Elvis 2022 - Tumblr Posts
May I someday do something that makes me worthy of the nickname’Sunbeam’
History of Club Handy
Hey! While writing Milk & Honey I’ve encountered more information than I know what to do with, so I thought I’d share some of my findings on one of the places the story takes place the most, just in case some of y’all were curious.
So anyways, here’s the history of Club Handy
Keep reading
A Whole Man is Hard to Find A Elvis/Austin AU Fanfic
Chapter Four: For reasons wretched and Devine
Summary: An Elvis AU taking place on a riverboat casino in the 1870’s, you’re welcome to imagine either Elvis or Austin’s portrayal. See general warnings on first chapter.
Warnings: SMUT! I’m terrible at these summaries but we have got a virgin attempting seductions and handjobs and she ends up getting more than she bargained for but also less…brief era-typical female degradation, spit as lube & consensual sex acts but the motivations are warped, so that’s a bit rough. I swear this story will end happily, there will be fluff, but not today. Grammar and spelling have been sacrificed on the alters of art and sexiness. Enjoy!
Chapter Four
“You don’t have to stop every time.” and you meant it when you said it.
You were more certain than ever that you wanted this life. One week aboard, with its monotony, its seediness, the tempers and the bookkeeping, was heaven when measured against the last eight years of your life. Captain Presley was hardly the most decent man you were likely to encounter, but he was the richest. The long hours spent with your nose in his ledgers told you that. A rich man with a temper was far more easily borne than a poor one. And anything at all was easier borne with a full stomach. Yes, you couldn't do better, and you’d waited too long once before -there was only one currency men traded in and you were ready to cash in.
You tested wiggling your hips back against him. His hand spasmed urgently on your hip, gathering up your night gown. “No, honey,” his voice rumbled, sounding genuinely troubled behind you, but you could feel the belying warmth of him throbbing against that sacred part of you, “stop messin’ now and let me go.”
You kept your arm tossed back, your hand tightening on the firm muscle of his backside. “You don’t mean that.” you argue softly, “Every morning your own body declares your interest, captain.” You let down your raised leg, squeezing him between your thighs until he groaned, the gust of it lost in the mess of your hair.
“You don’t even know what yer offerin’.” you could feel his chest heaving against your back, “Nice little lady like you don’t mean such a thing.”
“There are no more ladies left, sir. You said so yourself.”
He gripped you like he was in agony, arms crushing you and his hips jerking in tiny, involuntary movements. “Honey,” he pleaded again, his voice sounded so very rough in your ear, “you don’t owe me a damn thing, you know that don’t you? I had plans…” he trailed off in a mumble, “Things I wanted to ask you ‘bout, you ain’t some-“
“-It feels good.” you interjected, and while you didn’t know a thing about how to go about this or what you were doing, rocking your hips against the length of him drug him back and forth in little movements, sparking sensations that were as tantalizing as they were foreign. You weren’t entirely lying, it was good, curiously soothing to feel him hot, heavy and firm, with you giving, soft and damp.
“Oh god.” he choked out behind you, half curled around you, his body struggling to get closer, his soul trying to flee.
In the dark of the early morning you could only sense the general position of him, but you sensed he was going to need a little more persuasion, so you pushed your hand down, past the hem of your gown and over your wiry curls until you felt him. Baby soft skin with the ripple of what must be veins, it wasn’t at all what you had expected a man to feel like. When your palm drug over the puffy head of him, barely peaking out the front of your lower lips as it was, he seemed to lose all objections whatsoever.
“Sweet Lord.” he praised in surrender and pulled you closer, angling you both so he could thrust up in between your thighs, putting the motion of your timid wiggling to shame. The delicate skin of your inner thighs rippled and burned from the friction. “You like this? Feels good, you say?” he asked eagerly.
“Real good.” you whispered, shame and a decent bit of shock rendering you dumb for the moment. Each upstroke of his nudged some little nub high up in your lips and it felt like small shocks were sparking through you. You weren’t entirely sure it was pleasant, already feeling rubbed raw. You weren’t real sure of anything at all. Except the overwhelming feel of him, looming, rocking, groaning, surrounding you utterly. You pressed your cheek to the pillow and tried to match his rhythm, the burning friction turning bearable now you worked in tandem.
“Well I never.” He marveled, his moan sounding awed.
And you liked that, you liked widening the little cracks that showed the man beneath the facade.
A tad unsteadily, you reached for the hand grasping your hip and brought it up to your chest. You’d seen men eyeing the swells of your bosom ever since you’d matured, you weren’t sure what men wanted with them but you figured granting him permission would hardly hurt your cause.
You were right, he let out a groan and a string of expletives when you brought his palm to rub against the hardened bud of your nipple, roughed up through the light cotton. He grabbed hold, engulfing the entire breast in his warm hand, kneading it diligently. You’d had no notion such pawing would feel so lovely, in your marveling you were well on your way to being distracted from the purpose of this sin.
“If I were a better man…” you heard him lament, low and moaning into the hair at your neck.
Clearing your head with effort you focused on the rhythm of his drags and thrusts, attempting to shift so that his next move would puncture you. Feeling you squirm and huff he soothed you saying, “Not quite enough like this, is it darlin’? Nah, it ain’t for me either.”
He pulled away.
Before you could truly give way to panicking that he had deserted you yet again, you felt his hands drawing your hips up in the dark, hauling you off your side until you were on your hands and knees amongst the silk sheets. You tried to scoot back into him, to find his warmth again, terror of the imminent pain starting to get the better of you -but you needn’t have fretted, right away you felt him drape himself over your back. He shoved the hem of your nightgown up, nearly to you shoulders.
“You alright?” He asked sounding close and low in your ear, hand scorching the dip of your waist, and you knew he meant: is this alright?
“Yes.” you breathed, and he mistook your little shakes of fear for those of desire, guiding himself until he was back between your legs, the hair at his pelvis rubbing against your backside, the crown of him snagging against your untried hole. He shuddered for a moment as he tried the tight ring of muscle before moving on and resuming his sliding against you. You heaved out a ragged breath, utterly exhausted from the suspense and the unpredictability of this man as well as the sordid role you were so ill prepared to fill.
“Is, is this good for you, -this way, I mean?” You asked timidly after a moment, trying to refocus on those pleasant little shocks he had been giving you.
“You feel like heaven, darlin’.” he praised you and this time you shuddered in pleasure. “Or nearly,” he amended after a few more thrusts, “here, lick.” And in the dark room you could just barely make out the hand he held up to your face.
Lick? That was more humiliating an order than any you could imagine. Worse than the shameful feeling of his member dragging through your folds, your positioning like some prized bitch or his hands squeezing at your breasts. But you obeyed, licking long stripes up his broad palm. He immediately brought it down your front to where you two were nestled together, gliding his hands through your folds instead, made easy by your saliva. Your cheeks burned and the cold of his rings down there made you twitch.
“Just hang in there a minute.” he muttered quite suddenly, patting your bare hip and shuffling to the side, beginning to rummage amongst the books atop his night stand in the dark. You stayed perfectly still though your knees had begun to ache, waiting motionless until you heard the scrape of his tinderbox. Suddenly a warm little flame was lighting up his handsome face, made soft by sleepiness and a cascade of dark hair falling into his eyes. He looked altogether too gentle and pretty in that moment to possibly cause you harm. Eve’s last thought before she ate the apple, most likely. “I want to be able see you for this.” he confessed, eyes unapologetically taking in your feline pose.
You want to see Maddy, you sick bastard.
He wasn’t speaking in metaphor, he lit a total of four bedside candles before clambering back behind you, and only at your pleading insistence. You were nigh frantic for him to end this agony of waiting. He mistook it for eagerness.
He himself was less eager than you had hoped. No sooner was he back in position than he took to gently brushing your hair over the opposite shoulder and putting his lips to your ear, “You sure you want this?…tell me if-“
“Yes!” you nearly hissed at him, gathering up the sheets in your fists and readying for a ravaging. You had no notion that so much conversation could be held in such intimate moments. You had assumed them to be quiet and abashed affairs.
“Well alright now, take it easy, honey.” he had the the audacity to chuckle at you, “I knew there was a spark left in you, just knew it. Look at you, all eagerness and venom, beggin’ for something you don’t know a damn thing about.” you heard the sound of him spitting and his hand came back down to your lower lips all slimy and heated, dragging and swirling, now with the palm, now with those long, calloused fingers. You shuddered from something besides fear.
“Ever even seen a cock before, honey?” and he was back to dragging it through your folds, infinitly more pleasant with the slick he’d provided.
“I-“ you had seen the ones of children you cared for and once had the misfortune of viewing Bumbling Bobby’s from a distance as he washed in the creek…it hadn't struck you at all like the feel of this rigid thing moving against you.
“Answer me, honey.” and he pinched your nipple just as he had your side all those nights ago on the horse.
“Why you bas-“ you began before clamping your mouth shut, channeling your temper into rocking back against him as that had proven a successful distraction to him earlier.
“Let it out, woman,” he jeered, “bet there’s a whole lotta temper buried deep down in that little heart of yours. Now answer me or I’ll pinch ya again.”
“No, sir.” you gritted out, eyes glaring straight ahead at the ornate headboard, seething from his patronizing and perhaps also from the horrid feeling of want you felt blooming low and hot in your belly.
“You expect me to believe that?” he moved faster, dragging roughly against that sparkly little secret place.
Panic flooded you even as your mind grew fuzzy from his movements, “I swear it, sir!” you nearly wailed.
“Then say it.”
“I did say it!”
“You’re always fuckin’ obfuscating with me.” he tugged at your nipple again and you let out a moan tainted by something besides pain. His palm went back over it to sooth it.
“I have never have seen one up close, sir.” you swore, refusing to look down between your arms and watch in the candlelight as the appendage in question slid between your legs.
“ ‘Seen one’ ” he mocked you, voice trilling high in imitation, “it ain’t a ghost honey, call it what it is, tell me true you ain’t ever seen a cock before mine. Say it.”
“I-“ you were utterly bewildered and your wrists had begun to ache fiercely from holding up your weight.
“Humor me,” he cajoled but there was something quite dark in his tone, “I just want to hear old Beaumont’s well bred daughter say the word ‘cock’ while she’s rubbing on mine like a cat in heat. I’m a simple man Miss Beaumont, I’ve got simple desires but I always get what I want.”
Fuck the Beaumonts, you thought bitterly. Fuck every snobbish one of them who treated men like the Captain and their families like burdensome trash. Fuck every land owning aristocrat amongst them who hired overseers like your father to drive them to desperation. “I can’t say that I’ve seen one, sir,” you replied levelly, your own temper growing steadily to a blue heat, “seeing as how I’ve not even seen yours.”
Far from the face planting, rough fucking reaction you had expected to provoke with that, he let out a merry laugh and sat back on his knees, taking you with him until you were seated, still kneeling on his lap, your knees bent beside his, your calves pressed against the outside of his and his chest hair rubbing against your back.
“Well now -look till your heart’s content, little one.” and he reached around and took your chin in his massive hand, tilting your head down to where it was standing, vibrant, veiny and proud up in front of your belly, the sheer length of him in comparison to your abdomen making you doubt such a thing could enter without causing permanent damage.
“My god.” you nearly whimpered.
“Careful now,” he started laying open mouthed kisses against your sweaty neck, “you could give a man a big head with that reverent tone, make him think he’s a god amongst men. You wanna touch it?” -and he asked this last part so naturally, using the same tone as when he had asked if you wanted to see the wheelhouse yesterday.
It made it something less than an absolute humiliation to reply “Yes.”
Slowly, like he was trying not to spook a very skittish animal, he brought his hand down to your limp one, the one not holding your gown up, and gathering your fingers in his palm brought them to wrap around the velvety tip of him, letting out a pleased little hum when you took the hint and squeezed gently.
“What now?” You whispered, captivated by the bright pink sight of him and the clear liquid beading from that snake eyed hole.
“Mmm, anything you like.” he shrugged behind you, “Ain’t complicated, works like a damn piston, in fact I wagered a couple silver dollars on that theory once, I’m quite sure that’s where the whole idea came from for the steam cylind…well, anyways, just drag it up an- yeah that’s it.”
You were in a trance, drugged by his melodious voice, the feel of his heat throbbing in your hand and how his belly quivered against your lower back when you swiveled your wrist. There was something strangely intoxicating about pulling those helpless reactions from so strong a man. It made you feel special and a little powerful to know you weren’t the only one who’s composure was shaken in the pre dawn gloom.
You felt him hook his chin over your shoulder, joining you in watching the spectacle. When your other arm started to droop and the fabric of your nightgown began to obscure his sight of it, he yanked your elbow up as a reminder, higher and higher until you were holding the yards of it to your clavicles, the naked slope of your breasts framing the sight of your hand working him up and down.
A red, splotchy blush had splattered across your chest to your very nipples, yet another starkly human aspect of this entire experience that you had not anticipated. The general idea of intimacy was all very well and easy to consider and plan for, but there was nothing save experience itself to prepare you for the lewd feel of him twitching and oozing in your hand, the tacky feel of your own slick sliding down your thighs, the smell of the whole endeavor -like rubbing against against one another had caused you to release a scent in the way that abused flowers do.
“Hell, look at that pretty white hand on me, obscene that is, positivity obscene.” his voice sounded like he was relishing every bit of it.
“You’re so soft,” you marveled, and when you realized the idiocy of that remark when handling his rock hard member, you clarified, “your skin I mean. It’s like crushed velvet.” Rubbing your thumb over the glistening crown of him was becoming an addictive hobby, causing you to exist in that moment solely for the groans it pulled from deep in his throat. It was as grotesque as it was enthralling.
You could feel his cheek pressed to yours, stubbled chin still resting on your shoulder, as entranced as you were by the sight. You’d nearly forgotten your own flickering torment until his hands started to move again, kneading your breasts and palming your belly, finally settling on the front of your thighs, pulling them wider apart than ever and igniting a yearning in you with each caress up their plush insides.
“You likin’ this?” He rumbled in your ear, thumbs stroking along the soft creases that led to your mound.
“Yes.”
“Think you can take a little more?”
Yes, oh please, for the love of all that is good, give this a purpose besides igniting my own dormant lust
You answered him with a jerky nod, and raised your body up on your knees, trying to line him up with your entrance as best you could -
“-hold up, hold up!” he repeated exasperatedly, “I got a bright idea, since yer the one who ain’t ever so much as seen a cock, how ‘bout you sit back and let the man who owns one lead the way, hmm? Yeah, how about that? just hush and lean back.”
You obeyed, loath to provoke him to shed the surprising tenderness he had shown you so far.
“I swear, when I got aboard my first ship I didn’t immediately demand to steer the goddamn ironclad straight into a blockade. You should learn some temperance, honey. There’s an honest amount of ignorance one should adopt in such cases.” He settled you against his chest, one hand coming up to cradle you under the jaw, turning your face up to his, the other coming down to cup himself against you, trapping himself snug amongst your soaked curls before his hips began to roll again in a fluid, inexorable motion.
“Yeah, how ‘bout that now, hmm?” he coaxed, fingers splaying wide down there to pull your outer lips apart, the better to rut through the slick of you unimpeded. The stretch it gave your newly discovered nub made you whine, eyes searching out the pale ceiling in the grey dawn light, desperate to get away from the sheer abundance of sensation.
“It’s so much.” you admitted to the ceiling in a fit of honesty, brought on by the needy thrumming you felt in every part of your being.
“I know,” his fingers tightened on your jaw slightly and you were shocked how hoarse his voice had gone, “it’s damn near painful it’s so good. S’why they call it a little death.”
You could hear yourself heaving out ungainly gasps but he seemed pleased the more unhinged you became, his increasing rhythm making you frantic, your arms lifting to grab at him, the back of his neck, his hair, his shoulders, anything to tether you.
“That’s it, fall apart for me, I gotchu.”
You weren’t so much falling as your were clinging, clinging to some edge of sanity in all this and loathing yourself for it, wishing you weren’t too cowardly to plunge down to where you were certain some sweet relief for this mania lay.
He had his chin hooked over your shoulder again, eyes glued to what part he could see of where your body accepted his rough slides with a lewd squelch.
“Fuck,” he let out so suddenly it sounded like it had been punched out of him, “look at you, all quivering and needy and coatin’ me like you’ve got a never ending amount of slick down there. You’re perfect, just perfect.” and if he had not sounded so utterly deranged in that moment you would have preened a little under the praise, uncouth though it was. “You’d be perfect inside, I just know it, you’d be tight and sweet thrashing under me -I knew, just knew you had some fire left in ya.”
The moment, with its confusion and need, was raw and visceral in a manner that allowed you no way to distance yourself from it, he required too much participation from you, and talked more than you had ever been led to expect in such moments. And still as he labored harder and harder, thrusting up against you, he made no move to actually bed you. Enter you. Make you his.
Your head fell back against his shoulder again, eyes fluttering closed without your permission, nails digging crescents in whatever part of him you laid hold of. You didn’t so much see as feel his gaze on the side of your face and in this frail moment you wished you knew if it was you he was seeing or her. You would never get this moment back, no matter what your future held and what other men had you in the coming years, all intimacies no matter how invasive would always evoke the memory of this first initiation. You did not think it too vain to want yourself and yourself alone to be the object of his lust in this moment if not his affection.
The slamming of doors in the hallway outside shocked you out of your trance, panic flooding where something drowsy had been simmering. It was morning now, this entire procedure had taken an unearthly about of time to accomplish -and it’s wasn’t even accomplished yet.
The doorknob jiggled, Etta’s well worn routine of coming to dress you while he was in the washroom about to transpire like clock work.
Your body froze -his did not. Not a hitch, up and down, up and down.
“Give us a minute.” He called out sounding utterly wrecked behind you. Faintly, you could make out the sound of footsteps scurrying away.
Alert and free from the frenzied need that had been drugging you, you felt it keenly when he clung to you most fervently, a broad hand pressed to your sternum, the other mindlessly stretching your lower lips wider and wider until you felt yourself shaking in response, a sudden flood of warmth and slick making his last jerks nearly blissful in their ease and your one coherent wish was for this to never end. And then it did.
He slumped against your back, his breath huffing hot against the skin of your neck. You felt his lips pucker up and kiss you there. You shuddered from it.
“Sweet Lord, that was exquisite.” he rasped out, and then as if his spine had given out he fell backwards onto the sheets, bringing you with him, cradling you to him, hands lazily petting your soaked thighs.
You stayed quiet, struck mute by the realization it was over. So much had been done and so little accomplished. Something was shaken up deep inside you and you suspected it was your soul. You felt your pulse still hammering down there in your most secret parts, gnawing and needy and wanting. Awake for the first time.
More doors were opening and shutting along the corridor. It had to be near time for hymn sing and you were both in utter disarray.
“Whats that sharp mind of yours up to in there?” he tried playfully poking your cheek as he had been want to do in the mornings.
He could feel his own spend dripping down from your belly and cunt, down and onto his pelvis.
He didn’t like this, didn’t want this quiet, shaken, little version of you. He had thought you would be alright after -you had been so eager, too damn eager and he’d been weak, so very weak at the prospect of the very hazy bliss his own regret was now beginning to ruin. If he had been a better man…
So much for Miss Rosetta’s prophesy that a year of abstinence would make him stronger. It had only served to make the ravening beast inside near mad with want to the point where he had gone and done this.
“Talk to me.” and he was pleased it came out sounding like a command instead of a beg.
“It must be near time for hymn sing.” you managed, your voice a foreign wisp of itself.
“You alright? Really? Did you finish?-“ he moved his hands down to your soaking cunt and you jerked away like you’d been scalded by his touch.
“Enough, please, please we ought to get up.” you raised yourself up on your arm, nightgown falling back down the expanse of your body, covering that pretty belly soaked in his seed.
As if after a moment of composing yourself, you finally looked down and met his eyes. You were flushed and looking about as lost and wounded as you had been when he first saw you at the market. He refused to be the cause of that. Perhaps someone ought to shoulder the blame for this early morning fuckery or split the pot and call it even, but he couldn’t endure being feared or derided when you had been the one to start this whole fevered encounter. No, just no.
He was considering pinning you beneath him and forcing an honest answer out of you when you took him by surprise by saying: “Looks like we succeeded in distracting you from retching this morning.” The smile you gave him was pitiful, yet playful enough to make his heart clench.
“What you on about?” he asked gruffly, ready to lie through his teeth.
“Don’t play the fool, sir, it doesn’t suit you,” you bravely stuck a finger out and traced the beautiful line of his nose, pacifying him before adding, “I hear you in the mornings. Every morning. That isn’t natural at all, somethings wrong.”
“You don’t say?” he mocked, feeling very much exposed lying here naked and sticky under your gaze that had turned almost motherly in its concern.
“What’s got you so ill?” you whispered so softly he barely caught the words.
He knew then that Sister Rosetta was right on one account. It wasn’t because he’d just rubbed himself off against you or even because of the tenderness in your voice that he felt compelled to answer -it was because he was looking into Maddy’s pained eyes.
“You don’t spend a couple years in a prison camp without contracting somethin’ awful.” he cleared his throat and joined you in sitting himself upright, needing to shrug it off in bearing and in words, “Ain’t nothin’ special. Just can’t seem to shake it, always was a scrawny child. The bouts of malaria make it worse, which is quite the joke as a boat captain.” he laughed at that mirthlessly, and you didn’t follow suite. You just stared at him with that crease between your brows that was the same as his Maddy’s when he’d broke the news to her that he was joining up.
One minute making love, the next talkin’ of puke. What sort of woman does that?
“Well you said you wanted to get up!” he snapped, suddenly irate, “So, get up, and let’s go.”
Women and their fucking moods and their pretty little fingers dipping into shit that ain’t their business, wrapping around your cock in the dead of night and then actin’ like you desecrated them afterwards
He went into the washroom first and brought you out a bowl and jug, settling it down loudly before wetting a washcloth and making a motion to clean your legs himself.
“No,” you shoved at his shoulder, all jitters, and it took you another moment to compose yourself enough to repeat more calmly, “no, I-I’ve got it, we’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”
Rejection flared hot and resentful in his chest, he dropped the washcloth into the basin. “Suit yourself.”
He went to the door, yanking it open with more force than necessary and yelling to a loitering Miss Etta that she was needed. The hall’s occupants looked like they’d seen one of the furies and he supposed that stark naked and fuming he probably wasn’t a particularly inspiring sight for his crew. They’d seen him worse.
On returning he found that you’d fled to the sanctuary of the washroom, the tinkling sound of bathing faintly audible.
Etta came in and found him standing there, glaring down the dividing doors, and she wasted no time before hissing “What have you done to her?”
“I ain’t havin’ this conversation stark naked.” he went to move away.
“Why are you stark naked? And looking well used I might add! You bought her- she is a helpless guest -“
“Oh butt out!” he sneered, “You’re really slow to learn what’s not your business anymore, ya know that? And what I do in my bed hasn’t been your business for some time now.”
“You know what I do to men who hurt my friends?” she questioned him with a dead calm voice.
“Etta,” he groaned
“I slip them concoctions of dill mixed with oleander and goat’s teeth and it makes their cocks rot and fall off -it’s a slow, painful way to go, captain.”
“I’m hearin’ ya.”
“Remember who it is that makes your morning tonics.”she reminded.
“I’m hearing ya loud and clear.”
“So what did you do to my friend?”
“How ‘bout you ask the meek Miss Beaumont what she did to me?”
“Oh I don’t doubt that she offered,” Etta placed a hand on each hip, black eyes flashing, “but you navigate that every day of your pretty life, don’t you? So what is it you did to her?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to remember to inhale once in awhile. “You know how I get Etta -when there’s something new to show someone. She’d never seen or done a thing that sorta way a-a-and to have the chance of showing her, being that first for her -I, I just gave in, I guess. God, she was unreal, Etta, there’s a tigress hidden under all that courtesy.”
“You’re a real bastard you know that?”
“I’m standing here stark naked pouring out my heart to you-“
Etta scoffed, tight coils bouncing, “What gentleman praises his new lover to his old one?”
“I was working up the courage,” he looked down at her haughtily, “to ask the future Mrs. King why our mutual friend would be actin’ so skittish now after a decidedly shameless display. But apparently that ain’t gentlemanly so I’ll -“
Unable to take it anymore you’d thrown open the wicker doors, a fire in your eyes rivaling Etta’s, “I can hear every word uttered by the both of you from in there!”
Etta shot him a look that suggested she was mentally adding more names besides ‘bastard’ to the list.
“Now,” you stamped your foot, the sheer rage you had suppressed at your circumstances coming out in a flood, “I may be shameless and I may be skittish but I intend to be down in the boilerroom in time for hymn sing, if either of you had any manners you’d bite your tongues and do the same. Are you in the mood for doing up laces or should I go up deck and find an obliging gentleman-“
“Oh turn round, Miss!” Etta, quite out of patience for either of you, spun you by the hips and yanked harder than necessary on your undone corset.
The Captain ignored you in favor of pulling on a pair of trousers. “You’re not bathing?” you couldn’t hide your horror. You had felt how sticky and slick your own curls and belly had been, near drenched from him, he had to be just as bad.
“Nope, I’ve got a steamer to get underway.” he started yanking on his suspenders as cruelly as Etta had your laces. Gluttons for misery each of you. “And I mightn’t have any manners but at least with this mess down my trousers I won’t be able to pretend I spent my morning other than how I did -unlike others I know.”
That disdainful curl of his lip flashed before you for one moment and then he was gone.
“He’s a bit of bastard.” Etta offered as if this was information you were not privy to.
“Not a bit, he’s a whole and entire bastard.” and at least that had made her laugh, cementing the brewing alliance between you.
At hymn sing you were far too busy trying appear unruffled under Sister Rosetta’s searching glances to concern yourself with the fact Captain Presley sang each hymn at you.
Oh, Sinnerman, where you gonna run to?
Where you gonna run to?
All on that day
You would gladly take his temper or his cruel jokes over the morose study he made of you that morning, his body notably still in that swaying crowd of worshipers.
So I run to the Lord, please hide me Lord
Don't you see me praying?
Don't you see me down here praying?
But the Lord said, "Go to the devil"
The Lord said, "Go to the devil"
He said, "Go to the devil"
All on that day
You were being foolish, and the more you thought of it, the more you felt a fool. You still had your pride, it was one of the precious few things left you, and to have been made a fool of by a whoremonger’s tenderness and his preserving you from the harm you wished to do yourself -it made your eyes sting. If he thought you angry over his base actions he could not have been further from the truth of it. It was his restraint which tormented you, suggested to you that he was sparing you as he had no real intention of keeping you after all.
All that late morning and into the afternoon, you slaved away at the desk opposite Sister Rosetta’s, not even resurfacing to watch as the boat chugged away from the shore, those heavy boilers finally whooshing to life, heaving you and a couple hundred others out and on your way up the lazy river. You felt the vibrating thunk and clack of the mighty engines in your feet, the boat now becoming a living thing, no longer an idle beast but awake and hungry, devouring coal. Thumping and rolling the feeling of it tormented you. It’s a funny thing how one’s flesh will keep alive the memory of a sensation long since passed. No list of accounts could distract you from the pulsing ache you felt, in your heart and somewhere else. You told yourself it was the blush of shame, modesty, mourning for innocence lost. Long used to your lies, your soul offered little argument against such delusions.
For her part Sister Rosetta had given up on making conversation, instead she had gone to the deck to watch, said the initial rocking made her sick every time. You yourself felt awful and green but until a genius idea came to mind as to how to fix your folly, you stayed below and added up the house’s earnings from last nights poker. A gentle rap sounded on the door and the lemony smell of Miss Etta flooded in.
“You’re moping down here.”
“Fools should hide in the light of day.” you tried to sound wry but it came out sincere.
“Do ya wish for a olive branch?”
“How do you mean?”
“If I had the means to help you mend the damn fence, would you take it and do the whole boat a favor by taking the bee out of the Captain’s ass? The way he’s acting has got two guests wanting to turn back already.”
“What did he do?” you gasped.
“Kissed their wives in front of them.”
“What?”
“Oh it’s easily forgiven when the booze has been flowing and the earnings are coming in, the men don’t begrudge him a bit, but upon boarding, in the bright light of day as you said…” she clucked her tongue.
“He truly is a bastard.” your marveled.
“Entirely.” she agreed, “I suppose sheltered though you were you must have heard men calling women like myself ‘hussies’?”
You nodded, a pained grimace on your face as you began to reassure her you didn’t think of her as such but she went on,
“Well, I ain’t ever heard of a man being called a hussy,” she grinned, “but if ever there was one who deserved it, it would be Captain Elvis Presley.”
“That’s why you’re marrying Mr. King instead.” you conjectured.
She looked at you narrowly and for a moment you feared you’d exhausted her geniality at ling last. Then she spoke in a measured tone, “I’m marrying Mr. King because he was the one who asked. And because he loves me, and I’ve come to enjoy that. Need it even. There ain’t nothin’ like being loved, you don’t even have to love back much yourself, you’ll still find it wares away on ya when you’re being loved, and you’ll end up loving, too -no matter what.” she glanced down at her hands for a moment before adding, “That’s enough for me, anyways. Plenty enough.”
“I’ve never had that.” you admitted, offering a confession for a confession. “Promised to marry a man the other year, he was old and had enough money for the year’s taxes. Despite his years he got another lady in the family way and had to break off the obligation, married her instead. Gave me headache, I admit, but my heart wasn’t in it. Only ever kissed me once.”
“And now this.” she murmured sympathetically.
“Yes.” you whispered, feeling your eyes sting again.
“Men like Elvis, they are to be savored my dear, not depended upon.”
“I think he’d be real hurt to hear you think that of him. He takes pride in providing us all some stability, I- I’ve heard him!” you insisted.
“Hmm, then I wish he was here now, a little conviction wouldn’t do that stubborn bastard any harm. But say, will you do it?-mend the fence? For your own sake, if not to spare the rest of us?”
“Of course.” and you had to grin at your own magnanimity.
A dazzling smile split her dark face, a clever gleam sparkling in her eye as she reached into her reticule and pulled out three familiar tonics held in amber glass. “He didn’t take these this morning, did he?”
“No.” you admitted.
“Well, go and find him, he ought to be in the wheelhouse, and let him spit vinegar at ya. Don’t get your hackles up, don’t return in kind. Be patient then call him a sweet boy and tell him you’ve come to take care of him.”
Your eyebrows flew up to your hairline and you looked at her skeptically. Every man you knew bristled the moment his manhood was remotely downgraded to boyhood again by a woman. You’d only ever heard it used by women as an insult.
She had just enough decorum to look sheepishly at the floor for a moment before barreling onward. “He don’t like forceful women, Miss Beaumont. Apparently he had a gal once, sweet as peaches and cream and ever since he lost her he’s been demanding the same infallibility from all women, and they’ve been falling short. Quite short. Would you take some advice from a hussy? Coo at that bastard and treat him like your favorite son and he’ll obey your every whim. At least in bed. Gentleness works better than anything else on that man. He’s endured enough roughing up in his time to withstand anything you could try to throw at him. You’ll never win a screamin’ match with a man, mark my words, they end up cheatin’ and using their fists anyhow.”
Dropping the bottles into your lap she backed out of the room, not before making a mock curtsy .
You spent a good five minutes rolling the little brown bottles around in your lap, trying to imagine a life where’d you’d have enough brazenness to ‘coo’ at Captain Presley. Especially after this morning, after the way he’d relished your shock and shame. But life had forced you to learn accounting, market haggling, cotton farming and grow proficient at lying under oath and grave digging -taming a feral tomcat could hardly prove the hardest of all these endeavors.
next chapter I swear there will be some resolution to the angst as well as some riverboat entertainmet, a knife fight and some basic sex education -‘cause that’s always a good idea to know before you try to jump someone’s bones at 4:15 in the morning…🤨there might even be a female orgasm or two. Thank y’all so much for reading, your feedback is my life’s blood! This has only been edited by my exhausted little eyes so have mercy or let me know where I goofed. 💓
MasterList:
https://at.tumblr.com/aconflagrationofmyown/a-whole-man-is-hard-to-find-masterlist/lwumazsdof2c
@ash-omalley @missmaywemeetagain @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @yagirlalexx @pastelteabubbles @heartbrake-hotel @mesbouquins
@oh-my-front-door
@blurredcolour @beccalynn711
@pearlparty
@foreverdolly
@bisexualwvtson
@powerofelvis
@tyne18
@j-v-9-2
@myradiaz
@la-petite-lune
@briege93
@kanik-arson
@oh-my-front-door
@lovininapinkcadillac
@eliseinmemphis
@lindszeppelin
🔥 Austin Butler has won Best Actor for Elvis - Sunset Circle Awards (2022) 🔥
OBVIOUSLY ITS ELVIS 😘😌
(vote for him)
Propaganda
Elvis Presley (Blue Hawaii, King Creole)—Those baby blues! That voice of the angels! It’s Elvis yall.
Peter Falk (The Great Race, Robin and the 7 Hoods)—let me just quote Frank Capra: "the entire production was agony ... except for Peter Falk. He was my joy, my anchor to reality. Introducing that remarkable talent to the techniques of comedy made me forget pains, tired blood, and maniacal hankerings to murder Glenn Ford (the film's star)." i also just find scrungly little guys to be the peak of attraction.
This is round 1 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.
And another thing about the gold digger part ain't it funny how after he died and was getting all this attention from ALL around the world, out of nowhere she decides to change her last name back to Presley even tho Elvis had asked her NOT TOO, published her book, made a few movies, and much more!!! And then when they made the movie "ELVIS" and he starts getting recognition again is when she decides to make yet AGAIN ANOTHER movie about her book she wrote IN THE GODDAMN 80s 😒 cuz let's not forget she has made MANY more movies on this same subject, drops a FUCKIN skincare brand, and goes on this tour talking YET AGAIN about her book from the 80s 😭 like idk about you but the timing of EVERYTHING she does is a little fishy 🤨🧍🏻♀️🤷🏻♀️ I DONE SENTENCE HER OUT TO BE A GOLD MOTHER FLIPPING DIGGER 👩🏻⚖️⚖️🪧 and also let's not forget she would be a NOBODY if it wasn't for the Elvis mother freaking Aaron Presley!!!! 😱
Lord I wasn't gonna do this but now I HAVE TOO 😭😭😭
This is to the Priscilla fans that love to CLAIM that Elvis was a "bad husband" She herself admitted to parts of the "movie" are fake yet she still let the "movie" be released!!!! And in every interview I've seen of her she's changed the story or says that parts of the movie didn't actually happen in real life not only the movie but with her book (Elvis and me) just like I this interview!¿!¿!¿!¿! Like girl 👀👀 make it make sense!!!!! And it's been since Elvis passed this girl keeps changing "her" story over and over again and she's not even trying to do it on the down low she's changed it DRAMATICALLY to the point where it's getting annoying 🙄!!!! ANDDDDDD it's not the only part of "her" movie or her book it's with many more INCLUDING the INFAMOUS pillow scene!!!!! So for those who believed everything sorry to say it was ALL LIES 🤷🏻♀️🚫🤮
I love this man so much!!!! I feel like every day I love him just a little more!!!!❤️💓💞
OMG he sounds so happy
Elvis and Linda at Sam Thompsons House I November 1973. I love his laugh. He genuinely enjoyed himself. CREDIT ORIGINAL OWNER
Dear Lord! the things I learned today....🥵😩😏🫣🤭😭
How big do you think Elvis’s dick is? Any proof/evidence lol
I think this gif will answer your question perfectly 😭
FIRST OF ALL, WHAT TYPE OF ANACONDA IS THAT???????.
(I would definetly say 8 inches long with 4 cm of width. I mean look at it, that thing is Alive 👀👀)
PREACH!!!!! 🙌🏻 couldn't have said it better ❤️
This may be a prickly subject, and I'm sorry if so. But I'm trying to learn more about Elvis, and every time I bring him up to people I know, they try to tell me he was this terrible person, and point me toward Priscilla's book, the movie made on it, and the discourse. Idk if you've talked about it on here (I tried searching your blog but couldn't find anything on it). If you're willing, I'd love to hear your take on it so I can see a more nuanced view.
The film Priscilla was greenlit roughly a month after Priscilla herself was informed that she was close to becoming financially insolvent in 2022. With a business partner, Brigitte Kruse, who allegedly helped broker the film deal, she established a limited liability company called Priscilla Presley Partners that was supposed to use her image and likeness to create several lines of merchandise to coincide with the film's release. That business partner is now suing Priscilla because she did not have the rights to her image or likeness, or any ability to use the Presley name, because she had already sold all of those rights and was no longer considered in good standing with Graceland or Elvis Presley Enterprises. The entire business deal, then, according to the lawsuit, was built on her misrepresentation of how much her image was worth.
The deal between the two of them fell apart after Riley Keough, Lisa Marie's daughter and Priscilla's granddaughter, settled with Priscilla to give her a lump sum of $1 million from Lisa Marie's estate and yearly amounts of $100,000. Priscilla sued very shortly after Lisa Marie's death because she thought Lisa Marie's signature on a will had been forged because Priscilla was not included in it. All of the assets were supposed to go directly to Lisa Marie's son, Benjamin Keough, who died in 2020, and her three daughters, two of whom are still teenagers. Now, part of those assets have been claimed by Priscilla and her other son, Navarone, who has no connection to the Presley family and has stated he is glad Lisa died.
Four months before Lisa's death, Lisa wrote to Sofia Coppola and made it clear she had strong concerns about the Priscilla film and was suspicious of the intentions behind it:
"As his daughter, I don’t read this and see any of my father in this character. I don’t read this and see my mother’s perspective of my father. ... I will be forced to be in a position where I will have to openly say how I feel about the film and go against you, my mother and this film publicly."
Lisa was enormously grateful for efforts put into 2022's Elvis to find her father's soul and to restore his dignity in a world that often turns him and his family into a joke:
"You can feel and witness Baz’s pure love, care, and respect for my father throughout this beautiful film, and it is finally something that myself and my children and their children can be proud of forever."
It is such a strong and powerful statement, to see how much Lisa valued family, not just her father but her own children and their legacy, and how willing she was to speak up no matter what was going on in her personal life to say what was right. On this and many other things, Lisa and Priscilla's values have rarely been in alignment. A friend and EPE business associate, Joel Weinshanker, said of her, "Lisa couldn't be bought, she couldn't be pushed. If she felt that something wasn't in Elvis' best interest, it was never about money. And she really is the only Presley that you could say that about."
Priscilla, though, has adjusted her stories about her time with Elvis almost every time she discusses it. For a quick example, she said in her book, which was released in 1985, that Elvis insisted she do her hair and makeup a certain way, that he had control over her look and would get upset if she didn't dress how he wanted. But in an interview with Ladies' Home Journal in 1973, she said that she made a deliberate choice to attend makeup school so that she could learn how to style herself, and that it was her idea to wear big, black hair and big, black eyeliner. She said she was embarrassed for going overboard. She said, "I wish that Elvis had said something, but he must have liked it because he never commented." This lines up with recollections from Patti Parry, a platonic friend of Elvis' and a hairstylist, who said Priscilla always wanted Patti to do her hair in a "big boombah," but that Priscilla would then get upset when Elvis didn't notice or didn't like it.
These changes are impossible not to notice if you follow her for any length of time. At the film premiere, she said it felt just like watching her life and said she was consulted on everything, since she was an executive producer. After the film came out, she said she couldn't understand why Coppola had changed so much about the story and misrepresented events. In the '70s, she said she and Elvis lived almost totally separate lives, that she came and went as she pleased, and that she loved this freedom. Later, she said she felt completely stifled and trapped and never left the house, even though she had friends she went out with all the time. In 2019, she tweeted a forceful denial about a National Enquirer story: "This is the Enquirer folks... please don't believe everything you read. ... Never planned on being buried next to Elvis. What will they come up with next?" But part of her settlement demands in her lawsuit against Riley in 2023 asked "to be buried next to Elvis." This year, she said in two separate interviews that Lisa was with her when Elvis died and that Priscilla had to break the news to her, despite the fact that Lisa was at Graceland when it happened. She has said she gave Elvis the idea to wear belts on his jumpsuits, to have a lightning bolt as his logo, to sing "An American Trilogy," though none of that is true. She retells the story about forcing Elvis to burn all of his spiritual books to prove he loved her as an almost funny anecdote about debrainwashing him, while Elvis later said it was the worst thing he ever agreed to, a desperate attempt to make her happy by giving up the things he valued the most. (For the record, this is my opinion about their relationship on both sides: thinking they could change themselves and each other to make it work. It never did.)
Every secondhand Elvis account has to be treated lightly and only valued for its consistency with known facts and other witnesses. I try to give enormous benefit of the doubt to anyone in the Elvis world because they often only have partial knowledge of what Elvis may have been thinking at any given time, and there are numerous examples of people who were taken advantage of by unscrupulous journalists who changed the story they wanted to tell. But Priscilla's stories sometimes are not even consistent with her own statements, which makes them very poor options indeed to base anything on. However careful we are about noting potential biases and inaccuracies in other memoirs, we have to be triply, quadruply careful with anything in which Priscilla involves herself because she has a vested interest in generating discourse today in order to make money. Unfortunately, Priscilla has a habit of stifling other accounts or making sensationalized statements each time there is a possibility that she will lose some of the cache that comes with being an Elvis Source—after Elvis' death, when she believed she was going to inherit his airplane and disinvited everyone that Vernon said could fly in it to his funeral; when she sued the parents of one of Elvis' ex-girlfriends after he died because he had allowed them to live rent-free in a house he bought for them; when she claimed that Elvis wanted to reunite with her before his death, despite the fact that he was engaged to someone else and told many people he couldn't see a reunion ever happening with her; before Vernon's death, when she convinced him to make her an executor of the Presley estate until Lisa came of age; after Lisa came of age, when she convinced Lisa to let her stay on as partner; when Lisa accused Priscilla of misspending Lisa's money, during which time anonymous sources cropped up to say Lisa was in debt and drug-addled; when Priscilla was removed from her position as an EPE spokesperson but kept collecting $900,000 a year from the company; when Lisa died, and Priscilla sued once she learned she wasn't in the will; when Priscilla was no longer associated with EPE and decided to do another adaptation of a book that she has since recanted parts of and has contradicted before and after its release.
When Priscilla thinks there is a threat to her image and position, she does new interviews and projects to muddy the waters and stir public interest, whether it is true or false, positive or negative, laudatory or defamatory. She gets corrected by Elvis' surviving family members, girlfriends, friends, and fans, but these stories do not get the same reach no matter how much they are backed by contemporaneous documents and witnesses, or how many resources there are to educate the public on how Elvis' and Priscilla's attitudes about marriage and relationships changed—along with the rest of society—between 1960 and 1970.
I think almost any single-source project is not going to advance our understanding of Elvis in any way because no one individual can speak for him, and we are kind of obligated to include all the context we can in order to appreciate his character, his successes and failures, flaws and virtues—and to treat both himself and those around him as fully three-dimensional people who have their own blind spots. Priscilla is far too aware of her own image, and far too willing to change it to suit the audience, to be particularly valuable here.
She is next scheduled to appear at the Lexington (Kentucky) Comic & Toy Con.
✨In the light you're sickeningly beautiful✨~
🌹❤️
🫀🥀say you'll never leave me🥀🫀~~~
all credits to owner 😉
😉 Dear Elvis, may you have the BIGGEST of them all 😉
and yes he did 🫣🫦
(credits to the owner 😘)
🎸🔥you're playing your guitar, and it's turning me on 🔥🎸
🤭 🤤you got your eyeliner, long hair, walking around like you don't care 🤤🤭
✨You got me in the back of your car like a star✨
(all credits to the owner 🥵)
G.I.
Hope you like it
😏🤭😚
🙏🥺"be my, be my baby, my one and only baby!"🙏🥺
(all credits to owner 🫶😊)
🥰😚MY love for YOU will NEVER DIE!😚🥰
✨OuUoOuUo✨
I will love you forever my Elvis Presley!<3 💋💝
(all credits to owner 🫶)
Just thought I would share some photos of my two favourite guys together. I absolutely love their relationship and everything they do. Sorry for the terrible quality of some of the pics🤍🤍
