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#70s fans
ibrithir-was-here · 7 months
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How the heck is there not more talk about Tanith Lee??
Like my gosh, the woman wrote, according to her wiki, 90 books, over 300 short stories, two World Fantasy Awards, and was the first woman to win the British Fantasy Award/Augus Derleth Award and wrote for tv shows.
Like, it's not like she just wrote a heck ton but wasn't very good! She was clearly very good she won awards, and i've read a swath of her stuff across different genres and really enjoyed most of it. I mean that even if not each one has been my cup of tea I can at least appreciate the skill and quite a lot I have truly enjoyed. She's got great prose and style and imagination. Not everything obviously was a banger, but they've all been at least well written, which is harder to come by in writing than you might think.
But nobody ever seems to talk about her?? And I feel like the fantasy crowd on here would really enjoy her stuff. The woman has done stuff in pretty much every genre from what I can see, but I never see her listed on fantasy authors like Clive Barker or Diana Wynne Jones or Neil Gaiman or Terry Pratchett or Diane Duane even though she was writing at the same time and has a similar sort of '80s Doing Cool Stuff with Fantasy vibe' I feel like people who like those authors would enjoy though she's very much her own style of author.
Anyway this was really just me putting out a rant that such a prolific and talented author seems to have fallen by the wayside and I think it's really a shame
Heck she even did a witch-queen fighting againt vampire Snow White a whole decade before Neil Gaiman did his phenomenal Snow Glass Apples and it's also excellent, give a look here:
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lackadaisycal-art · 14 days
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Puttin on the riiiiiiiitz 🧟‍♂️
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theantichris · 21 days
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I did my best to draw Klinger from "M*A*S*H", but he's pretty hard to get right. Oh well, still fab and slaying!
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lonelyzarquon · 7 months
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Are you telling me that an ape that lived two million years ago got out of that crate, killed the baggage man and put him in there, then locked everything up neat and tidy, and got away?
Horror Express (1972) Eugenio Martín
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kthmlk · 8 months
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Stan, tie those up please
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allwhiterain · 2 months
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Sissy Spacek as Carrie White in Carrie (1976) directed by Brian De Palma
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vintagegeekculture · 5 months
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John Carlance fan art, 1976.
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spirk-trek · 2 months
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someone please let these men ride ponies they've been waiting 58 years
Galactic Discourse Fanzine | Beverly Zuk & Gayle F, 1978
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gleafer · 3 months
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Feeling nostalgic! ❤️
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wanderingelvis · 3 months
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Omggg cg!Elvis x littleF!reader who’s sick and keeps slipping into littlespace cuz of how sick she is so he takes care of her despite the possibility of him getting sick? 🥺
Thank you so much for the request!! I hope you like it <3
🧚 Masterlist 🧚
Word count: 2,135
Pairing: Early 70's CG!Elvis x Little F!Reader
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Oh Lord, you were trying so hard, so so hard to be a big girl.
You knew that Elvis had so much on his schedule, the Colonel was working him and you too by default. You'd been on the road with Elvis, helping out where you could like the good little girlfriend you were, but it had become all a bit too much and you had caught some sort of bug that was making you feel all kinds of miserable.
And when you were ill, well, that was the most sure fire way for you to slip into little space. You just weren't very good at being independent and coping with the overwhelming and horrible feelings you were having.
But you were trying, you really, really were. You didn't want to interfere with the schedule, Elvis had a lot on his mind and you'd be damned to cross paths with the Colonel when there was so much money to be made. Even when you were feeling your best, you still didn't like to even be in the same room as the Colonel.
All morning you'd felt achey, sore and tingly all over with a fever creeping in. Naturally, you'd been quieter than usual, trying to stop yourself from slipping but it was becoming inevitable.
Your body just wasn't strong enough and you felt exhausted and vulnerable as you sat in Elvis' dressing room as he did a run-through of his show tonight.
You'd found a spare blanket and you were curled up in the corner of the large couch as members of staff and the Memphis Mafia alike walked past you, a few giving concerned looks your way, in particular, Red, who watched as you rested your head on your arms and closed your eyes.
See, being in the state that you were in meant that you had absolutely no concept of time and when you were woken from the light slumber you were in, you had no idea how long you'd been asleep for.
"Baby?" That familiar deep, Southern voice hushed, laced with concern as your eyes sleepily opened, staring up at Elvis who was studying your state with worry on his face after Red had told him that you seemed unusually low today.
You blinked adorably up at him and if you weren't so apparently sick, Elvis would do the most unspeakable things to you.
Elvis sighed, realising how wiped and sick you were as he put the back of his coarse hand on your forehead to check your temperature, which was far too high for his liking.
You couldn't bring yourself to speak, you felt all achey and sore and your head was just so fuzzy that you were pretty much ready to let tears spill down your cheeks.
And Elvis could tell. He'd been with you for long enough now to know your little space 'tells'. You'd go non-verbal, your eyes would get all big and round and glossy, because even after all this time, you still got nervous about being little in front of Elvis - a fact that Elvis actually thought was very sweet and endearing. You'd start chewing on something too, whether it was your toy stuffy, your lip or your fingers, you'd chew on something as you tried to get all your thoughts in order. And there you were, chewing on your lip as you trembled from the fever.
"Oh little one, you ain't feelin' too good huh?" Elvis cooed, to which you shook your head ever so slightly. "Oh baby. Need me to look after you, princess?" Elvis asked as you pushed yourself up feebly, the blanket pooling by your waist as you nodded and rubbed your eyes sweetly.
Effortlessly, Elvis scooped you up in his big, strong arms and your head automatically went to rest on his shoulder as you began to chew on your fingers anxiously, wanting this horrible feeling to go away.
"Y/N is comin' down with somethin' nasty, I'm gon' take care of her, let everyone know they can go home, I ain't leavin' her today." Elvis said to Jerry before he carried you to his private elevator that took him right to the suite that the two of you shared at the top of the International.
As soon as the doors closed, Elvis began to rock you gently. "Gon' get you undressed baby, take off all yer clothes and get you in the tub, give you some medicine that's gon' make you feel all good n'better then we're gon' get you into bed to rest n' take it easy. How does that sound pretty girl?" Elvis soothed.
You nodded into his shoulder, feeling vulnerable and weak as he held you tightly, you couldn't help but let out a couple of sniffles too.
"Little one, d'ya think you can use your words f'me?" Elvis said. He knew you'd go non-verbal whenever you were feeling overwhelmed and little, and usually he wouldn't push you, but when you were feeling little and sick, he needed to know that you could still understand what he was saying and there wasn't anything more serious that was underlying.
"J-Just, don't feel good Daddy." You whimpered and oh if Elvis' heart hadn't broken in two when he first saw you on that couch, it certainly had now.
The name that you'd just called him was definitive confirmation that you were deep in little space and you needed to be treated as delicately as possible.
"I know baby, I know you don't, Daddy's gon' take care of you." Elvis promised, kissing the top of your head as you got out of the elevator into the suite.
Elvis wasted no time in taking you straight to the bathroom, sitting you atop the bathroom the counter as he rolled up the sleeves on his blue silk shirt, one that you'd actually picked out for him because you thought he would look "extra pretty" in it and began to run the bathtub full of warm water for you. He then went through the bathroom cabinet, through the one that held all of the medicines you may need for any particular reason, before he found the right one for your fever and chills.
"Now, you gotta be a brave girl f'me, I know this don't taste too good baby, but it's gon' help make you better, 'kay?" Elvis said as he poured the medicine onto a spoon, ready to feed you as you watched on, grimacing a bit, you hated having to take medicine.
"I don't wanna..." You practically whispered.
"Darlin', I know it ain't nice, but you gotta take it like a good girl, can you do that fr'me?" Elvis said, his tone becoming a little sterner than before, you taking your medicine is not something he was going to compromise on.
You nodded but not without small tears forming, making Elvis feel quietly guilty, he wished that it was him that was sick, he'd give anything to swap places with you. It really did pain him to see you in this state.
"Okay, open them pretty lips fr'me angel, just like that, good." Elvis encouraged as he fed you the spoon with the medicine.
He used his pointer finger on his other hand to poke just under your jaw ever so slightly to close your mouth around the spoon. "Good." He hissed, nodding in approval at how good you were being.
Slowly, he took the spoon out of your mouth as he studied your face, your eyes staring up at him as your nose scrunched up at the sour tasting medicine.
"Baby, that medicine ain't gon' do a damn thing stuck in your mouth like that." Elvis half-heartedly chuckled, knowing you were being a little too stubborn for your own good. "Swallow." He commanded gently.
And, like the good girl you were, you did just that - although with a grimace on your sweet little face the entire time.
"Good girl." Elvis praised softly, as he began to take off your clothes for your bath.
You watched as his coarse, ring-clad hands traced your skin, causing shivers to travel through your already sensitive skin. Elvis hushed you reassuringly, saying sweet nothings to reassure you that you were okay, that he was your Daddy and he was going to make you better, and you believed him.
After you were fully undressed and after Elvis checked the water temperature, Elvis helped you into the tub where you instantly loved the sensation of the hot water on your shivering skin.
"Does my little girl like that?" Elvis smiled warmly as he watched you smile for the first time today, even if it was only a small one.
You nodded as you brought your knees to your chest to rest your head on your knees, your head tilted so you could watch your Daddy.
Elvis grabbed a loofah and took to gently washing you, getting you all soapy and lathered up in the suds as he watched you practically preen in delight at his touch.
"Bein' such a good girl fr' Daddy, ain'tcha?" Elvis soothed.
"Yes Daddy." You said sweetly, your eyes closed in bliss as Elvis continued to wash you all over.
"That's right, that's my girl." Elvis praised as he held out one of your arms to wash it, as if you were some sort of a doll for him to move as he pleased. You were so malleable and so sweet and Elvis loved nothing more than to take care of you.
When Elvis was done washing you, he scooped you up out of the tub and wrapped you up in a fluffy towel, holding you tightly and peppering you in kisses, eliciting a few soft giggles from you.
He knew you were feeling little, you were so overwhelmed and he knew the last week had taken it's toll on you. You were a little people pleaser, so much so, that you'd taken on much more than sweet, little you could manage. You would comply to anyones request and you'd caused yourself to become burnt out and Elvis couldn't help but feel responsible for not stepping in sooner - even if he knew that if he had stepped in, you would've begged him to let you help out as much as possible because you were just a little angel sent from heaven. Elvis quickly got you dressed into your favourite pyjamas that you wore when you were feeling little. They had cartoon horses on them and you'd adorably named each one, one morning whilst Elvis was reading his paper and drinking his morning coffee.
He took special care as he dressed you, mindful that your body was still tender and sore.
As Elvis led you to your bed, you began to feel all drowsy and achey again, making you extra clingy and needy with Elvis, but he secretly didn't mind.
Elvis tucked you up in bed and placed your stuffed bunny in your little grasp, smoothing back your hair that had fallen in front of your face.
After placing a kiss atop of your head, Elvis began to make his way from the bedroom to let you sleep before he heard a whine come from your lips.
"Oh honey, what's the matter?" Elvis cooed, making his way back to the bed before you reached out your arms wide and made grabby hands at Elvis, making him chuckle ever so.
"Daddy, stay," You whimpered. You were not in any fit state to not be close to Elvis. "Don't go, need you." You mumbled cutely.
Elvis smirked as he began to remove his shoes and get atop the bed, next to you, placing one arm across the pillows where your head rested so that you were able to slot into his side and snuggle into him as you clasped onto your stuffed bunny too.
"I ain't goin' anywhere baby, now rest your eyes honey, you need to get your strength back little one." Elvis instructed, his fingers running through your hair, sending shivers through you as you let your eyes close.
Elvis continued to play with your hair as he reached over to his bed-side table with his other hand and grab the telephone.
"Jer? Yeah, Jer, tell the Colonel to tell whoever needs to know that the show ain't happenin' tonight, reschedule, cancel, I don't care. I gotta take care of Y/N, ain't no way I'm leavin' her tonight, not in the state she's in. Okay. Thanks Jer." Elvis said into the receiver before putting it down again.
You couldn't help but feel bad as you nestled into Elvis' side. "Daddy?" You said meekly.
"Yes baby?"
"You don't got to cancel your show Daddy." You said softly, your big eyes looking up at his blue ones.
"Little one, I ain't ever wanna do a show if you ain't in the crowd." Elvis said firmly and you knew he wasn't going to budge on the matter - and with that you drifted off in the arms of your Daddy.
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alwaysthesunflowers7 · 5 months
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Flash
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blu-ish · 2 months
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*Throws you a piece of my Sonadow fankid AU and runs*
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cupid-styles · 8 months
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come on, disco queen*
Word count: 6,200+
70s!Harry and virgin fmc!! Enjoy disco bbs 🪩🍒💌🔮🫶🏼🩷
Smut CWs: dirty talk, talk of anal, fingering, squirting, fmc being a pillow princess hehe
Daisy's limbs are haphazardly thrown askew over the length of the couch when Harry walks into the apartment he shares with his sister, Willow.
He resists the urge to roll his eyes at her appearance; her stature barely covered in a crocheted halter top and a hopelessly tiny pair of denim shorts. She's barefoot, eyes closed and buried in the crook of her elbow. He assumes he's sleeping as he kicks his sneakers off and moseys into the kitchenette, focusing on the all-consuming dryness coating his throat and mouth.
San Diego in the middle of summer was not for the faint of heart.
She lifts her head up when her ears perk up at the sound of someone shuffling through the kitchen. She expects to see Willow, but instead is met with Harry, and huffs, dramatically tossing her head back against the woven pillow.
"Don't you have a home?" Harry finally bites, breaking the silence between the two. The only other sound echoing through the area of the apartment is the large fan Harry managed to snag with some leftover cash from his paycheck earlier this summer. Even though it's not efficient enough to cool down the entire place, it's decent at breaking down the sticky humidity.
"It's too hot to move." Daisy mutters. He glances over, trying to ignore her uncovered midriff and the way her breasts are barely covered by the white stitches of her top. This time, he does roll his eyes — it's not that he doesn't like his sister's best friend, it's just that if she was going to hang around the apartment, especially without Willow, then maybe she could cover up just a little bit more.
"Better start pitching in for electric then," he utters between sips of lukewarm tap water. "Willow still at work?"
Daisy sits up now, her long brown hair mussed by what Harry can only assume is an afternoon of laying down on his couch. She nods, blinking her eyes slowly as they adjust to the warmth of the room. It was one of Harry's favorite parts of the apartment — the way the sun hit in the late afternoon, effectively making it glow.
"Yeah. I think she swapped shifts with the pregnant girl she works with so she went in later. Think she said something about being home around 10 tonight?"
Harry nods as he finishes his glass of water, giving it a quick rinse and placing it on the dish towel they used for drying.
"You sticking around then?" he asks, leaning his hip against the refrigerator and crossing his arms over his chest. Daisy shrugs and glances up at the clock, her eyebrows raising slightly when she reads the time.
"Was thinking about hitting the record store before they close. I wanted to grab that new Fleetwood Mac album. I haven't been able to get that one song out of my head since I heard it on the radio the other day — you can go your own way, or something?"
Harry nods knowingly. He'd been a fan of Fleetwood since they release their last album and had been first in line to snag their most recent.
"Rumours, yeah?" He asks, and Daisy lights up, her eyes wide, "I have it. There's this one incredible song — "Dreams" — and it's all Stevie. The lyrics are amazing."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Harry replies, "I'm surprised you didn't already snag it when it came out."
Daisy works at the local record store which, if Harry's being completely honest, is kind of his dream job. He thinks it's really cool that she gets to check out all the newest music and has first dibs on albums, even if their music taste differed sometimes — he tended to lean more towards Led Zeppelin, while Daisy favored Donna Summer.
"It's been sold out for ages," Daisy says with a shrug, "I swear, there was a week where it was the only record I sold."
Harry chuckles at that and opens the refrigerator, reaching in to grab a can of Miller.
"You want one? I moved the player into my room 'cos of that party Willow threw a few weeks ago, when that kid almost ralphed all over it," Harry rolls his eyes, "We can listen to it in there, if you want."
Admittedly, Daisy is taken aback just a tad. She's been hanging around Willow for the past few years — she's originally from the Pacific Northwest and moved out to San Diego shortly after graduating high school, chasing a pipe dream on the tail end of '60s-fueled free love, only to find a major culture change in the early '70s.
The war out in Vietnam had created a ton of tension and, on her second day here, she spent the morning at a diner, her green eyes widened and glued to the hazy television reporting on the latest death count. She rolled her eyes when an older man huffed past her, mumbling something under his breath about being a sensitive hippie — she wasn't, she just had a compassionate heart — but she felt slightly seen when one of the waitresses sat down in the booth next to her, coffee pot in her hand, her own face crawling with horror.
They sat there in silence as the local news anchor read off the names of American soldiers that had passed in combat.
"'s heartbreaking, isn't it?"
Daisy turned to look at the waitress, a tanned, fresh-faced girl with curly brown hair.
"Totally freaky," Daisy sighed out with a shake of her head.
"You know anyone out there?" The girl asked, nudging her chin the direction of the television. Daisy was fortunate; she'd known a few guys from high school that had been unlucky enough to get drafted shortly after their 17th birthday, but that was it.
"No, thankfully not. You?"
The waitress pursed her lips, "No. My brother would've gotten picked for sure if he was an American citizen. Lucky for us, we're still working on the whole immigration thing. Brits and whatever."
"That's a trip." Daisy breathed, and the girl nodded.
"Totally." She stood from the booth and reached over to refill Daisy's coffee cup. "Are you new to town?"
"What, the duffel give it away?" Daisy smirked, making the girl laugh out loudly.
"Far out. Do you have a place to stay? You seem nifty, my brother and I have some room if you need a couch to crash on."
The rest, she supposes, is history.
Daisy only stayed at Harry and Willow's place for a month or so before nabbing a job at Sam's Records. Thanks to their generosity, she was able to save up to snag a small loft in the neighborhood, but she was happy.
She was especially happy when she was around Harry, too.
He didn't express a huge interest in Daisy, and she soon found out it was because he was a casanova of sorts. He worked hard, enough to maintain the apartment and pay the bulk of the rent and bills, but he was constantly bringing girls back for quickies. Willow would roll her eyes and gag, Daisy would ignore the twinge of jealousy in her heart.
So that's why she's a little surprised when Harry makes an offer to actually hang out without Willow. They normally ignore each other or make small talk until Willow gets home from work or relieves them of their awkward conversation. They haven't really spent too much time together one-on-one in the five years Daisy's been in San Diego.
But she's not foolish enough to let this opportunity to waste — it'd be a lie if she said she wasn't just a little bit attracted to Harry. Besides, with the amount of people he hooked up with, she as undeniably curious about what he had to offer.
"Yeah, sounds groovy," Daisy replies, standing from the couch and stretching her achy limbs out. She swears she catches Harry's eyes linger a little too long on the swell of her breasts beneath her top, but quickly convinces herself otherwise as he digs in the fridge for another beer. She follows him into his bedroom, a space that Daisy could recall being in only twice before: Once, a few days into her initial stay here when she was high off a few bong hits and thought she was walking into Willow's room, only to be met with a strawberry blonde straddling Harry's lap, mid-makeout (she'd quickly stammered and shut the door closed before Harry's eyes could even flutter open), and another time, with Willow, when she was looking for her Elton John record.
Both times, Daisy hadn't taken much of his room into view, instead feeling equally awkward and uncomfortable that she was there without his actual invitation. So when Harry places the two beer cans on his nightstand and strides over to his record player to turn Rumours on, she peeks at the little details of his space — a myriad of Polaroid photographs, some of friends, some with friends, some of people she didn't recognize.  A stack of worn paperback books with swollen spines next to his bed, and Daisy feels her eyes widen when she notices Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique on top. She knew Harry was liberal and kind and all, but she never expected to find feminist theory literature in his room.
She's taking in the tacked up band posters covering the walls when the soundly crackle of vinyl fills the room. Harry turns with a cheeky smile on his lips as he places the record insert back in its sleeve, then nudges his chin in the direction of the sweaty, unopened cans of Miller.
"I heard they're supposed to play LA sometime this fall," Harry finally breaks the silence as Daisy hands him his can, the two of them cracking them open. She lifts hers to her lips and takes down greedy gulps, partially because of the heat but mainly because of Harry.
"Oh, right on," Daisy replies, shifting her stance from foot to foot. "I think I'm gonna try to hit that ABBA show next month in downtown SF."
Harry wrinkles his nose at her response as he sits on the edge of the bed, wordlessly encouraging Daisy to do the same. She does, albeit hesitantly, and with enough distance between them.
"That's a mighty drive for some disco," he teases, though there's a hint of seriousness to his commentary, "You going with someone decent?"
Daisy shrugs, "Willow was into it but she probably can't take off from work. I might ask that guy Warren I work with, he said he'd be down if he could get some good sales out of it."
Harry raises his eyebrows and quickly shakes his head between sips. "No way Jose, you're not making an eight hour drive to SF with a coke dealer."
Harry wasn't hugely into discos, but he was a frequent flyer when it came to tagging along with Willow and Daisy to ensure they were safe. As far as he knew, Daisy didn't dabble in coke all too much, even if it ran rampant in the nightclubs they attended.
"But if I don't go who knows when I'll be able to see them again—"
"I'll go with you," Harry blurts out before he can fathom the thought of a 16-hour drive, round trip, for a bubblegum group he doesn't even like. "Fuck Warren, he's good for nothing but drugs."
"Harry, you hate ABBA," Daisy rolls her eyes. "I'll be fine, really."
"Who says I hate ABBA?"
"You literally yell at us to turn it off every time we put Arrival on."
Harry shrugs his shoulders and leans back against the neat array of pillows, tucking his arms behind his head. "It's me or it's a no-go, disco queen."
She sighs and shakes her head before leaning back on her elbows, her palm pressed tightly against the condensation of the can. "Please, there's no way you would want to sit in a car with me for that long."
"Where'd you get that idea from?" Harry asks with furrowed eyebrows, pressing his lips into a thin line. Daisy's quiet for a moment, churning a reply in her head that doesn't offend him or make her sound dumb.
"You just... I'm your sister's friend, you know? I know you probably don't dig me too much, and that's fine, but you don't have to go out of your way for me just because I don't have anyone else to go with."
"What makes you think I don't dig you?" Harry pushes, making Daisy sigh.
"It's nothing, forget it," she mumbles, finishing off her beer, "Thanks for this, the album's righteous, I'll pick it up at my next shift."
Harry's scrambling to stop her as she walks out to the living room and shuffling her shoes on. Dreams sounds from his bedroom, the song he was most excited to show her, and it only drives his actions further, her words echoing and gnawing into his heart.
"Daisy, stop," he tries, grasping out to wrap his fingers around her wrist, "Stop— just, talk to me, will you? C'mon, I— I don't know where you got that from, I think you're really stellar, Dais."
Daisy looks up at him, momentarily glancing down to hand around her wrist before shifting her wide eyes back to his. "You don't have to be like this, I gotta head home anyway—"
"You don't," Harry shakes his head, stepping closer to her, invading her space as she backs against the front door. "You've been jiving here all day, you don't have to go home. Don't lie to me."
Daisy lets out a frustrated sigh at his pushy nature, but not before she's entirely too distracted by his musky scent and the way his palm is pushed against the wall, right next to her head, making his bicep flex just slightly. She watches as his tongue peeks out and he licks over his lips, waiting for her to break. If it had been anyone else in the world, she would've done everything she could to remove herself from the situation, go home, and soak in the bath while she beat herself up about being too awkward, not sociable enough.
But this is Harry. And Daisy can't, even if she desperately wants to, say no to him.
So she huffs and darts her eyes back to his bedroom, making an annoyed gesture with her hands that signaled what she really wanted to say: c'mon then, dipshit, let's go talk.
Harry's smirking as Daisy kicks her shoes back off, a triumphant puff to his chest. When they return, he closes the door just gently enough to where she wouldn't have noticed if she weren't hyper aware of his every action.
"Right, then," Harry says, sitting down across from Daisy on the bed, who now has her legs criss-cross-applesauce. He follows her lead and allows for her a decent distance between them. Daisy feels like she's having an awkward first kiss with someone via spin the bottle, but she quickly bats the thought of kissing Harry away. "Why don't you think I like you?"
"Because," Daisy sighs, reaching up to cover her warm face with her hands, "I'm just Willow's annoying friend, you know? Always in your way and at your place, drinking your beer and listening to your records."
"Where did you even get that idea?" Harry asks with furrowed brows, shaking his head. "I don't think you're annoying, and I don't care that you hang here, with or without Willow. You can drink all my fuckin' beer or listen to my records until they scratch."
Daisy blushes at that. He's never outwardly declared any type of fondness towards her, friendly or not.
"You just... always seem so peeved when you come out with us to the discos and stuff," Daisy admits, shrugging lightly, "I feel like you think you have to babysit me or something."
Harry chuckles with a shake of his head. "You're a trip, you know that?" His question is rhetorical, so she continues sitting there, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah, I wanna make sure you guys are being safe and no, I don't love disco or boogieing down the way you lot do. But I'm never peeved about hanging with you, Dais. I'm sorry if I did something to make you feel that way, but I promise, you're more to me than Willow's friend."
Daisy's eyes finally meet his. Harry notices the faint blush that blossoms over her cheeks, and he can't help the way his lips turn upward in the smallest tick, his heart expanding ever so slightly at the sight.
"That's nice of you," she eventually mumbles out, blinking slowly. He chuckles quietly and shrugs, murmuring out, "yeah, I guess."
Side A of Rumours is long over now; the only noise sounding through the room is the repeated spin of the vinyl, over and over again. Daisy glances over to the record player, her bottom lip dropping open.
"You should— you should stop that," she says, "It'll scratch the record."
Harry smirks. He watches as she cowers slightly and he notes her nervous energy, the way her anxiety radiates off of her in small waves.
"Would you get me a new one if I did?" he asks, his voice dropping to a raspy tone.
Daisy looks back at Harry, her eyes somehow seeming even wider now. "Y-yeah. If you needed it, yeah."
"Yeah?" he teases, "You're good that way, aren't you?"
"H-Harry—" Daisy's lips fold over the syllables of his name, as if she's broken herself from the spell she was under. "I... you don't have to do this. I get it, you don't think I'm annoying but... don't just try to sleep with me 'cause you feel bad for me."
Harry lets out a frustrated sigh as he backs out of her space, pressing his lips into a thin line.
"Why do you think you're some kind of charity case?" he asks with a shake of his head. "I don't feel bad for you, Daisy, and I would never take advantage of you in that way."
"You're just— you're you! And I'm me! And it doesn't make sense that you'd want anything to do with me outside of Willow! You've never acted this way before—"
"Yeah, exactly!" Harry exclaims, cutting off the words falling from Daisy's mouth. "You're my little sister's best friend, and I don't want to fuck things up between you two by doing anything stupid. I've been staying away from you for years because it's easier to do that than hurt you or her or get hurt myself if things didn't work out!"
Daisy's jaw drops open at Harry's admission, her cheeks immediately warming. She wants to cover her blush with her hands, but she can't find it in her to move, let alone tear her gaze away from his. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he awaits a response, so when she's at a loss for words, he huffs in frustration and shakes his head, standing from the bed.
"Forget it— just forget I fuckin' said anything," he mutters, rounding the bed to open his bedroom door, his denim bell bottoms swishing with his steps. "Go home if you need to, stick around if you want— just pretend this never happened, alright?"
"I— Harry, stop," Daisy finally musters, shaking her head as she attempts to process, "I'm not... I don't want to forget what you just said. I'm just trying to understand it."
"What else is there to understand?" He bites.
"Am I... am I wrong in assuming that you like me? Is that what you're trying to say?"
Please don't be wrong, please don't be wrong, please don't be wrong—
"Yeah. That's what I'm saying, Daisy."
The world slows just a bit — not just for Daisy, but for Harry, too. He'd never really envisioned a time where he admitted to having feelings for his little sister's best friend, but it seemed that they'd brewed and simmered for so long that they had no choice but to boil over. Daisy was just as surprised, though. She'd spent the past few years assuming that he hated her and looked at her like a naïve nuisance always taking up space.
"Can you say something?" Harry finally grumbles, and Daisy isn't aware of how long it's been since he made his confession.
"I..." her eyebrows are furrowed, confusion apparent on her face as she looks up. "Why me?" This time, he returns the same expression.
"Are you serious?" Harry echoes, "You're... you're beautiful and smart and so sweet to everyone you meet. I've seen you trip-sit more kids in this apartment than I care to count, and you didn't even know 'em all. You have good taste in music, even if it includes ABBA... you're amazing to my sister, and every time we stop into the record store and you're just sitting there, reading your books... Dais, I swear to god, you look like a goddamn angel."
A furious blush flowers over Daisy's neck and face. She'd watched Harry hookup with a constant rotation of people, all of who she felt were more attractive than her. It felt unreal to hear that he thought she was pretty and kind.
"Can I— can I kiss you?" Daisy blurts, raising to her knees, the plushy bedding of Harry's mattress digging into her legs.
"Yes. Please, Dais, kiss me."
She nods and leans forward, slow and hesitant. Their lips brush against one another and Harry reaches up to carefully caress her cheek, gently pulling her closer until finally, they make contact.
It feels as though years of tension are being translated through their kiss. Harry's quick to meld his mouth against hers, moving his lips in a careful pace. She meets him halfway with similar touches; quiet smacks of their lips moving together. With a hand on his thigh, Harry's tongue enters Daisy's mouth and he's licking at her, more eagerly now that he's gotten a taste. Daisy parts from him momentarily, but only to move over his lap and straddle his legs, her heels pressed into her bum as she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him back in for another kiss.
She feels floaty and loses herself in the warm comfort of Harry's mouth, especially when his large hands find the backs of her thighs, sliding up to her ass. She swears she's never felt so good before, until the hardness of Harry's length makes itself known, poking at her core between layers of fabric. It's just enough to rip her out of her dreamy state, and she parts with a small gasp when he involuntarily bucks his hips up, searching for some sort of friction-filled release.
"Fuck— I'm sorry," Harry mutters out through spit-slicked lips. They're a muted cherry hue now, the same color they get when he's had a few too many glasses of red wine, or when he's saying goodbye to his one night stand in the hallway.
"It's okay," Daisy mumbles. She knows it's just human biology, that it's obviously natural for guys to get hard during heated makeout sessions. It's not like she's never felt a dick before, but it's also just that — she's never actually felt a dick before. "Um, I just— can we slow down?"
"Oh, yeah, of course. You just— I'm just like... really excited, I guess, and my body... knows that."
"It's fine, Harry," Daisy peeps out, smiling softly at the blush covering his cheeks, "But, uh... I've never... been with anyone before."
"What do you mean?"
She resists the urge to roll her eyes. She had hoped that he would've caught on, but clearly she was wrong.
"I've never been with anyone."
"But I've seen you makeout with people at the disco and shit."
"Yeah, but I've never taken them home."
It takes a moment for it to click, but when it does, Harry's eyes widen and his mouth forms around an oh. Daisy feels an all-encompassing embarrassment take up her entire form — she'd disclosed this information to people in the past, and they normally scampered off because the responsibility of taking her virginity was simply too much. She understood that, truly, but it got tiring after awhile. And, let's face it — this was Harry, and she really, really didn't want to feel stupid in front of him.
"I'm... I didn't know that."
Daisy shrugs, "It's not exactly like I go around parading it."
"Well, I would hope not."
This time, Daisy does roll her eyes, and Harry smirks as she gently pushes at his shoulder. The awkwardness melts just slightly and Daisy's body relaxes.
"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to— I get that it can be a big deal for some chicks," Harry says, moving his palm to gently squeeze her hip, "But I do really like you, Daisy. And this doesn't change that."
Her heart swells in her chest and warmth envelops her belly. He has a dopey, lovesick smile on his lips — the same one he gets when he, Daisy, and Willow share a joint at the end of a night out, she notices — and she knows her face looks just as silly, if not more so.
"I like you too," she murmurs, reaching out to run her fingertips along the length of his jaw. She traces over his slightly scruffy beard, which she knows is a day or two overgrown. She trails up to the mustache covering his upper lip, the one Willow always complains about and says makes him look like a homeless hippie, but Daisy secretly adores. She ends at his lips, gently pulling at his bottom one to form a puppy's pout. Playfully, he nips at her fingertip and she giggles.
She doesn't retract her finger and instead presses her thumb between his swollen lips. He allows her to it, readily and openly, the digit laying flat against his tongue before he wraps his lips around it, sucking down softly.
"Oh," she breathes, feeling his tongue lazily swirl around her thickest finger. Daisy's core flutters at the image; the way his cheeks are hallowed out ever so slightly, a perfect picture of submission beneath her.
"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," Harry whispers. She doesn't know how long she's been in his bed on top of his lap, but she assumes it's been awhile with the way golden hour is soaking every inch of his bedroom. She's slow in her movements, with the way she removes her finger from his mouth and, instead of climbing off like he'd expected her to, trails her hand below her crocheted top, brushing her spit-covered thumb over her nipple.
"Oh, fuck."
Daisy's head lulls to the side as she plays with herself, her nipple slowly hardening between her fingertips. Harry can barely see anything through the white crocheted vest, just peaks of flesh and the warm-toned hues of her nipples, and his jaw has still managed to go slack as he watches her with parted lips. She's a real life wet dream, he's sure of it.
"Dais..." Harry sighs as she lifts her hand to her mouth, wetting her fingers only to travel back down to give her other nipple the same treatment, "Lemme see? Please, baby, I'm desperate."
Daisy hums at his admission. It's hard to ignore the electricity that zips through her belly at the word baby, but she tries to keep her cool, even if she has no idea what she's doing. Slowly, she lifts her arms and ditches her torso of the netted material, allowing the breeze coming from the fan to only harden her nipples even further.
"Can I touch?" He asks, his eyes flickering up to hers for consent, "You can dictate the pace, lemme know what you're comfortable with but— 'm gonna die if I can't touch your pretty tits, Dais."
Daisy nods, her words stuck in her throat from Harry's boldness. He's quick to duck beneath her form as a surprised yelp tumbles from her lips, but it's quickly replaced with a whimper as he attaches his mouth to her nipple. He's sucking and licking, going back and forth between each one, his large hands gripping harshly at her hips. She's struggling to keep still but it's especially difficult when he nips at the sensitive buds, his teeth supplying the most delicious and quick licks of pain.
"Harry, I—"
His head snaps at up the second his name leaves her throat, immediately removing his lulling tongue from the patches of skin he'd been obsessing over.
"What's wrong?" Harry asks, panicked. She shakes her head and breathes out tensely as she pathetically tries to roll her hips against his; an attempt to showcase her communication better, but he's reluctant in accepting it.
"Words, bub," he instructs, reaching up to cradle her jaw in his palm, "Are you okay?"
"Good," Daisy bobs her head, "Feels good. I— more, please?"
Her words are a jumbled mess as they float from her brain to her mouth. She knows she must sound borderline high but Harry doesn't tease, instead sliding his hand down to the waistband of her denim shorts, his palm flush against her tummy.
"What do you want?"
She swallows. She's hooked up with people before, gotten fingered and given a few blowies, but she's never been asked to verbalize her needs. It makes her flush with embarrassment as her jaw opens and closes dumbly, unsure of what she's even requesting of Harry.
"I don't know," she finally breathes, hitching her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm sorry. No one's ever asked me what I want before, I don't have as much experience as you—"
"Shush," Harry's quick to shut her up with a shake of his head. "I don't want you to feel bad about that. I just want to make sure I'm not pushing you too far. You get to decide, this is your body."
Daisy leans into Harry's grasp, pressing her cheek against his hand.
"Here, why don't you tell me where I can touch you?" he suggests, moving his other palm back up to her breasts, "Are you still alright here?"
She nods, gasping as he pinches her nipple between his fingers. His hands travel down to the swell of her ass, cupping her cheeks firmly.
"And what about here?"
"Mhm." her eyes flutter when he squeezes, a moan bubbling in her throat.
He keeps one hand on her bum as he uses the other to trail featherlight touches along the inside of her thigh, up to her core. She can feel her hole squeezing around nothing, a steady thumping buzzing through her clit, and she whimpers when he cups her pussy through her shorts.
"Is this okay, baby?"
Daisy nods, her breath quickening at the sensation. "You— you can take them off," she says in a moment of courage, "Want you to touch me there."
"Ah," Harry smirks as he unbuttons the denim, dragging the zipper down. "You want me to touch your little pussy, is that it?"
She whines as he budges her up just far enough to shimmy the material down her legs. She's not wearing the sexiest of underwear — just a plain cotton pair in a light blue — but Harry still licks his lips at the sight of the damp patch flowering over her hole, where he's desperate to feel.
"Has anyone ever touched you down here?"
"Yes," she mumbles, bucking her hips against his hand. His thumb is drawing light circles into her clit, not enough to satiate her need for him, instead providing a semblance of sensation.
"Do you ever do it?" he questions, moving his finger down to her hole. She's clenching with need as he gently pushes a finger in through the fabric. He's not fingering her, not even close; just making her whimper with need at the thought of what she could have if she answers him.
"Sometimes, yes," Daisy nods.
"What do you do?"
"I, um," she licks over her swollen lips, attempting to focus on his question as he dips in again. "I rub my clit... sometimes I put a finger in."
"Is that all it takes to make you cum?" his tone is teasing now, making her feel embarrassed.
"Usually."
"Usually?" he raises a brow, "What else do you do to make this pretty pussy cum?"
Daisy swallows loudly. "Sometimes... if I'm really turned on, I'll touch myself... lower."
"Lower?" Harry repeats, unsure if he's understanding her correctly. "Like...?"
"Yeah."
A devilish smirks takes over his face as he moves one of his hands to cup her ass again, this time squeezing even tighter.
"Is that why you moan so loud when I grab you here?"
She nods, ducking her head back in pleasure. Just the feeling of being slightly stimulated in both places is nearly enough to get here there, not to mention it's Harry doing the touching.
"And who taught you that?" he asks as he pushes the material of her underwear down her thighs.
"Um, a guy I hooked up with once," Daisy murmurs, sitting up slightly. She's naked now, still on top of him, while he remains in his work clothes from earlier today. Her pussy is bare to his wandering eye and he can't help the way he takes in her most intimate parts.
"And you liked it when he toyed with your cute bum?" Harry continues his relentless teasing much to Daisy's dismay, who is all but squirming with need. He relieves some of the consuming pressure in her stomach by taking his fingers between her pussy lips, spreading them to expose her clit. He lightly runs his fingertip over the sensitive nub and she shivers, nodding her head.
"He just... licked me there while he was going down on me," Daisy explains with fluttered eyes, "And the next time I played with myself I put a finger in... made me feel dirty but so good."
"Jesus, you really are a dirty little girl, hm?"
Apparently, Harry feels that she's answered enough of his questions and deserves a reward. She lets out a hearty moan when he applies more pressure to her clit, starting in tight, small circles. She's glistening for him and making a mess between her thighs, making Harry's mouth water just at the sight.
"You're a drippy mess," he mutters as he squeezes her bum. He lowers his hand downward to where she's aching the most, circling twice and dipping in to spread her wetness around. He uses his other hand to continue rubbing at her pearly clit as he pushes his finger in, his jaw dropping at the sight of Daisy arching her back and whimpering on top of him. "Fuckin' gorgeous girl."
Harry starts off at a tantalizing pace but when he sees how responsive she is to every little touch — well, he's only human, and he can't help but want to get her to her breaking point as quickly as possible. He's not sure if anyone she's hooked up with has ever cared to make her cum before, but with the way she's grinding down against his hand and palming at her own breasts, he thinks anyone that had a chance to see her like this and didn't is an absolute fool.
"Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?" Harry asks. He can feel her tightening around the finger that's currently deep inside of her, poking and prodding at that special spot with each thrust. She's so wet that he's positive there's a wet spot on his work pants but he couldn't care less.
"Y-yes," Daisy nods helplessly, bouncing up and down as he pushes a second finger into her opening. It's a slight stretch, but nothing she can't take, that much is clear.
"Such a good girl, Daisy," he mutters mainly to himself, "Can't believe I went this long without feeling you squeeze my fingers like this... be my good girl and cum for me, baby, let me see you."
The squelching sound of his fingers rapidly moving against her are a telltale sign that she's at her end, but it's the slight gush around his hand and her throaty moans that stick with him. He watches in awe as she squirts on his fingers, helping her through her orgasm, her muscles contracting quickly.
"Fuck," Harry utters, "You're absolutely filthy. Been hiding this from me for years, hm?"
Daisy's eyes have long since fluttered closed as she comes down from her peak, so Harry does the only thing he can think of. Gently removing his fingers from her, he hooks an arm around her to keep her steady before lifting his hand to his mouth and finally having a taste of her arousal.
"Harry," Daisy breathes when she sees him, her eyes slightly widened at the visual beneath her.
"You taste incredible, Dais."
Without thinking, she leans forward and messily melds their lips together, her tongue prodding into his mouth. He welcomes it and groans at her eagerness. They part a minute or so later, both with spit swollen lips.
"I think I'm addicted to you, Daisy Walker."
Part two | Part three | Series masterlist
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thecl0wnfather · 1 year
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please enjoy this collection of shitty Welcome Home doodles I made while going insane fer th' past day of brain rotting over this
yes, that is Howdy dying in a glue trap.
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midnightaire · 3 months
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🎀 All dolled up 🎀
- ONE SHOT -
Elvis Presley x Innocent!OC
Summary: Marie has never liked being treated like a doll or like a baby, but when Elvis does it…
warnings: angsty, fluff, kinda toxic!elvis, takes place in the 70s, age gap (21 & 40) although not implied/mentioned, OC is religious, implied smut (not sex), mentions of elvis persuading OC that certain things aren’t against her religion.
note: this is my first time ever writing so any tips are very welcome, let me know what you think! (And if i missed anything in the warnings 🥰)
layout inspired by @yourfavoritedreamgirlblog
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When Elvis goes to Vegas, Marie always stays at home. Its not because she doesn’t want to go with him, but because he asked her to keep the home fires warm. And if there’s anything you should know about Marie, especially if you’ve known her for years, is that she’ll always do what Elvis tells her to do.
So even if she’ll miss him terribly every time, Marie always stays home. Besides, its not all that bad. She gets to cook and hang out with Nancy, read Elvis’ books even though the words are sometimes hard to understand, and Marie ends up asking Nancy what they mean. The big house, all to herself, it makes her feel like royalty sometimes, but then she giggles to herself at that thought.
Being “alone” in Graceland also gives her time, to think. There’s a lot Marie thinks about when she’s alone, but first and foremost her family, and the horrible childhood she had. Once that thought has crosses she always thinks about how lucky she is to have Elvis, he protects her, and provides for her. But ofcourse Marie already knows how lucky she is, how could one not?
It often consumes her with guilt, how quickly she can forget about her family and the life she had before elvis, when she’s around him. On that thought, Marie picks up the phone and spins the number of her parent’s home phone, she hasn’t talked to them since she ran away to be with Elvis. Another instruction she followed, “Come stay with me permanently.”
Now this instruction Marie doubted to follow at first, her parents being strictly religious, and Marie herself being raised like that, she wondered if it would be wise. I mean, surely that would mean she would be committing sins with Elvis, what else could it mean? But Marie made sure she wouldn’t do ungodly things with him, and Elvis respecting her religion, he never made a move to have sex with her. But that didn’t mean Elvis didn’t convince Marie that certain other things were alright in the eyes of god.
When the telephone finally gets picked up after a few dials, Marie quickly snaps out of her thoughts. “Hello?”, it was her mother that answered the phone, and that made Marie so much more nervous. “Hi mama, its me, Marie.”
“You useless ungodly child! Calling after all this time? Your father was worried sick about you until we read in the papers that you were with that disgrace of a man. Elvis Presley.” She says his name with such disappointment, and Marie doesn’t understand it. Elvis isn’t disgraceful, he is actually filled with grace from the lord himself, and he is a very kind man.
“I’m sorry mama i-“, Marie gets cut off by her mother, “We never want to hear your voice again, and we never want to see you again.” And before Marie could get another word in, her mother had hung up. It wasn’t long until tears started rolling down Marie’s cheeks, and sobs left her lips. Deciding she wanted the comfort of Elvis’ voice, she spins the number she was given for when he was in Vegas. She was always in direct line to him, so she was certain he would pick up the phone. But to Marie’s greatest surprise, it wasn’t Elvis’ voice that she heard after the phone was answered, it was Jerry’s. And no offense to Jerry ofcourse, but Marie was confused. Elvis always picked up the phone when she called. She was in direct line.
“Hi Jerry, Can i speak to Elvis please?” She asked, evidence of crying sounding in her wobbly voice. “Hello Marie, Elvis isn’t available at this time, should i leave a message?” Not available? Marie was sure Elvis didn’t have a show or a party, so why on earth wouldn’t he be available. “No thats alright Jerry, its nothing important.” After saying her goodbye to Jerry and laughing to a joke that she didn’t realize was a dirty one, Marie hung up the phone. Later that night Elvis called, but by then Marie already convinced herself that she was overreacting.
After Elvis returned home from his weeks in Vegas, time was mostly spent preparing for his tour. Elvis and Marie digging through her closet to find the perfect clothes for her to wear, and every time Marie picked an outfit, it was denied by Elvis. That endless cycle continued until the suitcase was filled with clothes Elvis approved of.
When Marie carried her luggage downstairs, red quickly stepped in, “a pretty little girl like you shouldn’t have to carry such heavy things, hm?” And Marie just agreed and let Red take her suitcase.
Marie went down to the Jungle room, where the Memphis mafia including Elvis, and their wives were hanging out. She brought down a Shasta Black Cherry for Elvis, and handed that to him before she was pulled to sit onto his leg, sideways. Conversations continued after that, and Marie tried to keep up with all the jokes, asking Elvis what they meant but he just shrugged and said “not something for you to worry your pretty head about.”
The conversations and laughter continued until Red spoke up, “Marie, Doll, can you please pour me a whiskey?” The silence after that didn’t last long, as Elvis started yelling at Red for speaking to her like that, and most of all, calling her doll.
“Oh its fine, i don’t mind, and i’ll pour Red a whiskey if thats what he wants.” Ever the people pleaser, Marie tried to step in and calm down Elvis, but he wouldn’t have it. “He can use his own goddamn hands!” Minutes after that, Red poured his own whiskey, and everyone continued as they were, meanwhile Elvis held Marie much tighter than before. Meanwhile Marie was trying to keep her tears at bay, she had always been an extremely sensitive girl, and she never liked it when people were angry and yelled. Especially when it was Elvis. Even though it wasn’t directed at Marie, she still didn’t like it, but she didn’t want to be seen as a cry-baby so she never mentioned it. Jennifer, or Jenny as Marie called her, reached out to hand Marie a magazine, so Marie lifted herself from Elvis’ lap for a moment and apologized for it when she sat back down. “Sorry for what, doll? Ain’t got nuthin’ to be sorry for.” Elvis laughed, and Marie laughed along. She did that often, apologize for things, even if they didn’t need an apology.
That night, while Elvis said goodbye to some of his guests, Marie found polaroids. Not the polaroids Elvis took of her, but polaroids he took off a different girl. Marie recognized the girl, it was Kathy, Kathy Westmoreland. She was one of Elvis’ back up singers. Tears sprung into Marie’s eyes and flowed down her cheeks once she noticed how intimate these pictures were. She confronted Elvis with her, but he assured Marie that it meant nothing, it wasn’t anything special, “i-i- i just get lonely without my girl there, s’ all.”
He sealed the deal with a small kiss, as he took off his EP ring, and attached it to a necklace, to show her that she was the only one. And Marie ate it up, like she always ate any attention up she got from Elvis.
During one of the last shows of Elvis’ tour, he kissed only Marie when he sang Love Me Tender, and whispered to her, “You look so pretty all dolled up f’me.” Marie giggled and blushed at that, Elvis could talk about shit and it would still sound sweet to Marie. After the show, she didn’t leave Elvis’ side once, practically attached by the hip to him. It isn’t like Elvis hated it though, as his arm was around Marie’s waist at all times, not once letting go.
That same night, while Elvis was taking forever in the bathroom, Marie prayed. She prayed to god, asking him if he would be kind enough to let Elvis be by her side forever and ever. And Marie never asked anything for herself, ever. As she rose from her knees by the bed, having finished prayers, she found Elvis on one knee, glancing at her nervously. “Will you marry me, doll?”
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horseshoemybeloved · 1 year
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Next fob interview they should have a stuffed animal sit in as joe
( yes it is my little guy sona of him )
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