#sultry ann

[hammerbones]

#thigh high thursday #great legs #cheeky #luscious curves #ann angel #white lingerie #white stockings #sultry #platform heels

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Anne Bancroft (The Graduate, The Miracle Worker)— This woman aged like fine wine. Anne's presence is magnetic. She's the focus if any scene regardless if whether she's meant to be or not. She is gorgeous in everything she did, and really carries that classic vintage flair.

Kim Novak (Vertigo, Bell, Book, and Candle)— She fought as much as she could to be able to preserve her own identity within the crushing hollywood system. She refused to change her czech last name and fought for a higher salary once she discovered her male counterparts were getting payed significantly more, which was an incredibly risky thing to do. She went through so much hollywood bs like she was forced to drop her affair with Sammy Davis jr. She played her iconic role in Vertigo thinking about her own oppressive and significant changes she had to undergo in order to fit in the tight hollywood mold which i think is partly why the movie is so beautiful and timeless. She is a gorgeous soul and a great artist.

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Anne Bancroft propaganda:

“legendary milf. she does sultry so well but also tenderness. has a tony And an oscar for acting.”

“Obviously she’s a phenomenal actress overall and she plays the number 1 milf of all time in The Graduate. She IS the Mrs. Robinson that Simon & Garfunkel are singing about. If you’re not a milf lover though, I highly recommend Don’t Bother to Knock. Marilyn Monroe is also in the movie, but hoo boy I had eyes for ONE woman and it was not the blonde! It’s one of her earliest movies, she is strikingly beautiful in it, and I turned to mush whenever she was on screen. Also she was married to Mel Brooks for 40 years, and given that long marriages are a rarity in old Hollywood I’m happy to see it”

Kim Novak:

#kim novak #anne bancroft #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2

[zeldasnotes]

DIFFERENT KINDS OF BEAUTY

High Fashion

Venus aspecting Neptune: This gives a fantasylike aura and an appearance that can look very unreal. They project a fantasy. They make the clothes they wear look glamorouse. People want to buy whatever they see these people in. If you have this aspect you have probably noticed people copying you.

Capricorn Ascendant: Beautiful facial structure. The typical model look with high cheekbones and jawline. They are able to make anything look expensive even a garbage bag. They give old money vibes.

Mars 1st/10th house: They have the typical model look and a fierce and confident walk thats perfect for the runway. Usually nice legs and model facial features.

Example: Naomi Campbell, Twiggy, Claudia Schiffer, Christy Turlington,

Glamour Modeling

Pisces Rising: They are beautiful in a soft and glamorous way. They have a look that everyone loves. Gives off a soft sensual aura. Their appearance awakes a fantasy in people.

Venus 8th house: The sex appeal aspect. They have a subtle sexual aura mixed with an elegance and shyness that makes them mysterious. This sultry look is perfect for glamour modeling.

Aphrodite conjunct Ascendant: Aphrodite rules sexual attractiveness in a chart which is important in glamour modeling. This aspect just like Venus in the 8th house creates a mysterious and elegant aura. The thing with glamour modeling is being able to mix elegance and sexiness perfectly.

Example: Sara Foster, Rihanna, Brigitte Bardot, Lesley Anne Down, Adriana Lima, Kate Upton

Face Modeling

Libra Rising: Clean and perfect features which works as a perfect canvas for makeup. Approachable and friendly appearance that make people want to buy the products they are modeling for.

Sagittarius Rising: Beautiful face shape and smiles. Usually beautiful eyes too. Warm and inviting look that makes people want to see more of them and makes them popular on social media.

Taurus Mars: Nice skin and usually long necks. Nice lips and eyes. They are perfect for eye and lip makeup. Sensual facial features and facial expressions.

Example: Kim Kardashian, Jessica Biel,Charlize Theron,Queen Latifah, Jessica Alba

© 2022 Zeldas Notes

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #venus 8th house #aphrodite conjunct ascendant #asteroids #astronotes #ascendant #beauty

[crushedsweets]

ok ok ok ok so i feel like,m idk. hat do you think the creeps are like when they laugh or smile. like full on snorting sobbing out of breath red tomato face laughing or just lik "haaha" or what

HIIII i love this ask its so cute. again, applies to my au, so if i mention smth weird its cuz its smth deep in my brain.... LOL

tims a chuckler... its like a deep, almost raspy chuckle. if its ever funny enough for a full laugh, he's wheezing.

brian also chuckles, but he has a huge smile and it sounds a lot more genuine than tim half the time. we all know what his smile looks like it is very pleasant .

toby's always cheesing. ok jk no he's not but he likes to laugh, it feels good. he'd start with a closed mouth, trying not to smile laugh cuz he's also annoying and doesnt want to give ppl the satisfaction that theyre funny, but he can't hold it in and will literally throw his head back laughing at random shit

kate has a cute little smile, those little crescent smile lines at the corner of her motuh - she has a quiet laugh most of the time, she's really not the type to go HAHAHA...

natalie snorts. if smth is funny she's snorting and u know it. not even laughing she'll just snort n nod along

jack just has a very normal like. hahah. like if its funny he's gonna bbe like haha. IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN like theres litetally so many guys in my classes who just laugh like hahaha and thats jack.

sally giggles, obviously . shes like lol. hehe. haha. HEHE. she has those over-sized big ass teeth that kids have when they havent grown into their adult teeth yet, so it looks rlly cute when she smiles. always smiles w her teeth

ben wheezes, snorts, rolls his head back, fucking grips his stomach, he goes the full mile. it is never that funny but wow will he laugh.

jeff also wheezes but it sounds like he's a chainsmoker,closer to tims wheeze rather than bens wheeze. its ugly. he smiles w his teeth too, and its fucking. his teeth wont even be touching his smile is just huge idk like hes ugly idk bro omfg. im sorry. no. he always sounds like hes laughing at you, rather than with you

liu wheezes too, runs in the family i guess. he just sounds like a much more pleasant, genuinely happy version of jeff. laughs with you. will put a hand on ur shoulder if u made a joke and laugh and tilt his head down and shake his head n shit.

jane has a quick sudden "HAH" type of laugh. it kinda surprises people cuz youd expect more of a gentle "haha" thing but its so sudden and loud and its cute fr.

nina fucking giggles she wont shut the FUCK UP she will keep going and snort and slap her knee. her and ben r the same theyre so annoying. shes so cute though.

ann has an annoying ass sultry laugh. like it almost seems like shes forcing it to be sexy. its terrible. she smirks too. its awful

lulu has a very light, airy laugh. never smiles with her teeth. it almost echoes when shes in fog

sadies laugh sounds like shes crying like the amt of time shes been laughing hella hard and someones liek RU OK and shes liek YEA ... then covers her face to laugh its so bad

dina has a sinister ass laugh idk how to explain that one either. a mix of HEHEHE and HAHAHAH like its never that serious but shes laughing like idek.

#creepypasta #creepypasta hcs #hcs #ticci toby #jeff the killer #creepypasta clockwork #nina the killer #im just tagging randos #eyeless jack #ok im bored of tagging #ty for ask:)

[darsynia]

Hand(s) Off | Ch 2: Ecstasy

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: Steve's loved hearing about you from Bucky. He doesn't want anything to derail the progress his best friend has made toward being a whole person again, which is why he's going to use every ounce of his slowly-deteriorating willpower to resist touching you, tasting you, taking you. After all, he's just met you, and his own integrity, not to mention Bucky's trust, is important to him.

Neither of you are prepared for the catch.

Length | Warnings: 2,841 | Explicit sexual situations (they don't succeed in resisting, folks), MINORS DNI

Note: I want to make clear that I’m treating the issues of consent with sensitivity, as you'll hopefully see in this chapter!

Fill: Adoptable 'Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan

Excerpt:

“I’m-- wow, this is intense,” you say next. 

There’s a little cry to the last word. You are clearly affected by Mistress too, and Steve feels both grateful and guilty about how relieved he is about that. This is a moral catastrophe, but you’re in this mess together, sort of. Anything less and Bucky would demand the right to kick his ass.

Hell, he probably still will.

“Take--” He stops himself. “Why don’t you take it off?” 

“Nice catch,” you praise, leading him to buck his hips up. “Only if you take your shorts off, too. Fair’s fair.”

“Nothing about this is fair,” he growls out, getting up. Steve takes everything off because, fuck yes, access is what he needs right now. It’s a testament to how ruled he is by the drug in his system that it doesn’t even feel wrong to be wearing just a shirt in the room with you.

Ecstasy

Steve had known about you for a while now. He had been picturing you as a gorgeous pin-up, a dream woman, someone who could bridge the gap between 1940’s Bucky and the shadowed self his best friend had become. With everything Bucky’s told him about you, that impression had been reinforced.

Now he’s looking at you, your eyes wide, body a shapeless mass under the blanket, and he can’t help but wonder what you’ve heard from Bucky’s stories, from the footage of the attack on New York, from interviews since. Do you think he stands for integrity, kindness, justice? Can any of that possibly survive the unbearable need he’s feeling right now?

“I’m going to cover my face with this blanket, okay? Two layers of it.” You do that, waving a hand in front of your own face to check that it’s fully opaque. “You came here to change out of those wet clothes, don’t let me stop you!” You’re right, but Steve simply cannot picture that. Not with you in the room. “I tell you what: I’ll-- I’ll hum one of the songs I’ve been practicing for this weekend’s set, okay? That way I won’t be able to hear you.”

You’d said ‘hum,’ but the sultry notes resonating from under your blanket shouldn’t be described that way. Steve wrestles himself out of the soaked button-down and undershirt and chooses a white tank top for comfort. His temperature has to be in actual fever territory, and without any… relief, that’s hardly going to change.

When he unzips his pants, the humming gets louder, and Steve can’t help it, he rubs himself with the heel of his hand. He wonders if you’re sitting under that blanket with your eyes shut, picturing him undressing. Recognizing his own lowered inhibitions, he hurries up, stripping down completely in favor of getting every ounce of the drug away from body contact.

He’s pulling on a pair of shorts when you stop.

“Oh, I wanted to say, Cap--”

“Use ‘Steve,’” he says quickly. “I don’t want memories of--”

“Oh, God, you’re right. Sorry,” you groan in interruption.

It takes all his self-discipline not to respond to the need in that groan, squeezing his wet clothes so tightly they drip onto the carpet. You can’t see him, so you’re already continuing. 

“I was going to say, you should bury those clothes in the hamper or a drawer or something, because I’m, uh, getting the equivalent of secondhand smoke, here.”

Steve distracts himself from that worrisome development by burying the clothes in his basket as if it were a mission. When he turns around, you’re standing, the blanket draped around you like a shield.

“Is this stuff dangerous at your dose? Should we break you out of here?” you ask, eyes wide.

“Breaking out would kill you.” He’d thought of that already. “The next level of security is enough nerve gas to incapacitate a super soldier. Today’s testing was to find out what’s safe.”

“At least they’ll get some data,” you muse. “Fuck, this blanket is getting hot-- I have an idea of how to survive this, but in case that fails, I’m sure Bucky already told you about my fifteen-minute adoring rave about your ass?” 

He cannot fathom why you would say that. “Uh…”

“Never mind,” you say, wiping sweat off of your chin with the back of a hand. It looks like you’re right about being affected by the drug; Banner had said it was capable of being aerosolized. “So, we’re trapped here, yes?”

“Yes, but I have no intentions of touching you,” Steve says, using his Command voice, as much as he hates the cross-contamination. To his surprise, your eyes grow fierce.

“Well, I have no intentions of being the bitch so unappealing that Captain America would rather die than touch her with Mistress in his system, so why don’t you hear me out?”

Stunned and slightly impressed, Steve puts his hands up. “I didn’t think of that. Go on.”

You pull the blanket closer around yourself. You’d said you were too hot, so this is vulnerability, and it makes him feel protective. That’s some cross-contamination too, but it can’t be helped.

“Okay, if we’re not touching each other then we’ll have to touch ourselves, and we’re in this tiny room.” You walk over to the bed and point to the floor on either side of it, saying, “I suggest we each pick a side, flip the light off, and talk each other through it. It’ll be less intimate without the visuals, and maybe we can each pretend it’s a phone conversation on speaker?”

“With the bed as a natural barrier?” 

“Yeah.”

Steve can already picture you seated on that blanket on the floor, head thrown back against the mattress, hands moving out of sight. It’s a compelling image. He clenches his jaw, pulling in too much air to give himself a different discomfort to distract himself with.

“Good thought. You stay on the door side. I’ll head over to the other side and stay there.”

“I don’t think you want to ‘soldier’ this, Steve,” you say, your voice softening to a whisper on his name like you have to force yourself to say it.

“Not sure I can stop,” Steve admits, propelling himself over to the wall on ‘his side.’ “Better get the light. This is…” he stops, needing to slow his breathing. All he can see when he closes his eyes is you slowly pulling the fabric of your dress up--

The light clicks off, plunging the room in darkness.

“Wow. I was expecting the darkness to feel comforting, but…” you say.

“Just sit down, shut your eyes,” Steve says-- and it’s all wrong. His voice is harsh, almost annoyed. He is annoyed. He should be better than this, but… “I’m sorry,” he says aloud. He’s apologizing to himself as much as to you.

“Me too,” you whisper, adding a little grateful noise that has Steve setting his forehead on the back wall. “Besides being very glad I can drop that blanket, I have no idea what I’m doing. Do we talk about ourselves? Each other?”

The taboo of the situation combined with the desire running through Steve’s body like wildfire weakens him to a kneel. This is the best outcome of a terrible situation, he tries to tell himself, but it doesn’t feel like that. Not with the prospect of that sultry tone of yours talking him through it.

“Steve?” You sound worried, alone.

“I’m here,” Steve hurries to say. “Got… distracted. Tell me what you’re doing, what you’re feeling? I still have to work on the command tone thing.” He moves to slump back against the side of the bed.

“You realize you’re still taking charge by not taking charge, yeah?” you say, more confident now, thank God.

“Would it help if you pretend we’ll die if one of us stops talking?”

“Spoken like a true Avenger,” you laugh. It’s throaty, affected, and Steve rests his hand on his lap, presses down. Yes. “Okay, I’m burning up. Inside and out. Even with short sleeves and a skirt.”

Steve makes a ‘Mmm’ noise without even meaning to, his palm rocking against his crotch.

“I’m-- wow, this is intense,” you say next. 

There’s a little cry to the last word. You are clearly affected by Mistress too, and Steve feels both grateful and guilty about how relieved he is about that. This is a moral catastrophe, but you’re in this mess together, sort of. Anything less and Bucky would demand the right to kick his ass.

Hell, he probably still will.

“Take--” He stops himself. “Why don’t you take it off?” 

“Nice catch,” you praise, leading him to buck his hips up. “Only if you take your shorts off, too. Fair’s fair.”

“Nothing about this is fair,” he growls out, getting up. Steve takes his underwear off too because, fuck yes, access is what he needs right now. It’s a testament to how ruled he is by the drug in his system that it doesn’t even feel wrong to be wearing just a shirt in the room with you. With some of the last logical coherence he has left, he grabs a tube of lube out of his bedside drawer.

There are condoms there too, but he won’t be needing them.

“No touching yet!” you call out, right as Steve slides a slick fist along his own length. It feels like the first time he’s ever done it right.

“Who’s giving the orders?”

“You don’t want to leave me behind, do you?”

“I don’t, I promise,” Steve groans. 

He collapses onto his knees at the bed, practically praying for release. The mattress shakes, and he can see the whole scene in his mind; you’re scrambling to pull the dress off over your head. He almost doesn’t recognize himself in his own thoughts, but that doesn’t stop them. Do your bra or panties have any lace? What color are they? 

“What color?” he rasps aloud, before he can stop himself. Despite what you said, his hand falls back to his cock, gripping but not moving. Even that is intensely pleasurable, but it’s the best he can do.

“Are you asking about what I took off or what I’m still wearing?” you ask.

Playful. Steve’s lost. He’s lost, because you sound joyful despite the situation. This is working, your plan, but he can’t help but feel like he’s trespassing. He should know so much more about you before getting to talk about your underclothes. That thought spirals, predictably, to the kinds of things women used to wear in his own time: hidden garter ribbons, the proliferation of skirts, the--

“Steve, if you’re going to ask questions like that, you ought to listen to the answers. It’s only polite.”

“You answered?”

“I described them. What were you doing?”

His hips jerk forward into his waiting fist, and it’s so sweet and hot and not enough that Steve gasps. “I think you know.”

“God, your voice is rough right now, do you know that?” you ask in a voice that’s rough too. “I’m sliding down the straps of my black lace bra so they pull on my arms.”

“Where are your hands?” One of his is moving slowly, deliberately.

“I’m--” The bedframe shakes slightly, and when you speak again, your voice is muffled like you’d thrown yourself face-first onto the bed. “I’m in flames, but it just hit me where I am and who you are!”

It strikes him that no woman will ever forget who he is ever again, not even in the throes of a mind-altering chemical.

“I’m just a guy, Dee,” he says, turning to sit on the floor again. “I always was. Just a guy who wants to help, to do good.” He’s not doing good right now, saying these kinds of things to someone he cannot drive away from Bucky, but those qualms are fuzzy and indistinct.

“I think I need you to talk now.”

Most of what leaps to mind is filthy, for all that his thoughts move as slow as molasses. “If you slide your hand inside your panties and cup yourself, will both sides of your hand be wet?”

“Fuck, what a question!” Your low groan makes him really want to taste its resonance on the outside of your throat. The mattress moves slightly, just enough to signal to Steve that you’re reaching down. “Y-yes.”

His own hand is moving faster, twisting, the heat of the drug in his system setting fire to every inhibition and replacing the ash with pleasure. “How do you like to be touched?” he manages to ask.

The words hang between the two of you for awhile. Finally, you tell him, using a breathy moan that makes clear that you’re acting out the actions as you speak. His orgasm strikes not long after, and Steve doubles over with the force of it, vocalizing in ways he usually never allows himself to do.

“I loved listening to that.” Your voice has a whine to it, a desperation he totally recognizes.

“It’s your turn,” he says, reaching over and grabbing his pillow to remove the case and wipe himself off with it.

“It smells like-- fuck, that’s so intimate, I--”

“I wish I could smell you,” Steve blurts out, feeling himself harden again. He’d expected that, maybe not quite so quickly, but he's a super soldier overdosing on Mistress.

You let out a gasp, and he leans back against the mattress to feel that it’s shaking, shaking with the rhythmic movements of your arm. You’re right, this is almost unbearably intimate, but right now that’s the best thing ever, with all the possible objections lost behind a haze of hot desire and the smell of sex.

Steve shifts so he’s kneeling at the bed again, his chest and one arm anchored to the mattress so he can enjoy the sensations as you stimulate yourself. “I can feel you move,” he says lowly-- and that’s it, he can hear the change in your breathing.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh,” you wail, the sound changing as you close your lips on the sound to change it to a ‘Mmmm.’ 

It’s almost enough to send Steve over again, but he’s greedy for every hitched gasp, every translated shove against the bed as you rock through it. Something tells him that reminding you he’s here will make you self conscious, so though each noise burns from his ears all the way across his body, he suppresses the need to vocalize his own resulting pleasure-pain.

Your next words take the edge off.

“You have to be kidding me!” you snap, sounding frustrated. “That felt great, don’t get me wrong, but there’s no relief! I am still using every single brain cell not to climb you like a tree.”

Steve unabashedly humps against the mattress a bit, at that.

“Yeah, see? You know what I’m going through,” you grumble.

“I never expected camaraderie,” Steve coughs out on a laugh. The levity lifts the musky pall of desperate need, but only for a moment. “I have no idea how long this will--”

“I figured,” you whisper. “That AI, does it have --ahh, I am just so warm and so, god, hang on-- night vision?”

It takes an annoyingly long time for Steve to figure out what you’re asking. “I don’t think so. It monitors everyone, so if one of us gets so hot we need medical attention--”

“Excuse me, but you’ve been that hot since the 40’s!” you interrupt, adding, “You mean you don’t have an override that comes with your rank, or…”

It’s absurd, the way he’s jacking himself off and holding a conversation. “I, ah, turned it off. In case I asked for something inappropriate while my thinking was impaired.”

You sound affectionately amused as you say, “Oh no! Steve, your thinking was already impaired!”

“Yeah, I’m seeing that now.”

“Oh.”

This new tone of yours goes straight to his cock, and Steve just leans over and thrusts into his hand a few times, the ecstasy from each squeeze washing over him in waves. It seems even better than before, but somehow not painfully so.

He recovers enough coherence to say, “What is it?”

“This is-- oh. We might have some data for your other Avengers, here.”

“It’s better now, isn’t it?” Steve pants out.

“Yes!”  

Your voice throbs with approval, and he throws out his free hand, grabbing at the sheet to hold on as another orgasm rocks through him. 

“Wow, did that send you over?” you ask, sounding impressed.

“It’s dark, but I still see fireworks,” he jokes, immediately wishing he his need-fuzzed brain hadn’t chosen that word. The number of ‘Captain America’ fireworks jokes he’s heard over the past year…

“You know the way to a woman’s ego, telling her you’re seeing stars and she hasn’t even touched you!” you say in an affected, sultry tone. “That’s, god, I’m such a mess. That’s my ‘lounge singer’ voice after I’ve had a few drinks. Don’t get to use it much.”

“So both of us have a not-so-secret identity?”

The bed shakes, presumably with your laughter, and that both sharpens and magnifies Steve’s arousal in the oddest way, more similar to the beginning, when he’d wanted to protect you as much as he’d wanted to touch.

“I hope you don’t mind, but my back is killing me,” you say. Steve doesn’t understand what you mean until your bare leg sweeps across his outstretched arm.

Immediately, instinctively, he clasps it, and both of you suck in a breath. The all-consuming pleasure he’d felt touching himself was nothing compared to this. Before he can realize what he’s doing, what it means, Steve’s climbing up onto the bed, following the contour of your naked leg up as he goes.

“ Steve,” you groan out, and the hint of hesitation in your voice fists his hand against your hip.

“Do you want me to stop?” he forces out through clenched teeth.

“Absolutely not,” you moan, your hand finding his and tugging.

Next chapter...

#allcapsbingo2023 #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america smut #captain america x f!reader #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #sex pollen #humor #romance

[sagesolsticewrites]

“i can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” | Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

12 years ago, Elvis chose his career over you. What happens when he shows up at your door asking for a second chance?

a/n: this is entirely based on a dialogue prompt I saw from @twelvegods: “I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” apparently it was a really good prompt because it inspired all 8,735 words of this lol. I I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it <3 Thank you all again so so so much for 500 followers!!

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: a couple swear words, lots of angst in the first half, Y/N has trust issues oops, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

“I’m gonna marry you someday.”

That’s what Elvis Presley had said to you when he was just 20 years old and his career was starting to take off, thanks in large part (as Elvis said) to the Colonel. And you, being the young girl in love that you were, believed him.

What a fool you were.

You managed to stay together for another year before the Colonel, his claws digging into Elvis’s heart and soul to bleed all the green he could out of him, managed to convince him that appearing single would be what was best for his career— he had to let all those screaming girls believe they had a chance with him, after all.

“Baby please,” Elvis pleaded, “this is for my career. I promise it won’t be for long. We’ll get back together, you’ll see.”

You shook your head, “No, Elvis. I’m not gonna sit around waiting for you like some damsel in distress. If you want me, keep me. But otherwise…”

You paused, waiting for him to say something. Begging, pleading, praying he would say something, that you had managed to change his mind.

When he said nothing, you exploded.

You had screamed and cried, and he had screamed and cried, and you had taken your things that had made their way into his room in Graceland and stormed out of his life for good, only pausing to give him one final sincere “I love you” before you walked out the door.

The last image you had of him (that wasn’t on a tv screen or poster) was of him standing in the foyer in Graceland, tears streaming down his face, refusing to chase after you.

You hoped that time would eventually heal your wounded heart, but apparently whoever said time heals all wounds was a fucking idiot because it was now just over a decade later and you were still as in love with Elvis Presley as you had been when you were one of the only girls in the world who knew his name.

He, evidently, didn’t feel the same.

That much was clear, at least, based on the way he was still overly flirtatious with his audience in his shows, not to mention the rumors about relationships with his movie co-stars. In his shows, before he went off to Germany, he had taken to stepping down into the audience and kissing practically every woman in the room. That alone cleared any remaining doubts from your mind that he still thought about you in any capacity, despite that little voice in the back of your head that still held out some futile, desperate hope.

You’re about to curl up on the couch with some tea and your copy of Anne of Green Gables — exactly what you need on a rainy day like today — when someone knocks on your door.

“You expecting anyone, Y/N?” your friend Annie calls from the hall. You had been living with her for about 5 years down in Louisiana, after the memories in Memphis had become too much, and you loved it.

“Nope,” You call back, wondering who on earth would be knocking on doors in this weather. “If it’s one of those door-to-door salesmen, slam it in his face again.” You suggest with a laugh.

“Will do,” comes her reply, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

You turn you attention back to your book as the door opens, and nearly spill your tea all over yourself as you hear a sultry drawl you hadn’t heard in person in over a decade.

“Hi Annie… is Y/N here?”

There’s a moment of silence where you’re sure Annie is as stunned as you are, then:

“Maybe,” she replies curtly, “What do ya want?”

Annie knew the whole story of you and Elvis, and she had sworn that she’d never let you get hurt like that ever again.

“Please, Annie, I just wanna talk to her.”

“And why should I let you? You’ve got a lotta nerve comin’ here after what you did—“

You’re not sure what prompts you to set your book and mug down and sigh “Annie, just let him in,” but you’re just as surprised as Annie is that you did.

She reluctantly steps aside to let him in, eyeing him warily the entire time.

Your eyes drink him in; this is the first time you’re seeing him in person in over 12 years, and your mind automatically catalogs the differences since you last saw him. He’s tanned, with a few more freckles, a result of the California sun, no doubt, and tinted glasses hide his eyes. His burgundy suit is soaked, and his hair, which was no doubt carefully styled before, now flops onto his forehead, dripping into his eyes.

He takes off his sunglasses, revealing tired blue eyes. From the way his eyes track along your body, he was drinking you in the same way you had done him.

There’s a beat of silence, then his eyes finally meet yours.

“Hi,” he says softly.

You maintain a straight face, unwilling to be taken in so easily.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice cold. You want nothing more than to rush into his arms, but you remind yourself: he chose his career over you, and never looked back.

“I fired the Colonel,” he blurts, after several moments of trying to figure out what to say.

“About time,” you snort, dropping your serious demeanor for a split second, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“I made a mistake, Y/N. A lotta mistakes, really, but letting you go was the biggest one I ever made in my life. I missed you so, so much, and I—“

You cut him off, “Elvis, cut the shit. You made it very clear you moved on from me.”

“Y/N, I never stopped thinkin’ about you, I promise.”

“Sure, and was that before or after you kissed every girl in the audience at the end of every damn show?”

“Y/N, I—“ he starts, frustrated, then takes a deep breath. He starts again, calmer, softer, “I know how that looks. But I… I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” He looks earnestly into your eyes.

You feel your cracked heart melt just a little at his words, and yet…

“I don’t…” you sigh, “I don’t believe you. You put your career before me over a decade ago, and I tried to move on, but I couldn’t when I was seeing your face and hearing your voice everywhere, and it hurt like hell. And now you walk back in here, tell me you just made a mistake, and… what? Expect me to take you back just like that?”

“Please, Y/N,” he says, an echo of his plea back when he broke your heart for the first time, “I know I messed up bad, but… it’s you. It’s always been you, with those girls in the audience, even with Ann-Margret… I was always thinkin’ about you. And I’m willin’ to do whatever I have to to fix this. Anything. I mean it.”

And you can see the conviction in his eyes, like he’s that little boy again who believed he was Captain Marvel Jr. and could fly his family out of poverty to the Rock of Eternity. You know in your bones that he’d buy you the moon if it meant he could love you again.

But you’d made the mistake of believing his promises before.

“Elvis, I don’t know if I can trust you. How do I know you won’t drop me when your next manager thinks that’d be ‘what’s best for your career’?”

He winces as you throw the Colonel’s words from all those years ago back in his face. “I know I ruined any kind of trust you had in me that day, and I can’t tell you enough how goddamn sorry I am, Y/N. But I’m not askin’ for you to forgive me right now, I just want a chance to try and fix this. That’s all, I swear.”

He waits as you process his words, practically holding his breath as you think of how to reply.

“I’ll think about it,” you say softly.

He nods. “That’s all I’m askin’ for, sw— Y/N,” he fumbles to avoid using the old pet name for you.

“I think you should go now,” you say, your voice cold again to hide how the almost-pet name brought a storm of feelings rushing back..

“Right, um..” he fumbles around in his pocket, producing a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it, “Gimme a call, if you want? I’ve gotta head back to Memphis in a couple days, that’ll probably be the easiest way to reach me if you, uh, decide anything.”

“Okay,” you nod, glancing at it quickly before stuffing it in your pocket. The number was for Graceland’s house phone; a number you’d never forgotten for a second, not that you’d be telling Elvis that.

“Well, um… bye Y/N, Annie,” he nods as he moves past your roommate towards the door. He pauses, hesitating for a moment before turning back to you. “You look good, Y/N,” he says softly before heading back out into the downpour.

The “you, too” you whisper in reply is lost in the sound of rain hitting the pavement outside.

The enormity of everything that had just transpired suddenly hits you and you fall back onto the couch, tears welling up in your eyes.

Annie rushes over, concerned. You look up as she fusses over you.

“Was that… did that actually just happen?”

Annie nods, “Yeah, it did, honey. I can scarcely believe it myself.”

“Did I do the right thing?” You wring your hands, suddenly second-guessing every decision you made during the interaction with Elvis.

“I know I’ve always said that I’d punch him in his smug face if he ever showed up here after what he did to you,” Annie says, “But I see the way you look at him when he shows up on the TV, and that ain’t the look of someone who’s just angry at an ex. You’re still in love with him, honey, I know it, and I feel like a fresh start is what both of you need. I don’t mean to overstep,” she drawls, “But if I can give you some advice: just start over as friends. Don’t jump back into a relationship right away. Try to make it organic. A clean slate.”

“A clean slate,” you echo, processing her words.

You mull over what to do for a few days, worst and best-case scenarios swirling around your brain, and eventually dial Graceland. Your foot taps anxiously as you lean against the wall by the phone, listening to it ring.

“Hullo?” A raspy voice comes over the receiver.

“Hi, Elvis,” you say, trying your best to sound casual, “It’s, uh, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh, hey,” he stammers, sounding less like the confident King of Rock and Roll superstar and more like the shy little kid you’d grown up with, “Uh, how are you?”

“I’m alright.” You reply, “Look, I did some thinking about what you said and, well… I’ve got a couple questions before I decide anything.”

“Sure, yeah, what is it?”

“Well, first of all… why now?”

“Huh?”

You sigh, “It’s been over 10 years, Elvis. What made you come back now? What made you fire the Colonel after all this time?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t very happy with the movies the Colonel was signing me up for. And then he planned this whole silly special for NBC…” he sighs, “I’ve been lost ever since I lost Mama— before that, even, when I lost—“ he cuts himself off with an awkward cough, “uh, anyway; he wasn’t helping. And I finally realized that he didn’t really care what I wanted to do. It was all about profit for him,” he says quietly. He goes on to explain hiring Binder and Bones to help with the special, to “find himself” again, and the realization he’d had that he hadn’t truly felt like himself since he’d left you.

“Hm,” is your only response at first, trying to shove down the warmth growing in your chest. “Well, um… thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. I want you to know, Y/N… you can trust me. I know I ruined that back then, but I’d really like a chance to try and rebuild it with you if I can.”

“I think I’d like that, too.” You say after a moment of silence. “Look, Elvis, I… I don’t think it would be a good idea, if we’re gonna do this, to pick up right where we left off. We need a… a clean slate. So what if we started over as friends?” You fidget with the phone cord as you await his reply.

There are several moments of silence, and you're wondering if something happened with the call before his raspy drawl comes over the phone once more.

“I’d love to be your friend again, Y/N.”

A wave of relief floods your body, and you smile. You think for a moment before speaking again, saying hesitantly, “I’m coming up to visit for Mama’s birthday next weekend, and… maybe we could see each other then? That would be a ‘friend’ thing to do, right?”

“Yeah, I’d… I’d really like that.”

“Great, well,” you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, “I’ll just give you a call when I’m back home and we can figure everything out then?”

“Whatever works for you is fine with me,” he assures you, “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

“Me, too,” you say softly, allowing a tiny bit of the warmth you felt earlier to creep back. “I’ll see you next weekend, then.”

“See you then,” he says and with a click, the phone is back to humming a dial tone.

You’re buzzing with anticipation for the next week, not only excited to see your family but also to see Elvis.

“Y/N!” Your mother rushes out as you pull into the driveway of your family’s Memphis home, “My baby’s home!”

“Happy birthday, Mama,” you smile as she rushes up to give you a hug, squeezing you tight.

“Thank you, darlin’. Come inside, honey, come in!” she insists, grabbing your suitcase from you despite your protests.

“Honey!” she calls to your father as she leads you into your childhood home, “Look who’s finally decided to come for a visit!”

“Mama, I was just here for Easter,” you remind her as you head to the living room to greet your father. “Hi Daddy,” you smile as he pulls you in for a hug.

“Good to see you, sweetheart,” he says, “Louisiana treatin’ you well?”

You nod, “Mhm. Everyone’s real nice, and Annie’s always lookin’ out for me.”

You fill your parents in on life in Louisiana, and in return they (your mother, mostly) regale you with all the Memphis gossip you’ve missed. Apparently the young couple next door had a baby recently, another young couple in town just got married, and oh yes, Elvis came back fr—

“Mary Ann, you know I don’t like talkin’ about that boy!” your father exclaims, cutting your mother off.

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do, Walter,” your mother retorts, “It’s not as if we can pretend he doesn’t exist, not when he’s such a big part of this town…”

As you listen to your parents bicker, you decide that now might as well be as good a time as any to bring up your new friendship.

“Actually, Mama,” you interrupt their bickering, “I’m gonna try and meet up with Elvis while I’m in town this weekend…”

Your father’s expression flickers between confusion and anger at your words, while your mother’s morphs into one of delight.

“Oh honey, that’s wonderful!” She exclaims, “Though I admit, I thought you’d’ve at least called to tell us you got back together—“

“Mama!” You cut her off, heat flooding your face, “We’re not back together, I promise,” you add with a glance over to your father. “He showed up at our place last week, we had a talk, and we’re gonna try to be friends again.”

“Well I’m glad to see the two of you are startin’ over, honey,” your mother says with a smile

“I still don’t trust that boy,” your father grumbles. “Just… be careful, alright?”

You nod, “Of course, you know I always am, Daddy.”

”When were you two planning on meeting up?” your mother asks.

You shrug, “We haven’t figured out the details yet. I was gonna call him today to sort everything out.”

”Well you should invite him over for dinner while you’re in town.” your mother suggests, with just a hint of a mischievous sparkle in her eye, ignoring your father’s clear alarm at the suggestion.

You groan. “Mama, no, he really doesn’t need to come for dinner—“

”Y/N L/N, inviting a friend over for dinner is a polite thing to do,” your mother scolds, “and in this house we are always…?”

“Polite and respectful,” you mumble, repeating the words that had been drilled into you in childhood.

She nods, satisfied. ”It’s settled then. You two will have your little meetup and then he can come over for dinner that night, or the next if it suits him.”

”Yes, Mama,” you say, resigned. “I’ll go call him now.”

You make your way over to the kitchen, dialing the number you’ve had memorized for over 12 years.

“Hello?” The same raspy voice comes over the receiver.

”Hey, it’s um, it’s me. Y/N.”

”Oh, hey. Um, how are ya?”

”I’m alright. I’m back in town now, and Mama’s bein’… well, Mama, so you can imagine.” you say with a soft laugh.

”Oh, I can imagine,” he agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “How was the drive up?”

The two of you make small talk for a bit, slowly easing back into being a part of each other’s lives, and eventually you remember the reason you called. “Oh, yeah, by the way; I was calling to see if there was a day or time that worked for you as far as meeting up this weekend?”

”Oh, yeah.” You can hear some rustling on his end, and you assume he’s checking his schedule. “I’m actually free this afternoon around 1 if that works? Or tomorrow?”

You weren’t prepared to see him quite so soon, but you suppose now is better than putting it off until tomorrow. “This afternoon is perfect. You still like that diner on Beale Street, right?”

He hums an affirmative, and you smile, “Great, I’ll meet you there at 1, then.”

”I’ll see you then,” and the line clicks back to a dial tone.

You head back to the living room, entering to see your parents doing a wonderfully poor job of pretending as though they weren’t listening to your conversation. You roll your eyes.

”I assume you already heard, but Elvis and I are meeting for lunch at 1, just as friends, Mama,” you say pointedly, noting the beam on your mother’s face. “I’ll ask him about dinner then.”

Your father harrumphs, but mainly keeps silent, a firm frown on his face.

”That’s wonderful, honey,” your mother beams, “You’ve gotta get goin’ pretty soon then, huh?”

“Huh?” You glance over at the clock on the mantle and sure enough, it’s already 15 past noon and you still haven’t changed out of the outfit you wore for the 6-hour drive up to Memphis. You grab your suitcase and race to make yourself presentable, managing to change into a dress that seems nice enough for a lunch outing (but not too fancy), fix your windswept hair, and reapply your makeup in a cool 30 minutes before racing out the door.

Before you can make it out to the porch, though, your father stops you, calling your name as you’re about to step out the door. You turn, “Yes, Daddy?”

He has a solemn look on his face. “Just… be careful, darlin’. You know me, I hold grudges like no one else, and I admit I still haven’t forgiven him for what he did to you all those years ago. If you let him in, and he hurts you again somehow I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

You step back into the room and envelop him in a hug. “Thank you for looking out for me, Daddy. I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m not the same girl I was when I met him.” You add with a sad smile.

He squeezes your hand comfortingly, “I know you’ll be smart. If he does anything, you come right to me and I’ll sort him out, alright?” You nod and, satisfied, he kindly shoos you out the door with a soft “Go on, have fun.”

You pull up to the diner to find that Elvis is already there, if the deep purple Cadillac parked nearby is any indication.

He waves from a booth near the back as you enter, his bodyguards seated at a table nearby. You slide into the seat across from him, pushing down the butterflies that threaten to stir. It might’ve been a bad idea to choose the place you went on your first date, you realize belatedly, but too late now.

“How are you?” he asks with a casual smile.

“Pretty good,” you reply, “My parents have been updating me on all the Memphis gossip I’ve missed since I was away, very exciting stuff,” you say sarcastically. “Mama says hi, by the way.”

“Tell her I say hi back,” he grins.

“Will do. Uh, how are you?” You say, trying to fall back into the rhythm of talking to him.

“I’m alright. There’s this big thing I’m gonna be workin’ on soon, I’m pretty excited for it.”

“Oh, big thing?” You ask, your interest piqued.

“It’s a…” he pauses, looking around, “no one really knows about it yet, so you gotta promise not to tell anyone, alright?”

You nod, and he continues, leaning in to whisper, “You remember that special I told you about, the one that Steve and Bones are helpin’ me with? It’s gonna be a TV special for NBC. A Christmas show, kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Well, it’ll have a couple of Christmas songs, but I really want it to be about finding myself again. Gettin’ back to the real Elvis.”

“Sounds exciting,” you reply, a genuine smile coming across your face at how excited he seems.

A starstruck waitress comes to take your order, and the conversation continues.

“So,” Elvis says, “how are you doin’ in Louisiana?”

“I actually really like it there,” you reply, smiling. “Annie’s great, obviously, and I found a job at a bookstore that I really love, things are goin’ pretty well. I do have the occasional grumpy customer, but that’s just how it is.” You finish with a shrug.

“Grumpy customer? Sounds like you’ve got some stories to tell,” he says, sounding genuinely interested, and you can’t help but launch into the story of a man who was sure that Stranger in a Strange Land was in the nonfiction section no matter how many times you tried to lead him over to science fiction.

You finally fall back into a rhythm of friendly conversation, trading stories for over an hour before you finally bring up what your mother had asked.

“Oh by the way,” you say, sipping your milkshake, “Mama wanted me to invite you to dinner tomorrow night.”

Elvis nearly chokes on the fry he’s just taken a bite of. “Sorry, what?”

“I told my parents that we were meeting up and she was adamant that I at the very least invite you to come over for dinner tomorrow— you know how she is about politeness—“ you explain, “but I promise, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I completely understand, I’d be more than happy to make up an excuse for you.”

“And refuse an invitation from Mrs. L/N? It’s like you want her to kill me,” he jokes. “I’d be more than happy to come,” he says, in a more sincere tone. “Besides, friends come over for dinner right?”

“Of course,” you say, trying to reassure yourself as much as him, “and Mama’s very excited to see you, so be prepared for that.”

“I always am,” he replies with a smile.

You arrange for him to come over at 7 the next night, and the rest of lunch goes smoothly until the check arrives, which starts off a round of bickering between the two of you about who should pay.

“Please let me get this, I want this to be a start to making it up to you,” Elvis argues.

“I appreciate it but I’m perfectly capable of paying for lunch, thank you very much,” you retort, and this goes on for several minutes before the two of you eventually agree to split the check.

“It was good to see you, Y/N,” Elvis says as you exit the diner, his bodyguards dutifully on alert as they follow you out.

“You, too.” You say. “I…” I didn’t realize just how much I missed you, is what you want to say, but instead, you go with “I had a good time.”

His face lights up as if those 5 little words were all he needed to brighten his day. He steps towards the Cadillac, throwing a friendly wave to you as he calls “See you tomorrow!”

You wave back, and you don’t realize how happy you are until your cheeks start to ache from smiling on the drive home.

The next day, your mother is practically frantic, bustling around the house making sure everything is perfect for when Elvis gets here.

“Mama, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever been here! And we’re just friends, please try to remember that.”

“Alright, alright, I know, honey. I just think it’s nice that you two are spending time together again, that’s—“

The doorbell rings, and your mother jumps into action, plucking microscopic bits of lint from your dress before hurrying to the door and opening it with a polite smile.

Elvis stands on your porch, bearing a polite smile and a bouquet of lilacs. “Hello, Mrs. L/N.”

“Hello, Elvis!” Your mother beams, “It’s wonderful to see you again. And you brought Y/N flowers, how sweet!” She looks pointedly at you.

Elvis lets out a nervous laugh as he steps into the house, “Actually, Mrs. L/N, these are for you. A birthday gift.” He holds out the bouquet to her with a shy smile, looking remarkably like the shy boy he had been back in ‘51 when you first became friends.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you dear. Wasn’t that kind of him, Walter?”

“Very kind,” your father grumbles in a tone that makes it seem as though Elvis had brought a pile of mud as a gift. He nods a greeting, “Hello, Elvis. California’s treatin’ you well, I hear.”

“Uh, yes, sir, it is. Thank you.” he replies.

When your father doesn’t respond, Elvis turns his attention to you. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you reply, resisting the urge to fuss with your dress.

The awkward silence that follows is broken as your mother ushers everyone to the dining room, arranged so she and your father are at the heads of the table while you and Elvis are sitting across from one another.

The meal begins, and the conversation that follows is strained but polite, with your mother eagerly asking questions about life in California and Hollywood and Elvis answering modestly then turning the conversation back to your family, remaining the picture of a Southern gentleman. The conversation remains polite apart from your father’s not-so-subtle grumbling about Elvis running off the California, and just when you think it can’t get any worse, he decides to bring up the rumors of Elvis’s womanizing.

“So, Elvis,” your father says casually, though his eyes remain calculating, “what’s all this I hear about you and… what’s that actress’s name, Ann-Margret? Or have you moved on to someone new by now?”

You feel your face flush, and you’re sure the mortification shows on your face as you hiss for your father to stop, please.

“Oh well sir, that’s really all just the tabloids tryin’ to get their stuff to sell, there’s no truth to that at all, I promise. Ann-Margret is a good friend of mine now, though.” Elvis answers politely, unfazed as your mother quietly scolds your father.

“Walter, quit it, you’re scarin’ the boy!”

“Well good, he should be scared after what he did to my little girl!”

“Dad!” you exclaim, mortified, “We talked about this! We’re friends now, you promised you’d be polite!”

“No, it’s alright, Y/N,” Elvis assures you, briefly breaking eye contact with your father to glance over at you, “He’s just lookin’ out for you like any father would, and I respect you for that, sir.”

Your father grunts a reply, and the conversation picks up again, still polite but even more strained than before.

Elvis remains as polite as ever, even offering to take care of the dishes — “Oh I can get those plates for ya, don’t you worry Mrs. L/N” — and despite your determination for a clean slate, your mind betrays you, reminding you of how shy and overly polite he was the first few times he was over for dinner, especially after the two of you first got together. Sure, he’s gotten a little more confident, which you’ll admit is kind of attractive, but— NO.

You firmly cut off that train of thought, no matter how badly that little voice in the back of your head (the one that practically melted at the sight of him at your door with a bouquet, reminiscent of your first date) wants to keep on track. Just friends, clean slate, you remind yourself.

After the dishes are done, your mother prepares coffee for everyone and the four of you head to the living room. At one point, Elvis gets up to get a refill, and your father follows him.

Your father approaches Elvis once it’s clear that neither you nor your mother will be getting up, and corners him.

“Now Elvis, I’m gonna try to be polite, because my daughter’s told me you two are tryin’ to be friends and I respect her wishes, but I don’t trust you after what you did to her. And if I get even a hint that you’re playin’ with her feelings, well… I’m afraid that won’t end well for ya, son.”

Elvis nods quickly, “Sir I promise you, I have no intentions of playing with your daughter’s feelings. She’s very dear to me, and I swear I’d do anything to make sure she’s happy.” He says, conviction clear in his eyes.

Your father eyes Elvis for several long moments and, apparently satisfied, returns to the living room with more coffee for you and your mother.

Elvis takes a breath to compose himself — he’s forgotten how scary your father could be when he wanted to — and exits the kitchen, re-entering as you’re laughing at some comment your mother made.

You turn as he enters with a wide smile on your face, and he’s suddenly slammed back to a time where you looked at him like that every time he entered a room— when you looked at him as though he’d hung the moon and stars just for you.

Fighting the urge to rush over and kiss you senseless — that’s not something a friend would do, he reminds himself — he moves to sit in the armchair across from you, turning his attention to whatever neighbor your mother is gossiping about tonight.

The night eventually winds to a close and Elvis thanks your parents profusely for “a wonderful meal and even better company.”

Your mother waves off the compliment modestly, “Oh it was nothin’ darling. We’ll be glad to have you back anytime. Y/N, why don’t you walk our guest out while we take care of these last few things?” she says, gesturing to the coffee mugs still sitting out.

Elvis gives one last wave to your parents, wishing them well, before stepping out to the porch with you.

“Well, my parents loved you,” you tease as the two of you make your way to the pink Cadillac looking more than slightly out of place in your modest gravel driveway.

He lets out a shy laugh, “They haven’t changed a bit, that’s for sure. Your daddy’s still as protective as ever.” His tone softens as he continues, “It was nice seein’ them again. ‘Specially your mama. She’s always been better to me than I deserve.”

Acting on impulse, you lean over and squeeze his hand as you remember his own mama isn’t waiting for him at home anymore. “You’re welcome over anytime. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” he replies in a near whisper. Your hand stays clasped with his, the warmth of him tempting you closer, and his gaze drifts slowly down to your lips before the two of you snap back to yourselves and create a respectable two feet of distance between you.

“Uh, anyway,” you attempt to continue the conversation, refusing to acknowledge that moment of… whatever that was, “Are you gonna be here for a while longer?”

He shakes his head, “I’m actually gonna be leaving for California again tomorrow.” he says almost apologetically, adding with a nod to the house, “But I’ll still be able to call ya for a bit, right?”

A frown crosses your face as you remember: “I’m actually headin’ back to Louisiana tomorrow. But,” you brighten, “I can give you my number for down there if you want?”

“I’d love that,” Elvis smiles.

You rummage around in your pockets for anything you can scribble on, producing some long-forgotten shopping list and a small pen. You scrawl your phone number down and hand it to him, determinedly not noticing the sparks you feel as your fingers brush.

“I’ll call ya every night,” he says as he stuffs it in his pocket, “I’ll need ya to keep me updated on all the Louisiana gossip, hm?”

A sad smile crosses your face at the memory of the last time he’d made a promise like that. Despite all your talk of a clean slate, you can’t help but remind him, “Let’s not make promises you can’t keep, Elvis.”

You give him one last wave, wish him goodnight, and walk back inside, his pleas of “What? No, Y/N, this ain’t gonna be like that!” falling on deaf ears.

You put on a brave face for your parents the next day, joking about what a coincidence it was that both you and Elvis happened to be leaving town on the same day, but behind closed doors, you’re unable to block the memories of the last time he had promised he’d call you every night: when he went along with the Colonel on Hank Snow’s tour.

1955

“I’ll be back in time for prom, darlin’, I promise,” Elvis reassures you over the phone. “I’ll bring you a corsage, we’ll have a great time.”

“Okay,” you reply, “I’m sorry, I know I must sound silly, but I’m just really lookin’ forward to going with you.”

“That’s not silly,” he assures you with a soft laugh, “I’m lookin’ forward to it, t—“ he cuts off, and you can barely make out what sounds like a knock on the door on his end of the line. “That’ll be Scotty again, no doubt.” he groans good-naturedly. There’s some shuffling as he makes his way over, yanking the door open with a “Scotty, how many times do I have to tell ya—“

“Elvis?” you say, concerned at how he cuts off mid-sentence, “Is everything alright?”

There’s a moment of silence, after which he stammers out a response.

“I, uh… I gotta go, I’ll call ya back, darlin’, alright?”

He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before hanging up, but in the split second before it goes to a dial tone you can just make out a woman’s sultry voice over the receiver.

1968 - Present Day

He had still called after that, but not as frequently; certainly not every day like he promised. And while you forgave what happened on tour, you had never quite forgotten what him being away for a stretch of time could mean.

Still. Clean slate. Maybe this time could be different, you reasoned, though you were barely convincing yourself at this point.

You head back to Louisiana, promising your parents you’ll visit again soon and that you’ll give them a call as soon as you get home. You stumble through the door of your little house, exhausted after the 6-hour drive. Annie rushes over to hug you.

“Hey honey! Good to have ya home,” she grins, taking your suitcase from you, “I’ve got lunch for ya, you go sit down. I’ll put this in your room. And then I wanna hear all about how that li’l meetup went,” she adds with a wink, gently shoving you towards the kitchen while she heads down the hall.

You smile as you enter the kitchen to see a little card with the words “Welcome Home” in Annie’s signature scrawl next to a plate on the counter. You take a bite of the sandwich waiting for you — grilled cheese, Annie’s specialty — and finally allow yourself to relax. At that moment, Annie slides in with a mischievous grin, plopping herself down on the stool next to you.

“So…” she leads, a sparkle in her eye. “How was it?”

“It was good,” you reply, purposefully misinterpreting her question, “We took Mama out for dinner and I made her a cake—”

Annie cuts you off with a playful swat to your arm, “Not that! Elvis,” she says, dragging out the ‘s’ longer than necessary.

You roll your eyes, “Fine! It was… fine. We met up for lunch at this old diner we used to go to, we talked… Mama had me invite him over for dinner, and he brought flowers for her” you say pointedly, noticing the gleam in her eyes. “It went well, all things considered. Daddy did have some things to say, he still hasn’t quite forgiven him for what he did, but Elvis was a real gentleman the whole time. He actually went back to California today, filming somethin’ for TV, but he said he wants to keep in touch.”

“That’s great, honey!” Annie squeals, “I’m glad y’all are doin’ well.”

You give a weak smile in return. “Yeah, he said he’s gonna call every day, but…”

“Oh…” Annie’s eyes soften in understanding, recalling what you had told her about your relationship before. “Y/N, I know it might be scary, but what if it’s different this time? What if he actually keeps his promise? He’s said he wants to work on trust with you again, right? This is the perfect opportunity for him to prove to you that he’s worth trusting. And if he doesn’t,” she adds in a lighter tone, “I’ll fly out to California and sock him right in his pretty face myself.”

“I know you will,” you laugh, “but you’re right, I’ll—“

You’re cut off as the phone rings, and you lock eyes with Annie. It can’t be him already, can it? No, it’s probably your parents calling to make sure you made it home safely, you reason as you move to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N,” the heavy drawl surprises you, and you nearly miss what Elvis says next, “I’m glad I caught you, I was callin’ a bit ago and got quite a tellin’ off from Annie sayin’ that you weren’t there yet.”

At that you turn to glare at Annie, who only gives you a smug, mischievous smirk in return.

“Yeah, I just got in maybe twenty minutes ago,” you reply, the shock slowly fading into a kind of warmth as his voice washes over you.

“How was the drive?”

“Long,” you say with a laugh, “I’m glad to be home now. How’s California?”

“‘S alright,” he replies, “I just got back from finalizing some stuff with Steve for filming tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah,” you recall your conversation from a few days ago, “The Christmas special, right? Or,” you correct yourself, “the not-entirely-Christmas special.”

“Exactly,” he laughs, “I’m actually pretty excited about it.”

“That’s good,” you smile, “I hope everything goes well.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says sincerely. “But anyway, enough about me. How are you?”

“Well, Annie had one of her famous grilled cheeses waiting for me when I got here so I’d say we’re off to a pretty good start. Tomorrow’s an inventory day at work, though, not nearly as exciting as filming a special for NBC.”

He sucks in a breath in sympathy, “I remember you never liked those days. Good luck with that,” he says, “and I’ll tell ya what: I’ll make sure to tell you all about the boring parts of filming so ya don’t get too jealous, how ‘bout that?” he teases

“Sounds perfect,” you laugh.

You don’t even notice the time flying by as the conversation continues, the two of you talking about everything and nothing, and you fall into a rhythm of talking for hours every night. Slowly, the nagging fear you feel that today’s the day he won’t call starts to fade, and you look forward to your nightly chats where you fill him in on any interesting customers and he tells you about the goofs he made that day during filming.

“I’m not kiddin’, I legitimately forgot the words!” he laughs.

Your only reply is to laugh even harder at the image of him surrounded by cameras forgetting the words to Heartbreak Hotel.

“Alright, come on, it ain’t that funny,” he says in a mock-hurt tone.

“Oh, I promise it is,” you say, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, “I might need you to send me a copy or whatever of these goofs, I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.”

“I’ll see if I can arrange that for ya…” he replies, his voice trailing off as he seemingly turns away from the receiver for some reason.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just someone at the door,” he assures you, “Gimme one second.”

There’s some shuffling as he makes his way to the door, and your surprise at the thought of him carrying the phone with him across the room turns into a sinking feeling in your stomach as you hear the squeak of a door open and the muffled sounds of a woman’s voice. Your heart sinks as the memory of that day on his tour starts to play again in your mind, a cacophony of not again, I knew this would happen, I shouldn’t have trusted him filling your ears.

“-N? Y/N, you there?” You slowly blink back to reality as Elvis calls your name over the receiver, “Everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply hesitantly as he dives into an explanation about some crazy fan sneaking past security to his room. He pauses, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice.

“Y/N… you can talk to me, you know that, right? What’s wrong?” he says softly, and he sounds so genuine you want to cry.

“It’s… it’s silly…” you reply, embarrassed at the thought of telling him that that memory from all this years ago still haunts you.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to know if I can help,” he replies patiently.

You sigh, and launch into an explanation of that night back in ‘55. “You just hung up on me, and the last thing I heard was some woman’s voice, and I didn’t realize how much that hurt me until I started worrying about who you were with whenever you were gone for a long time.” You explain softly, nervously fiddling with the phone cord.

“So just now, when you heard that girl at my door…” he sighs, realization dawning on him, “that brought all that back, didn’t it? I’m sorry, Y/N.” He says, and the sincerity of his words does bring tears to your eyes this time.

“I’m alright, I promise,” you reassure him, “surprised you turned her down,” you tease, wanting to move on.

“I don’t do that kinda thing anymore,” he laughs, picking up on your attempt to move to another topic, “besides, why would I stop to talk to some stranger who thinks they know everything about me when I could talk to you?”

Your heart flutters at the compliment, and you hope he can’t tell how much you’re blushing over the phone, “Aw, you’re sweet.”

There’s a moment of silence; not an awkward one, but comfortable, like the two of you don’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company, even if it’s just on the phone. The moment is cut short, however, as Elvis speaks up again.

“I was thinkin’— and you’re free to say no, of course— well, Steve’s organizing this screening of the special before it airs. Right now it’s just Steve, Bones, Dad, Jerry, and me, but I’d like you to be there, too. Maybe get an opinion from someone who’s not family or paid to be nice to me.” He jokes.

“I’d love to,” you reply, “I’ll have to see if I can get off work, but if I can I’ll absolutely be there. And don’t worry, I’ll be brutally honest about the whole thing,” you add teasingly.

“I’m countin’ on it.” He laughs, “I’ll call once Steve has the day arranged and hopefully you can make it.”

The date Steve apparently figures out is November 19, two weeks before the special is actually set to air. Elvis relays to you that he’s arranged to do the screening at Graceland, and luckily you manage to convince your boss to give you both that day and the following day off for the long drive. Your parents are delighted to see you, of course, and you just barely miss the knowing smile on your mother’s face as you gush about how well your friendship with Elvis is going. Your father has warmed up to him the slightest bit, it seems, since your visit back in June, if the fact that he doesn’t scowl at every mention of Elvis’s name is any indication.

You take a deep breath as you pull up to Graceland. You force down the surfacing memories from the last time you were here, when Elvis officially put his career before you. Clean. Slate. you forcefully remind yourself as you step up to the front door.

The door swings open barely half a second after you ring the doorbell, and you find Elvis standing there, a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s a moment where the two of you simply stare at each other before he blinks, as if coming back to his senses, and steps aside to let you in. “Come on in, lemme introduce you to everybody,” he says, leading you to a room with not one, not two, but three TVs mounted into the wall, as one of his household staff comes to take your coat. 4 spaces on the immense couch taking up most of the space in the room are taken, one by his father and three others by people you don’t recognize. “This is Jerry, my manager,” Elvis says, gesturing to a man in a brown suit who looked to be in his late-20s with shaggy blondish hair, “and Steve and Bones, the masterminds behind this whole thing,” he introduces the two men sitting beside Jerry with a smile, one with neat brown hair and an ascot tied around his neck, the other with dark curly hair and round glasses. The three men give you various waves and smiles.

“And of course you know my dad,” Elvis finishes, gesturing to where he’s sitting next to Bones.

“Of course, hi Mr. Presley,” you say with a smile, coming over to shake his hand.

“Good to see you again, Y/N, how’ve ya been?” he asks as you take a seat next to him.

You’re hyperaware of Elvis sitting next to you as you make small talk with everyone, carefully leaning so that there’s a bit of distance between the two of you. As the screening begins, your attention is torn between the performance onscreen and real-life Elvis making jokes in your ear about “this is actually the take right after that goof I told you about—“ Your senses are full of him: the scent of his cologne, his arm brushing against yours, the feeling of his breath on your neck as he whispers to you, and it takes more and more of your energy to actually focus on the TVs in front of you.

About half an hour into the special, you excuse yourself and wander out to the hall, needing a break from the proximity. You don’t realize Elvis followed you out until his hand gently wraps around your wrist, making you jump.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were alright” he explains, releasing you.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “just… needed a break.”

“It was that bad?” he jokes, “Damn, I’ll have to let Steve know.”

You shake your head, “No, no, it’s not that, it’s…” You hesitate, unsure if you should say what the real reason is. Your friendship is going so well, you’re not sure how he’ll react if you admit that your feelings for him were back in full force, that in truth they never really left.

“What is it?” he asks, concern in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, deciding it’s now or never.

“I’m in love with you. I never really stopped being in love with you, if I’m being honest. But being with you these past few months, being your friend again… I’ve loved it. I’ve loved talking with you on the phone for hours about everything and nothing, seeing you talk with my parents like nothing’s changed, and I… I wanna try again. For real this time.” You bite your lip, nervously gauging his reaction.

“You— you mean that?” Elvis asks softly, eyes wide.

“Yes,” you reply, “I mean it.”

“Y/N, I’d… I’d love that. I promise,” he says sincerely, “I’ll do it right this time. I’ll be the man you deserve.” He steps closer, his lips now just a breath away from yours. “Can I—“ his eyes flick from looking into yours down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you right now.” he breathes.

You nod your consent, and he swoops down to capture your lips with his, one hand cupping your cheek while the other grips your waist, pulling you close. Your arms wind around his neck up into his hair, mussing the carefully styled locks as you savor the feeling of his lips velvet-soft against yours. He walks you backward until you’re pressed against the wall, his lips never leaving yours as his body presses against you. Eventually the need for air gets the better of you, and he reluctantly pulls away, keeping his forehead and nose pressed to yours as if he can’t bear to be any farther away. His blue eyes lock with yours as you catch your breath.

“I missed you so much,” he breathes, lips brushing against yours, and the amount of love clear in those 5 little words brings tears to your eyes.

“I missed you, too,” you reply softly, a smile spreading across your face.

The two of you stay like that for a while, pressed against the wall of the hallway, before Elvis mumbles “As much as I’d love to just stay here with you forever, we should probably get back before they notice we’re gone.”

“Oh, right,” you laugh sheepishly as you remember the reason you were there in the first place.

The two of you slip back into the TV room, your absence seemingly having gone unnoticed, and assume the spaces you had occupied before you left, with one small difference: your hand is intertwined with his throughout the rest of the screening.

Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @austin-butlers-gf @butlersluvbot @killerqueenfan @kittenlittle24 @beauvibaby @kingelviscreole @justjacesstuff @sweetheartlizzie07 @coldonexx @londonalozzy @kaycinema @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @djconde58 @mirandastuckinthe80s @luke-my-skywalker @tubble-wubble @apparently-sunshine @kisseskae @whotfatemywaffles @gyomei-tiddies @friedwangsss @shynovelist @sassy-ahsoka-tano @she-is-juniper

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #elvis (2022) #elvis 2022 #elvis biopic #elvis baz luhrmann #my writing #ickkspty #i can’t keep kissing strangers pretending they’re you

[cometomecosette]

"Les Misérables" musical character interpretations: Fantine

As usual, these three characterizations are all based on performances I've seen, either in person or filmed. They can also be, and often are, combined with each other to create still more characterizations. For example, Anne Hathaway's Oscar-winning Fantine in the film version is basically "the Ingénue," but with a distinct undertone of "the Fighter." And none of them are precisely Hugo's Fantine. I'd say that they all represent aspects of the character as Hugo wrote her, and that the ideal Fantine would blend all three of them, as the occasional actress does.

I'd like to thank @quarryquest for sending me the Fantine chapter of her book on the stage history of Les Mis just as I was in the middle of writing this. It provided excellent insights.

The Lady

         This Fantine, in the words of Victor Hugo, displays “a serious and almost austere dignity.” At the beginning, her dress and hair are as neat, clean, and pretty as factory work allows, and her bearing is strikingly graceful and refined. She clearly once knew a better, more elegant life before her lover abandoned her. This sets her apart from the rough, uneducated factory folk who surround her, and at first, she might seem slightly cold and haughty in her distance from them, which no doubt contributes to how quickly they turn on her. But “I Dreamed a Dream” earns all our sympathy as she sings of her lost happiness, while in “Lovely Ladies” she moves us further by slowly sacrificing all her elegance for her daughter. Yet she never loses her core of pride and dignity. While this Fantine has as much raw anguish as any other, she tries to hide it from her oppressors under a brave face. Though she might reach the verge of tears several times, she’ll rarely let herself cry. When the moment of selling her body arrives, she’ll swallow her grief and fear with the drink she’s given, and offer a firm, resolute hand to her first customer. Her “Come on, captain…” is sultry, but not drunk or grotesque; instead, her hard, cold tone evokes Hugo’s description of the fallen Fantine as having “turned to marble.” Her rejection of Bamatabois will be calm and businesslike until he turns violent, and when “Monsieur Madeleine” approaches her, she’ll express her anger with head held high, making it clear that she sees him as no better than herself. This Fantine is a gemstone that’s thrown into the mud of the streets, but never breaks.

The Ingénue

         This is a warmer, softer Fantine than the Lady, and whether the actress is twenty-five or forty, she’ll probably seem younger too. This characterization keeps in mind that Fantine’s name means “childlike” and that her “tragic flaw” in her past was her naïveté. Despite being an abandoned mother, she hasn’t entirely lost that naïveté at first. Her air of gentle innocence is what sets her apart from the other, more worldly factory folk, and throughout the factory scene she’ll be frightened and brutally shocked by the cruelty she faces. Then “I Dreamed a Dream” will overflow with anguish, and likely with tears too. With just cause, this Fantine is more prone to tears than any other. More than the loss of her dignity, the tragedy of “Lovely Ladies” is the loss of her innocence, which dies once and for all when she accepts her first prostitution client, crying or trembling with fear as she does so. What comes next will depend on whether the director thinks the “Old men, young men…” verse contains a time skip or not. If not, then this Fantine will be awkward and nervous on “Come on, captain…” still all too new to her profession. But if so, then she’ll reenter heartbreakingly transformed: staggering drunk, crudely flaunting her body, utterly disheveled and broken. Either way, she rejects Bamatabois out of rash fear, then claws at his face in rash, animalistic rage. Abuse and misery reduce this vulnerable young woman to behaving like a cornered stray dog or cat. Yet through it all, there’s never a doubt that her heart remains pure and tender, because everything she endures is for the sake of her little girl.

The Fighter

           This is the grittiest Fantine. Her portrayal reminds us that Hugo’s Fantine was an orphan who grew up on the streets and that he describes her as having “fierce courage.” This is a passionate, determined woman who boldly stands up to her oppressors and who battles all obstacles to provide for her daughter. Like the Lady, she values and defends her dignity, but hers is a stolid, down-to-earth working-class dignity, not aristocratic grace. In “At the End of the Day,” she’ll protect her letter from the Factory Girl with the fierceness of a mother bear, and her self-defense to the Foreman will be firm and simmering with frustration. Her “I Dreamed a Dream” will also be angry as well as anguished and yearning, and in “Lovely Ladies,” the chief tragedy will be that despite her valiant efforts to stay “above the water,” poverty pulls her under anyway. Her prostitution sequence may or may not be drunken, but it will most definitely be hard, brash, and filled with biting rage. In her bitterness, this fallen Fantine will recall Jean Valjean as a convict before the Bishop’s mercy, and when she confronts him about her firing, she’ll stop just short of attacking him. None of this means she lacks vulnerability or deep, heartbreaking sadness; like any Fantine, she has them in spades. But the way she combines them with strength and anger make her a more complex figure than other Fantines, and arguably, it makes the gentleness of her deathbed scene especially poignant. There, for the first time, we fully see the motherly tenderness that lies beneath her fire, and which has motivated her struggles all along.

More comparisons to come!

#les mis #les miserables #fantine #musical #characterizations #comparison #tw: violence #tw: prostitution #tw: death

[thefeatherwrites]

Love Is.

I wanted to do some head-cannons of the three boys and my oc's for each of them. Their own lore, my own happiness. I love the idea of love, especially theirs.

Unedited, as per usual. Fluffy like a cloud. No angst this time, I promise. Sweet like your favorite piece of candy, unless you like sour candy... then just humor me and pretend.

Garreth Weasley loves the way she smiles when no one else is looking. The way her dark brunette hair waves in the wind, leaving behind the calming scents of her mint and eucalyptus shampoo in her wake. His heart swells when she encourages him to continue his experiments, even helping him keep organized notes and lists to look back on for improvements.

Her eyes, his favorite shade of green that would rival the fresh leaves of spring. The sound of her voice may sound harsh to others, but they have never heard her sing such sweet melodies when she thinks no one is listening.

He loves watching her eyes sparkle with the cracks of thunder, sitting on the windowsill as the rain falls with its torrential downpour. He revels in the way she humbles him, meeting his witty banter that almost always ends with her victorious wry grin.

He melts when she makes the first move, whether it be just a simple kiss or something more. His skin tingles with anticipation as she taunts him with small acts of affection, growing steadily as the day goes on until it becomes almost unbearable.

His breath hitches when she whispers sultry remarks in his ear, noting everything she loves about him, especially when it comes to his cock. His mind goes blank when he watches her beautiful face twist into pure ecstasy as he helps her ride out her orgasm, listening to her scream his last name as if it wasn't going to someday be her own.

He often imagined how she would react when he would propose to her, to see if she would give him a different smile or scream in delight, knowing that she would find her family in him. But oh, how he adored the way his last name looked with hers.

To Garreth, love is his number one fan, Julianna.

Sebastian Sallow loves the way her heart seems to grow with every passing day. How she never gave up on him, no matter how dark of a path he went down, always waiting to envelop him in her small but firm and warm hugs.

Her hair shined like gold in the summer sun, reminding him of the princesses Anne would read aloud to him when they were smaller. He could easily find himself lost in her sapphire blue eyes, more precious than any jewel in the world. He found her simply adorable every time he spotted her in a crowd, sporting her signature pink bow in her hair as she hurried to her classes.

He loved to watch her dance, even attempting to join her when she asked, because she had him wrapped around her tiny finger. While he was intrigued by her often foolish bravery, he felt honored that she always went to him for protection, making him feel important even on his worst days.

He enjoyed watching her run through the fields of the highlands, picking the wildflowers that bloomed in the spring, even though their beauty paled in comparison to her gorgeous smile. His heart could burst from his chest every time she pulled him close, having to stand on her tip toes just to kiss him.

He would moan loudly when she would pleasure him, only ever showing her disheveled side to him as she sloppily sucks his cock until his face flushed a deep shade of red. His eyes would darken as he watched her squirm under him, easily taking him as he fucked her into oblivion, begging him with her soft voice to go faster.

He had dreamed about how she would look on their wedding day, to see her in a dress that made her look like the angel she truly was. He looked at the ring in his hand, one that once graced his mother's finger, would now grace his future wife who had been his best friend since childhood.

To Sebastian, love is his beacon of light in the dark, Adeline.

Ominis Gaunt loves the way he can hear her footsteps glide into the room and immediately command the attention of everyone present. How she would always find him, ensuring his safety and comfortability, caring for him in a way no one else ever has.

Her hair reminded him of the moon, white with highlights of silver that only added to her ethereal beauty. Her eyes shined like stars, the rare gray-purple color accentuating her freckles that dotted her nose and rosy lips that seemed to hypnotize him easily.

He often enjoyed the way she was a creature of habit, from having the same cup of tea every morning to her nightcap of deliciously sweet liquor that he could often taste on her lips. He was moved by the way she dressed, always styling herself with soft fabrics that accentuated her curves and felt pleasing to his touch.

He loved to listen to her on the piano, hearing the melancholic melodies she often played as he would sometimes accompany her or just sit and listen to the sounds her delicate but strong fingers hit the keys. The hairs on his skin would raise when he listened to her commanding voice, shouting orders to wizards for their next move and yelling out dangerous dark magic towards their foes.

He did however, also enjoy her soft moans when he took charge in their bedroom. He felt excruciatingly aroused as he let his tongue snake across her neck, leaving welts of colorful bruises in his wake. His mouth would gape open as her once commanding voice, now sweetly shouting his name as they came together, basking in the afterglow of their hours long love making session just before they begin another.

He always reached out for her left hand when they strolled the gardens, twisting her wedding band in place, thanking every god that would listen that she came back into his life. He couldn't begin to describe how striking she looked on their wedding day, no matter how chaotic the circumstances were.

To Ominis, love is his fallen star from the sky, Estelle.

#hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy garreth #hogwarts legacy ominis #sebastian sallow #garreth weasley #ominis gaunt #I love love #no angst this time #I'm getting better with spice #roll with it

[zkaus]

Lestat the Rockstar?

Apparently, 'Rockstar Lestat' will appear in Season 3 of Interview With The Vampire. Which genre do think? Rock? Metal? Pop?! Folk!?

With Sam's (frankly extraordinary!) capacity and versatility, anything's possible! But before I give my opinion...

Interestingly, Anne Rice did actually tell us who inspired Lestat's Rockstar look. This very attractive (if unfortunately hairstyled) young man:

Jon Bon Jovi

At the time, Bon Jovi was part of the 80s 'Glam Metal' genre. A subgenre of 'Heavy Metal', with 'Glam Rock' influenced music, make-up, colourful fabrics, and androgynous aesthetic (Yes, please!!)

I mean... Yeah, Jon in the 80s was fucking sexy!

He had this sultry, sexually charged, yet playful confidence that just perfectly fits Lestat. (Except for the hideous fluffy mullet. Hard NOooo! Rolin, Don't you dare do that to poor Sam!) Jon dominated the stage, hyped up the crowd, and could belt it out like almost no one else!

But, unflattering hair aside, the REAL question is... Who could be our modern day equivalent?

Who has the same sexy rockstar charisma? Who knows how to command a stage?

I can think of one strong contender... Someone who (surely!) won't be a surprise to many of you!

Damiano David, the lead singer of Måneskin. An Italian band with fantastic music!! (I'm not kidding, they're actually really good musicians!!)

Damiano has the perfect glam rock inspired, genre and gender bending style, (much nicer hair!) and incredible Rockstar charisma!

See what I mean?!

Also... Tell me Lestat wouldn't ROCK that look!?

Here he is on stage at Coachella:

Let's all take a moment to visualise Sam in that harness, thigh high boots and pink dress combo.. HARD Yes!! Right?

TLDR: In my opinion, Lestat needs a band like Måneskin to be his extraordinarily extravagantly extroverted self. I think Damiano (and Måneskin), could be a perfect modern 'inspiration' for Lestat's 'Rockstar' persona.

What do you think, good fit? Or do you think they'll will go with something different?

What look/style would you like to see for Lestat?

#it has to be #Måneskin #obviously! #interview with the vampire #sam reid #amc iwtv #jon bon jovi #iwtv amc #the vampire lestat #iwtv #lestat de lioncourt #bon jovi #eurovision #damiano david #sam reid in a mullet would be hilarious #but also terrible!

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Anne Bancroft (The Graduate, The Miracle Worker)— This woman aged like fine wine. Anne's presence is magnetic. She's the focus if any scene regardless if whether she's meant to be or not. She is gorgeous in everything she did, and really carries that classic vintage flair.

Dalida (Le masque de Toutankhamon)— She's probably mostly known for her songs, at least in my country, but she *also* had an international acting career! Ah, Dalida. Queer icon, tragic figure, very talented singer and actress - in Arabic, English, French, Italian, and more! Magnetic, sensual, even from one very early films [link] or a young Dalida, singing and dancing! [link]) That unique gaze, the strong, compelling jawline, the deep, sexy voice - what's not to love?

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Dalida propaganda:

Anne Bancroft propaganda:

“legendary milf. she does sultry so well but also tenderness. has a tony And an oscar for acting.”

“Obviously she’s a phenomenal actress overall and she plays the number 1 milf of all time in The Graduate. She IS the Mrs. Robinson that Simon & Garfunkel are singing about. If you’re not a milf lover though, I highly recommend Don’t Bother to Knock. Marilyn Monroe is also in the movie, but hoo boy I had eyes for ONE woman and it was not the blonde! It’s one of her earliest movies, she is strikingly beautiful in it, and I turned to mush whenever she was on screen. Also she was married to Mel Brooks for 40 years, and given that long marriages are a rarity in old Hollywood I’m happy to see it”

#dalida #anne bancroft #hotvintagepoll #ladies 1 #fuck that old woman

[servantofthefates]

How Hot are Tarot’s Kings & Queens?

The King of Wands

He leads the pack. His face is naturally attractive. His body is usually between bulky and slender, making him the perfect size, per society’s standards. The way he carries himself is the ideal blend of carefree and sultry. In his current age, he is the likes of Brad Pitt. Back as a knight, he was Stefanos Tsitsipas in sports and Damon Salvatore in fiction.

The King of Cups

This king is not always physically attractive. He may be too skinny, too fat or too short for most of society. But even so, his sex appeal, intelligence or mysteriousness usually puts him on par with the King of Wands. Leonardo DiCaprio was a Knight of Wands who matured into a King of Cups. Keanu Reeves is another example.

The King of Pentacles

Objectively, he is just as — if not more — attractive than the King of Wands. But due to his funny or nice guy image, he is never quite as magnetic as the first two. There is just no enigma that draws. This king tends to be very bulky. He is Marvel’s Thor, and Henry Cavill. Jason Momoa is another, though his character Khal Drogo is a King of Wands.

The King of Swords

He is the least attractive. When the King of Cups presents as distant, he comes off as mysterious and thus even more enticing. When the King of Wands does the same, he comes off as a bad boy — a type many are drawn to. But when this king does so, he becomes invisible or repelling. Think Severus Snape, Stannis Baratheon and BBC’s Uther Pendragon.

The Queen of Wands

Leading the pack with natural beauty and a loud personality to match is the Queen of Wands. She was Angelina Jolie back when she was being portrayed as the other woman. She is Katherine Pierce and a younger Cersei Lannister in fiction. She is Naomi Campbell and Tyra Banks with their very public feud.

The Queen of Cups

She is also beautiful. But her beauty is considered safe, compared to the Queen of Wands’. In other words, she looks like an angel, not a homewrecker. She is actress Anne Hathaway and The Lord of the Rings’ Arwen. A younger version would be Sansa Stark or Daenerys Targaryen in the earlier parts of the series.

The Queen of Swords

She wants no man. And if we consider only her average to above-average looks, we would assume it is because she knows no man would want her back anyway. But such is not the case. Her strength, cruelty or intelligence makes her attractive to many. She is Bellatrix Lestrange in fiction; and Sigourney Weaver, courtesy of her infamous tough woman roles.

The Queen of Pentacles

She does not look terrible. She is on par with the Queen of Swords, though she is far more feminine, of course. But nobody marries her for passion. Men look at her and think she would be a loyal wife and a caring mother. That is all. She is how Jennifer Aniston was portrayed by Brangelina’s fans. She is Catelyn Stark, when compared to Cersei Lannister.

#Tarot tips #Witch tips #Tarot #Tarot meanings #servantofthefates #Witchblr #Divination #Tarot court cards #All About Tarot

[andforlovessake]

✿ My Creepypasta Headcannons List Pt. 1 ✿

Original: Jeffrey Woods/Hodek/Mason

My Version: Kai Roman Hodek

Younger brother to Andrew, Jeff calls him Drew for short.

Drives a beat-up truck that his dad gave him when he got his license.

Metalhead.

Enjoys collecting knives.

Has very prominent, blue sanpaku eyes.

Around 6'0; about the same height as his brother.

Asocial, leaning more on the quiet side (particularly when he was in high school).

Observant (has a staring problem, lol), but helpful when there are bad people around.

Bit of an asshole.

Doesn't have noticeable facial scars, but has scars on other parts of body.

Super good at swimming and athletic things, but didn't play sports in high school because he thought it was a waste of time.

Not pale because of bleach, just natural skintone.

Anger issues, and is really bad at confessing his feelings.

But speaks him mind in ways that are insensitive to others.

And when he genuinely cares about someone, he would do whatever it takes to protect them.

Has a deep, gravely voice that is a bit husky (kinda like David Near's interpretation or BadHabitASMR on YT).

Has many piercings (industrial on left ear, various rings on helix, septum, gauges eyebrow, and snake bites).

Wears lots of rings and paints his nails black.

Has a tattoo on his upper arm (maybe an intricate skull or patchwork tattoos).

Wears hoodies, pull-overs, overall, sweaters, sweatpants, baggy jeans, and combat boots.

Has a Siberian Husky named Axel <33.

Original: Eyeless Jack

My Version: Daniel Isaac Washington <3

Is Black and wears locs with hair accessories, twists, and fros.

Intelligent, perceptive (knows Kai likes Whitney), and sweet.

Cambion (half demon, half human).

Has a deeper, sultry voice.

Loves reading in his free time, and his favorite aesthetic is dark academia (thus he dresses this way).

Is cognizant of his demonic side and tries to feed on animals instead of humans, but sometimes it falls through and he feels guilty.

Has gauges.

Is not blind, just has blacked-out eyes.

Sometimes wears glasses.

Def listens to Tool and A Perfect Circle. Will indulge Jeff in his heavier music, but prefers classic and avant-garde and prog rock.

Named local stray cat that he cares for 'Kobe'. He is Black kitty :3.

Friends with Kai.

Can sometimes over-analyze people and make them feel negatively about themselves without meaning to do so. Like, he would overuse logic in situations that also require emotions. He is trying to work on it!!!

Original Character: Liu Woods/Hodek/Mason

My Version: Andrew (Drew) Finn Hodek

Jeff's older brother.

Has similar features to Jeff but has short, brown hair and prominent green eyes.

Has a white kitty :)

Mellow and chill.

Tends to see the bright side in things, which can get him in trouble at times.

Really likes hiking and anything outdoors.

Has to get his crazy ass brother together sometimes.

Enjoys Indie Rock.

Does not have facial or bodily scars.

Closer to their parents. They were not abusive physically, but were emotionally absent, leading to Kai demonstrating the same behaviors. Drew more often got along with his parents whereas Kai was always pegged as the "bad kid." Therefore, it has caused a bit of a rift between them.

Has a hard time understanding his brother's emotions, but mostly because Kai has a hard time letting him in.

Overall, Kai views Drew as being too passive and Drew views Kai as being too judgmental.

Original Character: Sally Williams

My Version: Sallie Ann Noel

She's so cuteee <333

A little Black girl, 8-10 years old.

Wears her natural hair, such afro puffs :))))

Isn't a ghost.

Sweet and cute.

Views Whitney as an older sister, calls her Winnie :)

Really likes playing with Axel.

Has lots of plushies, but her favorite is her bunny.

Needs glasses but only wears them sometimes (Whitney has to remind her to wear them).

Is precious and must be protected at all costs.

Enjoys listening to genres of music.

Has a small ginger cat :)

Super accepting of everyone and is non-judgmental.

Is willing to do things for others, but sometimes hurts others in the process such as stealing or destroying things to give to others.

You just gotta sit down with her and tell her that you can't just pull flowers out of the neighbors yard just because she'd think they'd look pretty in your hair :')

Original Character and My Version: Tobias Erin Rodgers

Has Congenital Insensitivity to Pain and Anhydrosis (CIPA). Due to this, he also has dermatillomania/excoriation (skin-picking) which often leads to him bleeding. He does this ALOT when he is immensely stressed out.

Side Note: Because he doesn't feel pain, he has hella piercings, like about the same amount if not more than Kai. Likewise, he would try to freak his friends out by pulling on them, but one time he pulled too hard and his skin came with it. Thankfully, he hasn't done it since.

Normally quiet and inward, though if provoked his anger becomes more outwardly visible. He is better able to keep it under control versus Kai, but will still lash out if messed with.

Moreover, Kai will bother him to get a reaction, leading him to dislike Kai.

Tries to mask his tics, causing them to sound strained in his voice and body. They are more pronounced when he is feeling intense emotions such as anger or anxiety.

His mother is alive but he cannot bring himself to visit her. He still feels somewhat guilty for what he did to his "father".

Hides many of his insecurities by pushing others away.

Used to be sympathetic to others but became jaded overtime. It takes a longer time to form a friendship with him.

But, once he warms up to someone, he will also be super loyal to them. Moreover, physical touch would be his platonic and intimate language!! This mf will SMOTHER YOU.

He just really needs a hug, he's touch-starved :'(

Original Character: Ben Drowned

My Version: Benjamin (Ben) Evan Hope

Loves Smashing Pumpkins and shoegaze in general.

Can be a brat and complains when he doesn't get what he wants.

Enjoys dancing and is really good at it.

Stoner.

Friends with mostly everyone, but is close with very few people that really know him.

Has extreme anxiety but masks it with humor.

Chill and relaxed (but low-key likes to watch drama play out). But, if things get too heated, he'll step in as a voice of reason (usually between Ben and Toby since he is friends with both of them).

Homebody, but will go out to parties occasionally.

And when he does, he is the LIFE of the party, which can turn into him having the worst hangover the next day because he indulged too much :(

Sometimes, he appears to not take things seriously, but in reality he has a hard time facing the stressful thing that is happening.

Original Character and My Version: Clockwork/Natalie (Nat) Rachel Outlette

Is SUPER hard to warm up to at first.

She tends to be like Kai and say things that are on her mind that can be insensitive, but she really doesn't care how others take it.

She jokes in a way that comes off as rude, but once you warm up to her and become friends, she'll literally be like a guard dog.

For example, she is closer to Toby and will fight Kai for bothering him, but Toby usually tries to stop her because. he doesn't want her involved.

She's just super loyal but can also be territorial to new people.

It's something that she knows she does, but she kinda is okay with it since it can drive bad people away (but then it is hard for her to make friends).

Is a natural leader and is really good at organizing things or handling intense conflict (outside of fighting).

Is the first one to calm people down and make them think clearly.

I will make a part 2 eventually and I have faceclaims for mostly all my characters, just still figuring them out :)

#ᯓ🔪 creepypasta!!! #ᯓ🗝 lore!!! #creepypasta #jeff the killer #eyeless jack #smile dog #sally williams #homicidal liu #ticci toby #ben drowned #creepypasta fandom #clockwork

[love-pinups]

Ann Blyth looking very sultry. Ann is still alive and will be turning 95 this August!!!❤️❤️

#ann blyth #beautiful #sexy #old hollywood #pin up #cheesecake #classic hollywood #pinupgirl #classic beauty #vintage #retro beauty #retro sexy #retro babe #beautiful women #natural beauty #the golden age of hollywood #retro hair #vintage beauty #beautiful brunette #beautiful hair #still alive #singer #that voice