#vintage doll challenge

[simple-persica]

For the paper doll,

Nyo Swe in b4 and nyo Fin in C2, if that would be okey

I love when they

[thesimline]

DRAG DOLLS AS9 E2.2 - DRAG IMITATES ART

The second category of the All Stars 9 Paint Ball was 'Drag Imitates Art', which had the queens turn the works of famous artists into fabulous outfits. I was honestly shocked no one made reference to Roy Lichtenshein's ICONIC pop art creations, so of course I had to give it a go myself. Naturally these artworks lend themselves to retro 1950s styling and I kept the colour palette to bold primary hues. How cool is that halftone make up by the way?!

OUTFIT RESOURCES

Hair | Skin | Face Shading | Lashes (TSR) | Eyeshadow (TSR) | Face Paint (TSR) | Mascara Tears | Lipstick (TSR) | Nails (TSR)

Earrings (Base Game) | Scarf (TSR) | Dress | Accessory Top (TSR) | Bracelet | Tights (Get To Work) | Shoes | Phone

With thanks to some amazing creators: @daylifesims @emmibouquet @simandy @pralinesims @satterlly @jius-sims @candycottonchu

[biblically-accurate-dca]

super disorganized sketch page because i do what i want

[smallfavorsboutique]

Bubblegum pink retro vintage Skipper dress and Bolero set. Available at my ko-fi shop.

[stansangel]

Stan Imagine

Pairings: Stan Pines x Reader Warnings: none! pure fluff! Word Count: 420

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon, and Stan has decided it’s the perfect time for a little break from the chaos of the Mystery Shack. He’s managed to convince you to join him in a spontaneous picnic on the lawn.

You both spread out a colorful blanket under a big, shady tree, and Stan’s brought along a basket filled with an assortment of treats—sandwiches, fruit, and even some of his (your) famous homemade cookies. As you sit down, he playfully nudges you with his elbow and says, “I figured we could use a little time away from the usual craziness.”

You laugh, reaching for a sandwich, and the two of you start chatting about everything and nothing. Stan’s stories from his youth and his cheeky jokes keep you both laughing, and you can tell he’s genuinely enjoying the simple pleasure of being with you.

At one point, he gets up and surprises you with a small, hidden bottle of sparkling lemonade. “I saved this for a special occasion,” he says with a wink, pouring you both a glass. The bubbles dance in the sunlight, and he raises his glass for a toast. “To us. My beautiful wife and her handsome husband.” You roll your eyes at the comment but smile anyways.

You clink glasses and sip the refreshing drink, feeling the warmth of the sun and the joy of the moment. After a while, Stan pulls out a deck of cards and challenges you to a friendly (extremely competitive, will sulk if he loses) game. You play a few rounds, laughing and teasing each other as you go.

As the sun starts to set, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink, Stan takes out a small, vintage radio and turns on some old tunes. He reaches out a hand to you and says, “Care for a dance?”

You accept, and he pulls you close, twirling you around on the blanket as the music plays softly in the background. The moment is simple, yet perfect, and you both savor the tranquility and closeness.

By the end of the day, as you sit together, cuddled up under the blanket, Stan looks at you with a contented smile. “You know, I could get used to days like this,” he says, his voice filled with affection. “Thanks for making it so special, doll.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the happiness in your heart. “Anytime, Stan,” you whisper. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” (HE'S SO FREAKING CUTE I CAN'T.)

[shonen-brainrot]

You’ve always had a knack for finding yourself in the most unexpected places, but sitting on Tomura Shigaraki’s lap in the dim light of a decrepit warehouse takes the cake. It had started with a chance encounter at an old arcade, where you both ended up sharing the last quarter of a game machine. Who would have guessed that the leader of the League of Villains would be a fan of vintage video games?

Tonight, you’re in an old warehouse that the League has repurposed as a makeshift game room. The space is cluttered with discarded furniture and old gaming consoles, but it has a certain charm. A single, flickering light bulb casts a warm glow over a battered old couch where you’re comfortably perched on Tomura’s lap, the two of you huddled together.

Tomura’s arm is draped casually around your waist, his fingers clutching a controller as he furrows his brow at the screen before you.

"You're surprisingly comfy, you know that?" you tease, poking his chest lightly.

He lets out a soft chuckle, a sound you’ve come to cherish. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Take it however you want, boss man," you reply with a grin, leaning back against his chest.

His crimson eyes soften as he looks down at you, a rare sight that always makes your heart skip a beat. "You’re quite fearless, sitting here like this," he murmurs as he bounces you a little on his lap.

"Guess I trust you," you say lightly, though you mean it. Despite everything, you’ve seen glimpses of a side to Tomura that make you believe there’s more to him than just a villain.

"You shouldn’t," he warns, but his grip on you tightens ever so slightly, as if he’s afraid to let you go.

"Too late for that," you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek. His skin is cool under your fingertips, and you marvel at how he leans into your touch, seeking warmth. “Ready to lose?” you challenge, brandishing the game controller with a playful smirk.

Tomura looks at you with an amused glint in his crimson eyes. “You think you can take me down in Street Fighter? I’ve been practicing, doll.”

“Bring it on, mr villain,” you tease, pressing the start button and diving into the game.

The screen flickers to life, and the characters begin their intense battle.

The game is a whirlwind of animated punches and kicks, and you’re deeply immersed, trying to outmaneuver Tomura’s relentless attacks. His laughter, surprisingly light and genuine, vibrates through his chest as you narrowly dodge his special moves.

“You’re not half bad,” Tomura admits, his voice warm with admiration. “But you’re still going down.”

“You wish,” you retort, focusing intently on the screen as you execute a particularly tricky combo move. “Prepare to be defeated!”

Tomura’s fingers are deft on the controls, guiding his character with precision. Every now and then, he leans in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmurs strategy tips and playful taunts. The closeness is both exhilarating and comforting, and you find yourself laughing more than you expected.

As the final round approaches, you’re neck and neck. You shift in his lap, trying to find a better angle for your attack, which only causes Tomura to chuckle.

“Getting comfortable?” he teases, his voice low and warm in your ear.

“Just trying to find the best spot to beat you,” you reply, adjusting your position again. His free hand steadies you as you wiggle, making sure you don’t fall off.

With a final, well-timed maneuver, you manage to land the winning blow. “Victory!” you exclaim triumphantly, raising your arms in a mock victory pose, which causes you to slide even more in his lap.

Tomura groans theatrically, though the smile on his face betrays his enjoyment. “Beginner’s luck.”

“You’ll have to admit I’m pretty skilled,” you tease, settling back down and shifting slightly to get comfortable.

Tomura’s hands rest on your hips, holding you steady. He’s wearing gloves with only two fingers covered, designed so he won’t decay anything. He chuckles, “Alright, alright. You’re good. But next time, I’m winning and I won't go easy on ya.”

“Yeah, keep dreaming,” you reply, leaning back against him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. As you shift again to find the perfect spot, and you need to admit his lap is very comfortable.

He relaxes, letting out a contented sigh. “You know, this is... nice. Being here with you.”

“Yeah, it is,” you agree, looking up at him. “I think you’re not as much of a villain as everyone thinks.”

Tomura’s gaze softens, his usual guarded demeanor melting away. “Maybe."

As you turn to face him, without thinking, you lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

Tomura’s eyes widen briefly in surprise before they flutter closed, his hand cupping your cheek gently.

When you pull back, his smile is tender, and there’s a hint of something unspoken in his gaze. “I think me like it, doll,” he murmurs.

[loveliestlovelygirl]

cashmere, cologne, & white sunshine | 𝟙

money is the anthem, god, you're so handsome

dilf!finnick x nanny!reader

synopsis: you arrive at the odair estate for your final interview with finnick's mother mrs. odair. when she offers you the job on the spot, you're so surprised. quickly, you learn that the children might be a challenge for you, but finnick's support and kindness is enough to cheer you on. it seems he even wants to get close to you...

w.c: 2.7k

highlights: {minors dni} extreme wealth, nepotism, children & childcare, flirting, a hint of suggestive content near the end, slow burn romance, power imbalance

table of contents | 𝟚 {coming soon}

You had never considered yourself to be the kind of person who falls for their employer. Not even coworkers. Out of the myriad jobs you picked up here and there to finance college and now grad school, never once did you develop romantic feelings in a professional setting.

But the Odair Estate... is an experience, one dreamed up by a romance novelist with its white rose greenhouse, angel water fountains, and vintage cars. And inside, gold and marble, crystal chandeliers, and winding staircases. And yet the majesty of the home could never blot out the brilliance that surrounds the man who resides here. In your gaze, a halo of light outlines his silhouette. You can’t be the only one who sees it. 

He draws you into this fantasy world. A world of sweet pleasure and romance.

Finnick Odair draws you to his arms, to his lips, to his love—all so effortlessly.

“Smith! Come here! You’re going to get jelly all over the furniture!” A handsome man half-dressed, only in a pair of khaki slacks, sprints down the stairs to chase after a small blonde boy with a smear of grape jelly across his cheeks and hands.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance, even during your interview, when you heard the low, melody of his voice. You see the urgency upon his sharpened features as he dashes after the boy, Smith, you assume, who looks to be four years old. Smith leads the chase into the parlor where you are being interviewed.

The greying woman, Mrs. Odair, across from you almost lunges from her loveseat to capture the tiny boy between her two delicate arms. She picks up the child in her arms and seats him on her lap. On the side table is a box of tissues, and she recruits several to wipe the sticky jelly off his face.

“Smith,” she scolds lovingly, “Nana is talking. You are being quite rude. Did you even say hello?”

Smith crosses his arms and pouts his lips, blowing air through them. He looks at you with these big, bright-green eyes surrounded by thick, doll-like lashes, finally acknowledging your presence.

“Hi,” Smith sighs.

“Hello,” you say back.

His nana grounds him, though holding onto his shirt as he tries to scamper away. “Be good!”

A manly laugh to your left startles you. “Smith isn’t interested, Mom.”

 You gaze over your shoulder to watch the man crouch down to his son’s level. “Come now, Smith. You have to get ready for school. I’m already late for work!”

Nana snorts. “Finnie, Daddy understands!”

He gives her, who you assume is his mother, a firm glare. Then he looks to you and smiles. You like his crooked teeth. He offers his hand, and you shake. “I’m Finnick. Thank you for coming to interview with us.” His hand is a little calloused but very warm and very strong.

“Thank you for having me,” you say back, on autopilot because ever since he stepped in, the rest of the world, including your own thoughts, have faded into the background.

He smiles again. “Of course. I typically would be a part of the process, but I’ve got to take Smith and Ruby to school now.” He waves. “Nice to meet you.”

He turns to his mother and mouths something to her with the same smile on his face. You wonder if it’s about you. And you wonder if it’s something nice. You haven’t exactly done anything to offend them... yet.

“Nice to meet you too,” you say a little too late because he’s already walking away with his back turned. You doubt he hears you.

Once Finnick and Smith are upstairs, Mrs. Odair looks back down at her clipboard and continues the interview. Your background is flawless of course. The agency cleared you. You’ve yet to have a single encounter with the law, though you speed often when you’re late to work. To Mrs. Odair, you explain why you are interested in the job, how you need to save up for graduate school for next year’s applications. She seems impressed with your academic successes and your determination to pursue higher education.

While the interview went well, you didn’t expect a job offer on the spot. As you got up to leave, you step over to shake her hand, and she says, “You are taking the job, right?”

The next day you drive back to the estate to begin. Mrs. Odair promised to show you the ropes of taking care of her two precious grandchildren Smith and Ruby the first week of your employment. And you were glad she did that first day. Smith, who you learn is five years old, is more than a handful. Ruby is eight and loves only her daddy.

You park your dated Prius—the paint has finally begun to flake off—on the stone road between the three-tiered fountain and the concrete pathway to the manor. At the door, you rang the bell once, and the butler answered.

He says, “Good day, Miss,” and he shows you to Mrs. Odair’s room.

She’s sipping tea and reading the paper. When she notices your arrival, she stands to greet you. The butler disappears without a sound. It’s impressive.

“So glad you are here. And so punctual!”

“Of course,” you say. Never would you show up late on the first day. “I studied the children’s schedules you sent over last night.”

She claps her hands twice. “Marvelous, dear! When do the children need to leave the house for school?”

Put on the spot, you shift a little. Geez, she’s testing me already.

“Seven-forty-five at the latest. But preferably seven-thirty.”

She smiles. “Good job! We should probably wake the children now. I’ll go up with you today. Wouldn’t want to scare them.”

“You did tell them that I would be here today, right?”

Caught up in her own musings, Mrs. Odair must miss your question because she starts to ramble on about the greenhouse as you leave her guest room. She tells you she’s only staying here for a while because the old nanny quit. There’s bitterness in her tone as she mentions the former employee, and you wonder what exactly happened.

On your way to the stairs, you catch a glimpse of Finnick alone at the dining table for breakfast. He’s also reading the paper like his mother did. His brow is furrowed as he reads. It’s a mystery what he finds so interesting on that paper. He’s so oddly invested.

The stairs creak on your first step, and he looks up from the paper. His smile is immediate and dazzling. “Mother!” he calls. “You didn’t tell me she was here.”

Mrs. Odair rushes into the dining room. “Darling, I didn’t want to interrupt your morning routine.”

Finnick rolls his eyes dramatically. “Ah yes.” He waits for a moment and says, “I haven’t had a routine since the moment Ruby was born, Mother.”

She shrugs. “Maybe with this beauty’s help, you’ll have one.” Mrs. Odair pats your shoulder. “Come along. The children are slow to rise.”

As she drags you along, you can’t help but look at Finnick. He’s ungodly pretty. It almost hurts to look at him. And you find it strange that he’s looking back at you with a vivid curiosity. You chide yourself for ogling him like that. One, he’s sky-high out of your league. Two, he’s employed you. Three, he might not be single. Usually, the second reason to not crush on him would be enough. But your previous bosses have never looked like Finnick.

As you ascend the stairs, the walls are covered in family photographs. They’re clearly arranged by the time they were taken. When you arrive at the second floor, the photos are black and white. Mrs. Odair moves fast for someone her age, and you’re panting as you try to keep up with her. Your vision is slightly blurry when you reach the top.

“Smith’s room is...” she pauses, staring at you, clearly expecting you to recall from the floor plan of the house she also sent you along with their schedules.

You close your eyes for a moment. “First door on the left?”

She claps for you. “Such a smart girl!”

You smile, unsure how to respond to such a compliment.

Entering Smith’s room, the thick curtains are closed, and it’s because of the seashell nightlight that you can see at all. The boy is lying on his stomach on top of all the bed sheets but his head at the wrong end.

“Smith,” his nana calls.

Easily, Smith wakes. He rubs his eyes and sits up. He stares at you for a long time.

“Who’s she?” he asks, pointing right at your face with his tiny index finger.

“This is your new nanny. Isn’t she lovely?” Mrs. Odair gushes about you. Her support is endearing. But you’d be lying if you didn’t find it disconcerting.

Smith crosses his arms. “No!”

“Isn’t she pretty!” Mrs. Odair exclaims to Smith.

“I miss Herbie. Bring him back!” Smith shrieks. “I don’t like her.”

Wrinkled hands on her hips, Mrs. Odair hangs her head in momentary defeat. “Smith, I am so disappointed. You are being very rude.”

The child crosses his arms and sticks his tongue out.

She grasps your forearm. “I’m sorry about Smith. I promise he will come around.” She moves around to his bureau. “I can show you where his uniforms are and the proper way to dress him.”

You watch the elderly woman chase Smith around the room for a minute or two without breaking a sweat. She finally snatches him up in her arms and holds him down on the bed. He restlessly wiggles, trying to get away, but she is strong. Somehow, she manages to dress Smith and she scolds him for behaving dramatically.

“Smith, Daddy will be very, very upset when he hears of your actions.” He remains unfazed, as if discipline is a foreign concept to him. “Now, go down for breakfast.”

When his nana opens the bedroom door, he sprints out like a racehorse. You blink and he is gone.

Mrs. Odair turns to you again and sighs. “He’s a handful. Just like his father.”

“It’s quite alright. He won’t be my first difficult case. I just hope he warms up to me. My last family never did.”

“That’s wonderful for us. We desperately needed a nanny!”

Promptly, she leaves with sudden, passionate intent. And you follow her anxiously.

“What happened to the last one?” you ask.

“Ruby is much easier than Smith,” she halts at a room near the end of the second-floor hallway. 

Just when you think that she didn’t hear your question, she says, “We do not speak of him.”

Stomach dropping, you step back and swallow. “Oh. Oh, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

She scoffs. “He’s not worthy of a mention.” Mrs. Odair quickly breaks into her granddaughter’s room, as if to escape the topic.

Ruby’s room is a true girl’s room. You hardly step past the entrance before you are frozen over in wonder.

Cherry red must be Ruby’s favorite color. Everything is cherry red. The armchair by the column window is topped with cherry red velvet. There are red roses on each nightstand. Her headboard matches the armchair. The curtains match too. Her frilly duvet stands out in ivory lace embroidered with clusters of little cherries.

Ruby’s long red hair fans out over her pillows. She’s a sleeping angel. And you hate to see Mrs. Odair wake her.

Her brown eyes flutter open when her nana taps her on the shoulder. She looks up and her freckled lips smile widely.

“Good morning,” she whispers and stretches. Quickly, she notices you and sits up to talk. “What’s your name?” She has the slightest hint of an English accent.

You reply, hesitantly inching closer to the bed.

Mrs. Odair gets in the way of your conversation, picking up her granddaughter to dress her. She’s eight years old. By this time, you were responsible for dressing yourself for school.

In a few minutes, she dresses Ruby in her private school uniform. Together, you all go downstairs to fetch Smith, and then Mrs. Odair takes them outside to the car where the driver will escort them to school. Once the children leave, Mrs. Odiar pulls you aside to discuss your other duties while the children are away.

Rummaging through the cabinets is not how you planned to spend your afternoon, but you were told to treat the estate just like you would your home. It’s completely new territory to you, much like a castle with so many secrets you’ve yet to uncover. Today, you’re only trying to find the tea. A cup would do you well. Your thoughts have been a little more unorganized than usual. There’s much you must learn about Mrs. Odair’s standards for childcare. She seems to be more involved than the father, which bothers you.

“Left door. Top shelf.”

You glance over your shoulder.

There he is. Smith and Ruby’s father. You scold yourself for already having an opinion about him. You haven’t even known him for a day.

“Excuse me?”

He smiles. “The tea.”

You can’t think to respond in an intelligible way. How’d he know you were looking for the tea?

“Make me a cup while you’re at it.” He looks at you steadily. “If you don’t mind.”

Pulling the correct cabinet open, you see the boxes of tea neatly stacked on top of each other. You select a black tea and pour boiling water over the bags in porcelain mugs. They steep for four minutes.

You pick at your cuticles and glance out the window. Finnick sits at the table on his laptop, typing frantically.

Once the timer goes off, you walk over to the table to hand him his cup of tea. He doesn’t immediately register your action, but when he does, he offers you the biggest smile.

“Thank you. I do appreciate it.” He closes the lid to his laptop and pushes back the chair next to him away from the table with his foot. “Sit. I would like to get to know you.”

Shaking ever so slightly, you situate yourself beside him. He smells of luxury cologne, too expensive for your tastes. In your previous jobs with the agency, the families never were too interested in developing a personal relationship with you.

Finnick rests his chin on an open palm. “You’re really a lifesaver. Work has been a nightmare, and with Herbie gone... I’ve had to also look after Smith and Ruby more.”

For a moment, you narrow your eyes in judgement.

“Before you form opinions about me, let me say, they are my greatest joys. However, working a job that requires eighty plus hours in a week and two kids isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

You set your cup down before you. “Sounds like a lot of pressure.”

Finnick massages his brows. “That’s an understatement. Dad won’t be around forever. I’m to take over the family business. I’m planning to make a lot of changes when that happens. For Smith and Ruby’s sake. They might not want this.” Finnick quickly covers his mouth. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

You shrug. “I think I might understand. You want them to have a choice.”

Finnick nods. “Don’t tell my mother. You’d get me in trouble.”

You laugh together.

“Snitches get stitches.”

Finnick laughs again. “And disciplined.” He hides his expression as he takes a sip of tea.

Though you don’t quite know what he means by that, you laugh at him anyway. “I don’t think Smith likes me very much.”

“He doesn’t like many people. He’s like me in that regard.” Finnick looks at you. “But I know that if you stick around his feelings will change.”

“I hope that’s true.”

He leans close to you. Your senses are suddenly overwhelmed with his fragrance and his golden warmth. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

You giggle. “What?”

“Smith likes anyone who will play hide-and-seek with him. That and chocolate chip cookies are the way to his heart.” Finnick pats you on the shoulder. His hands are massive. “Besides, I’m on your side. I’ll put in a good word.” He winks at you, and your heart drops in your chest.

This is... bad. You really shouldn’t be having these feelings for your employer. But his charming nature is hard to resist. He must have lots of girlfriends.

“Thanks,” you whisper, too caught up in your own worries to recognize that he’s flirting with you.

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@instantpeachpeace @cassiecasluciluce

[transform4u]

Hey, man! Any chance you'd be able to send me back as one of those too cool for school greaser types? James Dean ain't got nothing on me!

As you push open the creaky door, a musty scent envelops you, mingling with the faint aroma of old leather and decades of memories. The thrift store is a maze of curiosities, each corner revealing a new layer of forgotten treasures. Shelves overflow with a chaotic assortment of oddities — from mismatched teacups to vintage vinyl records, from antique dolls with missing limbs to faded concert posters.

Your gaze drifts across a rack of clothing that seems to span generations. There are sequined gowns next to faded band t-shirts, military jackets hanging beside neon spandex. Among them, a worn leather jacket catches your eye. It hangs slightly apart from the rest, as if waiting for you to discover it.

Drawing closer, the jacket reveals its story upon closer inspection. It's well-worn, the leather softened by years of wear. The scent is unmistakable — a blend of old cigarette smoke and a hint of musk, with an underlying tang that suggests a history of adventure. Traces of dried blood mar one sleeve, hinting at a past encounter, perhaps a brawl or a daring escape.

Initially repelled by its gritty appearance, something compels you to touch it. The leather is supple under your fingertips, and despite its flaws, it exudes a rugged charm that speaks of defiance and independence.

Without fully understanding why, you shed your own jacket and slip into the weathered leather. It feels like a second skin, molding to your form as if it had been tailored for you. Just as the jacket settles around your shoulders, a sudden snap echoes through the air, and everything shifts.

Blinking in confusion, you find yourself no longer in the cluttered thrift store. Instead, you're standing in a dimly lit malt shop straight out of a bygone era. Checkerboard floors, chrome-trimmed stools, and a jukebox playing Elvis Presley in the corner transport you unmistakably to the past.

A smirk crosses your face almost involuntarily. The leather jacket feels different now, imbued with a sense of rebellion and nostalgia. Adjusting your attitude to match its aura, you suddenly feel like a character from a James Dean film — a rebel without a cause, ready to challenge the norms of this new-old world.

The journey through the time vortex has not only transported your physical form but seems to have shifted something within you. As you look around, the scene feels strangely familiar yet surreal, as if you've stepped into a story where you are now the protagonist.

With newfound confidence, you stride towards the counter, the leather jacket now a badge of your altered identity. The past beckons with its promises of adventure and intrigue, and you can't help but wonder what other surprises this unexpected journey through time may bring.

The transformation was electrifying. As you don the weathered leather jacket, a surge of confidence courses through you like a jolt of adrenaline. Your posture straightens, shoulders broadening, muscles tightening beneath the fabric of the jacket. It feels like the jacket itself is empowering you, turning you into a larger-than-life figure.

With each step, you feel taller, more imposing. Your movements are smoother, more purposeful. Your hair, previously tousled, now slicks back effortlessly into a classic greaser style. The air around you crackles with an aura of cool defiance.

In the corner of the malt shop, you spot a scene that embodies everything you now embody disdain for. A preppy-looking guy, all blazers and polished shoes, is attempting to impress a girl, Sally, with his rehearsed lines and perfectly combed hair. His voice is smooth but lacks the raw edge you now possess.

With a cocky grin, you stride over, the sound of your boots echoing against the checkerboard floor. Without a word, you snatch the preppy guy's malt from his hand and casually drop it to the ground, the clatter drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

The preppy guy splutters in shock, momentarily speechless. Sally's eyes widen in surprise, but there's a glint of curiosity beneath the initial astonishment. You lean casually against the counter, the leather jacket accentuating your newly acquired swagger.

"You don't mind if I borrow your lady for a moment, do you?" you drawl, your voice low and edged with a hint of danger.

Sally's gaze flickers between you and the preppy guy, her lips curling into a small smile. "I… um, sure," she stammers, clearly intrigued by the sudden turn of events.

You turn to her with a smirk, locking eyes with hers. "So, Sally," you begin, your tone smooth yet laced with a hint of mischief, "you come here often? Or is this your first time getting caught in the crossfire of misplaced charm?"

Her laughter tinkles like chimes, charmed by your boldness. "Actually, it's my first time here," she admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And I must say, it's definitely more exciting now."

You chuckle softly, the sound rich and deep. "Well, they say life's too short for boring encounters," you reply, leaning in a fraction closer. "So, what do you say we make the most of this unexpected rendezvous?"

Sally's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with newfound interest. "I'd like that," she says, her voice softer now, carrying a hint of admiration for your fearless demeanor.

As the jukebox switches to an upbeat rock 'n' roll tune, you offer Sally your hand, the leather jacket fitting you like a shield of confidence. Together, you step into a world where rules are meant to be bent, and adventure waits around every corner.

You lead Sally through the crowded malt shop, her hand clasped tightly in yours. The music pulses around you as you make your way to the back exit, where a cool breeze whispers against your skin.

Once outside, you guide her towards an abandoned warehouse just beyond the alleyway. As soon as they step inside, the world around them fades into obscurity - only their hearts beating wildly against each other's chests remain illuminated by moonlight streaming through broken windows high above.

Without breaking eye contact or releasing her hand, you push Sally gently against one of the rusty metal walls lining the cavernous space. She gasps softly at your sudden forcefulness but doesn't pull away; instead she leans into it with equal fervor. Her lips part slightly in anticipation as she waits for what comes next from this mysterious stranger who has captured her heart (and body) so effortlessly tonight.

The warehouse is dimly lit, casting long shadows across the dusty concrete floor. Rows of abandoned crates and discarded machinery lie scattered about like forgotten relics from another time. The air is thick with anticipation as you press your body against Sally's, feeling her soft curves molding to your hard frame.

Her eyes are wide with desire as she looks up at you, her lips parted ever so slightly in invitation. You lean down towards her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of her perfume mixed with sweat and adrenaline from their earlier encounter inside the bar. Gently tracing your fingers along the line of her jawbone, you trail them downwards until they reach the hemline of her dress - already hiked up past mid-thigh by eager hands earlier tonight.

As you undo the remaining buttons on Sally's dress, revealing more of her creamy white skin beneath, a sense of power and dominance washes over you. You feel like a badass Greaser fucking some dumb preppy bitch - an image that would make any other guy jealous.

Your cock throbs against your jeans in anticipation, aching to be freed from its confines and plunged deep into Sally's waiting pussy. With one final tug, her dress falls away completely, leaving her standing before you in nothing but a lacy black bra and matching panties - both soaked through with arousal.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Alla Nazimova (A Doll's House, Camille, Salomé)—HOT as hell. GAY as hell. TALENTED as hell. Producer, director, writer, actress. A silent era superstar who is credited with having coined the term "sewing circle" as a code-word for gatherings of lesbian and bisexual women. Has been called "the founding mother of Sapphic Hollywood" and was the owner/operator of the Garden of Alla Hotel in West Hollywood, which she bought in 1919 and sold in 1928 after deciding she wanted to go back to Broadway. In addition to starring opposite Valentino in Camille, she also had an affair with BOTH of his wives (Jean Acker and Natacha Rambova). In her day, she was one of the most influential women in the business.

Olive Thomas (The Flapper)— There’s something about her that’s just so beautifully genuine, like you could reach out through the screen and touch her hand. She was a showgirl-turned-Hollywood-star who died a mysterious death, and now she haunts the New Amsterdam Theater. I’ve actually met her ghost— she seems pretty sweet!

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

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Alla Nazimova:

She was a proud lesbian, she was a director, she was artsy and experimental, she was instrumental in the rise to fame of Rudolph Valentino, she had the worlds biggest strap on energy

"Nazimova was primarily a star during the silent film era, and her career in film started when she was almost forty. She was openly bisexual, and was engaged in two lavender marriages during her life while she carried on relationships with women (including at least one, and possibly two, of Rudolph Valentino's wives). She was brilliant and an autodidact - when she first moved to the United States from Ukraine, she spoke no English, but taught herself "in about five months" and went on to work as a screenwriter (among other things). Her predilections lay in art film, and she's credited with starring in / producing / directing one of the first American art films, the adaptation of Oscar Wilde's play Salome (1923). She has an elegant and commanding presence in all of her films, and is an absolute sensation to watch in motion."

Gif link, another gif link

A great actress who also produced a great deal of her films, Nazimova is absolutely mesmerizing to watch. She was also bi and coined the phrase "sewing circle" for sapphic celebrities.

Olive Thomas propaganda:

Olive Thomas was one of the OG Hollywood starlets, and the only woman to seriously challenge Mary Pickford for Hollywood Queen supremacy. She was known for her stunning face and long ringlet hair, which is pretty amazing considering she was also the original flapper girl (so-called because of HER in the movie The Flapper!). She was also one of the first big Hollywood scandals, because her death was/is very suspicious and the idea that she might have died in a drunken accident (or been murdered by Mary Pickford's brother) was considered beyond the ability for "middle Americans" to understand. WE STAN A GORGEOUS MYSTERIOUS FLAPPER QUEEN!

[mythosidhesdollhouse]

What I'm working on today (ADHD brain can't stick to one project for long)--

The amazing @maleficentmrsofallevil kindly offered to share her recent Goodwill haul of Barbies in crocheted dresses with me, and they arrived yesterday. Our models are an auburn-haired Cut and Style Barbie from 1994 (ID'd by @dollsahoy); an unknown blonde Barbie of similar vintage judging by her face; and a no-name hollow bodied fashion doll sadly ravaged by an advanced case of poly rot. Plus a bonus Steffi Love along for the ride XD

These girls and their gowns are going to require a bit of work before they're ready for display, but I enjoy this sort of challenge.

A few closeups and some discussion of hair care--

The dresses are currently drying out after a thorough cleaning, so we'll talk more about them in a later post. As for our new/old Barbaras! It's been a long time since I handled dolls with this face sculpt, and I'd forgotten how adorable they can be. I wasn't sure I was going to use these dolls to display the dresses, but now that I have them in hand I wouldn't consider doing anything else. Though whether they will remain in the dresses they started out with is a question I haven't resolved yet.

Aside from washing the dresses, I also gave our girls a bath, and began the process of restoring their hair.

How it started....

...and how it's going XD

Not all the way there, but still a vast improvement from their original dull and frizzy state.

On their next spa day the ladies will be joined by the future occupant of the third dress, my old Starlight Carousel Barbie from 1997.

As for that dress's original occupant, aside from her hair turning to dust (THIS is the eventual fate of polypropylene hair!), I'm afraid she did not survive extraction from said dress, which she was sewn into, intact. We shall not speak of her again.

And then there's Steffi Love. Honestly not sure what I'm going to do with her at the moment. I don't have a Steffi in my collection already, so I might dress her and let her hang around as is...but she does have reasonably good articulation, so she might end up as a body donor for a more interesting head XD We'll see how I feel about it in a few days.

[changingplumbob]

Pastel: Elise Annabella

Lucky 13 Witches’ Challenge

@bashfulcookies prompts from their Silver Moon Coven post CC list and download with everyday/formal outfits below cut

For this prompt I decided to lean into lavender and lilac with touches of blues and pinks.

DOWNLOAD from SimFileShare - This does NOT contain the cc as per general creator terms of use. Everyday and Formal are styled. Other outfits are base game. T.O.U. Do whatever you like with her as long as you don't upload her with zero changes claiming you made her. She is available in human and spellcaster form.

Skin default: Agave V2 by @nesurii Eyes: Waterdrop by @pralinesims

@pralinesims: Skin detail lashes Temza, Moles Sila, Eyeliner Lynx, Blush Mocha, Lipstick Snow Doll

@ice-creamforbreakfast: Luna hat

EA Content

Snowy Escape: Hair

Movie Hangout Stuff: Shirt

Cottage Living: Skirt, wedge shoes

Spa Day: Nails

Luxury Party Stuff: Bracelet

High School Years: Jumpsuit

Realm of Magic: Arm Cuff

Vintage Glamour: Necklace

[simple-persica]

Omg paper doll outfits! Ok- I wanna see 5B and 7B on the Ita Bros but you can choose which one wears which :3

What if Romano liked floral patterns? I think it’d be neat

[thesimline]

DRAG DOLLS AS9 E1 - SIGNATURE FRAGRANCE

With the commencement of Rupaul's Drag Race All Stars 9 I'm bringing back the Drag Dolls series! It's my all time favourite show so I couldn't let the opportunity pass, especially for an all stars season.

The runway category for episode one was 'Signature Look, Signature Fragrance'. While the queens actually created custom perfume bottles to co-ordinate with their runway outfits, I decided to pull inspiration from an existing (and VERY iconic) scent - Daisy by Marc Jacobs. Across the Daisy range the packaging has a very 1960s mod vibe to it, so naturally I went in that style direction. I even managed to find a CC bottle of Daisy perfume that you can add to your game!

OUTFIT RESOURCES

Skin | Face Shading | Hair | Lashes | Eyeliner | Eyeshadow | Blush (Base Game - MAC) | Lipstick (TSR) | Nails

Hat | Earrings (retired - direct download) | Scarf | Dress | Tights (Get To Work) | Boots | Perfume (TSR)

With thanks to some amazing creators: @jius-sims @ladysimmercc @yassimication @simandy @emmibouquet @snagglefuster @joliebean @serenity-cc

[smallfavorsboutique]

Botanical Blues barkcloth fabric. Vintage 1960s materials, very groovy.

[tipsy-scales]

Today I went out to look for beachy props in doll size.

I have a v specific aesthetic for them so it’s challenging but I’m happy w the two things I found! A flamingo floatie & a beach towel

These are meant for drinks. They had a bunch of interesting ones like a mushroom or a duck. I wanted something that felt classic or almost vintage though. I was hoping for a simple striped ring 🛟 but the flamingo was the next best thing. I wasn’t thrilled about it when I got it, but seeing it with 2B, I’m really happy!

The beach towel is a hand towel. I got that suggestion from other doll owners. I’m glad I asked because I’ve been thinking more about clothes than props. The first towel I found had watermelon on it which I thought was cute, but I put it back because I felt it didn’t match the vision. I’m so glad I found this one instead! It’s perfect!

I finished their first pair of outfits mostly. I’m working slower than intended, but it’s ok. I only want to make them a few more things

[inkblotgalaxies]

Modern Jo March constantly, CONSTANTLY, going to protests and always writing for intersectional feminist zines (whilst also writing smutty romance novels on Amazon to make some dough). She still goes by “she” but there is most certainly an ace pin on her bag and when asked about her gender she just kinda goes ┐(￣ヘ￣)┌. She lives with an older college professor and they fondly call themselves “purely platonic life partners”.

Modern Meg March growing up so desperately wanting to be a rich girl — have the latest tech, stay faithfully on trend, buy knockoff luxury brands — only to grow up and grow fond of things like vintage film cameras and hand-sewn clothes. (They last longer and also #cottagecoreaesthetic). May or may not have a parenting and housekeeping blog; don’t worry, it’s earnest and not too “crunchy”. She and her mother make some pretty killer jam that they sell on Etsy. Her husband is a public school teacher and tutored her childhood friend in high school.

Modern Beth March living with a chronic illness and using YouTube and TikTok as an outlet, because she can’t really talk to people but she can manage talking to a camera. Her piano playing went viral but she gets shy when asked about it and downplays it. She calls subscribers/followers her “dolls” in her intro and always does giveaways of hand-embroidered or crocheted trinkets she made herself. After she reaches a certain point in her condition she creates the “Joanna Foundation”, named after a favorite childhood toy, that outlives her but never outshines her.

Modern Amy March appearing almost like a Conservative White Girl because of her ability to maneuver through upper crust society via patriarchal channels, but still using the money she happens to marry into (everyone thinks she married FOR money but she knows better) and ecrus through her art curating to support charities championing the liberation and protection child brides and victims of the sex trafficking industry. She also has a secret DeviantArt and art Tumblr that you will NEVER find.

Modern Theodore “Laurie” Laurence always traveling and having an Instagram feed full of breathtaking views and monuments but ALSO of music he’s produced himself (some based off of original sheet music he was given to by a late friend…), videos of stunts he pulled with his college friends (think flash mobs at fundraising events, serenading girls for Valentine’s Day, and Ice Bucket challenges), and photos of him and his wife attending a yearly Masquerade Ball and the Met Gala. He always captions those last ones with “my lord, my lady”, and the blonde woman in the pictures looks quite familiar.

Just!! MODERN LITTLE WOMEN!!