream well this time. We'll have three sets of keys apiece: uptown, downtown, Paris on a sublease. Teach me to drive. (Could I teach you to spell?) I think the world's our house. I think I built and furnished mine with space for you to move through it, with me, alone in rooms, in love with our work. I moved into one mansion the morning when I touched, I saw, I felt your face blazing above me like a sun.

6. Your face blazing above me like a sun- deity, framed in red-gold flames, gynandre in the travail of pleasure, urgent, tender terrible—my epithalamion circles that luminous intaglio —and you under me as I take you there, and you opening me in your mouth where the waves inevitably overflow restraint. No, no, that isn't the whole thing (also you drive like cop shows, and you sing gravel and gold, are street-smart, book-smart, laugh from your gut) but it is (a soothing poultice applied to my afflicted part) the central nervous system and the heart

7. The central nervous system and the heart, and whatever it is in me wakes me at 5 am regardless, and what takes me (when you do) ineluctably apart and puts me back together; the too-smart, too-clumsy kid glutted on chocolate cakes (me at ten); the left-brain righteousness that makes me make of our doubled dailiness an art are in your capable square hands. O sweet, possessives make me antsy: we are free to choose each other perpetually. Though I don't think my French short-back-and-sides means I'll be the most orthodox of brides, I broke a glass, got bloodstains on the sheet.

— Marilyn Hacker from Love, Death, and the Changing of the Seasons

[smileymoth]

This is Daniel!! He is my pride and joy, and drawing him truly makes me feel really happy ^_^

Under cut is a whole lot of information about him!!!

I originally created him in April 2013, but he was a girl named Kristina back then. I feel like I have to acknowledge the mess that was Kris the Cat before I get onto more relevant information: She was THE scene kid, THE evil girlie who wanted to poison everyone. THE one with dark blue wings and awful lot of make-up even though IRL I couldn't dream of putting make-up on ever (Repressed emo kid with "grr tomboy" mentality). She stayed with me for a whole year until 2014 June when I decided... hmm what if I Genderbend Her since I had seen some artists who I liked genderbend their own ocs. So I did. (That artwork I made is lost in the sauce forever, i think i deleted it off the web and then my dads computer got fucked so its gone permanently.) And that design of him kind of stuck with me more for unknown reasons so I made him my main sona.

Here's the timeline of his designs that I made back in 2020:

The reason why his name is Daniel is mostly due to Danny Murillo and Danny Worsnop, the lead singers of the 2 bands I was extremely in love with at the time. Hence my own name too. At the time I was 12, and because me and my bestie (hi Evan!!!!) were playing toys with our ocs on DeviantArt and wanted to make a band, we came up with 3 extra characters (he made Ethan and Aiden, I made Jack) and Danny became the lead singer of Fallen Soldier (epic cringey band name from cringey teens!!! I even made a failgirl logo for them!!) (The name originates from them probably listening to too much Rise Against and 5FDP)

I haven't changed his backstory too much from since we made it up the first time, since there's really no need to. When I say that my best friend is very intertwined in this world, I mean it. We built the world for these furries together and I will cherish it forever :3

ANYWAY let's get to the character info

***

Name: Daniel Varing, stagename Danny Smileymoth. (when I gave him that last name I was 12 so do not bully me for it literally meaning 'avalanche'. it would be an excellent scene kid name on myspace. danny avalanche. lol)

His friends call him Danny or Dan Dan sometimes.

Birthday: 1. February, (aquarius sun, libra moon, cancer rising) <- this part matches w me too

Gender: non-binary, he/she pronouns. (he doesn't care about gender since he doesn't understand it's importance)

Personality: He's very sweet and kind, and enthusiastic about the things he enjoys. He gets attached to people quickly, that also means he can be quite possessive over them, sometimes feeling unnecessarily jealous when his friends don't pay as much attention to him as he'd like. He understands that this is a personal flaw and doesn't act upon it. His social battery drains real fast when he's out in crowded places, and mostly just enjoys spending time alone or in a small circle of friends. He enjoys art and music greatly. He needs a little bit help sometimes understanding social cues and such. She hates the Sun and tries to stay in the shade as much as possible, it makes her overheat. He likes to purr and knead when he's happy... he sometimes forgets to retract his nails so umm yeah. Meow. He likes people watching. He's normal I promise. (lie). He likes taking care of his friends.. he will make them gifts, buy them clothes or treats. He does have a bit of a short temper but he feels guilty about it, and tries to not lash out over stupid things that have no importance.

I mostly draw Danny wearing feminine clothes that can be related to emo/scene/goth/just alt fashion. Aka a lot of black. He does really like velvet and skirts though!!! Unlike me he does actually wear jeans too. :3 he just doesn't like them to be ripped, is all. He almost always keeps his hair down.

He loves the paisley pattern, velvet, corduroy, leather jackets, lacey skirts and shirts, leather shoes... you get the drill. He also always wears the metal bracelet on his right hand and the 2 necklaces around his neck. (just like meee)

Backstory Factoids:

As of right now he lives in California. He grew up in Estonia. He has been best friends with Jack since early childhood. He met Kratis at a local library where the mans was working. He got introduced to Kratis' friends, Ethan and Aiden. They had been planning on starting a band, and since Danny could sing, they just took him and made him the lead singer. Jack joined the band later on after Danny introduced him to the rest of his new friends.

He found Inbawez (weird freak of a pet) when wandering around a nearby forest, Inba took instant liking to him and never left.

Beside being in a band, he goes babysitting every now and then. He is also a freelance illustrator who does cute art commissions on the web.

The "California" they live in is not a representation of the actual USA Cali since I have never been there and we refuse to change their living location. All we know is that Daniel lives in the middle of the forest in a 2 story house with his boyfriend.

pre-danny lore Kristina lived in a hollow tree with her shadow pet Inbawez. She was obsessed with Kratis and due to forgotten circumstances she and Kratis are blood bound. lol

I think this is about it? I am definitely missing something but I want to post this since IT'S BEEN A MONTH SINCE I FINISHED THIS REF AAHH!!!! my pride and joy. feel free to draw her if you want :3 :3 :3 meow

[bells-of-black-sunday]

🦎🦎 For Haru and Robin?

Dream Dragon Time | Accepting

The funny part is I have a gen 1 that's honestly what I'd use for a Robibi dragon: Murk Swirl | Chocolate Trail | Silver Glimmer | Nature Unusual | Pearlcatcher

Veils my beloved- mostly chose it for the hair because there's not very many wigs on site and all of them are pretty straight so:

Black Sphinxmoth | Obsidian Paisley | White Glimmer | Lightning common | Male Veilspun

Accent: Illicit Developer

[missmaywemeetagain]

Coming Soon...Paisley Dreams, Part 1! 🏵

Comment/Reblog with your predictions! 🏵💛🔥

[oppvenuz]

 The Best Mehendi Artists in Pune: Crafting Exquisite Designs for Every Occasion

Mehendi, an integral part of Indian culture and celebrations, is more than just a tradition—it's an art form that adds beauty and grace to any special occasion. Whether it's for a wedding, festival, or any joyous event, the intricate patterns of mehendi hold a special place in the hearts of many. Pune, with its rich cultural heritage, is home to some of the finest mehendi artists who excel in creating stunning designs that range from traditional to contemporary. Here’s a guide to the best mehendi artists in Pune, each known for their creativity, precision, and ability to bring your mehendi dreams to life.

Click Here For More Deatils:https://www.oppvenuz.com/vendors/mehendi-artist/?city=pune

 1. Traditional Mehendi Artists

   - Neha Shah Mehendi Artist: Neha Shah is one of Pune's most sought-after traditional mehendi artists. Specializing in intricate bridal mehendi, Neha's designs are a perfect blend of classic patterns and personal touches that reflect the bride's individuality. Her attention to detail and ability to create symmetrical and elaborate motifs make her a favorite among brides who want to adorn their hands with timeless elegance.

   - Jayashree Mehendi Art: Known for her expertise in traditional Indian mehendi, Jayashree has been a go-to artist for many years. Her designs are inspired by age-old patterns, including paisleys, florals, and mandalas, which she executes with exceptional precision. Jayashree's work is celebrated for its depth and clarity, ensuring that the mehendi not only looks beautiful on the day but also leaves a rich and long-lasting stain.

 2. Contemporary and Fusion Mehendi Artists

   - Ekta Shah Mehendi Art: For those looking to incorporate modern elements into their mehendi, Ekta Shah is a name to remember. Known for her innovative approach, Ekta combines traditional motifs with contemporary designs, including portraits, personalized elements, and thematic patterns. Her ability to create fusion designs that cater to both modern and traditional tastes makes her a popular choice for brides and festive occasions alike.

   - Aarti Mehandi Designs: Aarti is renowned for her unique and creative mehendi designs that break away from the conventional. Her portfolio includes geometric patterns, minimalist designs, and abstract art, making her the perfect choice for those who want something different and trendy. Aarti's work is characterized by its clean lines and innovative patterns, ideal for brides who wish to make a statement with their mehendi.

 3. Intricate Bridal Mehendi Specialists

   - Sonal Mehendi Artist: With over a decade of experience, Sonal is known for her expertise in bridal mehendi. Her designs are intricate and elaborate, often covering the entire hands and feet with detailed patterns that include depictions of bridal elements, gods, and even the couple's love story. Sonal's ability to create mesmerizing designs that reflect the bride's personality and preferences makes her one of Pune's most popular bridal mehendi artists.

   - Ruchi’s Mehendi: Specializing in bridal mehendi, Ruchi is known for her dedication and artistic flair. Her designs are often a mix of traditional motifs and personalized touches that tell a story. Ruchi's patience and skill ensure that every design she creates is a masterpiece, making her a top choice for brides who want their mehendi to be an unforgettable part of their wedding day.

 4. Express Mehendi Artists for Festivals and Events

   - Poonam Mehendi Artist: Poonam is a versatile mehendi artist known for her quick and beautiful designs, making her a favorite for festivals and group events. Whether it's Diwali, Eid, or a family function, Poonam's ability to create stunning designs in a short amount of time without compromising on quality is highly appreciated. Her expertise in both traditional and contemporary designs makes her a go-to artist for all kinds of celebrations.

   - Anjali Mehendi Art: If you’re looking for a mehendi artist who can cater to large gatherings without losing the essence of artistry, Anjali is the perfect choice. Known for her speed and precision, Anjali can create beautiful designs for a large number of guests, making her an ideal choice for weddings, baby showers, and festivals. Her designs range from simple to elaborate, catering to the diverse tastes of her clients.

 5. Customized Mehendi Artists

   - Henna by Ayesha: Ayesha is known for her personalized approach to mehendi art. She works closely with her clients to create custom designs that reflect their unique style and preferences. From incorporating names and dates to creating thematic designs, Ayesha’s mehendi is a true reflection of her client's vision. Her ability to translate ideas into beautiful mehendi art has made her a favorite among brides who want something truly unique.

   - Priya Mehendi Artist: Priya specializes in creating customized mehendi designs that are tailored to the individual’s taste. Whether it’s incorporating a special symbol, a name, or a specific motif, Priya ensures that every design is unique and meaningful. Her dedication to creating personalized and intricate mehendi has earned her a loyal clientele in Pune.

 Conclusion

Choosing the right mehendi artist can make a significant difference in how your special day is remembered. Pune's best mehendi artists offer a wide range of styles and expertise, from traditional designs to contemporary and personalized creations. Whether you’re a bride-to-be, celebrating a festival, or hosting an event, these talented artists can help you adorn your hands with stunning mehendi that is as beautiful as the occasion itself.

[oppvenuz7]

 The Best Mehendi Artists in Pune: Crafting Exquisite Designs for Every Occasion

Mehendi, an integral part of Indian culture and celebrations, is more than just a tradition—it's an art form that adds beauty and grace to any special occasion. Whether it's for a wedding, festival, or any joyous event, the intricate patterns of mehendi hold a special place in the hearts of many. Pune, with its rich cultural heritage, is home to some of the finest mehendi artists who excel in creating stunning designs that range from traditional to contemporary. Here’s a guide to the best mehendi artists in Pune, each known for their creativity, precision, and ability to bring your mehendi dreams to life.

Click Here For More Deatils:https://www.oppvenuz.com/vendors/mehendi-artist/?city=pune

 1. Traditional Mehendi Artists

   - Neha Shah Mehendi Artist: Neha Shah is one of Pune's most sought-after traditional mehendi artists. Specializing in intricate bridal mehendi, Neha's designs are a perfect blend of classic patterns and personal touches that reflect the bride's individuality. Her attention to detail and ability to create symmetrical and elaborate motifs make her a favorite among brides who want to adorn their hands with timeless elegance.

   - Jayashree Mehendi Art: Known for her expertise in traditional Indian mehendi, Jayashree has been a go-to artist for many years. Her designs are inspired by age-old patterns, including paisleys, florals, and mandalas, which she executes with exceptional precision. Jayashree's work is celebrated for its depth and clarity, ensuring that the mehendi not only looks beautiful on the day but also leaves a rich and long-lasting stain.

 2. Contemporary and Fusion Mehendi Artists

   - Ekta Shah Mehendi Art: For those looking to incorporate modern elements into their mehendi, Ekta Shah is a name to remember. Known for her innovative approach, Ekta combines traditional motifs with contemporary designs, including portraits, personalized elements, and thematic patterns. Her ability to create fusion designs that cater to both modern and traditional tastes makes her a popular choice for brides and festive occasions alike.

   - Aarti Mehandi Designs: Aarti is renowned for her unique and creative mehendi designs that break away from the conventional. Her portfolio includes geometric patterns, minimalist designs, and abstract art, making her the perfect choice for those who want something different and trendy. Aarti's work is characterized by its clean lines and innovative patterns, ideal for brides who wish to make a statement with their mehendi.

 3. Intricate Bridal Mehendi Specialists

   - Sonal Mehendi Artist: With over a decade of experience, Sonal is known for her expertise in bridal mehendi. Her designs are intricate and elaborate, often covering the entire hands and feet with detailed patterns that include depictions of bridal elements, gods, and even the couple's love story. Sonal's ability to create mesmerizing designs that reflect the bride's personality and preferences makes her one of Pune's most popular bridal mehendi artists.

   - Ruchi’s Mehendi: Specializing in bridal mehendi, Ruchi is known for her dedication and artistic flair. Her designs are often a mix of traditional motifs and personalized touches that tell a story. Ruchi's patience and skill ensure that every design she creates is a masterpiece, making her a top choice for brides who want their mehendi to be an unforgettable part of their wedding day.

 4. Express Mehendi Artists for Festivals and Events

   - Poonam Mehendi Artist: Poonam is a versatile mehendi artist known for her quick and beautiful designs, making her a favorite for festivals and group events. Whether it's Diwali, Eid, or a family function, Poonam's ability to create stunning designs in a short amount of time without compromising on quality is highly appreciated. Her expertise in both traditional and contemporary designs makes her a go-to artist for all kinds of celebrations.

   - Anjali Mehendi Art: If you’re looking for a mehendi artist who can cater to large gatherings without losing the essence of artistry, Anjali is the perfect choice. Known for her speed and precision, Anjali can create beautiful designs for a large number of guests, making her an ideal choice for weddings, baby showers, and festivals. Her designs range from simple to elaborate, catering to the diverse tastes of her clients.

 5. Customized Mehendi Artists

   - Henna by Ayesha: Ayesha is known for her personalized approach to mehendi art. She works closely with her clients to create custom designs that reflect their unique style and preferences. From incorporating names and dates to creating thematic designs, Ayesha’s mehendi is a true reflection of her client's vision. Her ability to translate ideas into beautiful mehendi art has made her a favorite among brides who want something truly unique.

   - Priya Mehendi Artist: Priya specializes in creating customized mehendi designs that are tailored to the individual’s taste. Whether it’s incorporating a special symbol, a name, or a specific motif, Priya ensures that every design is unique and meaningful. Her dedication to creating personalized and intricate mehendi has earned her a loyal clientele in Pune.

 Conclusion

Choosing the right mehendi artist can make a significant difference in how your special day is remembered. Pune's best mehendi artists offer a wide range of styles and expertise, from traditional designs to contemporary and personalized creations. Whether you’re a bride-to-be, celebrating a festival, or hosting an event, these talented artists can help you adorn your hands with stunning mehendi that is as beautiful as the occasion itself.

[alexmercer786]

Why Banarasi Sarees Are the Ultimate Bridal Attire

1. Rich Heritage and Tradition

Banarasi sarees have a long history, rooted in the cultural heritage of Varanasi, one of the oldest cities in India. These sarees have been worn by brides for generations, symbolizing tradition and continuity. When a bride wears a Banarasi saree, she connects with the rich cultural legacy of India, making her wedding day even more special.

2. Luxurious Fabric

Banarasi sarees are made from the finest silk, giving them a rich and luxurious feel. The fabric drapes beautifully, adding grace and elegance to the bride’s appearance. The smooth texture of the silk makes the saree comfortable to wear, even for long hours during wedding ceremonies. When you buy Banarasi sarees online, you are choosing a garment that feels as good as it looks.

3. Exquisite Designs

One of the standout features of Banarasi sarees is their intricate designs. These sarees often feature detailed patterns, such as floral motifs, paisleys, and geometric shapes, woven with gold and silver zari threads. The artistry involved in creating these designs is unparalleled, making each Banarasi saree a true work of art. For brides who want to make a statement on their wedding day, a Banarasi saree is the perfect choice.

4. Versatility in Styles

Banarasi sarees come in various styles, each with its own unique charm. From the classic Pure Silk Banarasi saree to the lightweight Organza and Georgette Banarasi sarees, there is a style for every bride. Whether you prefer a traditional look or something more contemporary, you can find the perfect Banarasi saree to suit your taste. When you explore Banarasi saree online options, you’ll discover a wide range of styles that cater to different preferences.

5. Timeless Elegance

Banarasi sarees never go out of style. Their timeless appeal makes them a popular choice for brides across generations. The elegance of a Banarasi saree lies in its ability to make the bride look regal and sophisticated, no matter the fashion trends. When you buy Indian sarees for your wedding, a Banarasi saree ensures that you will always look stunning in your wedding photos, even years later.

 6. Heirloom Value

A Banarasi saree is not just a bridal outfit; it’s an heirloom that can be passed down through generations. Many families cherish their Banarasi sarees, preserving them as a part of their family history. By choosing a Banarasi saree for your wedding, you are not only embracing tradition but also creating a valuable keepsake that can be handed down to future generations.

 Find Your Perfect Bridal Saree at Banarasi Unique Silk

At Banarasi Unique Silk, we understand the importance of finding the perfect bridal saree. Our collection of Banarasi sarees is designed to make you look and feel your best on your special day. We offer a wide range of styles and designs, ensuring that every bride can find her dream saree.

Whether you are looking to buy Banarasi sarees online for your wedding or for a special occasion, Banarasi Unique Silk has something for everyone. Discover more exquisite sarees at BanarasiUniqueSilk and embrace the timeless tradition of Banarasi silk.

[banarasiuniquesilk]

Why Banarasi Sarees Are the Ultimate Bridal Attire

When it comes to choosing the perfect bridal attire, nothing compares to the elegance and tradition of a Banarasi saree. For centuries, Banarasi sarees have been the go-to choice for brides in India, known for their luxurious fabric, intricate designs, and timeless appeal. Let’s explore why Banarasi sarees are the ultimate choice for brides on their special day.

1. Rich Heritage and Tradition

Banarasi sarees have a long history, rooted in the cultural heritage of Varanasi, one of the oldest cities in India. These sarees have been worn by brides for generations, symbolizing tradition and continuity. When a bride wears a Banarasi saree, she connects with the rich cultural legacy of India, making her wedding day even more special.

2. Luxurious Fabric

Banarasi sarees are made from the finest silk, giving them a rich and luxurious feel. The fabric drapes beautifully, adding grace and elegance to the bride’s appearance. The smooth texture of the silk makes the saree comfortable to wear, even for long hours during wedding ceremonies. When you buy Banarasi sarees online, you are choosing a garment that feels as good as it looks.

3. Exquisite Designs

One of the standout features of Banarasi sarees is their intricate designs. These sarees often feature detailed patterns, such as floral motifs, paisleys, and geometric shapes, woven with gold and silver zari threads. The artistry involved in creating these designs is unparalleled, making each Banarasi saree a true work of art. For brides who want to make a statement on their wedding day, a Banarasi saree is the perfect choice.

4. Versatility in Styles

Banarasi sarees come in various styles, each with its own unique charm. From the classic Pure Silk Banarasi saree to the lightweight Organza and Georgette Banarasi sarees, there is a style for every bride. Whether you prefer a traditional look or something more contemporary, you can find the perfect Banarasi saree to suit your taste. When you explore Banarasi saree online options, you’ll discover a wide range of styles that cater to different preferences.

5. Timeless Elegance

Banarasi sarees never go out of style. Their timeless appeal makes them a popular choice for brides across generations. The elegance of a Banarasi saree lies in its ability to make the bride look regal and sophisticated, no matter the fashion trends. When you buy Indian sarees for your wedding, a Banarasi saree ensures that you will always look stunning in your wedding photos, even years later.

6. Heirloom Value

A Banarasi saree is not just a bridal outfit; it’s an heirloom that can be passed down through generations. Many families cherish their Banarasi sarees, preserving them as a part of their family history. By choosing a Banarasi saree for your wedding, you are not only embracing tradition but also creating a valuable keepsake that can be handed down to future generations.

Find Your Perfect Bridal Saree at Banarasi Unique Silk

At Banarasi Unique Silk, we understand the importance of finding the perfect bridal saree. Our collection of Banarasi sarees is designed to make you look and feel your best on your special day. We offer a wide range of styles and designs, ensuring that every bride can find her dream saree.

Whether you are looking to buy Banarasi sarees online for your wedding or for a special occasion, Banarasi Unique Silk has something for everyone. Discover more exquisite sarees at BanarasiUniqueSilk and embrace the timeless tradition of Banarasi silk.

[cksmart-world]

SMART BOMB

The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

By Christopher Smart

May 14, 2024

THE POPE OF SALT LAKE & HIS NEW LAND OF OZ

It's gotta be nice to be a taxpayer in Salt Lake City right now 'cause they're about to embark on building someone else's dream and it's only going to cost 'em $900 million. Ryan Smith, the owner of the Jazz and a new NHL hockey franchise, is going to love it — and so will you, like it or not. Alright, so what does this Oz look like. Well, it's going to be big and cool and we'll find out later about the details. But first the City Council must go off down The Yellow Brick Road to see the Wizard and create a 100-acre Oz District where the Delta Center, Salt Palace Convention Center, Utah Museum of Contemporary Art and Abravanel Hall now sit. Bonus: no height limit zoning that includes magic beans and giant bean stalks. What grows there will be big and cool but you'll just have to trust 'em, like when they were solving homelessness with three new homeless “resource centers.” Yes, that was a rush-rush job, too. But this time it might work out because Ryan Smith is a billionaire and he's been anointed the Pope of the City of Salt. What the Pope wants, the Pope gets. Sure, many studies show that publicly funded stadium projects provide little to no economic benefit for taxpayers, but this one will be different — remember, the new zoning includes giant bean stalks.

MAKE AMERICA GAG AGAIN — STORMY TESTIFIES

Warning: Parents, do not let your children read this. It could warp their minds permanently.

Stormy Daniels, the porn star at the center of Donald Trump's “hush money” trial, took the witness stand in a New York City courtroom and what we learned was... well, not pretty. Here are the takeaways:

10 – Donald Trump likes paisley Hugh Hefner silk jammies.

9 – Trump and his wife, Melania, sleep in different sound-proofed bedrooms.

8 – He prefers “paper-scissors-hammer” as part of a foreplay game of grab-ass.

7 – The “Orange Turd,” as Stormy called him, abhors condoms.

6 – But he delights in getting spanked, she testified.

5 – Trump wears Barocco Greca boxer briefs with a trap door.

4 – The former president insists on the “missionary position.”

3 – After the assignation, Trump called her “Honey Bunch” and “Snooky Wookems.”

2 – Stormy testified she would have needed a stop watch to time the event.

1 – As she stumbled out of his hotel room, Trump said, “I'll be in touch — no pun intended. Haha.”

WHY ARE PEOPLE SO MEAN TO CLARENCE THOMAS

Washington, D.C. is such a nasty place, lamented Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas. “There’s certainly been a lot of negativity in our lives, my wife and I, over the last few years, but we choose not to focus on it.” Hey Wilson, do you think all this “negativity” has anything to do with the $260,000 motorhome and lavish vacations Thomas got from a billionaire. Or maybe it was the role his lovely wife, Ginni, played in the plan to overturn the 2020 election? Nah, couldn't be. People have always been mean to Clarence, according to his biography. Bummer, man. So why should he recuse himself in cases where he has an apparent conflict, like Trump's claim that as president he had absolute immunity — how else could you launch a failed coup and then run for president again. It's curious that the court, overseen by Chief Justice John Roberts, is in the public-opinion dumper. It couldn't be its ruling that overturned Roe v. Wade and a woman's right to an abortion. It couldn't be the finding that money is speech and corporations are people. And it couldn't possibly be the conservative justices “originalism” philosophy that means it's 1788 all over again — except for the AR-15s, of course.

Post script — That'll just about do it for another beautiful week here at Smart Bomb where we keep track of voter fraud so you don't have to. Well Wilson, you know all those “illegal aliens,” aka undocumented workers, vote all the time. They put down their mops and brooms, find someone who can speak English and then take Uber to vote even though they can't read English. That's why Republicans in Congress are working on legislation to make that illegal even though it already is against the law. Oops, hold the phone: In 2017 then-president Donald Trump put together the Voter Integrity Commission to sniff out fraudulent voting across the country. They searched and searched and searched — but just like a bad Easter egg hunt, they didn't find a damn thing. Then quietly, the commission went the way of Donald's yacht, the “Miss Stormy.” Just ask Donald if there's fraudulent voting. That's why, he says, he lost the last election and if he loses the next one it will be déjà vu all over again. It's a new twist on the old “win/win” situation: if you win, you win and if you lose, you still win. You'd never guess, Wilson, but that's the motto of entire Trump Organization.

Well shucks Wilson, poor old Clarence Thomas is bummed out. People are mean to him just because he's a know-it-all prima dona, right-wing originalist. It's just not fair, so how about you and guys in the band roll out some road music so he and Ginni can have a soundtrack as they get out of Dodge:

Running my rig around ninety-five, Rockin' and rollin' in overdrive My heart's beating like a jackhammer, It's the midnight ride for the gear jammer Nine long days through twenty-three states, I gotta see my baby soon you know I just can't wait The police catch me I'll end up in the slammer, 'Cause the law don't want no gear jammer Running my rig in a mighty high gear, I don't care where I go just long as it ain't here Something gets in my way you know I'm gonna ram it, Nobody fools around with this gear jammer Running my rig about ninety-five, I'm a-rockin' and a-rollin' in overdrive My heart's beating like a jackhammer, Don't you get in the way of this gear jammer

(Gear Jammer — George Thurgood and The Destroyers)