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thatbanditqueen · 1 month

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Come Hell or Come Sundown

A Charro! One-Shot

Summary: It is the summer of 1968 and Elvis finds himself in a New Hollywood, no more production code, just a ratings system with the promise of more sex and violence. This is good, because Elvis is in transition too! He is hot off the set of his TV special and ready to make a gritty western he can be proud of. Things are going well, he's making friends on location in Arizona, but then first they cut some of the violence, and now he's not so sure there is going to be any sex scenes in this movie. What's next, are they going to make him sing to his horse?

Inspired by the cut nude bath scene and the notes in Donna Lewis' diary that there were originally sex scenes scripted in Charro!

A response to the writing prompt: "Cowboy Elvis"

Warnings: References to past sexual harassment, minor drug use implied and kissing.

WC: 13.4K

Thanks to my lovely writing support group @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @lookingforrainbows @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @shakerattlescroll @peskybedtime and to @whositmcwhatsit for alpha-ing most of this. It is been a crazy two months, I won't go into it, but if you are still reading my stuff let me know it.

July 29, 1968

Apacheland Arizona

Ina leaned against the back side of the sound stage listening to the cactus wren sing their sunrise melody for the desert. Off in the brush she saw a lizard scurry away. It was early, but the air was already beginning to heat up and hung there thick with promise. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the light, sweet taste, her heart full of hopeful anticipation for the sweet day ahead.

She ran her fingers down over her blouse, enjoying the smooth empty feeling underneath where round flesh had been a month ago.

This picture had been the answer to her prayers, a sign that she could still land a part as the love interest role. It was a role she knew well, one she had been playing for ten years in vehicles designed to showcase male stars: John Wayne, Paul Newman, Jerry Lewis, and now Elvis. Ina rarely got a leading role in a picture focused on a couple or a strong female character, but she accepted it was still a good salary and it kept her busy on and off between modeling gigs.

Lately, however, the on and off had been more off, and her agent, Mickey, had started talking about auditioning for roles as older sisters, aunts, and even, gasp, mothers.

But then she got this and bam! She had knocked over her phone with excitement as Mickey described this project as a “modern, gritty western.” She’d even agreed to the nudity, accepting her agent’s advice that this was going to open up even more doors now that the production code was gone and the film industry had a new rating system that allowed for mature content.

The first American western with a sex scene. That’s how Chuck, this director, had pitched his script in their first meeting, while also assuring her it would be tasteful and artistic and mainly shot using her facial expressions. She hadn’t cared, signing anywhere they wanted if it meant staving off cinematic spinsterhood for as long as possible.

And then, after carefully examining every dimple in her bottom that night, Ina had launched into a month-long disciplined regimen of ballet classes, black beauties and one meal a day. Ina took a deep breath and inhaled the earthy, floral aroma of the Arizona desert, letting it fill her with confidence. Her tummy was svelte, her skin glowed with a healthy bronze tan, and she was ready to conquer the shoot ahead. She had a feeling about this picture. A good one.

Hollywood was buzzing about the TV special Elvis had just finished shooting. Apparently it was raw and gritty and unvarnished, just like the script for this film. And Chuck, her director, was the king of the westerns, who had been promoting Charro! in the trade press as Peckinpah meets Leone with more sex appeal and heart.

Ina looked out at the orange glow of the desert sky at sunrise one last time as she stomped out her cigarette butt and murmured to herself with hushed excitement.

“What a glorious start to a glorious day.”

She headed back inside and made her way around the back of the set where she bumped into Elvis’ stunt double and friend, Jerry. Ina grinned, she couldn’t help it, Jerry’s serious eyes and rugged shoulders made her heart skip a beat.

“That was some party last night, huh?”

Jerry looked down, his low chuckle heavy with the weight of words unspoken as they both reflected on the prior evening. Ina was sure she saw an echo of her own desire in the warmth dancing behind Jerry’s blue eyes.

“You should talk, Sandy Koufax. Charlie’s grateful he can still see.”

Ina gulped, covering her mouth.. “ Oh no! Is he really hurt? I felt so bad, I was aiming for his stomach.” Ina said, twirling her hair. “Although I didn’t feel nearly as bad after watching Elvis go after Alan with the whole bucket, intentionally, over and over. He really took it to the next level.”

“Oh, that’s just how the bossman lets off steam.”

“That’s one way to put it. Say, where is the old steam engine, anyway?”

“He just went out front to get some dirt on his clothes.”

Ina raised her eyebrow.

“He wants to make sure he has that real cowboy look.”

“Huh, Elvis Strasberg. Who knew?”

Ina thought of Elvis out rolling around in the dirt and tried not to giggle. This got harder and harder as she looked into Jerry’s eyes, which were also twinkling with amusement.

In a moment of vulnerability Ina decided to let down her guard and step closer, trailing her fingers over Jerry’s upper arm. His muscle flinched slightly under her hand and it made her feel a little flight of butterflies in her tummy.

“Too bad,” she murmured in what she hoped was a sexy, flirtatious voice. “I was beginning to hope maybe you’d have to step in for him today.”

Jerry’s eyes widened for a split second, as he ran his hand through his hair. “Uh, well, as far as I know his scenes today aren’t dangerous at all.”

“That’s what you think.” Ina smiled, walking backwards for a few steps to enjoy the slight blush coloring Jerry’s scruffy cheeks.

She couldn’t be sure, but she felt there was a spark between them, and it made her feel young and giddy. Fifteen years of having her body and self worth surveyed and scrutinized and picked apart had left Ina unsure of her seduction abilities. First it had been photographers and advertising executives, then producers and directors had joined the throng out to shatter her confidence. For some women, the brutality of the business helped them create a calloused, impenetrable outer shell and distorted sense of self worth. For Ina, it had done the opposite, and she frowned as she felt the familiar knot of insecurity tighten in her stomach and vowed not let her self doubt stop her from having fun this time. No, before the end of this shoot she’d get Jerry alone and find out if he was as quiet and soft spoken in bed as he was on set.

Twenty minutes later, Ina was still smiling to herself when she slunk into a chair in make-up and pulled her thick, terry cotton robe tighter around her body.

“Look at you,” Bertie gushed as she toyed with Ina’s long, brown hair. “Excited for the scenes today?”

Ina paused and looked at herself in the mirror, letting out a nervous sigh.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She awkwardly smiled up at Bertie, and told herself to relax even as her shoulders inadvertently rolled upward and she tugged at the hem of her robe.

“You know five, even three years ago, you would kiss, passionately, then the camera would pan to the bedside table and come back into focus with you smoking. But now, Blow Up, Bonnie & Clyde, the new rating system. It’s a whole new ball game out there. I’m not sure - “

“Oh, you’re gonna be fine.”

Ina looked down and studied the top of her cleavage, she felt strangely ambivalent about the nudity and the sex scenes they were shooting. She was proud that they wanted her to do them, it bolstered her self esteem and made her feel longed for and desired, special. But she couldn’t shake that nagging feeling deep down that she would get on set, bare it all and then have the director and DP exchange hushed whispers before pulling her off and recasting her role. She met her own gaze again in the mirror and tried to squelch her self doubt.

“I know, I know, and it’s all very tasteful. I trust Chuck. Still, I’m the one wearing a see-through robe. All Elvis has to do is take off his cowboy hat before he carries me to the bed. He might be shirtless in the second scene, but for the most part all we’ll see is a little bit of his ear.”

Bertie nodded into big rounds of hair she was smoothing over with oil and pinning into place with bobby pins lodged at the side of her mouth.

“Yeah, well, with most guys I’d be fine just seeing the ear, cuz women’s bodies are just more beautiful. But with Elvis, I kinda wished they’d have him nude too, you know?” She clicked her tongue and winked at Ina in the mirror,

“You should get Betty Friedan on that, it would really be a movement for sex equality. Though I bet he’d give you a private show if you asked him, Bertie. He’s making his way through the crew, two at a time I hear.”

Bertie wiggled her eyebrows into the mirror.

“Yeah, I heard about that, two of the pretty Mexican extras, right? They can have him, I just want to look at him. I don’t think I’d survive if he touched me.” She flipped her long red hair over her shoulder and bit her lip. “I don’t know how you are going to make love to him all day.”

“Oh, well, when it’s work, you sort of detach yourself. I mean, yes, Elvis is very handsome, but he doesn’t really send me, you know? You should have seen him last night with his guys. Like a pack of wild animals.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I think Jerry is the only one who has ever opened a book, or doesn’t eat with his hands.”

Ina tried not to move as she watched Bertha pin another round hair piece in place.

“The stunt double? He sure has that silent type thing going for him.” Bertie squinted her eyes at Ina as she stuck a few more pins in. “Ahhhh, let me guess, that’s the type you go for. Over Elvis. Are you telling me that you wouldn’t, you know, play patty cake with Elvis if he made the move? I thought he always dated his leading lady, maybe those extras are just the appetizer before the main dish..”

Ina sat up, admiring the tower of rolled hair Bertie had constructed on top of her head. Satisfied, she leveled Bertie with a friendly but stern look.

“Things can get sticky when you bed your co-star. And giving in just encourages them. You shoulda seen Jerry Lewis trailing me around off set like a creep. like I owed it to him.”

Ina grimaced, remembering Lewis’ sweaty brow as he had pushed her against the wall of her dressing room and promised that she’d like it, that she didn’t know what she was missing. She shuddered, thinking of him and all the others: the photographers who’d grinded into her as they straddled over her during a photo shoot. The producers who had invited her to an audition and then cornered her alone. She felt sick to her stomach and reached out for the random half drunk bottle of Coke on the vanity in front of her to wash away the bad taste in her mouth.

“You ok, Miss Balin?”

“Please Bertie, call me Ina. After that party last night I think we’re all on a first name basis.”

“Ha, yeah, I guess.” She turned Ina around to finish her make up. “You know, I think you might be the only woman here who doesn’t want to sleep with Elvis.”

“Thank god Elvis seems to be somewhat of a gentleman, because I’m not looking to be another notch on his belt, I’ve worked too hard to stay in this business without a casting couch reputation, and I plan to keep it that way. Plus, with all the bed hopping that happens on location, and then having to run scenes together if things get, you know, weird. Better to keep things professional between us.”

“On the other hand, a lonely stunt man...”

Ina winked, she could feel the giddy excitement bubble up just thinking of Jerry. She tried to stifle it and stay aloof as she spoke.

“A month is a long time, even a lonely stuntman deserves some company.”

A cough interrupted their giggles and the women turned to see Elvis leaning against the doorway, one hand on his belt. He squinted his eyes, looking at them with exaggerated suspicion as he wiped his hand over his forehead leaving a dark streak of dirt above his brow.

“Uh huh, and just what’d I stumble into here, huh? You two look like you are up ta no good, boy, I tell ya what.”

Perfectly lined smoky eyes sat below Elvis’ dirty forehead and more dirt billowed off his trousers as he strode toward the two women, his hands hanging off the top of his corduroy trousers. Bertie shot Ina a cautious glance in the mirror that warned her not to laugh, even as the sides of her lips seemed to hold back a chuckle.

“I’ve seen that look before Iny Niny.” Elvis said. “Right about the moment ya took aim and fired at poor Charlie Hodge, square the eyes.”

“I really didn’t mean to hurt him! Really.” Something about Elvis’ easy charm made it impossible not to smile broadly. “I - we - we’re not up to anything, you. Just chit chat. I was saying how I almost didn’t recognize you when I got here yesterday. On account of that beard you got, Presley.”

“I almost don’t recognize myself, honey.” He paused and looked in the mirror, taking a step closer as he rubbed the dirt into his forehead more. “That’s probably a good thing, maybe this picture actually has a chance to be something.”

Ina sat up as Bertie dusted her with a last round of hair spray and swiveled her chair around to face him.

“Oh, now don’t say that, there’s a reason you’re the star here. I love your movies.”

Ina may not have actually seen them all, but she knew of Elvis’ desire to be in more serious dramas. It was a common topic of conversation in Hollywood when his name came up. Ok, well, one of the common topics. Maybe not as common as his reputation for fucking his costars, she mused to herself, but still, as someone who had even less clout to be picky about projects, she sympathized with that ever present double bind of needing the money, not wanting to be seen as difficult, and yet, also yearning for more creative fulfillment.

Their eyes met and he nodded to himself, pursing his lips, as if he were reading her mind,

“Huh, so you're the one.” He grinned and took his cowboy hat off, running his hand through his hair as he tried to fill the awkward silence. “Well, sorry but I can’t issue you a refund, Iner Niner. All I can promise is that this ‘un will be better than some of the stinkers, I reckon.”

Ina smiled big, thinking of the desert sunrise this morning, all the good omens. “I don’t know if I would ever describe an Elvis film as a stinker. But I do have a good feeling about this film.”

Elvis scratched his beard, a naughty blush lighting up his cheeks as he took in the very sheer negligee peeking out from under her white terry cloth robe.

“Huh, feeling better and better the more I look- I mean listen to you, INy”

Ina felt a chill up her spine as she looked into Elvis’ dancing eyes, lingering on his face with newfound appreciation. There was something about the way the stubbly beard he had grown out for this role accentuated his jawline and made him seem more rugged, more handsome than he had looked when he played the polished romantic lead in his previous films. She felt a flutter of something unfamiliar stir in her belly; she had never been gaga over Elvis before.

And you are not now, she told herself, it’s just the characters and the scenes you know you are shooting today. Besides, he flirts with everyone, why he’d been flirting with you and every woman in the bar last night even when he had one or two extras on his lap.

Elvis arched his eyebrow, and Ina pulled her robe closer with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, I think you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of me today.” She chuckled. “I was just telling Bertie I remembered when all I had to do to film a sex scene was lead a cowboy into my wigwam, and let the camera cut to smoke coming out of the top. We left the rest to the audience’s imagination.”

“Yeah, I think I remember that one.” Elvis whistled as he plopped into the make-up chair next to her. “Well, don’t worry, we’re only gotta pretend to make love with an audience of a hundred or so crew members watching, so no pressure.”

They laughed nervously, and then one of the production assistants peered around the door and called to Ina that the DP was ready to work out the lighting for her fully nude bath scene. She stood and gave Elvis a friendly pat, smiling inwardly as she looked over her shoulder to see Bertie trying to wipe the dirt off his forehead.

“See you out there in the ring, Presley.”

“Ok,” he smiled.

Ina studied him for another beat, wondering if the way his beard framed his lips made them look even bigger and more luscious, but she couldn’t be sure.

Striding from the building with wardrobe and dressings back to the soundstage, Ina considered how Elvis had managed to meet and completely defy her expectations. She had never seen him at awards shows, premieres or parties, nor ran into him around town or at the studio canteens. Indeed,he had a reputation for keeping to himself in Hollywood. All she knew was the second hand information she got from people who had worked with him and the Hollywood rumor mill. There were so many contradictory descriptions of him that no, she had not known what to expect when she arrived in Arizona and discovered an Elvis she barely recognized under the scruffy beard he’d grown.

When Chuck, the director, had brought her over to introduce them, he had been shy and sweet, sheepishly sticking out his hand with an affected deep “Hullo, I’m Elvis Presley.” But then by the end of the rehearsals yesterday they had become more comfortable with each other. Something about kissing Elvis inbetween jokes she knew he was making to make her feel at ease had broken the ice between them. And he had started in with the nicknames almost immediately, helping to bring her into the camaraderie that had been established with the crew before her arrival.

The run through yesterday had gone well, all jokes aside, and he had shown himself to be respectful and kind, never pushing or trying anything when they were in each other's arms. It’s probably good that he’s sleeping with some of the extras, Ina thought to herself. That way there would be no pent up sexual expectations and she could just focus on being a professional and perhaps even friends with Elvis.

Yes, she could be friends with him. Ina had only been in Apacheland for a little over 24 hours, but she could tell from Elvis’ warmth that they had established a solid rapport and chemistry for their roles. She felt as safe as she could with him as she readied herself for her first nude role on film.

“Today is going to be a good day,” Ina repeated to herself as she opened the door and entered the sound stage.

Ina was walking along the corridor behind the set when she heard Jerry’s voice on the other side of the plywood and hurried to catch him and flirt a little more. But then he said her name and she stopped, listening, as she realized he was speaking with one of Elvis’ other friends. It sounded like Charlie.

“I saw y’all. Why, she had her hands all over you, ya big stud. You really ain’t gonna try to bury the hatchet in that briar patch?”

“Oh, you know how Crazy can be. All I did was apologize to Alma and Flor for blocking the doorway last night and he ‘bout split in two. I ain’t about to try no funny business with his leading lady.”

“But you heard him call her Groucho, said he could barely stand to kiss her with that mustache above her lip. Said she was so manly, you could almost mistake her for one a the cowboy extras in drag. Like a goddamn drag queen who forgot to shave, is what he said.”

Ina felt the blood drain from her face and she began to tremble, tracing her fingers above her smooth upper lip, the one she diligently waxed every two weeks. They might as well have punched her in the gut with a steel two by four. She could almost taste something metallic at the back of her throat, where a lump formed.Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and it took all her willpower to push them back as she stood there paralyzed while Jerry and Charlie chatted away.

“Aw, well he was off his rocker, she isn’t nearly as bad as that dog from continuity he had in his room at NBC, you know, with the big knockers?”

“Nah, I think In-ahhs pretty cute myself. If she’d been pawing my chest I’d be on that like white on rice, man.”

“Heard you like drag queens, Hodges.”

“Aw naw man, see, now that ain’t fair. Sides, that’s Lamar.”

The busy sound of the crew talking and moving around the sound stage echoed up into the lights with Charlie and Jerry’s laughter, but Ina could hardly hear anything except the pounding of her heart through her whole body. Air. She needed air. Ina hurried out a side door, her mind was racing and there was no way she could stomach the idea of filming a sex scene with Elvis now. Jerry and Charlie’s words had fractured the fragile veneer of confidence she had spent the last month building up. Dieting, ballet classes, early nights, slathering her face in cold cream and plunging it in ice first thing in the morning, staying away from alcohol and ice cream. She had worked so hard to get to a place where she had been able to look in the mirror and tell herself she could do this. Now all her self doubt had returned tenfold.

Facing the desert, she lit a cigarette and muttered under her breath, her voice cracking as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Oh god oh god, why did I take this role? Why do I embarrass myself again and again?”

Ina pressed her hand to her throat as she sucked in deeply, willing the nicotine to steady her shaking body. She longed to run off, get in her car, and maybe drive to that bar down the road Bertie had told her about, the one where all the baseball players went.

The very idea of male attention was like a salve, and it helped her slow her breath as she slumped against the warm, concrete wall of the sound stage and looked out at the desert, focusing on the hills in the distance.

It was like looking out at a completely different view than she had faced that morning. The land was now desolate and unforgiving in the July heat, and the jagged peaks of Superstition mountain loomed like a giant, dark fiery sentinel in the sky. Her chest rose and fell with each inhale and exhale of smoke, her fingers trembled as she tried to quell the turmoil churning inside her.

Just when she was sure she couldn’t walk back inside, she smelled a hint of sage in the dust, it filled her nostrils with renewed energy. The wind whispered in her ear that she was stronger than she knew, she had trudged harder paths than this. She could put one foot in front of the other.

The door next to her exploded open and there was the fresh face of the young, blonde PA who had called to her in wardrobe.

“Oh, there you are Miss Balin, we’re ready for you.”

Ina sucked in another drag of her cigarette and took a deep breath. She could do this. Elvis and his entourage were a bunch of childish idiots. Fuck them.

True to his promise, the director, Chuck, kept the set closed for the nude bath scene Ina was shooting first. It was just him, the cinematographer, his assistant, the boom operator, and three female PAs. One to hold the clap board and two to help Ina in and out of the tub. The scene was blocked so the camera only captured her naked from behind with the side of her breast visible as she donned a sheer blue robe lined with black lace. They would run it from the top, then Chuck would run over and tell her how stunning she was and ask for another take as she shivered. It took eleven takes in all before he and the DP were content they had the footage they needed.

Ina reclined in her chair, trying to warm up during the short break before the next scene. She was rehearsing the dialogue as people trickled in to shoot her first love scene with Elvis, and she suddenly became paranoid that other crew members had heard Jerry and Charlie’s story about Elvis’ calling her a drag queen. She sat up and looked around. Suddenly every hushed whisper was about her, every glance her way was filled with pity. She gripped the side of her chair and told herself to get it to-fucking-gether.

The next scene was meant to occur directly after the bath, when her character, Tracy, discovers Elvis’ character, Jess, rummaging around in her bedroom looking for his gun. They would argue, then kiss, then argue more before he carried her to the bed. After that, he would remove her robe and begin to kiss her neck, stop and then put his hat on the bedpost, before the camera moved in for an extreme close up of her face as they made love.

Then they would break the set and set up for the second sex scene that was meant to take place at the end of the film when Jess has been victorious against the band of outlaws and takes her to Mexico with him to start a new life across the border.

Ina squeezed her hand, using her thumb as a metronome as she said her lines. “I must look new to you - toooo you - I MUST look NEW to YOU now.” She had these little games she had learned in acting class to vary the rhythm and emphasis over and over until she was comfortable in the dialogue, in the character, and it rolled off her tongue naturally, without having to think about it.

Elvis' voice rang out high above the buzz of the crew and all the words she had ever known fell out of her head. She felt her sphincter clench up tightly instinctively as if on cue at the sound of his chuckle, and a frown formed on her lips. The air was suddenly ripe with the smell of sweaty bodies and stale coffee and cigarette smoke.

Looking over her shoulder, just the sight of him surrounded by his flunkies made Ina’s stomach sour. A spark of defiance bloomed in her belly at his smug face and she longed now to walk up to Elvis and slap him sharply across the face before telling him off for being such a rotten two-faced charming bastard. But instead she popped another black beauty to fight off the hunger she had sensed growing in her belly and steeled herself to give the performance of a lifetime.

Elvis passed by her chair as she stood, a crooked grin pushing the apples of his cheeks up above his beard.

“Well, might as well get it over with.”

His despondency made Ina bristle. She was completely incapable of stopping the prickly voice that sprang out from her throat.

“We don’t have to shoot these love scenes.”

Elvis paused in his stride toward the set and looked back at Ina, his brow furrowed for a moment before he grinned again, bigger and wider.

“Huh? Course I want to shoot ‘em, love scenes are my specialty.”

Ina narrowed her eyes at his stupid, smirking expression as he glanced around at his friends as they whistled and chimed in with a chorus of stupid affirmations.

“Uh huh.”

“That’s right.“

“On and off the set”

“Well, you seem anxious to, what was it, get this over with?” She said cooly, leveling him with a glare. “So then it must be me. Maybe we could just cut them from the film altogether. CHUUCK?”

Elvis’ face began to scrunch up in a frown as Ina’s voice rang out like a knife, cutting through the chaos of a live shoot. The sound stage had been buzzing with activity as the crew readied the set, but now everyone had stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the two leads.

Elvis’ eyes zoned in on Ina and his face clouded with concern as his hands tightened against his body in clenched fists.

“Now see here - “ then he paused and took a deep breath, smiling big.

That broad, smooth, movie star beam.

“Aw, now I think we got are wires crossed someplace.That’s jus my ole stage fright talkin’, honey. Gets me ev’ry time like a sonabitch. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Iny Tiny, come get over here. I feel very honored to work with you. I been sayin’ all week, haven’t I, Chuck? That I couldn’t wait for Ina to get here, class up this joint’?”

Ina looked at where Chuck stood, hands at his hips as he nodded, a terrified grin plastered on his face.

“That’s right, that’s right. Why, that's what we’ve all been saying, Ina, we couldn’t wait for our Tracy to get here.”

Chuck dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it over his big, balding head as he spoke slowly, as if talking to a spooked horse. Ina

“I think I know what’s going on, my dear.”

Chuck looked over at Elvis and then put his arm around Ina, guiding her toward her mark.

“You’re nervous. We’ve just spent two hours during the bath scene. And this sort of - um - delicate, shall we say, yes, delicate feminine performance is new to you, isn't it?”

“Well, yes, I suppose, but I - “

Chuck put his finger to Ina’s mouth

“Say no more, my dear. It’s natural to feel vulnerable in this situation. But let me assure you, everything is being shot in the most artistic technique possible. And you, well, just look at you, huh?” He spun her around in the center of the set.

“Ina, you are a dream. My living, breathing Renoir painting. And I want you to know, that was my inspiration for your room here. The colors, the outfits, a Parisian chorus line meets the Old West. The colors, the costumes, they are meant to evoke the Belle Epoch, you know? You are wearing the same outfits Degas’ dancers wore, did you know that?”

“Uh huh, you mean if they wore anything?” Ina added in a clipped tone.

“See, and that’s exactly it! The original work of art is, of course, the beauty of the female form.”

“Cain’t argue with that.” Elvis smirked, but Ina shot him a withering look which threw him off again and once more he was frowning and searching her face.

Chuck noticed none of this and kept talking.

“And you are an exemplary example of the female form, a perfect specimen of a woman.”

“Well, I assure you I am no drag queen.”

Elvis coughed nervously, his hands clenched in fists at his side. The quick, sharp look he shot Joe did not escape Ina’s notice and she knew then that he had said the things Jerry and Charlie had been laughing about. She narrowed her glare at him, telegraphing her contempt as he stuttered and tried to regain control of the conversation.

“No - ah-uh -er - siree, honey, you’re the real deal, got more class than the rest of this outfit combined. Why, I reckon I’m more nervous ‘bout this scene than you are.”

Chuck nodded vigorously.

“Yes, we are all nervous shooting something that is, as I said, delicate like this. And your character is unsure in this scene, she loves Jess, but is torn, because she’s worried he is still the bandit she sent away. Channel your feelings into the scene and let’s make beautiful artwork here today.”

Ina rolled her eyes. “Ok, ok, I’m ok. Like he said, let’s just get it over with already.”

Elvis grinned as he walked around the set door to his mark.

“That’s the spirit, Iny Beany.”

Chuck yelled action, directing them through the scene as the cameras rolled.

“You see him rooting through your stuff, and you think of how long it's been, how he left you without a word. You hate him because you love him, but you wish you didn’t and you are trying to keep it all bottled up. Beautiful. Indifferent. That’s it Ina, that cool, icy glare, it’s perfect.”

It was not hard for Ina to muster a cool, icy glare for Elvis as he looked down at her. Every time they started, one of the PAs would come over and spray her body and chest with water for continuity with the bath scene that was just supposed to have occurred in the storyline.

In the third run through, she couldn’t help herself when Elvis’ foot knocked into hers. She thought of that guilty grimace she saw move across his face at the words “drag queen” and she stepped on his foot. Hard.

“Perfect! Perfect Ina, you’re nailing it!” Chuck called out from where he was watching the monitor.

“Nailing me is more like it,” Elvis said, jumping back, a hurt pout on his face. Then he reached out and stroked the side of her shoulder.

“Say, you sure you ok? You’re not sore at me for something, are you? It’d be better if we just clear the air. If I said something this morning, or did something in passing, honey, I’m sorry. But you gotta tell me.”

Ina looked in his big blue eyes, searching hers, seeking a connection. She glanced off behind him, at the brocade pink wall paper. The air smelled of bath water, sweat and cheap aftershave. Chuck was right, she thought, this could be a cheap Parisian brothel.

“I assure you, I am fine.” Ina forced her mouth into a tight smile. “Just watch where you’re going and we’ll be fine.”

He squinted his eyes at her, but seemed to decide against whatever it was he originally wanted to say, and stepped back with his arms up in surrender. “Okay. Alright. Whatever you say, Iny, my mistake. Let’s try again, I bet we’ll get it right somehow.”

They went through the whole scene three times, up until the part where Jess lifts Tracy up and carries her to the bed. Elvis’ eyes narrowed as he stepped toward her, uttering his lines in a stern, serious voice. But when he picked her up and hoisted her in the air, she heard Charlie’s obnoxious laughter in the background and their words from earlier began to play through her head again on a loop.

The shrill sound of his laugh sent a sharp bolt of pain down the center of her head and suddenly she felt as if ginger ale was bubbling up on to the top of her brain. She wasn’t sure if she could hold it together anymore.

There was the taste of bile again at the back of her throat. She swallowed, running through all of the tools she had learned in the Actor’s Studio such as telling herself she was Tracy and trying to channel her anger into the tension between Tracy and Jess. She was, after all, supposed to be fighting Jess’ advances at first and pushing him off before giving in. But she could barely look at Elvis and instinctively jerked back when he placed her on the bed and began to move his fingers over her sternum.

Her head throbbed and she could feel more tears welling up. She had to get out of there and take a little break, so she cried out, “CUT!”

Elvis jumped back, a panicked look on his face.

“Did I hurt you, Iny Beany? Wanna do it again, just to practice, from the mark by the bed?”

“No.,” she hissed under her breath, pushing him away. Maybe she didn’t need a break, maybe they could just skip this scene altogether.

“No, no no. I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. Chuck, do we really need a full love scene? We’re not making Belle du Jour here.”

Elvis had his hands on his hips, a stricken look on his face while Ina stood, straightening what was left of her dignity and snapping her fingers for the PAs to bring her thicker robe.

“Ina, darling, we just went through this.” Chuck’s transatlantic accent was getting thicker and higher-pitched the more he spoke. “And I hate to bring this up, you know I do, my dear, but it's in your contract.”

“Contract or not, I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“My dear, what can I do to make you comfortable?” Chuck pleaded.

“Nothing. I would rather make love to a rattlesnake than to that man.”

Elvis stood taller, his fingers balled up into fists as his leveled, polished voice began to transform into a Southern snarl.

“Yeah, uh huh, well I had about enough of this bull shit. Rattlesnake, huh? That can be arranged, honey, why, I’ll get it myself.”

“Well, I bet it will be small and limp, just like you.”

He staggered back when she hurled those words at him, flustered and mumbling as he looked around the set to see who had been in earshot and heard her yell out the words ‘small and limp’ at him. The answer, of course, was everybody. Because everybody in the crew was watching.

They had, of course, originally gathered around because Charro! was making film history with today’s shoot.

All the popular European films being released had sex scenes, James Bond was having sex. Several recent westerns had initially included nude scenes, but studios had cut them at the last minute.

But 1968 marked the dawning of a new era. The MPAA had a new rating system. Bonnie & Clyde had proven last year that audiences not only had a stomach for violence, but wanted sex. And like Bonnie, they wanted it much more than they got it. And so this picture, and about a dozen others in production, were all racing to give it to them.

Even if the plan was to pan to a hat and then just Ina’s face, Charro! was going to make history.

Or rather, it would have made history. Instead, the entire crew watched in horror as Ina threw up her hands and stomped off in protest while Elvis coughed loudly, took a deep breath, and then announced to the crowd

“Don’t worry, folks, we’re gonna get Arthur Rankin in here and he’s gonna recreate these scenes with claymation. Make a little Elvis the Rednosed Cowboy.” His voice rang out with forced cheerfulness, followed by a ripple of nervous laughter that spread through the soundstage.

“Boy, I tell ya what, now that would be a historical milestone, huh Chuck? Bet audiences would pay double ta see a stop motion love scene.”

The director nodded as Elvis patted him on the shoulder with a forced, playful candor and then strode out of the studio followed by his entourage.

Elvis’ motel room was dark, save for the television, an ever present companion, and the table lamp that cast shadows against the wall outlining Alma’s silhouette. The light captured every curve of her body as it lay sideways across the bed next to him. His fingers tapped absentmindedly over her bronze thigh, but his mind was otherwise occupied and failed to register the coquettish look she was giving him as she pouted and ran her hand over his arm.

He was thinking of his first film and the time had asked his co-star, Richard Egan, the secret to good acting.

“You. You already got it kid, in spades. Why do you think they renamed this picture after your song? Just be you, unaffected, unadulterated. You’re a natural.”

But what good had natural ability been without opportunity? He’d had such high hopes back then, hopes to be in real movies about real people, stories with an edge that packed a punch. And for a time, it seemed like he was. Dramas in which the singing was a plausible part of the premise.

But somewhere along the way the edge had been sanded off and his plans had all gone wrong. He’d gotten himself typecast as the type of character he hated, a romantic lead who broke into song during an appointment with the IRS. Those roles were fine for Rock Hudson, but not for him. He knew he could do better. Better than dumb musicals, better than all this.

He had those same high hopes for this picture when he first read the script.

“Guess I should be happy this western’s actually being filmed in the goddamn desert and not in some California shrub valley,” he mumbled, balling his hands into fists as he spoke.

“What was that, baby?”

Elvis looked up at the woman lying next to him, he had forgotten she was even there. Her warm body next to him had become just another amenity of the room, like the mini fridge or the Gideons Bible. The puzzled look on her young, naive face reminded him how truly alone he was.

Oblivious to Elvis' existential crisis, Alma decided maybe he needed some prompting after their kisses had dissolved into still silence. She moved her hand to Elvis’ thigh, stopping when he flinched and jumped up almost as if he were trying to escape her touch. She frowned, then flipped her hair as she adjusted and lay prone over the polyester orange bedspread, fashioning a come hither look on her face. She could tell he was rattled by the onset fight and was trying everything in her bag of tricks to laugh it off and redirect him to something better. Her.

“Ha, small and limp. That bitch has no idea what she’s missing. It took all my self control not to cry out in front of everyone that you have an anaconda in your pants, Elvis.”

A grimace passed over his face, and Elvis started to button up his shirt and mumble to the floor.

“Don’t, baby - just-” He softened his voice at the rejection he saw in her eyes. “Honey, I can’t stand it when women do that.”

“What, what am I doing wrong?” Alma sat, her face falling as she scooted back against the pillows.

Elvis pulled on the red bandana around his neck and paced the other way, looking back at her as he tucked his shirt back into his clean, brown corduroy pants. His shoulders stiffened.

“Insincerity. I can’t, I jus hate it when women go overboard trying to puff up my ego. I’ve had my share of lovers, no one ever complained. That’s not the point.”

“It isn’t?”

“Nah, honey. What that bitch is really saying is she don’t take me serious, I’m not man enough for this fucking role, for her New York high society standards. Fat lot of good any a that did her, thinks I don’t know she’s been in what, five pictures? Jerry Lewis? Try twenty five, sister. Give me a goddamn break. She’s wound so tight, she could start a fight in an empty house, I tell ya what, boy, and that’s the god honest truth.”

He began to pace the room, wringing his hands over as he walked.

“This un’ is gonna be different, Chuck said, more raw, Chuck said, more real.” His voice trilled between a high falsetto and a deep growl. “Then first they cut the violence, and now this bullshit. What’s next? Bet they gonna try and have me sing to my fuckin horse!”

He punched the wall. “Fucking cowboys don’t fucking sing!” He screamed to the ceiling, then began to pace again, his hands now balled up in fists.

He turned and looked at Alma. “You ever see John Wayne sing? Gary Cooper? ‘Fore they walked over to the OK corral to shoot the bad guy?”

He punched the wall again and then turned and tried to compose himself when he saw Alma flinch.

“Ok ok ok ok.” He took a deep breath. “I - uh - this picture’s got me all keyed up.”

“Want some grass? Flor has some killer grass, make you forget today even happened.”

“Nah, honey - now, good lil girls like you should know better than to mess with that stuff.”

Alma pulled her hand through her hair and struck what she thought was a glamorous, come hither pose.

“Want me to give you a blow job? Help you relax?”

Elvis frowned. “Man, like a goddamn cat in heat and twice as willing. Don’t you think of nothing else?”

Alma sat up and started to put her clothes on, her voice as low as her hopes for the evening.

“You’re the one who invited me up here and had me undress while you watched. I’m just trying to do what I thought you wanted.”

“Well stop tryin’ to think, you’ll wear yourself out.”

Alma grabbed her shoes and opened the door, finding Joe on the other side with one hand about to knock and another holding up a tray of food in his hands.

“Oh, hey -”

“Hey yourself.” Alma said with a huff and a very aggressive hair flip, her long brown tresses smacking Joe’s cheek.

Elvis shrugged as Joe looked after Alma, whistling to himself.

“Man o man, EP, you got the prettiest girl here. What’s up her butt?”

“I don’t know - Something up with the chicks on this picture, man, stuck up and crazier than a sack full a possums.”

Elvis looked at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall across from the bed as Joe mumbled about how many crazy women they had met on their journeys, half-listening as he stroked his beard and reassured himself that he looked just as fit as Clint Eastwood. And more handsome. He winked at himself and straightened his belt buckle, then looked over at Joe.

“Now hold on a second, son, jus’ what in high heaven is that?”

Elvis lifted his hands from his left hip and pointed at the cheeseburgers and fries Joe had laid out on the table, fixing him with a dark glare.

“You said dinner, EP, brought you dinner.”

“Tryin’ to get me back in the 200 club like you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you been auditioning for the part of lardass of the group.”

“But last night - I thought you -

“I thought, I thought - you ain’t thought shit, and that’s the problem. I’m supposed to be shirtless on film tomorrow and you fixin’ to get me fat as a boarding house cat.”

Joe frowned, furrowing his brow for the split second it took him to plaster a smile back on and nod. Now he understood what was up Alma’s ass, and what was about to be up his too if he didn’t turn this around.

“Right, boss, my mistake, tell me what you want and I’ll go get it.”

“What I want, what I want. Ain’t nobody cares what I want, and that’s the goddamn problem. Save a whole lotta time and money if you just thought to ask first.”

Elvis put his hands on his waist and cried out an inaudible growl to the ceiling.

“Jus… just bring me a caesar salad. A big one.”

Joe hurried out and Elvis went over to cover up the burgers, but the smell was too tempting, so instead he sat down and began to devour them one after another, mumbling to himself in between bites.

“Goddamit, if I look fat tomorrow it’ll be Joe’s goddamn fuckin’ fault.”

There was a knock at the door, and he yelled for whoever it was to come in as he went to wash up.

“Joe told me to come get rid of the - uh - food tray.”

Charlie’s voice trailed off as Elvis emerged from the bathroom and followed Charlie’s eyes to the table and the plates that were empty, save for a handful of cold fries.

“Well, have at it - wait.”

Elvis stepped back and looked around, grabbing one of the guns from the night stand and put it in his belt. He had all this nervous energy running up and down his body, he needed to just get out of this room, out of this motel, get as far as possible to just breathe some fresh air and think. He snapped his fingers at Charlie.

“Grab Gee Gee, we’re going for a drive.”

Charlie’s face softened into a big goofy, excited grin. “Okee dokee artichokee, where we heading?”

“Anywhere that ain’t this goddamn motel, numb nuts.” Elvis started to head down the exterior stairs, running his hand over the warm, wrought iron bannister. He looked back over his shoulder and clapped.

“Bring the cigars, too, then meet me at the car. Chop chop.”

A renewed sense of purpose guided his steps as Elvis walked down the corridor of motel rooms that lined the pool,and he ran his hands up and down the front of his shirt. He mulled over what he wanted to do that didn’t involve eating more hamburgers. Or eating anything.

When he looked up, he realized he had stopped outside Ina’s room. There, through the curtain, he could see the back of her through the curtain where she sat on her bed, talking to someone on the phone.

“No no no, Mickey, of course I understand. Yes, well, I don’t know, I think you have to have been on top to get back on top, but your meaning is not lost on me. I get it. Yes. Opportunity of a lifetime. I know. Elvis Elvis. Don’t worry. I’m gonna go make it right, right now.”

She looked up at the ceiling and wiped the sides of her eyes, summoning a mask of quiet cheer Elvis recognized well as she clutched the phone tight.

“Yes, no - I’ll be a good girl, Mickey. I promise. I know, I know, no bread.”

He was transfixed, enjoying the power he felt watching her unaware, and pressed closer to the glass, careful not to draw attention to himself. A small front section of her long, flowing hair fell out from behind her ears and she absentmindedly began to twist it nervously. She looked like a fragile little girl, like a beautiful flower someone had stepped on. The sight of her anxiously talking away pulled on his heart strings.

He shook his head. What the fuck had happened? Why was she so angry at him? He'd played the part of the funny, affable host from the minute they met, introducing her to the crew and having Gee Gee get her screwdrivers as they all yukked it up in the bar. He'd about busted his gut when she lobbed a handful of ice at Charlie and knocked him over the back of the couch.

He stood there watching as her big brown eyes lit up while she told her agent how nice the desert was. He almost believed her. Goddamit, why couldn’t she just be a good girl and get along? She’d been sweet and flirty in make-up and then what, an hour or two later, her claws were out and she’d aimed them at him.

He whistled and thought about the fickleness of women as he turned to walk the long way around the pool.

Thirty seconds later he heard the thud of a door opening followed by Ina’s voice calling out for him.

Elvis stopped, his hands moved out as if to balance himself as he swiveled around, slowly, to face her. A sense of dread settling in his stomach. Up above him, he saw Charlie and Gee Gee making their way down the staircase, while to his left a group of crew members were heading for the pool. The smell of chlorine wafted through the open air hallway.

He cautiously trudged back toward the doorway to where Ina stood, each footfall a slow thump of his cowboy boot against the hard concrete sidewalk.

“Oh good, I’m glad I caught you, Elvis.” She swallowed, there it was again, that cheerful mask settling over her face as she exhaled a nervous laugh. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Elvis straightened up, looking around again before pulling on the red bandana at his throat. He definitely didn’t want to be alone with Ina. She was unpredictable and he couldn’t stand the awkward energy that flickered between them. However, he also didn’t want another public scene and he could already hear their names being whispered by some of the crew at the pool.

So he did what he always did with an audience, he mustered a wide, beaming smile and spoke in a nonchalant, cool voice:

“Hey honey, you ain’t gotta worry bout me, I’m all good. You get your beauty sleep and I’ll see you tamarra onset an - “

Ina’s lip trembled, she looked like she might fall apart at any moment.

Shit he thought, unable to stop himself from walking over to her and stroking her shoulder.

“There there, been a rough day. This desert heat, I tell ya what, baby, does things to ya head. Now go ahead and listen to ol’ Elvis -”

Ina put her hand over his where it squeezed her shoulder.

“Could we just talk - just for a moment?” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Alone. I - I won’t take much time, I just - I’d like to apologize and clear the air if you’ll let me. Otherwise, otherwise I won’t be able to sleep and then you’ll be making love to a haggard old zombie first thing in the morning.”

Elvis' eyes softened and he looked around once more before nodding. “Ok.”

As soon as the door closed he was an obedient puppy letting her lead him by the hand to sit on the bed, where he took off his cowboy hat and toyed with it in his lap.

Ina stepped away, backing toward the dresser where she lifted herself to sit next to the TV, but then changed her mind. She felt like a ship adrift, unmoored and out of her comfort zone. Sitting and swinging her legs about was too casual, she decided, so she stood back up and swept the hair that had fallen out of her high ponytail behind her ears.

Just make it short, sweet, earnest, she reminded herself, you’re no stranger to eating humble pie. Indeed, Ina reflected on the number of times she had apologized unnecessarily just to smooth things over with her mother or sister, a producer, an ad executive. This was one of the first times she felt she actually had behaved badly and now she was lost for words. If only there was a script for life.

“I - um - thanks for seeing me - I - I - I.”

All the words left her head when she found Elvis’ dark blue eyes studying her beneath his long lashes. He was rotating his cowboy hat in his lap. The smell of the heavy floral cleaning products the maids had used lingered in the air, stronger now that the air conditioner cycled on with a heaving, mechanic whomp. She swallowed again, and counted to ten, trying to ignore the way the back of her neck seemed to prickle as a chill went down her spine. She steadied herself, forcing her eyes to connect with his.

“Elvis, I am so very sorry. I mean it. I - I - I - ’ve never lost it before onset, it is so unprofessional I can barely stand to look at myself.”

She felt a release of tension as she watched his hands relax. He took a deep breath and stroked his beard.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Ina, I been making two to three pictures a year since 1933. I can roll with the punches, ain’t nothing I can’t handle. ThoughI gotta admit you threw me off back there.”

The register of his voice changed from rougher to softer as he looked down at the floor and then back up at Ina’s face.

“Be honest, did I do anything to offend you or make you mad at me?”

His softer side was almost harder to withstand and his eyes seemed to penetrate her very being, seeking out the secrets she kept hidden in her heart. She shook it off with another nervous chuckle,

“No, no, this was 100% me. I’ve been so nervous about these love making shoots. Chuck’s is telling everyone back in Hollywood this is the first the first film with a sex scene - “

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, I mean, since the production code, maybe, but they’ve shot plenty of them. It’s just that the studio always pulls out at that last minute -”

Ina covered her mouth and gasped when she watched Elvis’ lip curl up at her words but said nothing. He didn’t need to. The glint in his eye said it all and when he waggled his eyebrows up and down Ina laughed out. She was grateful for the levity, it seemed to crack through Elvis’ cool bravada and made this conversation easier.

“Stop, you know what I mean.”

She blushed, and looked out her window, watching as the silhouettes of two people walked by. It was getting dark, she needed to wrap it up.

“But yes, today I was nervous, I haven’t been eating or sleeping much, but I promise you - “

Her voice wavered as she turned back to find his steady gaze.

“ - um - no more fights, no more difficult behavior. I am so grateful for this opportunity to work with you and I just hope you can forgive me for my lapse of judgment.”

Elvis stood up, his fingers were once more busy fiddling with his cowboy hat and he spoke in a low whisper.

“Ok. I forgive you. So long as you really ain’t mad at me.”

The breath hitched in Ina’s throat when Elvis looked up at her, biting his lip in a way that made the top jut out a bit as he searched her face once more, as if she were a puzzle he needed to solve.

She gulped. “I - uh - I - no, I just need some sleep - I “

“Honey I can’t help feeling like you’re holding something back here, and if we’re gonna get along, I need you to be completely honest with me.”

Ina looked away. Damn him, he was like one of those fortune tellers back on Coney Island who she had believed as a kid. As a teenager she had learned the truth: they had no supernatural talents, they were just extremely gifted at reading their marks. Like Elvis was reading her right now.

“Oh, I may have been upset about something but it doesn’t matter, it was silly and stupid, like me. I - I was wrong, and I apologize. I’ll happily apologize to you in front of the whole crew tomorrow if you want. Really. If that is what it will take to make amends with you Mr. Presley.”

Elvis clenched his fists.

“I don’t give a damn about a public apology or the crew or any of that. But I can’t bear it when a woman is sore at me and won’t say why. Ticks me off to no end.”

Tension hung in the air, and Ina sighed. Recounting the whole ordeal made it seem so juvenile now, though it still stung.

“I - I am, I heard some of your friends talking. They -”

“Which friends?”

“Jerry, Jerry and Charlie. I told you, it’s like high school and I can’t believe I let them upset me.”

“Well now you started, better lay it all out for me. Go on.”

“I - I well, I heard them laughing about how you had said I looked like - like drag queen that needed a shave. And they were calling me Groucho and saying I had big feet.”

Ina let her shoulders drop and forced a smile, but she couldn’t stop her hand from pulling on the necklace at her chest.

“Ha, actually now that I say it is kind of funny, you see I - um - I usually have a great sense of humor. Any of my friends would tell you. Some of them are drag queens, actually. They’d probably feel more slighted being compared to me. Your boys just, they - they just caught me right before I was filming my first nude scene and well - “

Ina’s voice trailed off as she watched Elvis get up and pace towards the bathroom growling.

“Those fucking nitwits, pulling a stunt like that and gummin up tha works -” he turned and his face fell at the pained look on Ina’s face. “You know I never said nothin’ like that.”

Ina quickly shook her head, summoning the calm veneer that usually came so easy to her. She immediately regretted telling Elvis, now she felt as raw as she did after she had a full waxing appointment at the salon.

In her heart she knew he was lying, she knew from the way he had grimaced, albeit it briefly, on set when she’d said she wasn’t a drag queen.

Yet there was something earnest and pleading in his eyes that made her question her own grip on reality. This got worse when he bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling, all vulnerable and apologetic, as if searching for the right thing to say. It made her stomach flip up into her throat. Then looked at her, his eyes wide with a newfound warmth as he sought a connection from across the room, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Ina knew right then that she needed to get him out before anything changed.

“Oh, yeah, sure, I know. And, well it doesn’t matter anyway, right? I mean it’s none of my business what you think of me - like I said, I knew some knockout drag queens, so it’s a compliment really. Ha so - “

Elvis stode over as she spoke and grabbed her hands, his thumb delicately soothing the top of her knuckles. The spicy smell of his aftershave entered her nostrils as he spoke in a low, soft voice.

“Here’s the thing now, Iny Beany, I just need you to know though that I didn’t say none a that. Ya right, them boys still in high school, and they been playing pranks like we’re still in high school. I guar-an-TEE you they knew the assistant had just called for you, and they set that whole thing up to ruin my first sex scene shoot. Have half a mind to fire 'em. They need to learn some goddamn respect."

Ina found herself transfixed, unable to step away or pull her hands from his. She looked him over. He somehow looked like a cowboy who had let a bunch of drag queens dress him.

He wore a fresh pair of dark green slacks, a thick leather belt and a long sleeve white linen shirt. Over his hands sat several jewel-encrusted rings matched by the two necklaces that lay underneath his red bandana, tied much like a silk ascot through a cravat. His foundation make-up was impeccable, and his hair was styled in a high quiff perfectly slicked back above his forehead. It made him look cavalier and polished at the same time.

Then there was the way his smokey eye makeup was now smudged around his waterline made him look even more ruggedly attractive. Sweat glistened underneath his beard, almost like glitter. There, in the dim light of her motel room he looked like the prettiest cowboy she had ever seen.

“Know what I mean?”

Ina shook her head, realizing she’d gotten caught up staring at his scruffy chin and lost track of what he was saying.

“Um, I’m sorry, what did you say?”

A sly grin tweaked up the corners of his lips.

“I said, you cain’t listen to a word outta those boys' moufs, ‘specially Charlie. His elevator don’t go all the way up, if you take my meaning.”

Elvis stepped in closer to her, cautiously, waiting to see if she stepped away or flinched. But it was all Ina could do to just keep breathing, each stroke of Elvis' thumb over her hand now sent a bolt of electricity down her chest.

“How I could I say something like that about you, Iny? Ya so beautiful, I could barely look at you too long before turning into mush.”

Ina rolled her eyes, but she could feel her own resolve waver as his hand moved to her hips and a blush crept over her face.

“Stop, you don’t have to lie to me.”

He shook his head, his nose tickling over hers.

“How can you say that Iny Meany? You have no idea, no idea what you do to me.”

Ina’s heart skipped a beat when she felt his thumb at the indent of her girdle. The air between their bodies seemed to crackle now with heat, and he pulled her closer, nuzzling his nose over hers. A tear rolled down her face and he lifted his finger to catch it.

“Ssshhhh, s’ok baby, s’ok. I got you. And I promise ain’t no one gonna talk like that about you again.”

He pressed his cheek against hers and she pushed back,willfully embracing the harsh scruff of his beard. She could feel herself teetering on the precipice of something dangerous. If she crossed this line with Elvis it would change the dynamic of their work together, it would change her reputation. She had vowed to herself she wouldn’t be susceptible to his charms, him, of all people. He was so obvious, so cliche. And yet here she was, nuzzling her nose back along his.

Emboldened, Elvis gently pressed his lips to her skin, peppering her jaw with light kisses. Ina eagerly moved to give him access to her neck and he instantly took the hint and suckled at her nape, pausing to grin as she moaned out a high, breathy unladylike moan.

Her chest heaved as their lips met and the faint aroma of mustard filled Ina’s nostrils.

“Oh my god, you taste like hamburger.”

Elvis chuckled, unsure of himself for a moment. Ina enjoyed watching him become self conscious.

"I’m sorry baby, you want me to go brush my teeth?”

She shook her head, pulling him closer and speaking between kisses.

“No - mmmm - it’s amazing — mmm - haven’t had a mmamburger in months.”

Elvis let out a nervous laugh.

“Ok, ya kook, I’ll be sure and eat hamburger every day.”

"Ha! I'm gonna hold you to that, Presley."

His fingers brushed over her thighs as he lifted her onto the dresser and Ina trembled.

“You ok? Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

She shook her head, stopping was the last thing on her mind. Though she suddenly thought of crew members at the pool who’d seen her call Elvis into her room to apologize.

“I wonder what everyone outside thinks we’re doing in here.”

“Hmmm, whatever they’re thinking, I guarantee it's not nearly as good as what I’m thinking.”

“Elvis - I - I don’t want to have sex.”

He arched his eyebrow.

“Whoo now, who said anything about sex?”

“I mean, of course I want to have sex with you.”

He stoked her thighs, a faint smile on his face.

"Relax Iny, we’re just having some fun. Don’t overthink it. We ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t wanna do.”

Ina released a nervous giggle. “OK, you see, I um, well, actually the thing is that I sometimes break out when I - I do it.”

“Really? You know that Max Factor stuff will cover anything.”

“Ha! I know - I just think tonight, no matter what I say later, we should just keep it simple.”

“I gotcha Iny girl. Sweet. Simple.”

Ina’s pulse quickened at the way he leaned into her chest, his hands worked up from her thighs. She felt like a giddy teenager as she smiled gleefully into his face, her right hand fiddling with his ear.

“You have a great earlobe, you know that? I can see why you’re a movie star.”

“Huh. That right? Cuz of my earlobe?”

He leaned in and kissed the top of her nose.

“Oh yeah, it's very photogenic. I see why this is the only part of you in frame during the sex scene. I mean the rest could as ugly as Boris Karloff -” Ina waved her other hand in front of Elvis face. “But this lobe, right here, it’s a million dollar lobe.”

Elvis chuckled. “That right?”

“Uh huh. I hope you have it insured - oh god.”

Elvis' right hand moved over her breast, flicking her nipple.

“Hmm, well, maybe I should stop whateva this is and go call the colonel, get him right on that, uh huh.”

He moved as if to leave, smirking at how quickly Ina pulled him back into her arms.

“Don’t go.”

She squeaked out, voice cracking.

“You sure? You don want me to fetch a rattlesnake to kiss instead? See if you like making love to his earlobe?”

“Stop.”

Ina swatted him, straightening the line of his bandana.

“Please don’t repeat what I said earlier, I was tired and nervous and upset and I hate myself for that whole scene. I really am sorry, Presley.”

“I know, baby, I know. I'm just teasing.”

He pressed his lip son hers once more and Ina rocked forward into him, following the slow, tender rhythm of Elvis’ body. She felt like a buoy, still unmoored and adrift in the ocean, but now she didn’t want to come into shore. She wanted to stay like this, swaying back and forth to the ebb of Elvis’ tide, delighting in the wet smack of Elvis’ lips every time they smashed into hers. Again and again.

Her whole body buzzed when his fingers trailed down to her hem and absentmindedly began to work their way under her dress. He had notched himself between her legs, fitting snugly against her knee caps. She made a small squeak of surrender as she opened her hips to bring him in closer. The taste of onions and pepsi and meat filled her mouth as he took her with the tip of his tongue, slowly owning and consuming her completely.

Elvis moaned into her and deepened their kiss.

Ina lost herself in the sweet supple cushion of his lips. His hands moved over her bosom, fanning the spark in her belly into a flame. Then his fingers moved under her skirt and feathered over the warmth of her panties. Ina felt the bulge begin to swell at her thigh and then Elvis jerked back.

Every cell in her body cried out to pull him back into her embrace and then until he was inside her and they were melting into each other. Vows and boundaries be damned. Thank god he had some sense of self control.

“Whooa, whoa whoa.” He muttered slowly, almost painfully.

Ina nodded, licking her lips as she met his eyes.

“You ok?’

“Yeah, you?”

Elvis took a deep breath. “Course, honey, I - I - I just think we better put the breaks on for tonight.”

“Yeah, sure, no. Totally. This was exactly what I wanted.”

He wiped his mouth, shooting her an impish smile, like he knew exactly what she wanted.

“Guess I should clear out, huh?”

“You don’t have to leave, I mean, I enjoy your company. Is what I mean. But if you are looking to get lucky, then yes, I suppose you should find one of those extras you've been playing patty cake with.”

“Huh, okay, well I'll be on my way then. Catch ya later.”

But he didn't move, just stayed there hovering above her. His forehead leaning into her as he pushed in even closer, pressing the air out of her lungs.

“You do have a reputation to keep up. I understand.”

"Mhmmmm."

Elvis shook his head and went to sit on her bed, up against the head board.

“Look, I'm willing to put my reputation aside, jus for one night. I promise, no funny business. Clothes stay on.”

He smirked.

“Unless you’d feel more comfortable without your dress on.”

Ina hesitantly moved to perch next to him. She could still taste the mix of Elvis’ salty sweat on her tongue as she wiped her raw lips.

“That’s awfully accommodating of you, Presley.”

“What can I say, Iny Beany, I’m an open minded guy. Always say, if a girl wants to take her own dress off, who am I to say she can’t?’

“Well, if it’s all the same to you I think I’ll keep mine on. For now. There’s still time for you to make an exit.”

“Aw, now shut up with that exit junk already and get in here.”

Elvis pulled Ina down into the curve of his arm, and she sighed, embracing the cozy warmth of his body and rubbing her hand over the trim stretch of his stomach as he spoke to her in a soft, friendly voice.

"Alright now, I want you to tell me everything there is to know about you. How did the hell you end up in a god forsaken Elvis Presley picture, huh?”

“Hmmm, poor life choices? But Elvis, I thought you liked this film? I thought you were the one who made it happen.”

“Aw, well, sure, the first script was pret-tee fantastic. It was gritty and had guts, ya know, but then these damn producers been wittlin' it away to nothing, man. Chuck cornered me this afternoon once you'd left and started in on nagging me to sing the title song.”

“You don’t want to sing? Just the title? it would be so good.”

“So you like the way I sing, Iny?”

Elvis’ eyes danced but then he remembered what they were talking about and was solemn once more.

“Yeah, naw man, that would set it up as another Presley musical, the next they’ll be trying to get me to sing to my horse. No self respecting cowboy sings, you ever heard of a singing cowboy? Never seen John Wayne sing.”

“OK, sure, but what about Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Hank Williams was the Driftless Cowboy, right?” Elvis leveled her with his blue eyes and pinched her side.

“Hmmm - guess you got me there. But it’s 1968, I’d like to see Gene Autry sell a movie in today’s economy. My boy my boy. Today it ain't no joke. Can you see him in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly?”

Ina tilted her head in agreement back onto Elvis' shoulder, she felt the same way she did sinking into a pair of comfy, worn-in slippers, and founding his chest as relaxed and welcoming,

“Trust me, I get it, I’m just grateful I don’t have to do a rape scene in this film.”

He squeezed Ina tighter, kissing her cheek.

“Yeah, me too, honey, real grateful. Boy. Don’t know why anyone want ta see that.”

“The old west ain’t what it used to be.”

“You can say that again.”

Elvis' arms closed around Ina tighter as they murmured the hours away, comparing diet pills, LA taco huts and favorite movies while their limbs easily intertwined into one another. The closest he got to undressing her was the moment around midnight when he stealthily undid her pony tail and played with her hair while she pretended to be miffed. Then he kissed her forehead and told her he had done her a favor, because it looked better this way, and she should just be a good girl and do as he said. Which got him a light slap and a big “HA!”

They spent the next hour enjoying a playful, cozy respite together in the dim orange glow of Ina’s hotel room. It was well past one in the morning when he gave her a parting kiss that turned into a series of parting kisses before he snuck back up to his suite.

Shooting began the next day at 7 a.m., and you could have knocked the director, Chuck, over with a long, pink gaudy boa feather as he found Elvis and Ina in good spirits ready to work. They exchanged playful barbs and their onscreen chemistry sizzled when they went through each sequence, pausing between takes for Ina’s chest to be spritzed while another batch of assistants dabbed Elvis’ forehead with dry unused coffee filters. The industry’s secret weapon against perspiration.

Elvis found Ina in her dressing room during a break and their lips met with stifled giggles as they kissed now with away from the ever present surveillance of the crew, laughing and talked into each other’s mouths.

“Oh my god, now you taste like bacon. I swear Elvis, you’re gonna have me off my diet and then I’ll swell up like a balloon and then Charro! will be a very different film about a cowboy and his pregnant saloon madam.”

“Baby, you gotta let yourself have one hamburger now and then, trust me now, I been doing this longer than you. It will help the cravings.”

Ina kept her mouth shut as she calculated that she had been in this business just as long as he had, since she began modelling at 15 in 1955.

“Ok. I give in. I have no willpower around you. I will have one hamburger this week.”

“Tonight, honey. Imma have you for dinner.” He winked. “Over for dinner, I mean. I’ll have one a my guys come get you and bring you up to my room later. ”

“Ok. Dinner. Tonight. Your room.” She grinned as she chased the taste of bacon on his tongue and the salty scent of his body as it enveloped her until a knock on the door brought them back into their roles on set as Jess and Tracy.

That night Elvis went through his usual routine after a shoot, which began with a shower to wash off the desert and the dust and the sweat of the set off his body. He took extra care in how he dressed, selecting a light blue dress shirt and a white suit, capping off his outfit with a small black porkpie hat. He doused himself in aftershave and the smell of Old Spice smacked Joe in the face when he came in to set up Elvis’ calls to Memphis and LA.

Once Elvis hung up his phone he leaned over and banged on the wall for Joe to come back in.

“You want me to get that sweet little Mexican gal boss? Alma?”

“Did I tell you to do that? That gal ain’t nothing but a big phony, naw man. Wait for me to tell you what to do, son."

Elvis stood up and went to slather more after shave on, exchanging one ring for another at his toiletry bag.

"Go down stairs and invite Ina up to join me for dinner.”

Joe let out a loud cackle. “What, Groucho?”

Elvis paused, taking in the look of disbelief on Joe’s face. His heart sank and he rubbed his hands over one another as he remembered how they all were howling at his jokes about her a few nights ago.

He hadn’t even really meant it. He’d just said those things after watching Alma and Flor look at Ina with envy during rehearsals. All he had wanted was to put them at ease, make them understand he was attracted to them. Saying what he thought they wanted to hear. But then the boys had chimed in and now they all thought she was a dog.

Elvis forced a low chuckle and ran his hand through his hair.

“Nah, man, not Ina - I meant Flor. Goddamn it, this picture messin’ with my head.”

He swallowed hard, thinking of the way Ina's beautiful big brown eyes looking up at him. They their legs had seemed to fit together, the way conversation had seemed to flow effortlessly. He smiled to himself thinking of the way she had blushed when he snuck into her dressing room. How her breasts had felt beneath as they ran their love scenes. He pushed away the pang of guilt for now and tamped down his desire to hold her once more. Maybe he'd sneak down to her room later if he could get away. But for now he had an image uphold. These guys looked up to him, and his control over them as their boss rested on the how cool they thought he was.

He snapped his finger at Joe.

“But I don’t wanna hear y’all calling her that no more. Tell the others. Like I said this morning, y’all shitwads talking like that is what got me in trouble in the first place.”

And with that, Elvis spent another night surrounded by people and utterly alone.

I don't really think I did Ina justice here, look at how great they looked together. We were robbed of their sex scenes.....

taglist:

@i-r-i-n-a-a @ab4eva @eliseinmemphis @richardslady121 @artlover8992 @ashtag6887 @karolshungary @j-v-9-2 @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme @notstefaniepresley @dollette02 @dkayfixates @everythingelvispresley @velvetelvis @moonchild-daniella @lialocklear @obsessionisthecure @louisejoy86 @arrolyn1114 @literally-just-elvis-fics

i don't really have a taglist for one-shots and I apologize if you don't want to be tagged, just let me know and I'll take you off.

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis #new hollywood elvis #charro!#banditqueenwrites

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cartermagazine · 8 days

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Today We Honor The Voice Luther Vandross

Luther Vandross’ voice and distinct singing style led to not only monumental success, but an instant recognition when you hear him singing–through your stereo, car radio, on TV or in a movie.

Coupled with that voice, was Luther’s unique ability to write and sing about love and the shared emotions we all feel in that search and enjoyment of love. Love of family, friends, the special someone–all were themes Luther explored with his music regularly, reaching many, becoming a staple in the most joyous moments of people’s lives through his songs for the last two generations.

Luther had been in entertainment for 35 years. From his introduction to the world as a singer on the first season of PBS’s Sesame Street in 1969 to winning four Grammy Awards in 2004, Luther was a permanent and dynamic force in popular music. He crossed boundaries, starting with his earliest success as a background vocalist and arranger for David Bowie, Bette Midler, Barbara Streisand, Donna Summer, Carly Simon, Judy Collins, J. Geils Band, Ben E. King, Ringo Starr and Chic. He produced records for Aretha Franklin, Dionne Warwick and Whitney Houston.

For almost 25 years, from 1981 to 2005, Luther dominated the American R+B music charts like no other artist before or since. In that span Luther released eight (8) #1 R&B albums, seven (7) #1 R&B singles and another five (5) Top 20 R&B singles. He achieved crossover status with eight (8) Billboard Top 10 albums, including reaching #1 with 2003’s Dance With My Father; and another five (5) Top 10 Billboard Hot 100 singles.

Luther received 31 Grammy Award nominations, winning 8 times. Additionally, Luther won eight (8) American Music Awards, including Favorite Soul/R&B Male Artist seven (7) times. via luthervandross.com

CARTER™️ Magazine

#carter magazine #historyandhiphop365 #wherehistoryandhiphopmeet #carter #history #cartermagazine #today in history #staywoke #blackhistory #blackhistorymonth #luther vandross

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cleolinda · 10 months

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youtube

When I was a child in the '80s, I absorbed some kind of cultural truism that disco was ridiculous, embarrassing, cheesy, a cultural relic to be mocked at every turn. Remember, I'm under ten years old at this time, and I still manage to get this impression. There was another, milder sea change when grunge overtook the hair metal of the late '80s, so I never questioned the idea that disco should be dead and buried. We like silly things, I thought in my 13-year-old wisdom, and then we get over it.

Then I saw The Last Days of Disco (1998) while I was in college, and suddenly I realized that disco was fun, and it was like—it was in the roots of—music I already loved. And the end of that movie also—hints? tells you? I can't remember how explicitly—that disco didn't just fade like most trends; it was killed off.

I watched a lot of VH1 in those days, the late '90s, with a little TV sitting on my tall university-issue dresser, its corner overlooking my computer desk while I struggled with piles of assignments. This was the heyday of Behind the Music, so it was great background TV. And then one day (1999) they ran a Donna Summer—the "Queen of Disco"—concert special. The video up there is the song that immediately became my favorite of hers. It’s just instant serotonin to me, any version of it. I bought the whole VH1 album on CD, and "This Time I Know It's For Real" may genuinely be one of my all-time favorite songs, now, still, more than 20 years later. You can hear the original version (1989) here (the backing instrumental that I just found today is lovely), but the live version ten years later, the video up there, has a really special comeback—joyous, gracious survival—energy to it.

Watching the whole concert, I got it. Why the fuck did I ever think disco wasn't amazing? It was always the kind of thing I loved; we had all just been pretending that it was embarrassing glitter trash.

And then I found out why we were pretending. From densely-footnoted Wikipedia:

Disco Demolition Night was a Major League Baseball (MLB) promotion on Thursday, July 12, 1979, at Comiskey Park in Chicago, Illinois, that ended in a riot. At the climax of the event, a crate filled with disco records was blown up on the field between games of the twi-night doubleheader between the Chicago White Sox and the Detroit Tigers. Many had come to see the explosion rather than the games and rushed onto the field after the detonation. The playing field was so damaged by the explosion and by the rioters that the White Sox were required to forfeit the second game to the Tigers. [...] The popularity of disco declined significantly in late 1979 and 1980. Many disco artists carried on, but record companies began labeling their recordings as dance music. [...] Rolling Stone critic Dave Marsh described Disco Demolition Night as "your most paranoid fantasy about where the ethnic cleansing of the rock radio could ultimately lead". Marsh was one who, at the time, deemed the event an expression of bigotry, writing in a year-end 1979 feature that "white males, eighteen to thirty-four are the most likely to see disco as the product of homosexuals, blacks, and Latins, and therefore they're the most likely to respond to appeals to wipe out such threats to their security. It goes almost without saying that such appeals are racist and sexist, but broadcasting has never been an especially civil-libertarian medium." Nile Rodgers, producer and guitarist for the disco-era band Chic,

(who survived the disco era to make half the music I loved in the '80s)

likened the event to Nazi book burning. Gloria Gaynor, who had a huge disco hit with "I Will Survive," stated, "I've always believed it was an economic decision—an idea created by someone whose economic bottom line was being adversely affected by the popularity of disco music. So they got a mob mentality going."

The DJ who ran the whole thing, Steve Dahl, complains that it was VH1 itself—you know, those Behind the Music specials I was watching—circa 1996 that labeled the whole debacle as bigotry when it so totally was not, you guys, and he is so tired of defending himself. But I'm gonna tell you, Steve, I don't really care. Maybe Disco Demolition Night was your fault; maybe you were just a part of something so much bigger and uglier that you couldn't see the whole size of it. Can you draw a direct line from the weird bigoted vitriol directed at those dance records to Ronald Reagan, elected the very next year, not giving a single fuck about the AIDS crisis? You probably don't want to, but I will.

And I don't care because I can look around the U.S. right now and tell you, nearly 45 years later, people are trying to demolish a lot more than disco. The Club Q shooter was sentenced to life in prison just a few hours ago. It's Pride Month, and we're all sitting here holding our breaths. That's a terrible way to end a post about a beautiful happy song I love, I guess, unless you turn it around and say, that should have been the whole point of this post in the first place. Listen to this song and think, people wanted to destroy this music, this sound, this joy for some reason. They want to stop people from just living their lives, from dancing. And yet, disco is still here. It was there in 1979, and it was there when Donna Summer released this song in 1989, and it was there when she returned in 1999. The Queen of Disco passed away in 2012, and it's still here. I feel a lot of joy when I listen to this song, but I don't think I'd ever thought about it being the joy of grooving with something just because it’s beautiful, the joy of just being here, still.

#donna summer #music #video #disco demolition night #queer history #lgbtqia+#club q shooting #aids crisis #pride #pride for one thousand years #I feel really hesitant about the turn this post took but #if the dots are there you gotta connect them #long post #music discussion

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dabiconcordia · 5 months

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Credo I believe in the Tuesdays and Wednesdays of life, the tuna sandwich lunches and TV after dinner. I believe in coffee with hot milk and peanut butter toast, Rose wine in summer and Burgundy in winter.

I am not in love with holidays, birthdays—nothing special— and weekends are just days numbered six and seven, though my love dozing over TV golf while I read my books on Sunday might be all I need of life and all I ask of heaven. by Donna Hilbert

#donna hilbert #credo #books #photo pinterest.com

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raethereptile · 4 months

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I just watched the DW Christmas Special and here are my notes:

He is fabulous and I love him

Something interesting finally happened on a Sunday

After regenerating back into the bigeneration, he's no longing speaking to a therapist (because Donna and Kate definitely encourage 14 to see a therapist) and it's starting to show

"I've got no one" 15 you giant drama queen not only do you have the biggest family of fosterlings in the universe, a past version of you is right this second living in a QPR with Donna Noble and you can definitely visit her if you need/want to, 14 doesn't need to know

The Doctor played a game at the edge of the universe and has let all sorts of things loose, or you could say; he fucked around so hard and is now finding out he can change the shows entire genre

The Doctor can sing and is fully prepared to commit 100% to the bit

Also HE CAN SING OMG

Ruby is adorable

Ruby has figured out the time travel but but has no idea about the space travel or the fact that her new bff is, in fact, an Alien and i cannot wait for it

"I AM LEARNING THE VOCABULARY OF ROPE!!!" I'm howling

I haven't watched Who in a while but I've heard a few things over the years, so the Doctor choosing to talk about being a founding feels like a big healthy step (thank you 14s therapy) and maybe seeing Ruby and Lulabell's happy healthy fostering/adoption will help to heal something in him going forward

I want to see the doctor being amazing with the baby he deserves it

The doctor dancing and just enjoying life is an amazing creative choice rtd ta

"a long hot summer the harry hudini" I need to know which doctor right this instant and also how hot we're talking please and thank you

The doctor once again offended by the very existence of other time travellers and their time travelling methods because he's the only real time travel excuse you

The doctor not instantly being hated by the mother is rather disconcerting but once more the grandparent is fully prepared to adore that man

I would have liked a little more sci in my sci-fi, but it's a very bold choice to add more fantasy in and I'm looking forward to seeing where it's going and wishing them luck

That scene on the roof and the ladder is amazing

Mavity

#doctor who #the doctor #ruby sunday #fifteenth doctor #doctor who christmas special

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heisenberg-simp257 · 8 months

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Hey! It’s June 3rd! My birthday and i was wondering if you could do Heisenberg and his and reader’s kids to work together to celebrate and suprise reader on her birthday. Like Karl have like somewhat deep conversations with kids on what to get reader or make for her.

Also happy pride month everyone!!

Happy Belated Birthday! Better late than never, so I hope you enjoy!💖

Also, I’m going to use kids from another story I wrote...so the oldest is a girl named Anneliese and younger twin boys named Felix and Konrad.

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

The Happiest of Birthdays!

Heisenberg isn't going to let your birthday just be an ordinary day. Thankfully, he's got some help this time around in order to ensure things go perfectly.

From the outside, it might look like the embodiment of Hell. A snowy landscape, cold and uninviting factory in which people go in but never come out, and not to mention the lycans prowling about. Not exactly someone's idea of a pleasant place to be.

However, for five people, it was home.

The walls weren't cold, and the inside was warm. It was a place of safety where three young children were born. It was just a place where you could live and grow with the man you loved. You've been here for years with Heisenberg, long enough to have a seven-year-old daughter named Anneliese and four-year-old twin boys named Felix and Konrad.

His seven-year-old daughter, Anneliese, looked a lot like you, h/c hair and just your overall face. Anneliese also had your attitude and was very well-behaved and kind. However, she had his stormy gray eyes. She was definitely his “favorite” and was the main reason he wanted another kid because she was so good.

He wasn’t expecting two kids in one go.

Felix and Konrad, who were around four-years old, looked just like him except Konrad had your e/c eyes. While they were your sons as well, they were exact replicas of him in terms of attitude.

It made sense that they were little shits sometimes.

It was also that time of year, the early months of summer, when your birthday was coming up once again.

And Heisenberg was NOT going to forget this time.

He was never one to be big on birthdays, so for the first couple years when you guys were still getting to know each other, it was never brought up so he didn't really think about. Then, when you guys had children, life was just too insane and chaotic to think about birthdays. And he also had the village and the other lords to worry about, so you let it all slide.

However, this time he was determined to make your day special, and he had three little helpers.

"Where the hell did you learn to bake?" Heisenberg questioned his daughter, who happily volunteered to make you something.

Right now, he had his children stuffed into one of his small workshops to conspire with him. (And knowing he might get in trouble, he made sure anything dangerous was properly hidden.) You were invited to have tea at Donna's, so you were out of the building. The idea of you in that doll infested house made him want to vomit, but at least you wouldn't know about anything he was plotting for your birthday.

"The kitchen." Anneliese responded with the pride of a seven-year-old. That answer was good enough for him.

When it came to birthdays, he never knew what to do. He never celebrated his own, so Heisenberg was unsure of what you would expect. He also never asked because he wanted it to be a surprise. Thankfully, the creativity of his children was helping him big time.

"We want to help!" The boys shouted with child-like enthusiasm. Heisenberg shushed them quickly, knowing that loud sounds would likely piss off the soldats that were lurking around.

And he was not in the mood to deal with them right now.

"Not in the kitchen. I already have that job." Anneliese stated and the boys pouted, Konrad looking ready to throw a tantrum.

"I already got a job for you two." Heisenberg said quickly to avoid any fights or tears. They looked at him eagerly, so he had to think quickly.

"I bet your mother would love a handmade gift from you both." He said with a smirk, knowing that crafts were the best way to entertain the four-year-olds.

"What about a puppy?" Felix said.

"Absolutely not." Heisenberg responded quickly, which resulted in another pout.

Once ideas were put into place, Heisenberg moved the kids into the living space. He had some ideas on how to decorate, but he put his children to work first as any responsible parent would do. Felix and Konrad began to make cards for you as Heisenberg worked on his own gift. Anneliese began her work in the kitchen (which worried her father slightly), and he was relying heavily on her expertise, which didn't say much considering she was only seven. That said, she still could probably bake better than him, and he was not about to crawl on his knees to get something made from Lady Dimitrescu.

Then he really would vomit.

"Done!" He heard his daughter say about an hour later. He figured that making something like a cake would take longer, but what did he know. His boys were almost done as well he noticed while walking by.

"Let's see what you...got..." Heisenberg's voice trailed off when he came into the kitchen and noticed the masterpiece his daughter made for you.

It was supposed to be a cake, but whatever he was looking at was definitely NOT edible. That's what happens when you leave a child in charge of baking.

The undercooked doughy round mess he was looking at had frosting that was distributed unevenly, and "Happy birthday mom!" was written sloppily on top of it. Heisenberg internally winced, thinking he probably should've been supervising, but hey, you'd probably find this cute.

"Do you like it?" She asked, bouncing on her toys. He had to lie.

"It's amazing, princess." Heisenberg praised while picking up his daughter and kissing her head, making her laugh. He placed her down and shooed her out to make a card for you with her brothers, who just finished theirs.

They showed him with glee, and he couldn't deny how cute they actually were, so he knew you'd love them.

"Alright you two, help me decorate." Heisenberg ordered after ruffling their hair. They cheered and Anneliese finished quickly so she wouldn't be left out. As the living room brightened up a bit with balloons and so forth (that the Duke was happy to sell to him), he realized how piss poor this was gonna probably be in comparison to what you were used to. But when all was done, he was still impressed with his work.

"When your mother gets home, what do you say?" He quizzed the children as they sat on the couch.

"Happy birthday!" They all exclaimed with the enthusiasm of children and he nodded.

"Alright you little gremlins, go do something as I work." Heisenberg said as they rushed off. With them keeping busy, he was able to use his powers to finishing making his gift for you. Smiling to himself, he hoped you would appreciate it.

And then, the hour arrived when you came home.

"Happy birthday mommy!" The shouts of your children probably could be heard throughout the whole village as your legs were tackled by your brood.

"Goodness me...were you guys waiting all day?" You asked, giving them hugs. They all nodded before dragging you to the living room, not even minding the stuff you had in your arms that Donna gave you as a gift.

But your mind was blown as you saw the decorations.

"Well...someone remembered my birthday." You said teasingly when you noticed Heisenberg walk into the room. He already had that look on his face that told you not to start shit. But despite that, he took the load from your arms and set in on a side table before giving you a kiss.

"Happy birthday Y/N." He said in that stoic tone of his before moving to have you guys sit on the couch.

"You did all this?" You asked, amazed. Heisenberg was never one to care about this kind of stuff. He shrugged.

"I had help." He admitted, and on cue, the three kids rushed back into the room (you never even noticed them leaving) with their hands full. Suddenly, your vision was blocked.

"We made you cards!"

"I baked you a cake!"

"Dad even made you something!"

You gently pushed them back, smiling at their enthusiasm. With the patient of a good mother, you thumbed through each card and praised your daughter for a job well done (but Heisenberg could tell that you were just as concerned as he was. He could tell baking lessons were in his daughter's future.) However, you were quick to notice that last statement.

"You made me a present?" You asked him with an arched brow. Heisenberg glared at Konrad, who was the kid that spilt the beans.

"You little shit..." He growled, but his son just giggled. Konrad knew his dad well enough to notice the hollow aggression.

But you slapped his shoulder for cursing.

"Yes...I made you something." He sighed in defeat before getting up to retrieve said something. Meanwhile, Anneliese sat beside you while Konrad climbed into your lap. Felix took his father's seat. When Heisenberg returned, he scooped the four-year-old up with one arm in order to sit down once more. In his other hand, he gave you a small box.

You shifted Konrad around in order to properly open the box. As you did so, Heisenberg glanced at the wall while holding his other son tightly for a bit of comfort. He was nervous and embarrassed right now. Once you finally had the gift exposed, he heard you gasp a bit.

"I love it..." You said with a smile, which made relief flood through his body.

Heisenberg had managed to make you a picture frame, decorated with little sculptures of your favorite animals. And the inside contained a picture of the whole family that he managed to find in a drawer somewhere. Coming from him, it was an absolutely loving gesture.

"I-It was nothing...but you're welcome." He said while moving a hand to rub the back of his neck. You moved your son better in your lap to scootch over and hug him a bit. He blushed, especially when his other kids decided to join in on the hug.

"H-Hey...this day is about you, so let's move on." Heisenberg said while shifting the children off and standing up. You just laughed before complying, his beet red face making you give in.

"Of course."

The evening went on smoothly with a small celebration in honor of you. Heisenberg was thankful for your kids making it cheerful because he knew he probably looked confused or embarrassed half the time (it didn't help that you kept bringing up how much you loved him for doing this.) Eventually, the time came that Anneliese begged you guys to try her cake. As parents, you guys weren't able to get out of this or else. Heisenberg was just hoping that neither of you get food poisoning.

Soon, the children were ushered off to bed and he had you all to himself.

"I actually got one more gift for you...if you want it." He said with a suggestive grin as you guys went to the bedroom. You smirked at him.

"Can I expect this every year?" You asked and he grinned more.

"You can expect it every night." He responded and you moved to slap his chest, making him chuckle.

"You know what I mean." You said, grinning once more and he shrugged.

"Depends." He responded simply, taking his hat off. You watched him as he sat on the bed.

"On what?"

"How much Anneliese improves her baking skills."

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

Happy birthday Anon! From Author-Chan to you!🎊🎊

#resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil imagines #resident evil village imagines #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg imagine #karl heisenberg x reader

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xxcherrycherixx · 6 months

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C.A Cupid hosting her show: this true hearts day i have decided to host a special hour where i share some of the best love songs with you guys! lets start off with a personal favorite of mine, this is "love to love you baby" by Donna Summer

10 minutes later in headmaster grimms office

C.A Cupid: what do you mean im being expelled-

#ever after high #c.a cupid #cupid: but that was the tamest song on the playlist!#cupid angrily packing while her friends watch concerned #raven: are you ok?#cupid slamming her suitcase shut: oh im fine! milton hates women and so im getting expelled! its all fine!#apple: you played a song where the singer sexually moans the entire time- i dont think this is about headmaster grimm hating women-#raven: no no shes onto something. fuck that guy

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leonardcohenofficial · 7 months

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ok sorry sorry another question!! i hope this doesn’t sound annoying but even if i’m not black i get so excited getting to talk about black artists in music because a lot of people i meet never know anything and it makes me sad because i just feel there’s so much incredible stuff. like they are really missing out and it makes me wonder if that’s why they’ll be impressed by a basic short piano solo in a kind of mediocre song like… have they never heard a jazz pianist??

(oh not a black musician but have you ever heard “uncertain smile” by the the? it’s a rad 80s song with a great jazz piano solo by jools holland that was improvised in studio)

anyway what are your top ten black female artists pre-1990? i always have a special place in my heart for billie holiday :)

if they asked me i could write a book (really an encyclopedia) about black women's impact on twentieth century music but to name just a few that have had major impact on me: nina simone, odetta, billie holiday, diana ross, roberta flack, aretha franklin, abbey lincoln, alice coltrane, tina turner, dorothy ashby, anita baker, whitney houston, gladys knight, mavis staples, merry clayton, chaka khan, celia cruz, donna summer, sylvia (robinson), the pointer sisters, carla thomas, the emotions, mahalia jackson, minnie riperton, bettye lavette, sade, gloria gaynor, carmen mcrae, dionne warwick, betty wright, sade—these are off the top of my head, i'm sure i could name more

#people should literally do the exercise; if you cannot name ten black female musicians pre 1990 (OR AT ALL FOR THAT MATTER) you need to put #in the effort and learn some; anyways i have not heard that the the song but i like jools holland so i'll check it out!#foxtraveler

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cloveroctobers · 10 months

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Richie Jerimovich — summer prompts 🍋

A/N: Love that most of y’all are coming around when it comes to Richie but what’s understood doesn’t need to be explained! Anyways after watching this eye-opening season, it was easy to be inspired for this piece so I hope you enjoy this.

SYNOPSIS: Richie’s found his purpose and doesn’t want to reflect on the past (much) but is looking towards a better future…which may include baby steps to outsiders but it means everything to him.

WARNINGS: language ofc it’s the bear & me we’re talking about, mentions of drugs & anxiety, mentions of slight sexual themes, and a little heaviness but mostly two goof balls expressing their love for each together.

Decided to throw a prompt into the mix as well so I’m using: “can we make cookies?” “it is 92 degrees outside, no!”

*GIF BELONGS TO: @p3iyin9 *

꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱**

[July 10th]

[4 months, 14 days later…]

It’s her birthday and she’s here.

She’s not alone and Richie’s half expecting her to be here with some new guy, some guy that’s more around her age and has their shit together. It’s a bitter thought to have but he can’t lie and say that it didn’t occur, the constant insecurity of not being good enough.

He knows it’s his own fault, he’s the one who pushed her away not long after she welcomed him between her thighs during a brutal winter. The details were vivid even with his eyes wide open, burning into space. He wanted to be angry being so intimate with someone else when there was always the thought of his first love on his mind.

Tiffany.

His ex-wife.

He was still hurting from being officially divorced for about a year now (separated for three) and she was moving on he learned. It was bound to happen, a woman with a heart like her’s? Richie wasn’t sure why he was still holding on to hope for them to rekindle their relationship. He wanted it to work but he was the constant screw up and Tiffany deserved better…he just didn’t expect it to be with some construction owning guy named Frank.

Richie already didn’t trust him.

It was the common tale of curing a broken heart, trying to get underneath someone else to get over someone, to feel anything else but the continuing ache that sat on the left side of his chest.

Freya Mazari was someone Richie met not long after “the thing with Tiff,” happened, outside of a bar that was famous for bourbon and risqué wall art. He spotted her outside at the start of summer on a surprisingly quiet sidewalk cracking her knuckles—out of a possible bad habit, blue bruise the side of an apple on her cheek, and a unlit spliff tapping against her thigh afterwards as she seemed to be mumbling some lyrics to a Busta Rhymes song.

That was the first thing that had him sold on their soon growing friendship.

Freya’s surrounded by a group of diverse women who are laughing it up over drinks while Freya is standing; embracing Sugar and falling into smile-filled chatter with the blonde. Richie instantly feels a pull to head over there himself but be figures he can just get entail from Sugar later. Carmy’s been over to Freya’s table already, handing out a, “it’s on the house,” birthday special but they still weren’t on the best terms really. It was strictly business now and that was something Richie never wanted to be part of.

A strict relationship with a family member—except for uncle Jimmy of course, he really had no choice with that one. That night back on opening day in May, seemed to be something they couldn’t get pass just yet and that was another hard pill for Richie to swallow.

Carmy messing up something good on the surface level and taking it out on everybody else with his mouth, changed the trajectory of their relationship.

Would it be forever? Richie couldn’t tell you.

Nonetheless he wasn’t here at the bear to talk about need-a-diaper carmy. Right now? He needed to figure out how to handle this…this distance with the woman he considered his close friend.

He’ll deal with that family shit in due time, don’t worry.

“Who are we hiding from?” A familiar voice causes Richie to clench his eyes shut.

He doesn’t have to peer down at the shorter tatted man who’s behind him as he says, “I’m not hiding from nobody.”

“Really? Because it looks like you’re creeping on…Freya! Yeah Freya over there. Do you know it’s her birthday today? We had the best birthday hug, she may even be a better hugger than me.” Fak informs the taller blue eyed tux wearing man.

Richie pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “of course I know its her—what did I tell you about touching things that don’t belong to you?”

He battled with himself countless of times this entire morning to call her up but ultimately fought against himself to just do it.

Fak hummed, “hey, she’s my friend too! And doesn’t belong to either of us but we’re included in her life and it’s her birthday! I’m sure she’ll be happy to receive a birthday wish from you too.”

“I can’t say I agree with you on that.”

“Why not? Oh…it’s because you guys did the dance with no pants—

Richie’s hands immediately slaps over the animated man’s mouth and starts talking to him calmly, “what did I say? To not ever mention that shit here at the original bear.”

That’s Richie’s new spin on the restaurant name, yes there are shirts on the way!

Patience is key.

Fak hummed as Richie scolded him. It wasn’t that big of a deal in the first place on Fak’s side of things. He was just thrilled that Richie was involved in being intimate with someone he cared about for once…compared to the others that shall not be named. Fak thought Freya and Richie could be something great but he wasn’t aware what Richie was so scared of.

“Yuck! Did you just lick my hand you—

Richie shook his hand about, halting himself from saying something insulting. Sometimes it just slipped out but he was doing much better and it was usually a place out of love when it came to Fak. He was like a puppy in training, always excited and doing whatever came to mind but most of the time you had to lure him to take a fucking nap.

“Yeah I did! Just go talk to her! Make her dreams come true.”

“Fuck are you talking about? Do I look like Hall & Oates to you? Like I’m her dream guy or somethin’?”

“Hey, I thought we weren’t doing this. I don’t like you talking down on yourself buddy! You need to go into the restroom and give yourself a quick pep talk in the mirror.” Fak ordered, pointing in the direction of the restrooms.

Richie blew out a raspberry at Fak’s encouragement. He didn’t take him serious but once the man started shoving him about, Richie was all elbows flying and slap-fight inflicting between the two.

Sydney calls from the kitchen, “Hey! What’re you two doing? Aren’t you supposed to be up front?”

“Sugar’s up front.” Richie informs with a slight turn to face the braided woman.

Fak immediately straightens up, not providing much answers, “Yes ma’am! I mean chef.”

Sydney blinks at the two, wondering why they’re not moving, leaving Fak to take a few deep breaths before slapping Richie on the chest as he mutters, “Taking one for the team again! You’re welcome and get it together!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Fak.”

Fak shrugs his shoulders and spins to leave the entry way of the kitchen, while the pace of the kitchen has started to slow down the movements are still precise. It’s late, after ten pm and there’s about three to five parties left, which means closing time should be wrapping up within the next thirty to forty-five minutes.

Business was booming still almost two months later but the rush always seemed to slow down once the late nights arrived. The Bear was formerly known as mainly a lunch or late lunch spot but after this new reno, dinner became much more important.

“Richie,” Sydney steps away from her spot behind the stand, “Everything good?”

Richie exhales as he mutters, “Freya’s out there.”

“I heard.”

He fidgets then.

“Have you talked to her? It’s her birthday.”

“I’m aware, I put in the word for Marcus to give her a little piece of home since I also hear she’s a little homesick. Mkhabez.” Sydney tells Richie, as she eyes the jittery man.

Richie chews on his fingernail in thought, “right that’s some type of cookie. Almond cookie? She told me about how her uh, Jidda used to make them for her as a little girl with her siblings back in Algeria.”

Sydney nodded her head, “yeah…are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“Not to be an asshole but you look like you’re gonna pass out or hurl and if you are, please give me a fair warning so you don’t ruin my coat.” Sydney cautiously took a step back as Richie used the back of his hand to wipe at the beads of sweat on his forehead and not because of the heat in the kitchen.

Richie scoffs, “No need to worry, Chef. I’m not gonna empty my belly or pop a smooth criminal lean. I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I probably need to pop another xan.”

“Uh, that’s probably something you shouldn’t mention to me.”

“Why? You’re not gonna snitch on me, are you?”

“No…but I might snoop through your stuff and fry them all in a pan.” Sydney honestly says while she folds her arms as Richie peers at her.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I could,” Sydney challenged, “if you need a minute take it but you can’t run forever.”

“Who says I’m runnin’?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Sydney states, “and you just need to rip whatever this is off like a band aid, you’ll feel better afterwards.”

“And what if I don’t?”

Sydney pauses with her arms still folded before she peeks around at the remaining chefs in the kitchen, Carmy not in sight before she whispers back up at him, “then fuck it, at least you tried.”

Richie can’t help but to snort out some laughter before he claps two hands down on Sydney’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze, “Well thanks for that, Syd.”

“Sure, whatever. Now get out of my kitchen.”

“Our!” Richie points.

Sydney nods her head from side to side with a playful roll of her eyes as Richie clicks his tongue at her. Down the hall he goes in search of the bathroom to in fact, give himself a pep talk but most importantly to calm down.

Richie’s disappeared for over half an hour. He didn’t realize it until Carmy barged in to see him sitting on the bathroom sink.

“I said I’m in here!”

“Yeah, with your ass in the sink.” Carmy’s tone is monotone but quick to point out, “which is unsanitary by the way.”

Richie can’t help but to roll his eyes as he hops off then, fixing his tux before he slaps his face, bringing himself out his daze. He spins back around, getting another good look at his reflection for what felt like the thousandth time but he exhales and quietly excuses himself from around Carmy who appears as if he wants to say more.

But he doesn’t.

Richie’s steps echo in his ears as he circles around to the dining area. He hasn’t realized how long he locked himself away until he’s in the room, half of the chairs flipped up onto the tables with lofi music playing through the speakers.

He can only guess who picked this shit.

A blonde pregnant lady probably.

“Damn.” Richie rubs at his mouth in frustration, briefly noticing the booth Freya previously sat in was now empty.

That didn’t lift the weight to now know that she was gone for the night. In fact it made him feel worse, that he didn’t have the nerve to just walk up to her and talk.

You know? like friends were supposed to be able to do.

His skin is red as he pinches at it in aggravation, until he picks up on the sound of heels slowly clacking against the floor. His breathing hitches as he lifts his head to meet Freya’s dark sharp eyes.

“Hey,” Richie chest feels tight but he breathes, “I thought you scrammed outta here with your girls.”

She shakes her head as she keeps some distance between the two, “some of them have early mornings tomorrow and the rest I told to just go home. I was hoping to run into you actually.”

Richie swallows as she steps forward, “why? To smash some cake in my face?”

“Now there’s an idea.” She lightly laughs and it sounds like Christmas bells, “but no, I wanted to see you.”

Richie quirked up a brow as he carefully moved out of the way so Freya could grab her things, “…really?”

“Yeah, we have some things to talk about.” Freya slips her bag over her shoulder, “Like you ghosting me for one.”

Richie rolls his head up to the ceiling, “yeah, about that—

“Let’s go for a late night walk.”

“How about a late night drive since I know your feet are hurting or about to be soon,” Richie looks at Freya’s fit, knowing she wasn’t much of a heels wearing woman (although she wears them very well) preferring sneakers more than anything on her feet.

Freya laughs as she sways a bit, probably a little tipsy, “you’re not wrong about that…so get your keys and take me to yours.”

“Mine,” Richie questions while pointing to himself, “I dunno what kinda guy you take me for—

“Oh Shut up, I’m not giving you any of this birthday cake.” She poses in her fitted dress, “I’m only propositioning a conversation between Richard and the birthday girl.”

“Yeah you giving this a whole title isn’t helping the innuendo, baby.”

“And neither are you in that tux,” Freya smoothes down the arm of it before placing her hands back on the strap of her bag, “Didn’t get the chance to tell you last time face to face but you clean up very nice, Richard.”

Richie gives a grin as he says, “Give me two minutes.”

Which leads to the pair pulling up to Richie’s condo/apartment. It’s normally too quiet at night for his liking, especially when he’s not jamming out with Eva here. After unlocking the front door, he holds his arm out for Freya to lead the way, which she has no issue doing, a natural sway in her steps as she walks down the foyer bare footed now.

“I’ll put the AC on.” Richie rushes out as Freya makes herself at home, placing her shoes against the couch and plopping down on the couch with a sigh.

He messes around with the finicky thermostat until it chokes out some cool air from the vents in the ceiling above, battling against the humidity in his two bedroom home.

“What can I get you? I’ve got beer, Gatorade, tap and—

“Orange juice?” Freya asks as she lays down on the couch, one arm is held up and over her head, eyes closed for a moment.

“Yeah I’ve got that too,” Richie responds from around the corner in his kitchen.

It’s about ten minutes until eleven and Freya is all yawns as Richie arrives back into the living room, holding two red cups, one filled with ice and OJ just how Freya likes it and one just filled with the orange liquid. He sits down beside her as she sits up and moves over to give the man some room in his own house.

She’s gulping the cold juice down and licks at the top of her lip before placing it down on the side table, “you need coasters.”

“Ah, just use some toilet paper.”

Freya crinkles her nose, pressing her fist into the side of her head as she rests back against the couch, just eyeing Richie who is looking forward at everything else but her. The cold air is wheezing but there’s relief filling the room, in contrast to what Richie maybe feeling.

“This silence is killing me, Richard!” Freya pokes his thigh with her seashell painted toe, “just talk to me already, will you?”

“Okay…how’s the birthday going?”

Freya honestly says, “I’m a little sad my mum didn’t call.”

That gets Richie to look at Freya then. Although their friendship was still fairly new, he knew that seemed unlikely for Freya’s mother out in North London to forget her eldest’ birthday. Of course it was possible, Richie didn’t have the best relationship with his own neglectful mother, hasn’t spoken to her in years or knows where she even fucked off to but it seemed like Freya at least communicated with her mother across the ocean on a daily basis.

“Has your brother or sister been in contact with her?”

“Oh yeah, she was in the background on FaceTime with my sister. Not even a hello but it’s probably because I told her I couldn’t send her any money a few weeks ago. Whatever.” Freya shrugs her shoulders.

She was a dental hygienist assistant and didn’t care for her job much but the pay and benefits were decent enough in this economy.

Freya was originally born in Algiers to a father that worked in labor and manufacturing while her mother was a stay at home mom, mostly due to a disability she faced as a child. Money wasn’t the best growing up so it wasn’t until Freya was about twelve when her father moved her, her mother, and her baby sister to London where they stayed with Freya’s maternal aunt for a few months until they got into their own flat. Her brother stayed with her father for awhile until they soon started making their visits.

Eventually her father decided to let the brother stay there while he continued making money and hoping for better work in London. However there were a few opportunities but it seemed like Freya’s father kept turning it down, just to find out he was participating in extramarital affairs behind her mother’s back. Not long after that, her mother stepped up to work with aching joints at a sporting goods store to provide for her three kids.

Freya as the eldest was also used to working underneath the table so it was no different in the UK. She learned quickly how to provide for her family too.

After that they learned her father had fallen ill due to his diabetes and needed his leg amputated. When Freya was twenty-one and living in Toronto with a boyfriend, he was living in London with his sister-in-law and died from congestive heart failure. Freya’s upbringing wasn’t always so cloudy, there were sweet moments with her parents that she liked to hold dear to her heart but the reality is, you’ll always bring something from your childhood into your adulthood good or bad.

“I’m sorry. That sucks ass forreal.” Richie comments and Freya just deeply inhales.

“You know what else sucks?” She exhales, “Not having you around to talk to.”

Richie presses his elbows into his knees in thought, “I uh—I’m sorry about that too. I didn’t mean to, what did you say back at the spot? Ghost you? Yeah. I didn’t mean to do that, I was just dealing with some shit inside that didn’t really have anything to do with you.”

“So the sex wasn’t trash and I didn’t scare you off?”

“What? Are you kidding?!” Richie’s wide-eyed as he quickly looks back at Freya, who’s face is full of a smirk, that it makes the dent on the center of her chin more prominent.

He soon laughs, “you’re fucken annoying you know that?”

“I’m supposed to be. You’ve met your match,” Freya winks.

“It—I’m gonna be real with you. I panicked because it was you on top of—it was you—and not just some random one night stand. With those I never really felt anything unfortunately for me but with you—

“It was like the Fourth of July-ly-ly.”

Richie scoffs and rolls his eyes, “I’m all here for your confidence in my skills truly but shut up.”

Who was being annoying now? She was clearly talking about herself but whatever floats this man’s boat—which she already knew—BUT she’ll save you guys the details.

“I’ve been quiet for months and I’m just trying to help fill in the gaps, sheesh!” Freya flicks her black parted hair back over her shoulders.

Richie shakes his head at the thirty something year old woman who didn’t mind rambling even when she wasn’t tipsy.

“It’s just you know, I didn’t think I would ever feel something again after the d—the thing with tiff.”

Richie still couldn’t say it, although Tiffany was officially steering her life in the direction of a another man. He still couldn’t say “divorce” because then that would mean he would have to start his own healing of a end of a special era with a woman he deeply loved and created a precious life with.

It just fizzled out and damn it hurt.

“And you did with me,” Freya voiced and was understanding, “glad to know that wasn’t only one sided.”

Richie finds himself asking, “Did you tell that no good locked up son of a bitch about it?”

Freya’s ex was some abusive guy that landed himself in jail right after New Years and it wasn’t for him stalking, harassing, or hitting Freya. It was from attempted armed robbery and now he was serving time for it and Freya finally felt like she could breathe for once.

Richie knew the feeling of being held back.

Counting your breaths are actually helpful, shout-out to anger management!

“No. Did you?”

“That jagoff can choke!”

“I mean, did you tell Tiffany?”

“Fuck no! I needed to see how we were feeling about it first and it’s not like she tells me her every move—besides her getting engaged to some other guy.” Richie’s almost glaring now at the fact of the matter before fixing his tone some, “Which I guess she gets points for letting me know and if the bastard is gonna be around my kid full-time.”

Freya spoke, “You just never thought there would be someone else. I get it.”

“Never! For either of us, then you came along and then came Frank and it’s a constant loop of emotions but I’m happy to be in Eva’s life and to feel something other than dread when I step into the original bear.” Richie’s plucking his nail against the plastic cup, slightly anxious at being this vulnerable.

However Freya wasn’t one to judge much, sure she had her opinions and can get loud from time to time when she’s pissed off or passionate but she was usually open to hearing all perspectives before she said her peace. Richie’s view was not one she spoke much on, she listened, really listened like he needed someone to and offered words when it was time for him to hear them.

“That’s something to look forward to.”

“Yeah but I still miss you.” Richie rubbed at his face before saying, “I miss our friendship and I don’t know what to do about us after what we did…yet somethin’ inside is telling me that nows not really the time to be jumping into anything. I’m just figuring things out and I know that’s gotta count for something.”

“Which is fine, richie!” Freya says with a light shove to his shoulder, “I wasn’t chasing you down to force you to be with me or anything! I gave you the space you clearly needed. I know we both got our own shit to deal with but being with you helps put that on pause for awhile …even if it’s as friends. I’m here whenever you need me, you wanna vent and scream about shit, have at it. You don’t wanna talk? Let’s have a dance party instead. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’ve got two, take your pick!”

Richie snorts at this but he honestly appreciates it. He almost forgot what it felt like to have a friend.

“Just don’t cancel me out for months at a time, and expect things to be normal without a conversation, you hear me you prick? I’m your friend, you can talk to me ya know? I want you to feel safe with me, confide in me.” Freya holds Richie’s navy eyes against her ink colored ones and Richie has to slap a hand over his mouth to hold back a sob.

Richie chokes out, “ugh! Why are you making me feel things?!”

“Because it’s cancer season and I love and respect our friendship. You held me down in my lowest and I’m gonna keep uplifting you during yours and your growth.” Freya places a hand over the one that’s resting on Richie’s own knee.

Freya goes on, “It’s not our time to be romantically involved and I’m quite okay with that but that doesn’t mean I suddenly stop caring for you.”

Richie pressed his chin into his shoulder, staring at her underneath his lashes, “Wow…you sure you don’t wanna make-out just to confirm that?”

“I knew you liked how I look in this dress.” Freya playfully runs her nails through his buzzed hair, “say it back though, tell me you care just as much.”

There’s that “words of affirmation” shit people talk about right? Garrett would probably find this amusing.

He gently rests a rough hand against her cheek, “You know I do but I’m gonna say it anyways since you wanna be mushy as fuck right now. Thanks for everything and coming into my life, I care a lot about you and us. Your heart is beautiful and you’re my friend who also happens to be a total smoke show! I know you must feel amazing in that dress, you wear it well.”

“Thanks, good looking!” She winks.

“Act like you know,” Richie smirks.

“Oh, please!”

Richie hyped himself up with a roll of his shoulders, “Look good, feel good.”

They share a laugh staring at each other with Freya balled up beside him and Richie just enjoying her company. He wasn’t sure what to make of this but he didn’t have to have all the answers tonight. This Freya also confirmed.

He was just happy to be around her again and to have her be part of his journey.

She pops up then, “Can we make cookies?”

“Didn’t you just have some back at the restaurant?” Richie asks before saying, “It’s 92 degrees outside, no!”

“That was much earlier, though.” Freya argues, eyes darting to the side as she thinks about it.

It really was a lovely day to spend her birthday, although she wasn’t on a boat somewhere in Monaco or Miami…it was a somewhat chill day.

“Didn’t you already have some cookies at the restaurant?”

He knew she was a hungry drunk but she was nowhere near drunk, shockingly on her day.

“So? If you don’t know how to make some basic chocolate chip cookies just say that.”

Richie scoffed, “What?! Who said that? I make the best got damn cookies ever, just ask Eva.”

“She’s probably sleeping?”

“…fuck, you’re right.”

He definitely would have called her up if it wasn’t passed her bedtime.

“Well? What’re you waiting for?” She kicks his thigh again.

Richie pressed his forehead against Freya’s as he hollered, “Game on, Queen Elizabeth!”

“Don’t you ever!” She tapped his jaw and pointed at him.

Richie moved his jaw along blinking, “I’m sorry! I forgot.”

Thats how the late night evening included making homemade cookies, with Richie hovering over his phone trying to read off ingredients to Freya as they made a mess of his kitchen.

“Where’s the dark chocolate?” Freya searched Richie’s cabinets and drawers while Richie tried to keep his eyes away from the kitchen door, where he had Freya propped up against with him down on his knees.

“What? I said salt?” Richie’s eyes followed the woman as she moved around the kitchen as if she were being timed, “I dunno where the hell you got dark chocolate from.”

“We can do dark chocolate since it’s superior and a pinch of sea salt?”

Lines appeared against the skin of Richie’s forehead as he raised his brows, “How about hell no, Betty Crocker?”

“Who made you the number one cookie critic?” Freya gibed as she gently closed the drawers shut with her hips.

Richie taunts, “your mother!”

Middle fingers and a sarcastic smile later were handed right over to the 6’1 man, “Piss off, Richard!”

“Well…whadda want to do? Eva and I ate up all the last of the candy I had here. She might be coming to see you soon actually but don’t tell tiff that if you happen to see her, alright?” Richie slaps the palms of his hands against his kitchen counter.

Freya let’s out a dramatic sigh as she begins pacing on her side of the counter. She stops to lean her elbows against the counter and looks at the plastic large bowl in front of richie. Still sighing Freya reaches over to use the smaller spoon that was off to the side to dip into the batter.

Hey, Freya was no baker or chef but she liked looking at the consistency and details of things. Turning it to show to Richie, she takes one finger and flicks the spoon back so the batter can fling forward and stick right on Richie’s nose.

She’s cackling at the image of Richie closing his eyes shut in disbelief. His tongue goes out then to lick some of it off before swiping it away with his fingertips. He stares hard at a laughing Freya, who has her head thrown back, hugging herself while Richie is focused on his next move.

He’s carefully taking his jacket off now, smoothing it down before using his long limbs to toss it over at the dining table top on his right. Freya doesn’t notice this as she’s wiping the corners of her wing-lined eyes, still closed as she’s almost snorting now, skin of her nostrils sinking in a bit, like she’s squidward or some shit as she carries on laughing.

“You think you’re so funny don’t you?” Richie asks with a palm full of flour now.

She’s still laughing as she nods her head, too full of giggles to get any words out.

Instead of Richie sprinkling some salt, he throws flour across the counter right to the side of Freya’s face, “Well I’m funnier, asshole!”

That gets Freya to stop laughing then. She stands up straight and it’s Richie’s turn to fail to cover his own laughter with his fist.

It was on then.

A flour fight began between the two friends, coating most of the kitchen with white powder.

“I think you threw salt in my eye you turd?!” Freya’s holding her eye now, after this has gone on for at least ten minutes.

“Shit, I’m sorry! Everything is starting to look the same.” Richie’s coming to her aide now, fanning the air as he steps to her, hands reaching for her forearms, “let me see.”

Freya fools him, “Gotcha!” Before whacking him in the neck with a whisk.

“Ow! Hey you’re fighting dirty, Frey!” Richie scolds before snatching a wooden spoon making Freya eye him wildly, “uh huh let me see you try to win this battle now.”

“I’m definitely gonna win, whether you like it not, Richy Rich.” Freya got low, ready to aim at Richie’s torso since she had that to her advantage being shorter than him.

Richie blows a raspberry, tapping the wooden spoon against the palm of his hand, “you must not know the strength of a wooden spoon and my wrestling skills, sweetheart. I got the team to championships!”

“When? In 1948?”

Richie tightens his eyes at this before they’re in a fencing match now. Which doesn’t last long as one of the two lost their footing due to the flour covered floor.

“I think I broke my ass.” Richie groans holding his back.

Freya’s laughing again as she’s resting right on top of Richie, “I’m glad I don’t have that problem, flat ass.”

“I don’t appreciate you slandering what I lack, some of us weren’t blessed okay?” Richie sasses as he wraps a hand around Freya’s waist to sit them both up.

Freya cooed at him, pinching his cheeks while Richie rolls his eyes. They sit in silence with freya on his lap as they take in the sight of his kitchen now. Flour on the upper cabinets, flour even on Eva’s personal drawing table, flour of course covering the counter, flour all over the floor, hair, face and their clothes.

“Great…now I gotta clean this up!”

“Eh, maybe later yeah?”

“Later? Well what else do you have in mind since we didn’t actually make those cookies you wanted so bad?” Richie waved his hands about.

Freya makes an explosion in front of Richie’s face, his round eyes following her fingertips for a moment before she says close to his face, “I have a better idea, it’s actually a good one.”

Richie was half expecting Freya to get him to break out into a dance routine like last time to Madonna’s, “Material girl,” but he was sure the man above was probably tired of their shenanigans tonight.

So that’s how he ended up here, covered in flour with him watching as Freya made herself comfortable on his couch again, head pressed against her folded up hands.

One eye pops open almost like a jumpscare, “are you gonna stand there the entire night like a creeper and just watch me sleep or are you going to join me, Richie Lawrence?”

Richie scratches at his head in confusion, “stop with the whole middle-name name drop, you’re making me think of my bastard dad. And I’m not sure what you want me to do here?”

“Make yourself comfortable, it’s your house.”

“There’s a bed on the other side and a shower…”

“So you’re gonna make more suggestions on my birthday but then say respectfully a romantic relationship isn’t what you want out of this on my birthday? It sounds like you want to give me a certain gift on my birthday to end this birthday party.” Freya rambles, now sitting up on her elbow.

Richie squints, “how many times did you just say birthday?”

“Get over here!”

“God, you’re getting bossy in your old age.” Richie jokes as he sits down by Freya’s legs, who swings them to the floor so Richie can scoot in behind her.

He keeps his hands and feet where he can see them, staring at the back of Freya’s head and he can smell her sweet but floral scent. Richie takes the time to digest how this feels, with Freya in front of him radiating off a comforting warmth even when she snatches his arm to rest against her waist.

Richie is just waiting then for the anxiety to kick in but it doesn’t arrive for the rest of the night. Which makes him sink further into the couch, tightening his hold of Freya. His nose then presses down into her bare soft shoulder blade, right where her round mole sits and exhales.

“I’m proud of you.” Freya croaks out, ready for sleep, “and you should be too.”

And that makes Richie’s heart swell. He always wanted to be good at something but wasn’t sure how to make a career out of it. He had to find his footing in this world constantly and slowly he felt like he was beginning to locate it. They say it’s in your daily routine if you’re unsure and engaging with all sorts of people was something richie didn’t mind being part of.

It felt natural to him.

Holding Freya felt just the same but she didn’t need to know that just yet. He loved physical touch whether you were his family or not, it was the best form of love Richie wanted to give and receive.

He didn’t realize he squeezed her tighter against him at her words before he presses a kiss to the back of her head, “Happy birthday.”

A smile graces her lips.

In the early hours of July 11th, the sky a faded dim blue begins to peak through Richie’s living room curtains, revealing that a new day was among them.

Richie’s always been a early riser since sleep hardly existed according to the bags underneath his eyes. It had to be around 5 in the morning and he knew he would be ready for some coffee soon but this time he enjoys the silence. He feels Freya roll back against him, arm looping around his neck as she stretches in her sleep.

“Morning to you too,” Richie greets, “Question for ya, how’s bell-pep the iguana doin’?”

You heard that right, Freya was a “Guana-momma,” who she named after a vegetable specifically and Richie was ready to baby sit the guy at any time—as long as it didn’t freak Eva out too much but he doubted that. She had his blood in her veins.

Freya shushed him straight away, removing her arm from around his neck to curl that same arm to press the back of her fingers against his lips, “When I step up in the place, ayo, I step correct.” She starts before moving those fingers to create a wave up in the air.

It only made sense to Richie for her to be rounding off lyrics early in the morning, especially when he was asking questions and she wasn’t sure if she even knew her name just yet.

“Woo-hah, got them all in check.” Richie proceeds, head lifting a little to see if Freya’s eyes were even open as she rounded off lyrics.

Freya concludes, “Go to sleep.”

Enough said.

“I’ll try.”

The sight of flour sticky limbs entangled between two reconnected friends on another summer’s day went like this: cheek pressed against her’s, his facial hair pricking her skin which she didn’t seem to mind as snores actually escaped Richie’s lips, with his hand gripping Freya’s that was clutched to her own chest as their bodies gently rose in deep slumber.

The cares of the outside world were put on hold once more and Richie envisioned that this must be what heaven felt like. Nothing but a bit of light right in front of his eyes or in his arms to lead the way.

Cheers to some fucking clarity!

Sorry for the foul language dude or person or divine power up there…but Richie was thankful for it all.

꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱**

Continue along with my summer anthology prompts here.

#Spotify #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #Richie jerimovich #richard jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich x oc #ebon moss bachrach #neil fak #natalie berzatto #sugar berzatto #carmy berzatto #sydney amadu #summer prompts #queued #the bear s2 #the bear season 2

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uispeccoll · 10 months

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#MiniatureMonday

Wildflowers of the John Muir Trail

This the finale to our little summer series focusing on a small fraction of the lovely artists books by Peter and Donna Thomas.

This is also my last Miniature Monday post, as I am moving to my new job after graduating this spring. It has been great sharing all these lovely minis, and I am looking forward to seeing those that are posted in the future! --Diane

This wonderful collection of illustrations features plants painted by Donna Thomas while she was hiking the John Muir Trail with Katy McLaughlin.

"They identified these flowers together & Donna painted them on the spot. Donna made this book, using handmade paper made by Peter Thomas. "--Colophon.

Continuous accordion folded strip made from five sections folded to form forty leaves.

Peter and Donna Thomas are "book artists from Santa Cruz, CA. They work both collaboratively and individually; letterpress printing, hand-lettering and illustrating texts, making paper, and hand binding both fine press and artists’ books." They have made over 100 limited edition books, often with Peter making the paper, and Donna doing the illustrations.

Check out more of Donna and Peter's books at Uiowa here.

--Diane R., Special Collections Graduate Student

#uiowa #UIowa Special Collections #Peter&DonnaThomas #John Muir #Plants #Botanical illustration #Paintings #Hiking #John Muir Trail #Handmade paper #Wildflowers of the John Muir Trail #Wildflowers #rare books #miniaturemonday

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denimbex1986 · 4 months

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'Fifteenth Doctor actor Ncuti Gatwa reveals how revisiting past Doctor's adventures helped him craft his own performance ahead of joining the production of his Doctor Who adventures. The actor made his debut in the show's third 60th-anniversary adventure, "The Giggle," where he emerged from an unprecedented, rare bi-regeneration transformation that saw him split from David Tennant's Fourteenth Doctor. Following his first solo adventure in 2023's seasonal special "The Church on Ruby Road," Gatwa is set to lead Doctor Who across season 14, 2024's seasonal special, and the in-production season 15...

Despite only having been on-screen for one full Doctor Who episode and the final act of the third 60th-anniversary story, Gatwa's Fifteenth Doctor has already made several callbacks to past Doctor's adventures. Alongside being subject to the universe-upending "Mavity" change caused by the Fourteenth Doctor and Donna (Catherine Tate), the Fifteenth Doctor has also referenced his long-running relationship with Harry Houdini throughout his various incarnations. He specifically cited one "long, hot summer" he spent with the magician when he learned to escape handcuffs. The Doctor also fell back on a familiar psychic paper disguise when speaking to Ruby (Millie Gibson) for the first time by claiming to be a "health and safety" representative, a favorite of Tennant's Tenth Doctor...'

#Ncuti Gatwa #Doctor Who #David Tennant #Catherine Tate #Donna Noble #The Church on Ruby Road #60th Anniversary #Mavity #The Giggle #Bi-generation #Harry Houdini #Ruby Sunday #Millie Gibson

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snoopledrooplecheesedoodle · 11 months

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yandere Tiziano and Squalo x Ex girlfriend reader

Order up! *ding*

Yandere Tiziano and Squalo x Ex girlfriend reader

Art's not mine, couldn't find the artist but let me know if you know. Also, polyamory can be healthy and beautiful so don't hate, communicate.

Contains: Swearing, violence, mentions of sex

Love was something you hoped for.

You were by no means a hopeless romantic, but the thought that someone or something may love you was too tempting to ignore.

Now you bitterly acknowledge your mistake. As you thought you loved someone. Or better yet two someones.

They were beautiful, painfully so. You could acknowledge that as you packed your bags hastily. You knew your heart wouldn't be able to heal quickly from the betrayal it faced that day ...

You were excited that fateful summer day. It marked the beginning of your relationship with Tiziano and Squalo. Your anniversary! You were positively glowing at the thought of coming home and preparing dinner for your two loving and amazing boyfriends. The entire time at work you distracted like the young girl in love you were. Your boss Rosario, an older woman and head librarian at Vallicelliana Library smiled gently at you through her spectacles.

"Any special plans tonight?" Rosario asked. You smiled dreamily as you crooned. "Yes, it's my anniversary with my partners." Rosario raised an eyebrow before turning back to her work. "Do you mean those handsome men that are often hanging off each other that ask for you occasionally?" You smiled nodding your head eagerly. "Yep, those are my Tiziano and Squalo." Rosario's face soured slightly at your dreamy state. She saw how those men looked at you, with boredom. Like you were some kind of chore for them. Compared to how lovingly they stared at each other, it was sobering for Rosario and saddening for you. You were wearing rose-tinted glasses and Rosario didn't want to be the one to rip them off, but she also didn't want you getting hurt in the long run. She looked back at you who was spinning around the library while taking stock and sighed. This was going to be difficult.

"(Y/N) mia bambina, may I give you a small bit of advice?" You hummed and turned around to face your boss, stars in your eyes. Wincing, Rosario readjusted her glasses. "Sometimes in life we think we love someone very much ... and that they love us back. However, what you think may be love may be the other person using you for ... convenience." You furrowed your brow confused, who was she talking about? Rosario noticed your confusion and sighed before turning back to her work. "I'll finish inventory bambina, why don't you go home early?" Your eyes lit up brightly as you bounced on your heels like a child. "Grazie Donna Rosario!" "Prego mia bambina..." Rosario quietly responded as you ran off into the summer sun. She hoped it wouldn't end as horribly as she thought.

You eagerly approached the lavish apartment complex you lived in. On your meager salary, you would barely afford to live in the luxurious city of Rome. Your boyfriends told you not to worry your pretty little head about it and that they would take care of everything. You never knew what their jobs were as they would often deflect or change the subject, but you didn't really mind. You were just happy to be theirs' and that they were yours. Your lovely Tiziano with his long blonde hair and dazzling amber eyes and your handsome Squalo with his amber curls and ocean blue eyes. Approaching the door, you brought out your key and unlocked it. You were ready to change into something more comfortable and then prepare the anniversary meal. Entering the house, you paused as you closed the door. What you heard made you blush.

Moaning

Your lovers were already home and were getting it on without you. You blushed at the thought of your boyfriends naked together without you. You had lingerie prepared for tonight, but you supposed you all could start now. Silently you walked over to the door to the collective bedroom and peeped through the door. Squalo had Tiziano pinned to the bed, and they were making out. You were going to enter the room when Squalo pulled away and looked down at Tiziano. "Tiziano, when are we going to get rid of her?" What? Who? Tiziano pulled the piece of hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead out of the way and leaned into his lover. "Tesoro relax, she's not here to bother us. We'll tell her as soon as she gets home." When she gets home? You leaned in closer to the door. They wanted to get rid of you. Why? Squalo laughed a little and sat up embracing Tiziano. "Good I can't wait to get rid of her, she's been nothing but dead weight." No. "Yes Squalo. (Y/N) has been a fun little experiment, but I think it's time we move on with our lives." Tiziano sighed and moved over to Squalo before crawling on top of him. You couldn't watch or listen to any more of this. The moaning, the dead weight, the fun little experiment, it was all too much for you to handle. You shook with anger, embarrassment, and sadness. How could they be so cruel? How could you be so stupid to believe them? Every kiss. Every I love you. Every passionate night. It meant nothing to them.

You meant nothing to them.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you remembered that horrible night. How you cried bitter tears into a hotel pillow, unable to look at your ex-lover's faces. You had snuck back in your shared apartment and grabbed what little stuff you owned. Left every gift they had bought you, they meant as much as you, so they were worthless. You thought bitterly to yourself as you wrote a note on the back of a photo on the fridge of the three of you in the front of the Colosseum. You poured your heart out one last time for them before leaving.

You called your mother telling her the news, that you broke up with your lovers and had nowhere to go. Being the amazing woman she is, (sorry if your mother is not), she allowed you to come back home until you could get back on your feet. You were forever grateful for you sweet mother's generosity in times of need. Unfortunately, that meant you'd have to move back to Sardinia, which meant you'd have to find work again. You went to Rosario and told her your situation. She, of course, supported you fully and embraced you as a final goodbye, wishing you luck in your future. You smiled and felt a little lighter knowing there were people in your back corner there to support you.

Arriving home, you were surprised to see your whole family back at your mother's small casa. Their empathy and full support of your decision was almost enough to make you cry. Your nonna made a whole plate of Seadas (they are an Italian pastry from Sardinia and look fabulous) just for you. It warmed your heart to see such love and support coming from your family, and you knew in your heart that you would be okay.

Months later...

Squalo was conflicted. He thought this was the best decision they had made in terms of the relationship. However, something felt off. When you didn't return, he personally didn't care. He was tired of having to share Tiziano with you, and now Tiziano was his. Only his. Life carried as normal but with just the two of them. There were traitors to exterminate, rivals to kill, rebellions to quell. Mafia life was rough but paid good money. However, when they came home there was no home cooked meal. That's perfectly normal, we'll just go out to eat! Then there were those times where he would make a joke and Tiziano wouldn't laugh. No laugh of tinkling bells at his stupid joke. Fine with me, it sounded more like a donkey compared to Tiziano's laugh. Tiziano... sweet Tiziano seemed to be getting more distant with the day. Intimacy was at a near zero and he looked pained when Squalo leaned in for a kiss. That was something Squalo couldn't deal with.

"Carino what's wrong?"

Tiziano was riddled with guilt. Ever since you left, he felt a sinking feeling in his chest. He thought he wanted you gone so that Squalo could be all his. He thought you were just a fling that got too clingy. An experiment. A fad. However, with each day you were gone he realized a horrible sinking truth.

He missed you.

Missed your smile, your laugh, your voice. How it felt to hug you, kiss you, and make love to you. When he and Squalo were in bed together, it felt awkward, clunky. He tried to distance himself from such thinking, but nothing worked. He was losing sleep over the issue. How would you take his news? Would you want him back? Or would you scorn him for the pain he caused you? How would Squalo react? He clearly seemed happy you were gone, often joking about it, which caused Tiziano to frown.

When being confronted with his stoic behavior Tiziano smiled in a practiced way before pecking Squalo's cheek.

"Nothing Tesoro, I've just been stressed about work. That's all."

Work. Ah right, how could he forget? Being in the mafia had no room for weakness, but he faltered once. A target looked like you which almost cost Squalo and him their job when he let the girl get away.

"Tiziano, I know that is bullshit. Please tell me the truth dear." Squalo's patience was running thin. Was Tiziano not in love with him anymore? No, he wouldn't allow it. Tiziano looked at his lover sympathetically before looking at the cold coffee set at his chair.

"You won't make fun of me carino?"

"Never my one and only."

Tiziano sighed before looking at Squalo once more

"I miss (Y/N)."

"Bwahahaha!"

Squalo couldn't help laughing and he couldn't help crying afterwards. This was all so simple yet complex. He thought he wanted (Y/N) gone but he too was missing the (h/c) who snared their hearts. Tiziano was angry at first, but seeing the pain in his lover's eyes he knew Squalo felt the same way.

"How do we get her back Tiziano? Ugh I feel so stupid!"

"Patience Squalo, we'll get her back. We just need to come up with a plan."

The duo stares at each other for a while before grinning evilly. The same thought in their minds.

(Y/N) would come back even in they had to drag her back because...

(Y/N) was theirs

Breaking up with Tiziano and Squalo was probably the best decision you've made in a long time. You got connected back with your family, you enrolled in school again, and were now pursuing the life you wanted. You worked at a nearby library to help you pay for college. The pay was way better due to your level of experience, and you had a more flexible schedule. Sure, you missed Rosario and some friends you made in Rome, but you think moving back to Sardinia reenergized your soul!

"(N/n) are you okay?"

Oh, that was right you were on a date right now with a really nice guy! Alessio Vargas. He would often come to the library you worked at and ask for help. He was a student at the same university who wanted to become a marine biologist. He asked about book recommendations, and you would always supply. Soon the two of you started talking about other things besides books. Turns out he didn't need you help he just wanted to talk to you and take you out. The first time he asked you said no, after all you were recovering from a bad relationship. He was okay with that, and you continued being friends. Finally, after months of getting to know him, you asked him out and he said yes.

"I'm fine caro, just a little nervous. This is my first date in a while." You sheepishly admit. Great now he'd think you're a loser. Alessio laughed and placed a hand on yours.

"This is my first date ever." Your eyes grew wide at his declaration.

"Really?! But you're so handsome!" Alessio laughed once more in his kind way and readjusted his wide rim glasses.

"Well I haven't been interested in anyone besides you."

You blushed at the thought and smiled. A handsome guy that was interested in you and only you. You were open to polyamorous relationships but since your last one went south, you thought you'd give monogamy a try. So far it was pretty solid, you weren't settling down quite yet, but you were having fun.

You came back from your date feeling lighter than a feather. Alessio was such a gentleman and was understanding the whole time. After dinner you walked on the beach and Alessio kissed your hand. Your hand! When you asked why he stated that "I knew kissing your lips would be too much for a first date, so I'll settle for your hand." Ah! He's so perfect!

While you were giggling like a teenager in love your phone buzzed in your pocket. Was someone calling you? You didn't recognize the number but picked it up anyways. "Hello?"

"Hello bambina do you have a minute?" It was Rosario and she didn't sound good. "Rosario what's wrong?" Horrible coughing continued on the other side. Oh no, just when things were starting to get better this happened. "Bambina listen ... I have only days to live these-illnesses have become severe and I need help- staying comfortable in my last days." You raised your eyebrow; something doesn't seem right. "When do I need to come over?" There was a pause and then an answer. "As soon as possible." You sighed and stared at the ceiling. You suppose you could afford to visit your old employer in her final days. Who are you kidding the woman was like a grandmother away from home to you!

"Alright I'll come."

On the other end of the line Rosario was choking back tears as the two men she feared were smiling evilly at each other. "You did well Rosario, we just need you for a little while longer and you'll be free as a bird." Squalo spoke up while Tiziano nodded and sat in the chair across from the elderly librarian. The two had found her at work and forced her to call her old employee. She didn't know what they wanted with (Y/N) but the look in their eyes shook her to the bone.

Obsession

Pure darkness and desire swirled in the eyes of the men, and made Rosario shake with fear. "You make me sick, what on Earth do you plan to do with (Y/N)?" Tiziano stood up and grabbed the elderly lady's scarf, pulling her over the desk. "What we plan doesn't involve you, just know she'll be in good hands." Squalo smiles and laughs at the older woman's misfortune. Tiziano grins before shoving her back in her seat. "Not like you could tell the police since my stand Talking Head has control of your tongue." These men were insane and dead set on getting you back for whatever sick reason they had. Rosario hoped you wouldn't come back to Rome because you would fall right into their trap.

Rome... your old stomping grounds. Back from the days you gave up on your dreams to be with two men who didn't even love you. Well, maybe they did at one point, but it was all in the past now. All you needed to do was provide support and care for Rosario and never come back to this hell hole ever again. You felt your feet become heavy with each step you took, as emotions came flooding back. You felt weak, powerless, useless. No! You were none of those things. You were a smart, strong, and independent woman on her way to a degree and a new boyfriend. You got this, nothing could stop you.

You were (Y/N) (L/N) for Christ's sake!

After the little pep talk in your head, you decided to call Rosario to get her address. Then you would get some of her favorite pastries and bring them over for her to enjoy. It was the least you could do. With that in mind you walked to the nearest pâtisserie and called the number Rosario used last time.

"Hello?" Good she was still alive. "Hey, Donna Rosario, I was wondering where you lived?" "Oh right, my bad bambina. I'll send you, my address." Good. "I bought you some sfogliatellas, your favorite." You heard a sigh of frustration that sounded a bit masculine on the other end of the line. "Donna, is someone with you?" You asked, suspiciously. This whole situation was too much for you. Being back in Rome, your suddenly terminally ill boss, and now you were hearing other voices. "No, I'm alone." A quick reply from the other end made you flinch from the internal whiplash. You had a bad feeling of something terrible happening. Clutching the bag of pastries you tentatively took a look at your phone. It was the address followed by a message.

We'll be waiting for you cara~

It was a mistake coming back and you knew it. It was a trap, and you came like some dumb dog with you tail wagging. You didn't know who we were, but you had a good idea of who it was. The mafia. Donna Rosario must have gotten into trouble with the mafia and wanted you to bail her out. What could Donna Rosario have done to piss the mafia off? You didn't know. Deep down you wanted to help the poor old woman because Donna didn't deserve it. Well at least the Donna you knew didn't deserve it.

The house she had was on one of the older streets in Rome. She wasn't rich but the house was impressive for someone of her means. You walked through the garden in the front yard to her door. It was already open, like someone expected you to be there. Chills went down your spine as you went through the door. "Donna Rosario?" You called out to the empty home. Silence. Such an interesting thing. There is good, wholesome, peaceful silence. Then there's deadly silence that looms like the grim reaper. It takes the air out of your lungs and brings fear into your every nerve. Everything in your body was telling you to go. To get out of there and run. You turned to leave.

"(Y/N)?"

Donna Rosario was so faint and frail sounding. Nothing like the vibrant and lively older woman you knew. You grit your teeth, knowing it wasn't right to leave this older woman vulnerable. You turned back around and called out once more. "Donna where are you?" "I'm in my bedroom bambina." You walked to one room and anxiously opened the door. Bathroom. Closet. Then a guestroom. Finally, you made it to the bedroom. No one was in there. "Donna are you sure you're in there?" Silence. "Donna Rosario?" Rustling could be heard in the closet. Aha! She's hiding in there. You march over to it a swing it open. "Donna what the big ide-AH!"

description of gore: (if you don't like skip to later or don't read further)

You've been warned

Donna Rosario was hung by the cord that turned on the light. Her mouth was wide open, and her tongue was ripped out of her mouth. Slash marks were found across her chest and arms. Blood dripped down into a pool of water that lay below her feet. You gagged at the gory sight. You dropped the bag of pastries in fear and horror. Backing up you stepped on something squishy. Looking down you couldn't hold back your bile. You stepped on Rosario's tongue. You threw up all over Rosario's nice white carpet. Who was sick enough to do this? Why?

end of gore

You needed to get out of here quickly, the killer might still be in the house. Running out of the bedroom you ran to the front door. The door was closed. You turned the knob. Locked. You desperately pounded on the door, tears streaming down your face. You slammed your full body weight on the door, but it refused to budge. "No where to run bambina except into our loving arms." That voice, no it couldn't be. "Squalo be patient she isn't exactly happy to see us here." No, no, no. You kick at the door hopping to escape. What do they want? They kicked you out of their lives so why are they here?

"Aww Tiziano but don't you miss the feeling of her softness?" The voices got closer and closer. You felt trapped like a caged animal. They murdered Rosario maybe they wanted to kill you too. "Stay away from me! You-you murderers!" "I do miss her softness, but I don't really miss her mouth. At least not right now." Tiziano spoke as the duo's footsteps drew closer and closer. You had to find some kind of weapon. Something! Anything! You noticed the fireplace and grabbed the fire poker ready to stab their eyes out. You weren't going down without a fight.

"Hey cutie."

"GAHHH!" You ran at the ginger man in front of you aiming for his face. You were not a fighter, so he dodged easily. He grabbed you and twisted it behind your back, pulling you into his chest. You yelped in pain and dropped the fire poker. You weren't going down just yet. You fought with all your might: kicking, screaming, biting, punching any bit of flesh you could find. "Aww our bambina wants a hug Tiziano." He squeezed you hard, causing you to choke. Tiziano walked in the room to see the commotion. He covered his mouth with his hand and snorted at the sight. What was wrong with these psychos acting like this was normal? Like they didn't kill your boss and aren't currently keeping you hostage in your boss' house.

"Squalo be gentle she's quite fragile." Tiziano takes you from Squalo's arms and whispers in your ear. "Struggle and I'll rip your arms off." You stiffen at your ex-lover's words. "Why?" Was all you could say as tears came pouring out of your eyes. Tiziano looks down at your tear-stained face and coos. Wiping away some of the tears he responds. "Why because you stole something from us when you left." Panic filled your heart at Tiziano's words. Steal? What did you steal? Seeing your panicked face both Tiziano and Squalo chuckle before leaning in. "You stole our hearts bambina." Squalo responds lovingly. Tiziano pulls you closer and stares at you with his amber eyes. His words were the last you hear before your world went dark "Now it's time you pay for it."

Alessio sighed and gripped his phone harshly. He couldn't understand why you weren't picking up. It's been a few weeks ever since your trip to Rome and your family was starting to get worried. He was worried.

The number you are calling you are unable to reach right now, please leave your message after the beep. BEEP

"Hello? (Y/N)? It's been weeks now and you haven't responded to any of your parents' calls. Or my calls. Cara we're worried for you, alone in the city, near your exes. I trust you're not back with them but come back to Sardinia. Your family misses you. I miss you. I've collected your homework at the academy for you, so don't worry about it. Please, please come back. This isn't like the woman I've come to know. I love you...

BEEP

Well if this wasn't complete garbage please let me know. I might write a part 2 for this but that will have to wait a little while. Thank you for interacting with me and please follow for more.

#yandere x reader #yandere jjba #yandere jojo x reader #la squadra #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #x reader

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