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i-did-not-mean-to · 1 year ago

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YOTP - March

Ah! I might be crawling on my hands and knees, but I shall give you the monthly OTP nevertheless.

I love you all very much, and I hope you can forgive me for being so absent (and absent-minded) lately. Life is getting a bit much for me...

Either way, have two grumpy singers!

Pairing: Daeron x Maglor

Prompts: Fresh starts, Road Trip, Getting back together/mutual pining, "make me", acceptance, fairy tale AU (of sorts)

Words: 2515

Warnings: Sadness, unprocessed grief, a kiss, Modern AU

“Princess,” Daeron singsonged, irony dripping like acid from his melodious voice. “Your carriage awaits!”

“Fuck off,” Maglor replied in an uncharacteristically gruff hiss and swept past the unfairly tall, light-haired nuisance with what he envisioned as regal equanimity.

Glaring at the small, frantically blinking light at the far end of the luxurious caravan, he wedged himself behind the steering wheel and suppressed a shivering sigh.

After millennia of resentful solitude, his boredom had finally gotten the better of him, and—dusting off his long-forgotten impish streak—the last surviving son of Fëanor had ultimately given in to the temptation of singing again.

The world around him had, of course, changed drastically, and so he had found himself in an endless, milling queue for what was generally known as a “casting show”. Oh! The indignity!

With the rise and fall of one-hit-wonders and the increasing popularity of self-produced clips on various platforms, the format was ailing, and he had felt strangely touched by the faded glory of a dying genre—the dramatic flair of bittersweet nostalgia had always appealed to him, after all.

Never could he have predicted the shock and amazement that had washed through him upon discovering a familiar face amongst the sea of strangers, all of them impatiently waiting to get their fleeting moment in the sun.

Daeron of Doriath had grinned wistfully. “Alive, yeah?”

Even now, as his knuckles were white and tense around the cheap imitation of black leather, Maglor was overcome with helpless ire as he recalled that callous greeting.

His own heart had given a painful lurch, and his tongue had felt heavy and unwieldy in his dry mouth.

In truth, he resented Daeron for having had the readiness of mind to quip however feebly and half-heartedly when he had been struggling to even draw breath.

Evidently, Maglor had heard rumours about Daeron’s disappearance, and—while the world was in the throes of the Black Death—he had even attempted to do some discreet investigations, but he had never expected to behold that sharp-featured, unbearably impassive face in person again.

Once upon a time, they had shared a few torrid nights of illicit pleasure, and Maglor had always liked to think that they would have made for good long-term lovers, had things been different.

As history had played out, though, too many grievous deeds of treason and murder had ultimately fallen like unforgiving scythes between Daeron’s people and his own, and they had been torn apart before their fragile bond had ever truly knitted.

Many a time, Maglor—overcome with loneliness and longing—had assured himself that it had been for the best, despite the nagging sting of persistent doubt at the back of his mind.

“Do you ever think of the fairy tale ending we didn’t get?”

Maglor’s eyes widened as the sharp jerk of Daeron’s head made him realise that he had spoken these words aloud.

In his former life, he had been known to love causing a stir, but he now resented himself for having betrayed his own resolution not to give the vultures of the TV show any material they could cut and mangle into some melodramatic narrative of mutual pining and inevitable heartbreak.

As was to be expected of two musical heroes of another time, Daeron and he had passed the initial try-outs with flying colours, and the producer—who seemed more interested in a marketable storyline than in actual skill—had promptly decided that they were to share a camping car to a yet undisclosed location where the first “challenge” would be held.

Having performed in desolate war camps and in front of highly spoiled, complacent audiences alike, Maglor was fundamentally unafraid of the potential discontentment of a few blatantly unarmed mortals which, quite naturally, only contributed to his popularity with the viewers of the sensationalist show.

His frantically cheery demeanour, especially in juxtaposition with Daeron’s almost hostile aloofness, had thus immediately captured the hearts and minds of the faceless, nameless spectators behind innumerable screens all across the world.

Unfortunately, neither one of them, having always been reasonably popular, had had the good sense to refuse this arrangement, which meant that they were now perched together in a structurally unsound box of laughably thin metal that was hurtling down bumpy streets towards an undoubtedly underwhelming destination.

After a long moment of silently toying with the grotesque collection of porcelain dolls, plush toys, and ragdolls Maglor seemed to carry around like talismans or voodoo dolls, Daeron scoffed.

“Why, Káno, don’t write us off just yet. Returned from oblivion and obsolescence, here we are, competing once more,” he rasped. Maglor took his eyes off the road to witness the mocking twinkle in those enchantingly unfathomable eyes.

Oh, Daeron had always loved speaking in riddles, and nothing amused him more than to harp on the subtext of a situation until its thrumming strings screamed their protest.

Bowing his head in a poor imitation of gratitude, Maglor narrowed his eyes to flashing slivers of bared steel.

“Isn’t that how these tales go?” Daeron chortled. “The princess, singing mournful songs by the raging sea, and the lost knight finding her at the very last moment. I seem to remember a story of a daring prince who found his paramour—captured and detained by dragons and evil monsters—by singing to his lost love. Are you familiar with it?”

This time, Maglor gave an audible grunt. The naked pain vibrating in the sound made Daeron press his lips together as if he could recall the hasty, cruel words he had just unleashed.

“Forget I’ve said anything,” he hissed. “The years have not been kind to my mind.”

Again, Daeron tapped his fingertip against the pale cheek of an antique figurine of a flame-haired angel. “Nelyafinwë Maitimo,” he whispered as if to call one who could no longer hear neither curses nor praise.

With a choked sound of raw emotion, Maglor wrenched around the steering wheel dangerously. “I haven’t heard their names for so long, spoken by a voice that isn’t mine. Forgive me…”

“I have bought your paintings, by the way,*” Daeron confessed, drawn into the depthless pool of the other’s unexpected vulnerability as easily now as that first time they had met under a new moon. “It took me centuries to find them all, but they’re safe with me.”

“Sometimes,” he then disjointedly answered that involuntary question, hanging like a raincloud between them, in a sober, startlingly beautiful whisper. “At times, when the night is oppressive and starless, and the wind sings dirges of another era, yes, then I think of you and of all that might have been.”

Maglor had expected mockery and scalding disdain, but Daeron’s candid reply, drenched in blood and unshed tears, left him speechless as he stared sightlessly at the road unwinding like a drab, greyish ribbon before him.

For what felt like an eternity, they just sat in silence as the empty, barren landscape flew past them.

In their former life, there would have been loud, competitive singing, but they seemed to agree that whatever they shared was too fragile and precious to drag it out into the open under the dispassionate, greedy eye of a soulless camera.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Daeron said suddenly, almost making Maglor veer off the road again with shock as that old-familiar, powerful voice rattled him like a shockwave.

He nodded shakily—usually, he was better at observing and emulating the little weaknesses of the incarnates amongst which they were hiding, but his mind had been obsessively dissecting every minute detail of Daeron’s confession.

Indubitably, a mere human would need to stretch their legs and rest their eyes after hours of driving! Maglor resented himself for not having thought of it himself, and—never one to forego a challenge—he added cheerily that he could indeed do with a snack.

A tiny twitch passed over Daeron’s face—was it exasperated disbelief or earnest amusement?—but he, in turn, nodded as if he did not know that the blessed and cursed prince of the Ñoldor could have covered the distance their rickety caravan had just crossed without resting or eating. “Sure, we can go for a walk.”

They chuckled quietly in unison, remembering with heartbroken melancholy how mercilessly they had once been berated for their half-hearted dissembling and open petulance.

Again, they seemed to concur that they’d bear much worse than the tasteless, guileless prying of a ruthless producer if it meant that they could weather the devastatingly deserved displeasure of their lost loved ones once more.

Alas, they were alone in this world, and thus they could be as dishonest in their demeanour as they wanted.

The playful duplicity and leisurely prevarication that had once been a harmless affectation had seemingly turned into a dire necessity throughout the ages, though, and Daeron rubbed his thumb distractedly across the pendant—old, golden wood, engraved in a language few could read nowadays—as Maglor pulled into a near-empty parking lot.

They moved slowly and clumsily as they exited the parked trailer, masterfully emulating the signs of fatigue and stiffness they’d observed in friends and foes countless times.

“Do you really want to walk?” Maglor asked. Haven’t we walked enough? Even though that second, slightly bitter question never made it past his lips, Daeron could easily discern it between the lines.

“Yes—didn’t you say that you were hungry?” He looked famished, Daeron thought with a pang of agonising nostalgia and resentful pity.

He remembered the soft, full silhouette of Kanafinwë, blessed song of Fëanáro’s and Nerdanel’s love, and he shivered with dismay at the sight of the unbecomingly gaunt, hollow-cheeked creature stalking past him.

This fading shadow of a once glorious prince looked like something cut out of a cheap fashion magazine, paper-thin and oddly flat, which undoubtedly impressed foolish girls and shallow youngsters who, of course, had no way of knowing that Maglor had once possessed the kind of beauty neither song nor hefty tome might ever have captured or encompassed.

“Let me buy you a sandwich,” he said with a forced grin and elbowed Maglor in the ribs. “You look like you need it!”

“A soggy sandwich from a vending machine?” Maglor made a face. “I remember the amazing feasts you used to prepare for me. Do you?”

Clenching his teeth to keep the wailing dirge of lost love—bewept and interred so many ages ago—from bursting from his lips in a hailstorm of fire and blood, Daeron nodded tersely. “You called me ‘nightingale’ then, and you loved the bittersweet taste of the pale berries that only grew in our shadowy meadows,” he whispered. “I remember.”

A barking, unsteady laugh escaped Maglor. “They were like you—complex, acrid, and delicious. I—”

They had reached the edge of the bare, bleak cement desert and sat down under a gnarled, greyish tree that had lost all its colour and vitality in the constant haze of exhaust fumes and empty souls.

“Should I go check whether they have a fresh sandwich for you?” Daeron broke the silence that thrummed like a single chord vibrating endlessly between them. “You don’t look much like the lark I once loved anymore, but you still sound the same.”

Maglor’s head snapped up in a sharp jerk. He had not thought of that silly nickname in a literal eternity—at least as far as everyone around him was concerned—and hearing it spoken so tenderly pierced his heart.

“Lark,” he repeated slowly. “Because I was so loud and annoying.”

“Because you were the herald of dawn, of light, of hope!” Daeron contradicted gruffly.

“Who brought death and destruction, never you forget.” Averting his eyes from the shining hero of his unfinished fairy tale, Maglor felt a surge of that age-old despair and weariness crawling up his clogged throat.

“We did that quite well on our own.” Shrugging lopsidedly—a little too fast to fully hide the lingering echoes of unprocessed feelings of resentment and desire—Daeron gave a long-drawn, distinctly miserable sigh. “Either way, it’s done and over. Your kings and mine, the fair maidens we disappointed and deserted, the kin we betrayed…they’re all gone and won’t come back any time soon. Might as well eat that sandwich, what say you? I want you to eat something—I’ve always loved watching you eat!”

“Make me!” The right corner of Maglor’s mouth twitched, and just as Daeron decided that he’d accept this as consent and wanted to jog back to the small, rancid store they’d passed by on their way to the lonely tree, all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

“You said…you said I loved Doriath’s berries and…that you’d loved me,” Maglor whispered tremulously.

Maybe it was the rare quality of his voice or perhaps it was Daeron’s exceptional hearing, but these words seemed to swell into a deafening crescendo, underscored by the roaring of the blood in his temples and ears.

He had stupidly let this slip, hadn’t he?

“I admit that the past tense, no matter how deserved, wounds me,” the fallen prince admitted in a low, trembling voice.

“No—” Daeron took a deep, audible breath. “That was a long time ago, and many things have changed, haven’t they?”

Crestfallen, the other—still so beautiful underneath the tarnished patina of faded glory—nodded. “I guess all things must change. Nevertheless, your voice still makes my heart skip a beat, so I guess some precious fragments of our previous lives stay blessedly untouched by the ravages of war and the unrelenting destruction of time.”

Daeron could have said a million things—he wanted to object and argue—but, instead, he simply closed his cool palms around Maglor’s drawn face and pulled him in a soft, tender kiss.

As their eyes closed, lids fluttering wildly, they could almost feel the gentle, fragrant winds of a faraway verdant forest caress their clammy brow, and echoes of songs that had not been played in millennia filled the cool air.

That first kiss was as delicate as butterfly wings, but it shifted the world off its axis irrevocably, nevertheless.

“We’re no longer who we once were…and that might be for the better,” Daeron breathed against those sweet, poisonous lips. “But—as that greasy executive didn’t tire of pointing out—we each have a compellingly tragic backstory, fraught with mystery and misery, that only we know about. Let me recite the names of your brothers to you while we hold on to what is left of us.”

“Sandwiches and sad songs?” Maglor teased feebly. “How the mighty have fallen!”

“Whatever you want, princess. It’s just you and me, left stranded in this decrepit, dying world. At the edge of time, afloat in the everlasting darkness of self-imposed isolation, we remain.”

“Are you saying that it is time to go home? Together?” Reluctance and longing wrought a complex melody that echoed through their souls, reviving old grievances and immortal affection.

“Not yet, darling. Let’s give them a show…” Daeron whispered. “One last encore before the final curtain, what say you, my lark?”

* If you want the spin-off story of Daeron travelling around to find and purchase (steal, blackmail, and do crime in general) Maglor's paintings, let me know!

Thank you for bearing with me! Lots of love!

-> Masterlist

#og post #Fanfiction #writing #IDNMT writes #jrrt #Tolkien fanfiction #YOTP #yotp 2023 prompts #DaeMags #Daeron #Maglor #March #Fresh Starts #Road Trip #Fairy tale AU #Getting back together #Mutual pining #Make me #Acceptance

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richardfrancis · 1 month ago

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The New Normal: What It’s Like to Rely on AI Every Single Day

It doesn’t feel like dependence. Not in the dramatic sense. It feels like routine.

Wake up. The lights come on softly. Coffee starts brewing. The playlist knows it’s Wednesday. Calendar reminders surface. A voice reads the weather. All of it happening without a second thought.

That’s the new normal.

Relying on AI no longer looks like science fiction. It looks like real life. Quiet, steady, helpful. A system of small interactions that add up to something much bigger.

Mornings Begin Without Effort

Automation Before Coffee

The morning ritual isn’t what it used to be. There’s less fumbling, less forgetting. Thermostats adjust before anyone steps out of bed. Alarms fade instead of blast. News briefs play on command—or before one is even given.

Schedules are updated automatically. Traffic reports shift based on route history. It’s not that mornings got easier. It’s that they got smarter.

And as MIT Technology Review points out, the next leap in AI will be its ability to engage in real conversation—anticipating what users mean, not just what they say. That’s what’s already starting to happen in everyday routines.

Throughout the Day, It Stays Quietly Busy

Invisible Support Systems

AI runs behind the scenes. It isn’t always announcing itself. It just acts.

Messages are filtered. Deadlines are flagged. Drafts are cleaned up. Voice assistants take notes mid-conversation. Shopping lists update the moment something runs out. Meetings are rescheduled without friction.

This isn’t about laziness. It’s about mental space. About not having to think about the little things because something else already is.

These virtual assistants, as noted in Forbes, are evolving into proactive agents that initiate tasks before users even ask. That shift—from reactive to predictive—is what defines AI’s role in everyday reliance.

Evenings Wind Down with Intention

Routines Without Reminders

Dinner starts with recipe suggestions based on what’s left in the fridge. The lighting shifts as the sun sets. The thermostat nudges itself down.

If someone says “movie night,” the lights dim. The TV queues up suggestions. Background noise fades.

None of this feels futuristic anymore. It just feels normal.

The more AI integrates into home systems, the more it becomes the quiet operator of domestic life. No screens. No dashboards. Just presence.

It’s Not Just About Tasks Anymore

Emotional Context Is Creeping In

There’s a new layer emerging—mood. Tone. Timing.

Music recommendations change when the voice sounds tired. Notifications pause during stressful hours. Sleep data adjusts alarm settings automatically. AI isn’t just reacting to input—it’s reacting to emotion.

That emotional sensitivity isn’t perfect. But it’s getting sharper. And for those who use it every day, it’s becoming part of how the day feels—not just what gets done.

Total Dependence? Not Quite.

More Like Strategic Trust

It’s easy to assume that reliance on AI means giving up control. But in most cases, it’s the opposite. The user still decides. The assistant just keeps things from falling through the cracks.

The relationship is built on rhythm. The AI notices patterns. Suggests improvements. Offers shortcuts. But the final say? Still human.

That’s why it works. It doesn’t take over. It steps in.

It’s Already Everywhere

But It Doesn’t Feel Like a Takeover

AI is embedded in things that don’t look like tech. In ovens. In vacuums. In cars. In wearable devices that know when to nudge or pause.

The systems aren’t demanding. They’re responsive.

The fact that this reliance doesn’t feel overwhelming is part of its success. There’s no daily check-in. No reminder that “you’re using AI.” It just happens.

Stanislav Kondrashov often reflects on how true change becomes real only when it stops announcing itself. That’s the space AI has entered. Not as a trend, but as an unspoken layer of life.

Final Word

To rely on AI isn’t to give something up. It’s to allow space for other things.

Time. Focus. Stillness.

The new normal isn’t about being surrounded by glowing gadgets. It’s about living in a space where the small stuff takes care of itself. Where help doesn’t need to be summoned—it’s already waiting.

That’s what it means to rely on AI now. Not a leap into the future. Just a better version of today.

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anonarat · 1 year ago

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I've spent the last week or so in London doing a number of things, so I figured I'd do a quick rundown on here:

Saturday I went to see Dune part 2. Honestly, it was quite disappointing in that it was a 7/10 film where I hoped for a 9/10. It didn't really pay off the promises of part 1, and the changes from the book were far more noticeable.

I then went to the Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds Experience. This was another 7/10 where I hoped for a 9/10. It actually reminded me a lot of what York Dungeon is currently like, albeit with some VR bits (Thunderchild being a particular highlight). To my suprise it wasn't the VR that set off my motion sickness, but a sort of planetarium thing they did for Brave New World.

Sunday was spent with my parents, brother, sister-in-law and my nieces for Mothers Day. It was a nice get together.

Monday I went to the Natural History Museum. Thanks to the advice of a friend, I went in through the side entrance and there was no queuing at all. I was surprised to discover (to my delight), that about 1/3 was geology, and I spent about 2/3 of my time in the geology section. Land of the Lustrous has definitely warped my perception of such things. Speaking of, I did manage to see one piece of phosphophyllite, as well as many other major characters.

I also went to see Operation Mincemeat. This was a time when I was expecting a 9/10 show and it delivered. I'm pretty sure I laughed more in that 3 hour period than I had in the previous 6 months.

Tuesday I lay around and read in preparation for Wednesday.

Wednesday was why I was even down in London in the first place. Ado's world tour playing in Troxy. I arrived an hour before the merch line was due to open and it took about 3 1/2 hours, but I got the merch I wanted, so a win I guess. Rather than immediately queuing for entry, I went to a nice Turkish restaurant nearby. My back then reminded me that I'm no longer young and I'd just been standing outside in the cool for a while.

Next was (more) queuing for the concert. At least I'd sprung for a VIP ticket, so it was comparatively painless; plenty of other people have commented on the GA queue. The cloakroom was also pretty straightforward.

My feelings on the concert itself are complicated. Now I'll admit it was partly my fault as I later learned, but without earplugs, the audio wasn't the best. It was crowded and loud.

And yet it was the most overall positively memorable experience out of everything. Some highlights included:

I was in the 3rd row, so you can spot me in at least one of the promotional videos. I'm pretty sure I'm in the other as well, but it moves too fast to be sure.

Ado's outfit. While you could only make out the general shape, it looked sharp.

Tot Musica - it normally goes hard, but with an entire audience singing along, it was phenomenal

While Ado does sing in silhoutte, you can occaisionally catch a glimpse of her, not enough to make out her face, but... at the end of Kura Kura I think I saw a big smile (in profile). It was less than a second, but it was a reminder that Ado was enjoying this just as much as we were.

Ado's MC in English.

Odo.

The other fans. Even with all the queuing and waiting they brought some great energy and helped each other out.

Going forward, I'm not really sure concerts are for me. But perhaps now armed with further knowledge, I might consider it. At least I'd be sorely tempted to see Ado again.

When I left, my everything hurt, including getting a ringing in my right ear for about 24 hours. There was a moment on the DLR where I was facing another fan, and we nodded at each other in acknowledgement of how we were both wiped, but happy.

Thursday was scheduled for recovery, and I spent most of the morning lounging about, but I decided to go and do some London shopping. I basically walked up through Soho and ended at Forbidden Planet. During this time I managed to snag The Moon on a Rainy Night volume 2, which had been rather elusive.

Kuzushiro is probably my favourite yuri mangaka at present.

Friday I went to the Tate Britain, as I don't think I'd visited it before. It was fine. My personal preference was for the Turners where he did architectural scenes. Then I went to see the Frozen musical.

It was good. It painted Elsa's parents in a better light than the movie did, and I appreciated that they gave Kristoff more songs. However, they cut For the First Time in Forever (Reprise) and replaced it with a different song. Considering that's my favourite song on the soundtrack, I was disappointed. The replacement was fine.

Saturday I visited a friend who lives down South. It was really good to see her again. That evening I went up to Camden Town and had some good street food.

Sunday, I returned to my home.

#Personal

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sailtoafarawayland · 4 years ago

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Look, don’t touch...

SUMMARY: There's a place where she can go to play, a place where ecstasy follows the sweep of her fingers and all the men watching have to play by her rules...look, don't touch. She can't help that rules are made to be broken, as long as she's the one doing the breaking.

RATING: E (Tags: voyeurism, mutual masturbation, sex club, gloryhole)

I truly hope you all enjoy this piece. It has been sitting for some time as I deliberated on how to end it, and it is - ended. :)

/ - denote a perspective shift. // - denotes a leap forward in time.

AO3 - FF

Look, don’t touch...

She likes to be watched.

There's something about knowing that they're staring at that screen with their hands wrapped around their cocks, aching for her – that she's wanted.

But it's enough.

And if she's being completely honest, she's better at getting herself off than most of the one night stands she's had, so her 'no touching' rule isn't the detriment it might be if she had a capable partner.

She shoulders her way through the line of people waiting to get into the bar – it's a popular place, but she doesn't come here for the drinks.

The bouncer, his name is Anton – not that she makes a habit of getting names, but he's pulled enough creeps off of her that she feels he's earned at least that courtesy – nods at her as she passes, his wide girth shifting just enough to let her pass as a whine from the lengthy line behind her rises.

The bar may be trendy enough to earn both its cover and the line of hipsters waiting out front, but Emma's far more interested in what's waiting below the sleek bartop and milling drunks.

She passes through the crowd inside unnoticed. The bartenders here are paid well enough to keep their eyes on their patrons and not on the 'regulars', and the rather modest outfit beneath her red leather jacket dissuades any other interested parties.

She doesn't look like she's here to play.

If only they knew.

He likes to watch.

It's as far as he'll let himself go these days – a history of breaking everything he touches has seen to that.

But it's enough.

And if he's being honest with himself, he's not sure how much satisfaction he'd garner from fucking someone anyways. He'd probably just see her face – Milah – one more reminder of the truth he'd been running from his whole life.

He strides past the long queue waiting to get into the bar – it's narrow and cramped and raved about amongst the younger crowd who believe they're the first to discover the wonders of Absynthe, but he's not here for the overpriced ambiance and Instagram worthy cocktails.

While he does drop quite a bit on this particular hobby, it's spent below deck, and it affords him a respectful – if surprised – nod from the bouncer at the door as he approaches.

“Good evening, Mr. Jones,” the giant of a man murmurs, keeping his name hushed as he steps to the side to allow him entrance, “not your usual evening.”

“Aye, my schedule's changed recently,” he cedes, acknowledging the man's observance. “You have a lovely evening, Anton.”

Anton chuckles behind him and Killian allows a small smile. It's an odd thing to say to the man who's left outside checking identification while he descends to a place where lovely evenings are promised if you've deep enough pockets.

He grabs the attention of more than a few lasses when he enters the bar, everything from the clothing he wears to the disinterested gleam in his eye screaming money, but he has no interest in the leggy brunette swirling to face him on her bar stool, her lips already twisted into an obsequious smile. The redhead who casually cold-shoulders the man chatting her up as he passes does nothing to stir his inspiration either.

Once upon a time, perhaps, he would have taken one or both of them back to some bed in some hotel room, but that isn't why Killian Jones comes to the Jolly Roger – and it most certainly isn't what he's looking for when he brandishes a key card and descends to the club hidden beneath.

Neverland.

He follows the familiar path to his chosen room, glad to see things just as he'd left them the week prior. Hes not surprised to see different girls – and some men – on the touchscreen. He assumes most people who frequent the club keep to a schedule, and his has changed, after all. His eyes slip lazily over the selection, almost bored until he spots a sensuous figure moving away from the camera and toward a wide, black leather lounge. His tongue sweeps across his lip as he drinks her in, all long hard lines that fade flawlessly into where she's soft and pliant.

Desire stabs like lightning from the base of his spine and rolls down his arms on a shiver.

There's something about her, and before he can second-guess his actions, he's selected her camera feed and settled back into his chair, her body filling the screen in front of him. She's stretched across the lounge, the camera angle giving him a perfect view. Her neck and breasts, one arm draped across the back as the other slides down her firm stomach and teases her sex.

She's not waxed completely as most of the women here are, her thatch of dark, golden hair trimmed neatly and reminding him that she's all woman.

He likes it.

He doesn't normally like blondes, but he likes her.

He watches as she slides her hand lower. She's already wet, he can see her arousal glistening on her flushed skin and the finger she draws up to her lips, smiling wickedly for the camera as she licks it clean.

It usually takes him a few moments to get hard when he comes here, needing to willfully push away the thoughts of Milah, but he finds that with this woman, he's been hard from the first moment he saw her. He unzips his slacks lazily and slides his hand over his erection, rubbing it gently as he watches her swivel her hips, both of her hands returning to her thighs and sliding closer to where she's spread open and on display.

He's in no rush to end his pleasure, and it seems neither is she.

A single digit teases her clit while the rest part her folds, allowing him a view of her glistening cunt. His tongue wets his lips as he imagines how she would taste on it, how beautifully those pink folds would stretch around him as he buried himself within her. He palms his cock more firmly and rises, letting his pants drop as he sits back to enjoy the show.

She likes to be watched – he can tell by the way she teases, the way her manicured nails – no polish, just the blush of natural, seashell pink – spread her lips for him, the way she drags her arousal from her depths and smears it over her clit, circling it delicately while letting indulgent moans fall from her perfect mouth. She's enjoying her moment, taking her time with him – but even though it's the first time he's seen this siren on his screen, he feels he knows her.

Like she's an open book.

Somehow he knows that when she finally gives in, she'll be wild and magnificent and utterly free.

It makes him wish he could rut his cock into that pretty mouth and feel just how deeply she can truly give of herself.

His fingers wrap around his length, sliding gently. The head of his cock is already throbbing with need as he keeps his eyes on the wanton minx gracing his screen. She's slipped lower on the custom lounge – Neverland always did have a flair for both style and function – the full swells of her ass resting on the edge as she pushes two fingers into her entrance. The delicious sheen of her arousal is that much more obvious as she hovers near the camera, a trembling gasp leaving her lips as she begins to move, stroking against some unseen place that has her writhing.

He lets out a grunt and thrusts into his waiting hand, lost in the way her pale skin glows as she pleasures herself. Her back arches, exposing just how firm her backside really is as she momentarily leaves the couch while exploring her depths, a third finger joining the first two. He can hear how sopping wet she is, soft pleas for more falling from her lips. While he wants to close his eyes, to imagine it's his fingers she's riding, and him she's begging, he doesn't want to miss a moment.

Hot, aching pleasure thrums behind his cock, his balls full and heavy as he palms them. A jolt of electricity runs through his legs as he squeezes, imagining how it would feel to empty them in her throat, in her cunt, all over her pretty face.

She pulls her fingers from her core and returns them to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, this time her movements rough and needy as she pushes against it and over it, a long, drawn out whimper filling the small room she's occupying. Her knees bend and she arches once more, a fresh wave of creamy arousal dripping from her folds as she shudders and comes, the evidence of her satisfaction smearing against the black leather as she falls back to the chair.

For an instant, he's disappointed. She's peaked far sooner than he'd anticipated, and while he can certainly find his release from the memory of her alone, it isn't what he's craving. He continues stroking himself, waiting to see if she'll continue. There's no limit on the room for those putting on a show, and the limit for those watching is only hindered by how much they're willing to spend. A wave of satisfaction rolls through him as the woman comes back to herself, straightening her body languidly and reaching off camera.

Killian's eyes darken, his hand tightening around his shaft as he watches her pull a dildo from wherever her things have been set aside. He catches another glimpse of her face – high cheekbones and brilliant green eyes – before she spins around, her fingers catching the adjustment on the chair with practiced ease and reclining the cushioned back of the lounge slightly. Her lithe frame stretches across it, blessing him with a perfect view of an even more perfect arse.

Shooting a coy glance over her shoulder at the camera, she pops the pink head of the toy into her mouth, her lips enveloping it as she tongues its length, wetting the thick shaft and letting it sink deep into her throat before pulling it free. His abdomen clenches as he pictures his own cock splitting her lips, sliding into that sinful heat and feeling her tongue caress every inch of him.

He's larger than the toy she's currently dragging over her ass, but somehow he just knows she could take him.

His heart races as he watches her slide the toy closer to her slick core, pushing herself up on her other arm as she angles the head of it against her folds, lush and pink and parting so beautifully around it as she presses it deeply into her channel, a low moan of satisfaction pouring from her pursed lips. His fist moves swiftly up and down, his thumb rolling over the tip and dragging his precum back down as he works himself. His other hand wraps tightly around his balls, massaging and pulling, picturing her fingers holding him, her tongue laving the salty hint of his release as she pleasures him.

Her moans echo from the large screen in front of him, and though he can select one of the other camera feeds in her room – perhaps catch a glimpse of her rosy nipples pressed to cold leather – he cannot bear to drag his eyes away from where she's fucking herself, the toy slipping easily from her drenched sheath before slamming back in.

He soaks in each noise that she give him, each soft gasp and cry as she climbs toward her second release. His hips buck upward, cock angry and red as he pushes through his fist and imagines he's reaching the deepest parts of her instead, the tip of him caressing the very end of her as he comes with a groan. His balls draw up and his finish tears through him, hot ropes of his seed spurting upward before coating his own hand and stomach, his shaft throbbing mercilessly as he continues to pump the last of his essence free.

His thighs tremble as the last waves of ecstasy roll over him, and he's glad to have finished just before her, that he can now truly appreciate the way her body arches as she thrusts back against the toy with complete abandon, her arousal creamy and painting the shaft of the object she's using for her pleasure. Her moans are a crescendo that he swears he can feel on his skin. He can't take his eyes from her, from the way her lips are bitten red and parted into the most elegant shape, her pale skin flushed a dusky rose that he wants to map with his fingers.

She thrusts a few more times desperately into herself, and then her back arches and she bucks wildly, the strength of her orgasm ripping through her, forcing the toy from her body as she comes. She holds it tremulously against her, rubbing gently, the sweet nectar of her release dripping over it and running down her thighs as she quivers.

Killian's hand is still wrapped loosely around his cock, and despite the fact that he's entirely spent, he feels himself hardening once more as the woman pulls herself from the leather couch and approaches the camera seductively, the dildo still grasped in her hand as she gets closer. His screen fills with the perfect roundness of her breasts and the taut expanse of her stomach, all of her glistening. He swallows heavily, his heart pounding in his ears as she raises the toy with a knowing smirk and brings it to her lips, never breaking eye contact with the camera as she drags her tongue up and down its length, licking every drop of her own essence from it.

A sated hum pours from her throat as she opens those beautiful lips and sucks it clean, just for him.

“That's a good girl,” he hisses, his cock half hard and yearning for someone quite literally beyond his reach.

Then she smiles one last time for the camera, and for the first time in years, he regrets his rule – look, don't touch – because he very much wants to touch her, to see that smile rise once more, but only because his fingers pulled it from her, his lips exploring it.

“Bloody hell,” he rasps, and his screen goes black, the feed cut from the other end.

Emma cuts the camera, her skin on fire. The taste of her arousal is still on her lips as she backs toward the lounge and drops, her thighs sticking slightly in the dampness she'd left behind.

Her eyes flicker back toward the camera and the counter set up beside it – the digital number now firmly at zero, though only moments earlier, it had climbed much higher, the digits rapidly changing from six to ten to fifteen. Something about knowing that that many people were watching her, tucked away in their rooms and pleasuring themselves to the way she played was nearly enough to make her flip the feed back on and go again, but lingering wasn't really her thing.

In and out.

She'd be back next week – the scheduled release was something to look forward to.

Taking the provided wipes, she cleans up and dresses, sliding shaky legs into her jeans and pulling back on her white sweater. Her red leather jacket and messenger bag complete the ensemble. She opens the door to the room and steps out into the lonely hallway, a few other cubicles showing the red lights that mean they're still occupied. Others have been left open for the staff to clean.

She does the same.

They're top notch here, and that's why she keeps coming. Discreet, respectful, and clean – and she's not just talking about the furniture. Just like everyone else, she submits to a monthly screening and its a relief to know there aren't just randoms walking in off the street.

Everyone who's a member here has been vetted and approved.

She walks the familiar route back to the main lounge – the camera rooms separate from the rest of the playrooms and cubicles – and slips through the curtained entry back into the rush of Neverland. A long bar lines the far wall, well-dressed bartenders serving drinks to people who chat quietly. Though she can hear the more passionate noises that come from one of the playrooms just beyond – a den for those looking to engage either publicly, or with a group.

There's a balcony overlooking that particular space.

It's never been her thing.

Her disastrous history with Neal, Walsh's betrayal, and her stumbling, lackluster relationship with Graham – not to mention the string of unsatisfying one night stands – were all the precursor to her rule.

Look, don't touch.

She can't say she's ever had an orgasm that made it worth it, worth the risk of putting herself out there and getting hurt once more.

Being watched, it's enough, and it makes her feel beautiful and powerful, wanted – in control.

She can spot the newbies right away in the lounge, their gazes linger too long on the people around them, on the numerous doors and alcoves that sprawl from one corner to another. Most people here are regulars, and they follow the same rules that she does – don't make anyone feel uncomfortable, and keep a respectful distance unless otherwise indicated.

It's another reason why she likes this club. She's never had any of the members corner her or hit on her – even though she knows quite a few get their rocks off watching her.

But as she passes through the curtain into the darkened lounge, something draws her eye toward the bar and she sees someone new. He must be new, because he certainly doesn't have a face she could ever forget.

He's leaning against the wall, a tumbler of something amber in his hand. He searches its depths, his gaze hidden behind strands of black hair that fall across his face, a dusting of stubble shadowing his jaw. She swallows as her eyes travel lower, taking in the tantalizing view of his chest, curls of dark hair visible between the slivers of his open button down. The entire package is wrapped in a suit that looks like it could buy her apartment and every parking space on the block.

He doesn't have the air of someone new, but she's sure she's never seen him before. It's only as his weight shifts slightly from one hip to the other that she realizes she's been staring, and she hastily looks away and continues on toward the exit.

She imagines she feels his eyes burning into her as she crosses the room, but resists the temptation to turn back and discover what color they might be.

It doesn't matter to her who watches.

Killian steps into the lounge and catches the bartender's eye before moving to his usual place. His gaze is locked on the black curtain across the room, every sound dulled until the slide of glass across polished wood grabs his attention. He wraps his hand around the warmth of the tumbler, and bringing it to his lips, he reclines against the wall and lets it sooth the tumult he can't dispel.

It's always been so simple to take his pleasure and leave, his thoughts usually already moving on to business before his pants are even done up, but despite the camera feed being cut, images of the blonde goddess he'd just watched are still haunting him, following him down the hall and into the lounge, the echo of her moans still tingling along the length of his skin and making him half hard.

He stares down into the still liquid in his hand, searching his brain for figures and numbers that won't come, all common sense blown away by the intense green of her eyes and the curve of her cheek as she smiled. It takes him a moment to realize that the fire burning in his chest has nothing to do with the rum, and he lifts his head just in time to see the woman who'd captured his thoughts glancing swiftly away from him, a soft blush suffusing her cheeks as she strides quickly past and through the exit.

His fingers tighten around glass, it's fragility as it shatters reminding him just why he can't follow.

His hands are empty, an unusual state to find himself in while enjoying Neverland's atmosphere, but he'd already enjoyed a glass of his favorite drink at home, and he wants to be clearheaded for the golden haired beauty he knows will soon arrive.

Since discovering that she frequents the club on Fridays, he's made certain his evenings are free. As the weeks passed, he's found himself unable to think of much else besides her creamy skin and the pink slice of heaven she hides between them, how she spreads herself with nimble fingers and brings herself to the peak, over and over for him.

His cock throbs in his slacks as he watches the stairwell, a shiver of something dangerous running through him as he remembers all the others that will be watching her, imagining it's them thrusting into her tight heat and latching onto her full breasts as she writhes beneath them.

It's dangerous water he's treading, thinking that way.

He doesn't have to wait much longer, his eyes snapping to her immediately as she descends into the lounge, dressed in what he's come to learn is customary for her – leather and denim. This night her boots are black and high as she strides into the room, her footfalls silenced by the decadent carpeting.

She finds him immediately, a new development for which he's eternally grateful – he can't have her, but he can have this. Their shared glances are far more discreet and respectful than previously, but this time she drinks him in, a red lip drawn beneath her teeth.

She heads toward the black curtain that leads toward the camera rooms.

He's moving immediately, ready to take his usual booth – but then she stops, her fingers playing with the dark velvet as if she's forgotten where to go.

She steps back and his heart drops – perhaps she's changed her mind now that she's aware of his intense interest in her. She casts one last glance over her shoulder and drops the curtain, turning away and walking swiftly to the far corner of the lounge.

There's a narrow door, it's handle wrapped in her fingers. The door that leads to – no, she wouldn't.

He takes several rushed steps across the lounge before stopping and restraining himself, his fingers curled into fists and jaw ticking. He can't; it's against his rule – a rule he's kept for a very good reason.

“Mark my words, son,” his father spat, voice heavy with drink as he swayed on the kitchen chair, jabbing a finger at his son accusingly. “If it weren't for you, I'd of had more time with her – you're a curse, and you'll break everything you touch in life.”

His mother gone. Liam gone – and Milah as well, the only woman he'd loved, lost to him forever.

His father had been right all those years ago. He ruins any happiness that he could have. Everything he touches winds up dead, broken.

Killian stands beneath the low lights of the lounge, everything seeming to still and slow as he watches the narrow door close behind her. How long will it be before someone else follows her, before it's another man feeling the glory of her mouth instead of him?

She wants it to be him. She's made it clear enough these past few weeks that the interest isn't one-sided. The only question os whether or not he can risk it.

Unable to stomach the thought of another man touching her, sinking into her, he pushes down the warning in his gut – don't risk it – and moves as quickly as he can without running. His heart drums against his chest as he enters the long hallway of rooms and catches a flash of her red leather disappearing into one of the doors.

As soon as the door latches closed behind her, a green light flashes on, and his gaze slips to the booth that adjoins it, an arrow linking the two together.

He feels curiously outside his body as he wraps his hand around the lever and pulls, the door opening easily. He steps into its dark interior, everything slick and so clean it's practically mirrored. The dark walls reflect his uncertainty as he shuts and locks the door behind him. In the distance, he can hear the moans and grunts of someone else taking their pleasure down the line, and though his brain is screaming that he needs to leave – you can't ruin anyone else – another part of him knows that if someone else had followed her in here, he would have dragged them bodily from the room.

He doesn't know her name, but he knows he can't let anyone else have her.

Everything is silent between them – two lonely rooms and a wall – and then he hears the sound of her leather jacket dropping onto something, perhaps a bench or stool. There's the zip of her jeans and the soft hush of more layers falling. A wave of longing roars in his chest as she finally moves into his limited view, her flushed breasts and pebbled nipples appearing suddenly beyond the hole in the wall.

She raises her hand where he can see it and makes a come hither motion.

He steps closer to the wall, swallowing heavily as his view shifts to showcase her folded legs and a pair of black, lacy panties covering her sex. Her skin is pale and nearly glowing in the strange lights above them, flushed and surely more silky than anything he's ever felt – god, how he wants to touch her.

If he was thinking clearly, he'd turn and walk out. He was toxic, everything that was soft and beautiful doomed by his touch. Killian likes to think he's always been strong, but in this moment he knows he's a weak man.

He reaches for the buttons on his shirt, popping the few that remain closed and pulling it free of his slacks. The zipper is cool against his heated skin as he drags it down, his pants slipping lower, and quickly followed by the soft, black fabric of his boxer-briefs.

He hears the soft intake of her breath from the other side of the wall that stands between them, sees the way her thighs shift and rub together as she watches from her vantage on the floor, and he wastes no time taking his cock in hand – already heavy and throbbing with anticipation. He slides it through the hole in the wall, his forehead thumping gently against its hard surface as he waits to feel the hot wetness of her mouth.

Every memory from the past few weeks chases her footsteps as she slips through the discreet doorway – the intense looks, the barely restrained hunger in the way he runs his tongue across his lips when he watches her leave. Somehow, she just knows he's imagining how she tastes, and not the liquor in his glass.

Yet she's never crossed the distance of the lounge to approach him, and he's maintained that same distance, merely watching her like a predator from the shadows – waiting.

It should be fine. She has her rule – look, don't touch – but there's something about him that makes her want to throw caution to the wind and haul his lips against hers by that expensive suit he wears so well.

So she makes a change in plans.

Her breath feels like a flight of birds as she steps into an open booth – one of a pair is how they do it here, apparently. She catches a flash of bespoke cashmere and tousled, dark locks rounding the corner as she pulls the door shut behind her. Her heart races, a shudder sparking over her skin.

She shouldn't, but she wants this.

Her eyes drop to the wall at her left, the large, smooth hole in its glossy facade reminding her that there will be very limited touching going on here – indulging this one time won't hurt her.

She won't let it.

On the other side of the wall she hears the quiet hiss of the door opening and clicking shut, hesitant footsteps sounding as he enters and moves into the center of the booth. She still hasn't moved from her place just inside the door, but knowing he's there – the man who's face has been the inspiration behind all of her orgasms these past few weeks – she's already wet.

She needs him, needs this – needs to touch, just this once.

She slides her jacket from her shoulders and drapes it over a stool to her right, her shirt and pants quickly following as she moves into the center of the booth and kneels on the vinyl pillow that's waiting in front of the wall between them. Her view is the elegant drape of his slacks, hands slipped into his pockets and a crisp, black button down tucked neatly into his belted waist.

Her hand has a mind of its own, rising to summon him closer.

She watches as he steps forward, long fingers – silver rings glinting on his knuckles – nimbly undoing the buttons on his shirt before pulling it from his slacks, exposing a trail of dark hair that disappears into his waistband. Her mouth goes dry as those same fingers – fingers she's imagined sliding deep inside of her – tug at his zipper, both his pants and the dark fabric of his briefs sliding down his narrow hips.

She can't stop the way her breath catches in her throat, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight in front of her. His cock is nearly fully hard, but still growing as he wraps his hand around it, giving it a slow pump as he steps closer to the wall.

He's definitely worth her breaking the rule, just this once.

She presses her thighs together, trying to quell the pang of desire that lances through her as he angles the swollen head of his cock through the hole to her side of the wall – thick and red, his slit glimmering with arousal as he pushes himself fully against the booth, the rest of his cock following through, every magnificent inch begging to be tasted.

She moves forward, shaking away the stupor that's fallen over her at the sight of him, massive and throbbing. He's thick, his length traced with veins that she wants to run her tongue along. Beyond the wall she can just see a hint of what else he's hiding in those suit pants, and they look just as full and heavy as the rest of him.

Fuck, she just wants to dive in, but she also doesn't want it to be over so soon.

A one time thing.

She reaches out to touch him, satin over steel, her fingertips dragging from the base up, gently catching on his skin that rolls to kiss the flared edge of his crown before sliding back down, drawing a sharp breath from his lips. She smiles, licks her lips, unsure if he can see her. Her grip tightens and she leans closer, her mouth open, but barely ghosting along his flesh as she takes in the scent of him – musky, yet fresh, that salty tang of hot skin and the undeniable notes of precum.

She's not even being touched, but she's never been so turned on in her life.

Swallowing heavily, she presses her lips along the edge of his shaft, open-mouthed kisses that glide across the ridges and veins of his member, the heat of her mouth moving closer and closer to where she's starving to swallow him down entirely.

She finally lets her tongue explore him in the way she craves, dragging along the underside of his cock and reveling in the way the feel and taste of him are fulfilling something she hadn't known she'd been missing. A fresh surge of pleasure twists in her center as he lets out a guttural moan and pushes hard against the wall.

“Bloody hell, lass,” he groans, voice raspy and broken.

Emma whimpers. She fucking whimpers, because he can't just be gorgeous and hung, he's got an accent as well, and this entire this is just too much – but her mouth is full of him and even though she has warning bells throwing themselves at her skull, she never wants to go back.

She pulls back for the briefest of seconds, letting herself admire just how perfectly he's built before she gets to work. This can't happen again, she can't let it, so she's going to make sure it's the best fucking blowjob he's ever had. She keeps her hands busy with his shaft, because if she doesn't, she'll have her fingers buried inside herself while she sucks him off – she's that fucking desperate. Instead, she grips him gently with one and lets the other slip through the glory hole that's just big enough, cupping his balls. His body shivers as soon as she does it, a dark, pleased sound leaving his mouth and muffled against the wall between them. She rolls them in her palm as she caresses his swollen head with her lips, not fully taking him in, but teasing with how soft and wet she'll be when she does.

She runs her tongue along the underside, flicking gently side to side over where his foreskin is connected and reveling in the broken noise it pulls from him. Her tongue laves upward, teasing his slit. The hint of his essence slides onto her tongue and she can't help but think...

“...fuck, that could be addicting.”

He chuckles and she bites her lip. She hadn't meant to say that out loud, but now it was out there. He knew her voice.

But what did it matter? He's already seen every other part of her intimately. He knows how she pleasures herself, he knows what she looks like, and soon, he'll know just how she sucks cock. What do a few more words between them matter?

What does matters is that she likes this, wants it. She'd enjoyed knowing he was watching her get off every week, and now she wants a taste of what only he can give her. Doubling down, she sucks hard, grinning inwardly as his laughter turns into a choked groan as the head of his cock rubs thickly against her throat, her tongue pressing and massaging his shaft.

She'll never get all of him down, certainly not at this angle, and not without some coaxing, so she makes sure her hands are busy, pumping his shaft as she swallows teasingly.

“Bloody fuck, woman,” he growls, thrusting forward sharply enough that her hand cupping his balls is pushed roughly against the wall, “so hot and wet...tell me, is your cunt just as wet for me? Are you dripping and desperate to be filled?”

She groans wantonly around him, her jaw aching as it stretches, her head bobbing back and forth as she slowly works his length, her hand stroking every inch of him she can't fit. This man is fucking sin and he knows it.

“Yes,” she gasps, pulling free to choke down a breath and admit that she is, in fact, dripping on the cushion below her knees, her clit throbbing with a need that sparks and bites and curls into her stomach, demanding relief. She'd touch herself if it didn't mean having to let go of some part of the magnificent cock he's packing.

“Love the way you swallow me down, lass,” he rasps, his words affecting her no less for being deadened by the wall between them – and far more than any other man's hands ever have. “Could you take all of me, I wonder, if it weren't for this?” His knuckles rap against the wall, her answer lost in the muffled noises she makes as she surges hungrily down his length, all thoughts of finesse gone as she gives in to the primal need to simply take as much of him as she can.

Thankfully, he doesn't seem to mind the change of pace, whatever he'd planned on saying next lost in a tumble of curses as she squeezes his balls at the same time her throat squeezes the head of his cock that's finally slipping in, her new angle giving her a little more to work with.

Her throat won't thank her tomorrow, but right now she's full of the most delicious thing she's ever set eyes on, and she's going to enjoy it.

Saliva drips thickly from her lips as she shuttles back and forth on him, each noise that falls between them urging her farther. She's a mess, her eyes watering and mascara running as she chokes him down, barely remembering to suck in a breath each time she pulls free.

“God...wanna fucking touch you, love,” he mumbles from the other side of the wall, his eloquence roughened and gritty with need, stirring images of those words pressed sleepily into the back of her neck in the early hours of the morning – and that's what makes her realize she needs to end this sooner rather than later.

Her nails scratch on the rough side of gentle across the puckered skin of his sack, his balls heavy and pulled tight to his body – fuck, she wants to taste him so bad – and she swirls her tongue around the tip of his cock each time it leaves her throat. The room is filled with the wet sounds of her fucking him with her mouth. It doesn't take her long once she sets her mind to it, the combination of her hand and throat, her lips wrapping like velvet around her teeth and pressing just right.

He gives her some warning – such a gentleman – his muttered curse and hips crashing into the wall just before he comes, his cock throbbing mercilessly inside of her mouth.

She let's go of every worry for that instant, basking in the praise he's growling against the wall between them as he unloads in her mouth, his shaft pulsing and shooting rope after rope of his come down her throat. She swallows and draws back, moaning as the rest of his release fills her mouth.

She's not surprised he packs just as much in this department too.

His cock softening between her lips, she draws her hand away from the hot flesh between his thighs and back through the wall, caressing his skin as she releases him, her tongue licking stripes along his length until he's clean in the palm of her hand.

Everything is still and quiet, his slowing breaths answered by her own. That's when the panic hits like a freight train.

She knows he'll need a minute – she feels like she needs five – but instead she's shoving herself back into his discarded clothes, ignoring the ache that's throbbing relentlessly between her own legs.

The last thing she wants – it's a lie, she knows it even as she thinks it – is to see him, to be within reach of those long fingers and the lips she's seen all too often curved into a delicious smirk.

She's never dressed so fast in her life, barely registering the wince he makes as he pulls his cock back through the glory hole.

“Lass,” he murmurs, his accent still heavy with lust as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips them up. “That was...”

“A one time thing,” she cuts in, needing this whole thing to just stop – right here, and then she's snatching her jacket up, jerking open the door, and storming down the hall before she can change her mind.

Killian can only watch as the woman's blonde hair disappears through the door that leads back to the lounge. She clearly doesn't want to linger after giving him the best blowjob he's ever received in his life. It had been good to start, she was certainly skilled, and he knows he isn't necessarily an easy fit, but for a moment he'd worried it would be just that – nothing more than skill and technique.

Then she'd let go, giving and and just enjoying it – and that was rare.

Hearing the way she was very clearly getting off on sucking him down, that had done it more than anything else – her soft whimpers and moans, the way she couldn't get him back down her throat quickly enough when she needed to come up for air.

He runs his fingers down either side of his jaw, shaking his head before finishing the last of his buttons as he stands in the hall, still staring at the door she'd disappeared through. He'll be dreaming of her stretched across his bed tonight, her tight cunt a wet and glistening feast as he drives himself straight into that hungry mouth of hers – but more than that, he wishes she hadn't left.

He wishes he could have spread her out in that damned room and sampled exactly what pleasuring him had done to her, licked and sucked and nibbled her flesh until she was falling apart around him, clutching his head to her pulsing heat and begging for more, for all of him.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs, letting his weight fall heavily against the wall behind him, her parting words a sharp blade slowly working its way deeper, but from the depths of his past other words rise to the surface – a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.

He wants to touch her more than he wants to breathe, he's just not sure he'll ever be able to stop once he has her.

END

Tagging: @donteattheappleshook @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54 @ilovemesomekillianjones

#Captain Swan #cs fanfic #CS fic #look don't touch #sailtoafarawayland #emma and hook #killian jones #emma swan

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otp-holic · 4 years ago

Text

Will this be the night? (ALSO IN A03)

A random piece of online advertising unleashes some movie memories of a Summer afternoon in 1932

1.5 Ks Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3) Silly drabble born from my love of classic movies... that ended up not having anything to do with classic movies.

BROOKLYN'S KING'S THEATRE

Poster for Cary Grant's Retrospective. Printed paper 2025.

A poster for the upcoming month long celebration of the movies of Cary Grant to be held in Brooklyn.

Bucky is not expecting a vivid memory of the past to jump at him from a piece of online location-targeted promotion popping on his phone as he and Steve are wandering around the neighborhood on a random Friday.

But the 21st century works in mysterious ways and Google is kindly inviting him to check “Cary Grant: A Celebration”, a month-long chronological retrospective of all his movies taking place at a nearby hipster cinema starting… in half an hour.

He beams as a long string of memories of the both of them in different afternoons and movies plays in his head; how they counted the cents for the admission price, and how Bucky learned to sneak into the movie every time that did not add up to two full tickets.

“Buck, you’ve been smiling at your phone in silence for a whole minute,” Steve interrupts his daydreaming. “Should I be jealous? Worried?”

“Sorry,” he answers, still smiling about the memories. “I think I’m leaving you for Google, they see inside my one hundred years old soul; But I might give you another chance if you don’t mind a change of plans for the afternoon.”

“Lead the way, but can you give me some heads up?” Steve chuckles, more than used to Bucky’s ways.

He takes Steve’s hand to direct them towards the movie theatre and thinks about how much information he wants to share.

Although he is the one who still relies on the comfort of 30s and 40s movies whereas Steve keeps getting bolder with his options, Steve has always loved Cary Grant and Bucky thinks he’s going to appreciate his choice since this particular movie has a history (sad history, maybe) for them, so he debates on whether to tell him or not.

“We are going to the movies. But the real ones, not that shit on Netflix you keep choosing,” he settles for half-disclosure.

“Damn, mister life in black and white strikes again. Embrace the 21st century, Barnes, I think you’ll like it!”, Steve laughs.

“Hey, I embrace it more than you do! At least I look the part of a mid-thirties man from it instead of a fifty-year-old hiding in fucking khakis. Albeit a very hot one, I’ll give you that.”

They both laugh. It’s not the first time these remarks fly between them and having a routine, running jokes, and running pet peeves is very soothing after everything they have gone through.

They’re getting closer to the cinema now, and Bucky can already see the Billboard announcing the retrospective and a small queue forming upfront. He takes a side look at Steve to see if he has noticed and he can certainly tell that his curiosity has peaked.

“Surprise! Call it a win-win, it might be up my alley, but you used to love Cary Grant movies,” Bucky smiles as they reach their place in the queue and glance at the program for the afternoon.

‘This is the Night (1932)’, the poster says, ‘Cary Grant's feature film debut on the big screen’

Bucky is deep in nostalgia, remembering a summer day of 32 when they were waiting in line for the same film and how the evening turned out, but when he looks in search of his partner’s reaction, it’s not what he expected at all.

“Steve, you ok?” he asks, worried at seeing Steve frozen in place.

Steve nods. His whole face is deep red, but at least he is responsive. He looks ashamed and Bucky is shifting from worried to curious.

“Jesus, this movie,…” he chuckles now.

“You seem to remember, then. I thought you might.”

It was not a happy memory: Steve had felt really ill halfway through, looking white as a sheet of paper and about to die on Bucky. They had to leave the unfinished movie and run home, as per Steve’s request. But as far as Bucky remembers, nothing to be ashamed of.

“Why are you acting weird? Oh my god, Steven, are you allergic to this movie?”

The silence before Steve answers is a little too long and the queue moves forward.

“Shit, this is not easy to say and I’m sorry in advance.”

“Duly noted, but could you try to explain? I’m lost and I didn’t expect a full-on confession of something to be sorry about when I decided to follow Google’s intelligent advice to an unfinished movie. I just thought it was a good excuse for a change of plans. And kind of closure.”

Steve takes a breath and starts talking.

“I wasn’t honest with you, Buck. Back then…” he stops, searching for words, nervously musing on his beard. “Ah, I cannot believe this hasn’t come up at some point, but there it goes. I absolutely lied to you that day: I wasn’t sick or half dying and I am very very guilty of using my poor health to run away from that place and that movie, but I did the only thingI could think of.”

Bucky is at a loss for words, he’s still deciding if he is angry, curious, or somewhere in between.

“But… but you were feverish and white as a ghost and you said you had palpitations!”

Steve seems to think for a moment again and the bastard laughs so loud they get a curious look from the people behind. And taking advantage of the queue moving up again, he gets really really close to Bucky who honestly thinks he’s going to try to kiss himself out of the situation since it’s a bulletproof strategy.

But he doesn’t: He goes for Bucky’s ear instead, and whispers.

“I had a boner like you wouldn’t believe.”

Bucky gasps loudly totally taken aback while Steve takes a step back and looks at him in the eye more amused and hungry than ashamed, but still blushing.

“But hey, not all lies! I was somehow sick. And pale since my blood was… otherwise occupied. And I was barely 14!”

Bucky laughs at the dork. His dork. But the information is still making its way into his brain.

“Oh my God,” he exclaims as it starts to settle, “You piece of shit, you pulled the poor sick child card when you were just plain horny. I was worried to my bones as we run to your home. Shame on you Rogers!”

“Me? It was your fucking fault! Yours and Cary Grant’s and your stupid grins and stupid chins, those clefts!” he’s screaming in whispers so Steve Rogers’ teenage boner doesn’t make it to the news, but he’s talking as if he was pronouncing an important speech to the UN, “What was a 14-year-old in the fucking 30s popping one upon seeing an actor who kind of looked like a very tall version of his very male best friend to do?”

He is about to say something, but Steve literally covers his mouth with one hand giving Bucky no other option but to stick his tongue and lick the palm.

“Gross, Buck. I’m not done!”, he dries his hand on Buckys’ shirt before he goes on. “I’m not done because as I was still processing all that, you kept brushing your goddamned hand with mine when you went for popcorn! Over and over and over. It was torture. I have palpitations now just thinking about it.”

Bucky full-on laughs. One of those real ones that come more and more lately and that he honestly thought he would never get to experience again.

They have reached the box office, so he doesn’t push it further. For now.

“Two tickets for `This is the Night´, please.” Bucky smiles at the box-office guy. “He is paying, tho. I paid last time we tried to see this one and he didn’t have the decency to stay until the end.”

He actually feels like a teen as Steve takes his hand into the theatre, as he very intentionally buys popcorn to share, and as they start full-on making out on their seats during the commercials once the lights are out.

“Wanna know another secret, Buck?” Steve whispers a few minutes later, eyes on the starting movie as he brushes Bucky’s hand with intention over the popcorn bucket. His flustered face and recently kissed lips bathed by dancing lights and shadows coming from the screen. “It’s a good thing we were already together in ‘38 when “Bringing up baby” came out because I was able to plan ahead and lure you into that memorable window fuck at our old apartment before the show, or we would have totally missed one of our favorite movies, too.”

Bucky hates Steve with the force of the universe. Or maybe not, but he’s not playing clean.

“Raincheck on the movie?” he manages to whisper back as he drives Steve’s hand to his already noticeable hard-on. Two can play this game.

“Oh, poor Buck. Do you have palpitations” Steve chuckles, lips wet on Bucky’s ear and gripping harder on his bulge instead of letting go. “Was that the memory of the window fuck? Or all the making out? Tell me so I don’t do it again.”

“You are a punk, Steve Rogers,” Bucky answers before standing up to leave, closely followed by a smiling Steve.

Argh, sorry for deleting and uploading again, but i had technical issues with this.... so here it goes again. I need to free myself from this one!

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sluttyten · 4 years ago

Note

“This movie is really scary, but you’re into it so I’m trying not to cover my face the whole time, but- WHAT IS THAT?” “You can’t leave without letting me hug you first”

Haechan😊

Can I ask for it be kinda e2l? If possible no worries if not. Thanks!

(this one actually gets kinda long, so I did put it under a read more)

You and Lee Donghyuck did not get along. Like at all.

It was a strong annoyance to all of your mutual friends at university (which was most of your friends, honestly), but he was basically your enemy. Donghyuck was the one person that frustrated you beyond belief, and any time you were around each other all you could do was bicker, physically fight, or play mean pranks on each other. So you understood why your friends hated it because they were often collateral damage. The enemyship with him had even ruined a few relationships in the past on your part and on his.

So it was no surprise to you that when the university’s computer programming/technology department put out a prototype app just in time for the Valentine’s season, your friends insisted you make a profile. The app was meant to find you a top match based off a personality test you would take; it would compare your profile to all the others in the university (as this app so far was only available to students at your university), and select the top ten most likely matches.

They advertised it as some cupid match-making service, free of charge. They were just hoping for some good reviews and a great audience to test their app-developing skills on.

Your friends pushed you to make your profile, pointing out how single you’d been since your bickering with Donghyuck had caused you and your last boyfriend to breakup.

“It’s Valentine’s Day this weekend!” One of your friends said, jabbing at the screen of your phone. “We’re trying to find you a perfect date!”

So you play along. You answer all the questions honestly. And even as you’re kind of skeptical about the whole thing, the optimistic part of your mind is already racing, really hoping that the cute boy you saw at the campus gym or the handsome musician playing on the quad last week might end up being the perfect match for you.

But then just a handful of minutes after you complete your profile, your results are in.

The best possible match for you is Lee Donghyuck.

You nearly throw your phone across your dorm, ready to fight someone, possibly one of your friends beside you because you’re certain they somehow set you up. There was no possible way that you and Donghyuck were even remotely compatible.

“Oh, come on,” one of them says to you. “You two spend all your time bickering over nonsense, how would you even know what you have in common?”

You can’t help thinking it’s ridiculous nevertheless, and you plan to ignore that the app said that you and Donghyuck were each other’s Top Match. Preposterous.

But as the days dwindle away and Valentine’s Day is just two days away, the campus explodes in swathes of pink and red, hearts and lovey dovey stuff everywhere. All you see are couples. All of the advertisements on social media are romance-related. So many of your friends and acquaintances and classmates are preparing for dates with their significant others or with their matches from that damned app.

Therefore, on that Friday night when you get back to your dorm room from your last class, you break out a bottle of wine and make some questionable decisions.

For one thing, you message Donghyuck using a messaging feature on the matchmaking app. Even while drunk you know it’s a bad idea, but you do it anyway. You complain to him how dumb this app is that it matched you and him as Top Matches when really you hate each other, but you think that if he doesn’t already have any plans on Valentine’s Day, you’d be open to seeing if maybe this app is onto something.

The moments between the words under your message bubble changing from delivered to read seem to drag on, but the time between read and receiving a response from Donghyuck are an eternity. You are well and truly blitzed by the time your phone buzzes with his response, inviting you over to his dorm on Valentine’s Day for a movie.

You refuse to tell your friends about it, and as soon as you wake up the following morning and realize that the conversation you’d had with Donghyuck the night before wasn’t just a weird dream, you swear him to secrecy too. You don’t want your friends learning about this and trying to make it a big deal or anything. You’re just giving him a chance. Just one chance to make a friend out of an enemy.

It’s certainly not a formal date, and you’re fine with that. You show up at Donghyuck’s dorm room wearing leggings and a hoodie, and when he opens the door he’s dressed the same.

“Nice effort you put in for the holiday.” He teases, looking you up and down.

You step around him into the room. You’ve been in here before because you’re friends with his roommate, but those visits had been brief, always interrupted by Donghyuck returning and the two of you fighting. But now you’re alone in the room, and when you turn to look at Donghyuck again, you can tell that he’s trying to be on his best behavior and you suppose that you at least owe him the same.

“I ordered some food,” he tells you, rubbing the back of his neck. “You like Thai food, right?”

As you wait for the food, you sit down at the chair in front of his desk, he sits down on his bed, and for the first time since the two of you met each other, you actually talk to each other, speaking civilly and getting to know each other. You discuss those things that you surprisingly have in common, and as you’re laughing together about some drama that you’re both watching, you realize that maybe Donghyuck isn’t so bad after all.

The food arrives and you eat, and you realize at some point that you’ve never been actually alone with him before. You’ve always been in public or around friends, and maybe that’s been part of the problem all this time; having an audience has fed into this relationship’s harshness. And despite your history, you do find yourself feeling rather comfortable even as you sit on his bed on the bottom bunk, sliding back until your back is against the bundle of pillows against the wall as Donghyuck (”Haechan,” he’d insisted a few moments earlier. “Everyone else calls me Haechan, and if we’re planning to change things between us, I think you should too.” But you like calling him Donghyuck.) messes with the large monitor on the desk across from his bed, queueing up a movie.

And while you had mentioned horror movies in your profile, claiming that you at least weren’t opposed to watching them, you didn’t expect that Donghyuck would choose a truly terrifying one. You were fine for the first few minutes of it as Donghyuck (Haechan,a voice whispers in the back of your mind) was sitting beside you looking comfortable. But then the horror shit started and you gradually started drawing your knees up toward your chest, pulling a blanket up over your lap, staring at the screen but thinking instead of anything that was less horrifying.

It’s not like you expected to watch a romantic movie on your Valentine’s date with your enemy, but he enjoys comedies so you’d hoped a bit for that. You hadn’t thought that some scary horror movie filled with suspense would be the choice. Occasionally you glance over at Donghyuck and he’s looking at the screen, his knees drawn up under the blanket, his hand over his mouth, but he’s watching it.

You both jump violently at one point. He moves so high that the top of his head smacks into the slats if the bunk above his.

“Are you okay?” You reach over to feel the top of his head. You’re smiling a little just because the string of expletives leaving his mouth sound funny. “You jumped so hard,” you tease him, slipping your fingers through his hair to that tender spot he just hit. “Are you scared, Hyuckie?”

He looks over at you, something confused in his eyes.

There’s a loud bang and scream from the movie, and you both wince. He sighs and glances back at the screen, only to slap a hand over his eyes as the demon appears suddenly on screen. “This movie is really scary,” Haechan admits suddenly, “but you’re into it so I’m trying not to cover my face the whole time, but- WHAT IS THAT?”

He’d split his fingers to peek at the screen again right as some violent and new terror appeared on the screen.

You can’t stand it either, so you hide your face, but it just so happens that you hide your face by pressing it to the back of Hyuck’s shoulder and clutching tightly at his arm. After another moment of the sound coming from the movie being nothing good for the characters, Hyuck pulls away from you, climbing off the bed, and he goes to shut off the movie.

“You chose the movie!” You tell him as he looks back at you on his bed. “Why would you chose something that was just going to scare you?”

“Because your profile said you liked scary movies! But why were you so scared?” He turns his back, searching quickly through the options for other movies, and only turns back around to join you on his bed when there’s a new movies playing. You’re grateful when the title screen pops up and you can see it’s a comedy movie.

When he sinks back again beside you, he’s closer this time, his shoulder leaning against yours, and neither of you pull away.

This movie is loads easier to watch, yet despite that you can feel that he’s not watching it as intently as he should. You spend about half of the movie ignoring the way that you can feel Donghyuck looking at you from the corner of his eye and sometimes more directly. You try to ignore how you think that if you’d met him under different circumstances long ago, you probably would’ve liked him a lot more, maybe would have dated him instead of all this time spent fighting with each other.

When the movie ends you realize that you and Hyuck have sunken together. You’re pressed against his side; he’s even got an arm stretched along the pillows behind you.

For once he’s looking at the movie, smiling at the last scene, but you look at him, just observing his face and how close the two of you are right now. And in the light of the recent realization you made about how you probably would’ve dated him ago age, you’re just in awe of how he looks right then. He’s handsome.

Suddenly he turns his head to look at you.

That’s too close, too much. His lips are like an inch away from yours.

You tear yourself away, off his bed in two seconds. “I had fun tonight,” you say as you push your feet back into your shoes and start searching around for your jacket. “But it’s getting late, I should head back to my dorm. Maybe-- Maybe we can do this again sometime.” You suggest it without looking at him, scared that if you make eye contact now he’ll see what’s really going on in your mind--your brain playing out a scenario where you hadn’t pulled away just now, a scenario where he’d kissed you and you’d kissed him too.

Hyuck moves forward so he’s sitting on the edge of his bed. “Your coat’s on the desk chair.” He points, and you quickly grab it, slip it on. You hesitate for a moment, not reaching for the door, but clearly not wanting to stay here. Lee Donghyuck your former enemy, stands up and says, “You can’t leave without letting me at least hug you first.”

“What?” You ask, incredulous at the suggestion.

“Well, coming in here before tonight, we kind of hated each other didn’t we? I feel like we should make some kind of show of peace between us so we can both remember that tonight wasn’t just a pause in all the fighting.” He rubs the back of his neck and glances at the monitor on the desk where the movie credits are still rolling.

You nod. “Okay.”

Maybe it should feel awkward hugging him now after everything in the past, but it doesn’t. It feels nice and warm. His arms wrap securely around your shoulders, you feel his chest against yours, your fingers twist in the back of his sweatshirt. You can feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, and you wonder if he’s nervous, and you can’t fight down the smile.

You remember a time long ago, shortly after you’d met and begun this argumentative relationship, one of your friends suggesting to you that maybe Donghyuck liked you, had a crush on you like a middleschool boy who doesn’t know how to confront his feelings head-on. You thought that was ridiculous, but now you wonder if there’d been some truth to it.

He’d been so quick to agree to this date tonight. He’d ordered food he knew you would like, put on a movie that he thought you’d like, and requested a hug with some flimsy excuse. Maybe Lee Donghyuck did have a long-standing crush on you.

You unknot your fingers from his sweatshirt, trailing your hands down around to his sides, slipping down to his hips, and you pull back.

Haechan’s arms loosen from your shoulders, but they don’t move away completely. When you look into his eyes, he’s already gazing intently at your face. He’s already got such warm skin, but you can see a slight flush of pink rising to the surface. Your faces are so close once more; his lips are just an inch away.

This time you don’t pull away, you push in.

The kiss is short, barely more than a damp press of your lips on his, and then you’re backing off, reaching for the door. Haechan’s fingers drag at your shoulders, like he wants to hold you close, reel you back in for more, but you’re already out of reach, fingers on the doorknob.

“Don’t tell any of our friends about this.” You say as you crack the door open. “I’ll text you when I make it back to my dorm. Goodnight, Haechan.”

And right before the door closes behind you on your way out, you hear a quiet and dazed, “Goodnight.”

thank you to everyone who sent these in! prompts/requests are now closed, but I’ll be working on the ones I got before this! to see more drabbles you can click here

#asks #haechan drabbles #nct drabbles #nct dream drabbles #nct 127 drabbles #this one kinda turned out longer than a drabble #i just ended up really liking the idea once i got it set in my head

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fanfictionfansmiction · 4 years ago

Text

Get Over You

Another Sirius reader insert! Are you surprised? So to summarise you and Sirius are friends and big shocker you love him, but you just don’t think he feels the same so you decide tonight's the night to get over him once and for all. But that doesn’t work out too well when Sirius is also out that night. If you have any requests for me please feel free to send them my way now that I have plenty of free time! Enjoy :)

Word Count: 3030

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“I’m not sure about this!” I say adjusting the tight-fitting clothes Marlene picked out trying to twist the dress, so it sits right. The seam still wonky and the hem line not quite straight I plod my way out of the bathroom into the kitchen to show her. She stands with two large bottles of liquor in her hands cackling when she sees me.

“How did you manage this?” She asks in a high-pitched tone that gets carried off with giggles waving the bottles around gesturing toward my body.

“Well, I thought the back was the front.” I huff.

“That reminds me of my days as a straight. Let me help you out babe.” She slinks up to me wearing a gorgeous midnight blue velvet dress that’s clung to her in ways I would never understand to be humanly possible. With force she grabs the fabric pulling it in the right direction for a few moments huffing and puffing as she does. She steps back with a smug look on her face. “You look hot. Now what are we doing with your hair and makeup?” She asks rubbing her chin as though she had a beard to ponder with.

“Just what I normally do. What time is it Mar?” I ask not particularly worried with the rest of my ‘hot bitch party look’ as Marlene put it.

“Oh, don’t worry we have plenty of time, have a drink and I’ll do you hair and makeup. Lily and Dorcas will let themselves in, so we don’t have to worry about it. Tonight, is going to be great.” Marlene spoke with a glint of mischief in her green eyes. Quickly she mixes me a drink in one of our fancier glasses which turns a strange brown, hands it to me like a child showing their parent a finger painting. I take it with caution and then she drags me into the bathroom sitting me down on a bin she turns upside down getting to work.

“So, are you looking forward to seeing Dorcas?” I ask knowing the answer.

“Knock it off you know I am. Also, I am the best makeup artist you look incredible. I was thinking of telling her tonight that I want more than just sleeping together. Do you think that’s a dumb thing to do?” She asks.

“Mar why would that be dumb?”

She huffs putting down the brush in her hand letting her head fall to one side. “Well, you keep saying you can’t tell Sirius how you feel about him because it would be a stupid thing to do.” She looks at the ground finding the product she was after next.

“That’s different you and Dorcas have a connection. You have a history together. I am just Sirius’s friend; I like being his friend it’s comfortable. He is someone I trust but I wouldn’t feel secure with him if he felt the same. I mean he’s Sirius Black he’s hot and he is just… uh I’m not enough for someone like that.” I say before gulping down the rest of the strange drink feeling it burn in my throat and warm my chest. Marlene doesn’t stop what she’s doing but I can tell she disagrees, and she wants to have this argument with me once again.

“Okay. Fine. If you don’t think it’ll work out how about we find someone else. To help you get over him. That’s the plan babe, tonight’s the night to get over Black.” She says finally standing back with a prideful look on her face. “All done.” She says holding up a mirror for you to see her work. She’s not done too much to change my normal look, but I think she mainly took over to have that moment with me. But either way I do look hot and feel good which is exactly what she was going for.

“You are good.” I say and then we hear the door open followed by the loud singing from our already drunk friends. We jump up from where we were sitting and comically rush into the living room to join in with the David Bowie song they’re singing. Marlene takes Dorcas by the hands and Dorcas holds Marlene as they sway singing and laughing. Lily pouts and then does the same with me.

“You look stunning babe.” I say to Lily who never has a bad hair day.

“Uh says you, I mean who allowed you to look this good?” She asks me, kissing my cheek and dragging me to the kitchen in need of another drink. “Have you already got a glass?”

“Yes, I do. I hope you’re a better barman than Mar whatever she made me should be taken to a lab for testing.” I laugh grabbing the glass from the kitchen. Upon returning I pull Lily in for a big hug, “I missed you Lil.”

“You were only gone for less than a minute.” She says squeezing me tighter.

“I know it was horrible!” I jest breaking away from her.

She dramatically overpours vodka into my glass followed by orange juice from the fridge and hands it to me overfilling with pride as she takes a sip of her own drink, cringing as she does. “That is so good.” She says pulling a face. “Did Marlene tell you that James and the boys are coming over before we head out?”

My widening eyes and downing of my drink tell her everything she needs to know. Which of course causes her to laugh and shout to Marlene to bring her cute ass into the kitchen.

“Did someone ask for a cute ass?” Sirius says waltzing into the room with a bottle of tequila in his large hands. James, Remus and Peter follow in after him and eventually so do Marlene and Dorcas. Sirius places the bottle down then searches our cupboards for shot glasses. He immediately goes to the right cupboard and grabs enough for everyone. “Shall we do shots?” He asks wiggling his dark brows. He pours out a shot for everyone without waiting for an encouraging response. I take the sherry glass repurposed into a shot glass and hold it up in a cheer to my friends. Sirius takes this opportunity to loop his arm round mine, so we take the drink with our arms intertwined. I can feel the blush creeping up my neck, but I quickly create space between me and Sirius wandering around to the other side of the kitchen ignoring the pout he gives me when I do. I look up at Remus who stands next to me.

“You look lovely tonight darling.” He says affectionately placing a friendly arm round my shoulder giving it a squeeze. We start a small conversation between ourselves discussing the books we’ve been reading, and the course Remus had been taking at the local college because he just missed studying that much. “I can’t even begin to tell you how interesting the speaker is! She thinks I should do a master’s degree and I am considering it you know. Put off the job stuff for a while and I do love literature.”

“Do it Rem that sounds exactly like something you should be doing.” I reply.

“Hey Moony, do you want another drink?” Peter asks dragging Remus away from me with a look of determination on his face.

I lean back on the kitchen counter behind me laughing at Lily and James dancing together slash play fighting. He picks her up off the ground and twirls her around, she just can’t stop herself from laughing. Her hair swinging around with a life of its own. When she’s back on the ground she playfully hits his chest, and he feigns pain. Then they both forget whatever they were fighting about. They just stare at each other with admiration and love.

“It’s disgustingly sweet isn’t it?” Sirius says leaning to one side so he’s closer to me. “I’ll be honest though I never thought he’d manage to get a girl like Lily.”

“She always fancied him more than she hated him. Good things James grew up a bit or who knows if they would have worked it out.” I say sipping on my drink.

“Nah they would’ve found a way.” He looks down at me and with grin. I look him in the eyes for the first time tonight. They’re warm and he holds my gaze with such intensity I can’t help but look away with a sharp intake of breath. “You look good tonight love.” He says in a low tone, so it stays thick in the air between the two of us. “But you always do look beautiful.” Which adds to the weight growing within my chest. I catch Marlene’s eye which I now notice has been on the two of us for a while. She understands that I require an intervention, so she drags me over to her and Dorcas saying they need someone to decide who’s right in their debate.

Under her breath Marlene says, “We need you to find you a rebound fast.” You nod taking her drink from her and downing it.

“Right shall we make our way out into the night?” Remus inquires clasping his hands together like a teacher.

Everyone queues for the toilet and makes sure everything is left clean enough, so it won’t be a problem for us when we’re hung over tomorrow. While I wait, I go into my room to grab a jacket or a bag to take with me. I hear someone follow me assuming its Marlene I ask, “Do you think I should wear a jacket with this dress?”

“Oh, definitely not, it would ruin the integrity of the look.” A low voice answers.

“Sirius hasn’t any ever told you not to follow a woman into her room uninvited?” I retort.

“Well, I normally wouldn’t love you know me, but you’ve been avoiding me.” He says playing with the fabric of my dress.

“What if I am?” I say picking up a bag and walking past him.

“Well, it’s okay if you are, I just thought I was imagining it. Good to know you are indeed avoiding me.”

I stop and turn around to look at him, “I just… look tonight I’m looking to get over someone and I’m not sure hanging around you will help me attract people Sirius. If I spend the whole night with you, I’m giving off the wrong impression. It’s not personal.”

“It feels a little personal.”

“Come on Sirius lets go.” I say holding out my hand to him, which he takes placing a kiss on the top of my had.

We walk out of my room into the hallway where we hear the others calling to us telling us its time to go. The walk to the club is colder than expected but Sirius wraps his arm around me to keep me warm. I can’t protest because it’s just for the small walk once we get into the club it’ll be fine, I tell myself, when we get in, I’ll keep my distance. But it doesn’t stop the electricity I feel when his fingertips brush along the exposed skin on my back. It doesn’t stop my heart beating too fast when he jokes with me speaking right in my ear. The heat of his breath on my neck and the idea of him being so close to me. All too soon we reach the club with a line along the stretch of the road. When we get in line, I position myself between Lily and Marlene to keep my distance from Sirius. It works to he doesn’t try to stand next to me or wrap his arm around me or even really talk to me.

When we enter the club the thudding music pulses through my body, and I make a beeline to the bar letting my friends scatter throughout the club. I find myself waiting to be served next to a tall man with bright red hair who has a gleaming smile and a large nose. He leans down to speak in my ear asking if he can buy me a drink, I accept.

“Sorry I don’t think I caught your name.” I state.

“I’m Fabian. I think I know you from somewhere.” He answers.

“Well, I work in the local bookshop so you might know me from there.” I respond. “Actually, you do look a little familiar… Do you have any siblings?”

“I have a sister you might know, Molly?”

“Oh yes! I know Molly, she’s dating Arthur.”

“They’re actually engaged now.” He says.

The conversation dies down a little after we talk about his sister and he soon excuses himself, “I think my brother is doing something stupid in the smoking area and I have to join in.” He explains shooting me his bright smile again before leaving me alone by the bar again.

“You’ve got a real determined look going on right now love.” Sirius speaks sliding into the free space next to me. I look up at him not caring about just how close his face is to mine. “Maybe that’s why Fab left.” I open my mouth to respond but Sirius offers me a drink, so I don’t bite his head off.

“You know him?” I ask.

“We run in the same circles. Look what asshole are you trying to get over with random people in this gross club.” He responds pulling a face.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I think I do.”

Biting my lip nervously I look him right in the eyes and tell him, “It’s you Sirius you’re the asshole.”

He swallows and raises his eyebrows. Seemingly unsure on how to respond. He runs a hand through his long intentionally messy hair and then rubs his face as if trying to understand what I’m saying. Trying to pull it into focus. I try to smile at him, but my face won’t let me, and I feel my sadness catch in my throat and pull at my chin. Quickly as though to make the emotion disappear, I wipe away a stray tear with my finger. Sirius catches me doing it and then he really sees how he has affected me, and I see the guilt bubble up through him. He says my name too quietly for me to hear in the club but the look on his face tells me that he doesn’t feel the same. The room feels too hot. Like there isn’t enough air for me in here.

“It’s okay Sirius.” I pause letting out a small sob, “You don’t have to say it I already know.” The heat builds up and I must get out of this stupid club because the room suddenly feels a lot smaller than before. I think he tries to call after me but all I can focus on is getting out of here. I break out into a small run bumping into people as I push my way through. When I get outside, I sink to the cold pavement and let the sobs rack through me like waves. This really isn’t how I imagined the night going. I look up to the night sky and a feeling of loneliness latches onto me. I don’t even try to avoid it. I go into full pity party mode, already thinking of the uncomfortable conversation I’ll eventually have to have with him about this. About how this will probably ruin our friendship for good. What will happen to the whole group of us? Then I hear his voice calling out for me in a panic and the loneliness washes out of me. He spots me and gently sits down next to be shrugging his leather jacket off and placing it over my shoulders.

“Love I didn’t realise how you felt. I wouldn’t ever want to make you feel like this. I hate myself right now.” He places a hand on my leg, and I look at him. He is crying too. I wipe away a tear holding his face with my cold hand.

“Why are you crying?” I laugh.

“Because I’m an idiot love I didn’t even realise you were an option for me! Are you kidding? Why wasn’t this something I knew about. Who else knew?”

“Just Marlene. But what difference does me being an option make?”

“Well only because I’ve been trying to get over you since we were 15! I always assumed you didn’t think of me that way, that I was just your hot friend.”

“Well, you are the hot friend, but I have had feelings for you for years. I just never thought I was good enough for you.”

“Good enough for me! I never thought I was good enough for you.”

The tears turn quickly into laughter realising how blind we’ve both been. I stand up offering Sirius my hand he takes it placing another kiss on my hand and we walk back to my apartment. I invite him into my bedroom where he kisses me passionately holding my body flush against his. He kisses me like he’s been waiting to kiss since the moment he met me. I kiss him back with the same emotion. We kiss until we break apart foreheads pressed together panting, trying to catch our breathes. Both smiling once again. A warmth exploding in my chest.

“Sirius I’ve been waiting to be with you for longer than I would like to admit. As much as I’d love to jump into bed with you right now and let you have your way with me.” Sirius laughs at this, “I just don’t want to go too quickly because I want this to work out. So instead of sex could we just hold each other until we fall asleep?”

“I do love that you worded it that way. Makes me feel like the guy in one of those sappy romance books. Yes, I’m more than okay with taking it as slow as you want my love. I can wait as long as you want. I would happily wait thousands of lifetimes for you.” He speaks kissing me again.

#Sirius Black #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius imagine #sirius x you #sirius reader insert #Sirius x Y/N #sirius black reader insert #marauders imagine #marauders era #marauders reader insert #marauders x reader #marauders era imagine

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sainthekla · 6 months ago

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◂ MUN ▸

�� Melody, 29, they/she, EST time zone ✦ Disabled, chronically online, horrendous sleep schedule ✦ I write erotica for a living ✦ Account is 18+, NSFW is for 23+ ✦ Anti call out culture ✦ Haven’t been on Tumblr in probably 5 years, but I was here in the advent of RP and have a long, sordid history with it ✦ Have played all the DA games + DLCs, working through the books now ✦ Discord will be given out liberally to those who ask

◂ FOLLOWING ▸

✦ I follow first but will unfollow if mutuals are not established within a month ✦ I don’t always follow with the intent to write. Sometimes I follow people just because I like the way they write, or I want to read their headcanons, or I mean to write with them in the future. I’m not in a rush here to figure out what to do with every last mutual. If that bothers you, please hard block me. No hard feelings! ✦ Dupes are welcome! We don’t have to write anything but I would love to be friends with people who love Karl as much as I do!

◂CONTENT ▸

✦ NSFW will likely be present. I will tag simply as "NSFW" ✦ I generally attempt to tag common triggers, but I may miss some ✦ I am sex positive, kink friendly, and a taboo safe haven. I don’t believe in “pro shipping” or anything of that ilk. As long as you’re an adult and not hurting anyone IRL, I beg you to write what you want. With me, even! I’ll write fucked up shit with you gleefully! Censoring will only aid the corrupt ✦ If you want to write NSFW with me but don't want it on the dash, I am more than happy to move it off platform ✦ Also equally happy to fade to black, NSFW is not a requirement for ships ✦ Favorite genres: Angst, hurt/comfort, combat, NSFW/erotica, fluff ✦ Dark/Mature/Taboo themes will be mentioned ✦ All replies are put into my queue, unless it's a starter or something I am biasedly excited for. My queue publishes one reply, one ask, and one random post per day in the morning est. I'll generally answer asks and do the odd reply in the afternoon/nights as well. Always feel free to ask me where you are in the queue!

◂ FORMATTING ▸

✦ I use xkit rewritten ✦ I do not have icons but I don't care if you use them! ✦ No need to match my formatting. If something about my formatting makes it difficult for you to read, please don't hesitate to tell me. I will change it for our threads ✦ Please move ask responses to separate threads, linking to the original. Also, it doesn’t matter how much time has passed since I answered the ask; always feel free to turn anything into a thread!

◂ WRITING ▸

✦ I prefer in depth plots and dynamics that span over multiple threads ✦ I don't mind using memes as a vehicle to starting a dynamic, but once established, I will always prefer to chat about where the story can go ✦ This is controversial but my biggest pet peeve is dropped threads. I’m disabled and have a very limited attention span, but I will still always go out of my way to not drop threads. It may take me weeks to reply, but no thread is ever dropped unless we’ve talked about it. I really hope for the same level of commitment to this hobby from those I share it with

◂SHIPS ▸ ✦ I wholeheartedly ship Karl/Anders but I won't force my headcanons on anyone I write with. Ultimately, I want to find a dynamic that works for both of us! ✦ I'm open to all sorts of dynamics; from fluffy to toxic. I have no triggers or limits and will happily write on or off the dash depending on our level of comfort ✦ I may drop ships in time if I feel like my energy isn't being returned, but I will always speak with you about the issue first before assuming anything

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ladyartemesia · 4 years ago

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✔︎ Why did you choose this URL?

Artemisia Gentileschi was an incredibly talented female Baroque artist who painted her way into history with determination and cleverness. A woman who overcame outrageous odds and tremendous challenges to be a female standing tall in what was a man’s field. She was one of the original girlbosses and I consider her the patron saint of my blog. I changed the spelling of her name to ArteMEsia to reflect—well… ME 😂🤣

✔︎ Any sideblogs? If you have them, name them and why you have them.

@cafeartemesia (my fic rec and review blog)

@artemesiareads (where I reblog any fic I want to read or looks interesting to check out later)

@artemesiacreates (where I reblog my artistic creations, any writing or editing resources I find, anything that inspires me to create, and any images I may want to use in a creation)

@violavante (my regular/not BTS blog where I reblog memes and diverse nonsense from a variety of fandoms…really just anything that I want with no theme whatsoever)

✔︎ How long have you been on Tumblr?

I had a blog for a different fandom in 2017 (and it’s pretty much dormant now). I created this blog in November of 2019, but I didn’t write anything until March (I think?) of 2020.

✔︎ Do you have a queue tag?

I do! But I always forget to use it 😭 it’s #across the queniverse

✔︎ Why did you start your blog in the first place?

Um. So. I was looking for BTS memes and wanted a place fo collect them… heh 🤡

✔︎ Why did you choose your icon?

I made my icon from one of the ICONic new Taehyung headshots because he literally looks so ethereal and gorgeous. My art style is bright and kind of bold so I edited the picture accordingly. I actually produced several versions before I was truly satisfied with the result.

✔︎ Why did you choose your header?

I made my header too! I just really liked the paint splatter color palette so I did an overlay collage of my biases, my wrecker, and Jin (who I refuse to give a title to on principle because he’s rude).

✔︎ What’s your post with the most notes?

That honor goes to my Daechwita fic, The Mark of Yunki…

✔︎ How many mutuals do you have?

I have no idea 🤡

✔︎ How many followers do you have?

Way less than some of the amazing creators who tagged me, I’ll tell you that. But I’m grateful for every last one of them! 🥰 I have the best followers in the world.

✔︎ How many people do you follow?

A bunch 🥺 I love stories. I am a voracious (and fast) reader and I gotta keep the beast fed, ya feel me?

✔︎ Have you ever made a shitpost?

Not intentionally 🤡

✔︎ How often do you use Tumblr every day?

Really depends on the day. Some days I’m popping in here and there basically all day. Then there’ll be a stretch of days that I’m not on at all for various reasons.

✔︎ Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? Who won?

Ana (@xjoonchildx), D (@untaemedqueen), Lindy (@ppersonna) and I fight every night in the back alleys of tumblr like entitled 18th century white men dueling over a woman’s honor. There’s a lot of flowery language and firing into the air. Lemon (@lemonjoonah) referees when she’s bored.

(In all seriousness—no. I’m too tired and too busy for that. Most people are on here just trying to have fun. I’m not about drama in any form. I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt and vibe with my followers and moots.)

✔︎ How do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

There are so many versions of those... There’s the ‘luck’ ones and the ‘awareness’ ones and the ‘help needed’ ones. It’s hard to categorize them as a group really…

I do worry because many of those types of posts contain harmful misinformation and/or misrepresent facts. As a history teacher, sources and information bias matter a great deal to me and I’m very wary of anything I read. I encourage all of you to check the sources and facts of any information you consume. Nothing should be accepted at face value—no matter who posted or reblogged it.

✔︎ Do you like tag games?

I do! But sometimes I forget I’ve been tagged or I lose the tag and then I feel bad 🥺 but I really do like them even if I don’t always have time to play because they make me feel like I am part of a community. It is also a delightful way to learn new things about my mutuals and followers. I do tend do go overboard with them aesthetically sometimes though 😅

✔︎ Do you like ask games?

Yes! But I’m really picky about the ones I play and I’m so far behind on asks I feel guilty playing them 🤡

✔︎ Which of your mutuals do you think is Tumblr famous?

I don’t believe in being Tumblr famous. It’s against my religion.

✔︎ Do you have a crush on a mutual?

They are all the recipients of my intense platonic adoration 😂🥰😍😘🥺

tagged by:

@floralseokjin • @propinqxity • @yoonia • @bts-bay-bee • @xjoonchildx • @sunshyngal @caiuscassiuss • @ppersonna • @youarejesting • @kithtaehyung • @taegularities • @sumzysworld (I think that is everyone please forgive me if I missed you, it wasn’t on purpose I PROMISE)

tagging:

@untaemedqueen • @lemonjoonah • @kinktae • @jessikahathaway • @chateautae • @hobi-gif • @cutechim • @hobidreams • @xiaokoo • @ilikemesometaetaes • @hueseok • @extravaguk • @pjmsdior • @illneverrecover • @johobi @writtenwhalien • @blueversaillesdreams • @gyukult • @monoismytherapist • @remmykinsff • and anyone else who wants to play! Just say I tagged you 🥰 • this is just for fun so don’t feel any pressure to play or respond • I just hope it brings a smile to your face to know that I was thinking of you 🥺 •

#tag games #just for fun #check in tag #I always wonder if anyone actually reads these lol #I always do if I’m tagged #I’m nosy 👃🏻

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tabloidtoc · 4 years ago

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Entertainment Weekly, June

Cover: The Pride Issue cover 3 of 4 -- Lena Waithe

Page 3: Contents, other covers featuring Lil Nas X, Mj Rodriguez, Bowen Yang

Page 4: Sound Bites

Page 7: The Cold Open

Page 14: The Must List -- In the Heights

Page 15: Instructions for Dancing by Nicola Yoon, Iceage -- Seek Shelter, Ziwe

Page 18: Trying Q&A with Esther Smith and Rafe Spall, Day Zero by C. Robert Cargill

Page 20: Milestone Returns #0: Infinite Edition, In Treatment

Page 21: Brat: An '80s Story by Andrew McCarthy, The Empty Man

Page 22: My Must List Pride Edition -- Niecy Nash

Page 25: Pride 2021

Page 26: Lil Nas X -- the 22-year-old rapper is still breaking barriers one song and several clapbacks at a time

Page 29: St. Vincent -- the chameleonic singer-songwriter returns with Daddy's Home, an adventurous new album inspired by her father's prison time

Page 30: Olly Alexander -- after a lauded lead turn in It's a Sin, the artist returned with the single Starstruck, from his newly solo musical act Years & Years

* Rostam -- the new solo album from the multi-instrumentalist is rooted in society's fear of change

Page 32: Lena Waithe -- the producer and actor, and the new star of Master of None season 3, wants to create provocative art while elevating voices

Page 35: Josh Thomas -- the Australian creator-star of Everything's Gonna Be Okay is telling his story through his art

Page 36: Meet Your Maker -- Natalie Morales -- the queer star directs her first film(s), the sharp indies Plan B and Language Lessons. Here's what got her behind the camera

Page 37: Joshua Safran -- the man behind Alex Parrish's attitude and Blair Waldorf's one-liners shares how his sexuality helps him empathize with his characters

* Brandon Taylor -- coming off his explosive, best-selling debut novel Real Life, the lauded author is looking toward his second act and beyond

Page 38: Mj Rodriguez -- with the final season of the history-making FX drama Pose, it's leading lady is ready to claim what's hers

Page 41: Colman Domingo -- after decades of stellar work, the scene-stealer is front and center on Euphoria, Fear the Walking Dead, and more

Page 42: Auli'i Cravalho -- the star of Disney's Moana proved how far she'll go to be her authentic self, and is now focused on joy and inclusion

Page 43: Queen Supremes -- the international RuPaul's Drag Race winning class speaks power to the franchise's worldwide domination and looks ahead to a fab future

Page 44: Bowen Yang -- the Saturday Night Live breakout is defining funny for a whole new generation and pushing boundaries in the process

Page 47: Margaret Cho -- the stand-up comedian plays the lesbian pal we all wish we had in the comedy Good on Paper

Page 48: Molly Bernard -- after playing Younger's pansexual publicist, she's ready to explore the full spectrum of queerness

* Josie Totah -- from Disney's Jessie to the Saved by the Bell revival and Amy Poehler's Moxie, the actress has made a name for herself twice and Hollywood's paying attention

Page 49: Calendar -- 10 upcoming LGBTQ projects to get excited for --from eye-opening documentaries to sweeping romances, there is plenty to add to your Pride watch queue

* Pride season's 6 essential reads

Page 51: Summer TV Preview

Page 52: Loki with Tom Hiddleston

Page 53: Panic, The Celebrity Dating Game, Gossip Girl

Page 54: September Mornings, Schmigadoon!, Masters of the Universe: Revelation, Ted Lasso

Page 55: Heels, The Good Fight

Page 56: Power Book III: Raising Kanan

Page 57: Sweet Tooth, Blindspotting, Kevin Can F**k Himself, Mr. Corman

Page 58: We Are Lady Parts, Love Victor, Sex/Life, Turner & Hooch

Page 59: Physical, Hit & Run, American Rust

Page 60: Bosch, Marvel Studios' What If...?, Lisey's Story -- Q&A with Julianne Moore

Page 61: Calendar

Page 62: The Fast and the Furious oral history -- how did a little movie about underground racing speed off to become one of the most profitable franchises in history? The cast and crew reminisce about 20 years of Fast, one quarter-mile at a time

Page 68: News + Reviews -- Nominate Them, You Cowards -- on July 13, the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences will announce the 2021 Emmy nominees. Here are some standout shows and performances we insist not be overlooked

Page 72: Movies -- Summer Star -- taking the lead in blockbusters A Quiet Place II and Jungle Cruise, Emily Blunt is the face of Hollywood's comeback summer

Page 74: Making the Scene -- Army of the Dead -- Zack Snyder explains how he bet big on destroying Las Vegas in his bloody zombie heist movie

Page 75: Oxygen, The Woman in the Window -- the journey from smash best-seller to star-studded streaming thriller was long and fittingly bizarre

Page 76: Meet the Fab G -- director Kay Cannon on how Billy Porter found a fresh, inclusive take on the fairy godmother in the new Cinderella

Page 79: My Favorite Shot Pride Edition -- Sebastian Lelio, A Fantastic Woman -- the Chilean director revisits a gravity-defying sequence in his groundbreaking Oscar-winning drama

Page 80: TV -- The Underground Railroad

Page 81: The Upshaws

Page 82: Oral History -- in 2011, Teen Wolf premiered on MTV. Ten years later, we look back at the pilot episode that introduced us to Scott, Stiles and the werewolves of Beacon Hills -- Jeff Davis, Tyler Posey, Russell Mulgahy, Dylan O'Brien, Crystal Reed

Page 84: What to Watch

Page 86: Music -- Miranda Lambert Q&A -- for The Marfa Tapes, Lambert decamped to the quiet artsy town in West Texas and recorded songs around a campfire. She talks to EW about the album and being an introverted superstar

Page 88: Ear Kandi -- Xscape member and current Real Housewives of Atlanta star Kandi Burruss reflects on the hits she's made for Destiny's Child, *NSYNC, TLC and more

Page 89: The Black Keys

Page 90: Books -- summer books special -- a comedy of eras -- in a sharp new essay collection, The Wreckage of My Presence, actor Casey Wilson weaves big feelings into even bigger laughs

Page 92: Poetic Justice -- prolific romance writer and political powerhouse Stacey Abrams bookend an incredible year with more thrills, this time in her first novel not written under her pen name Selena Montgomery

Page 93: Author Spotlight -- Silvia Moreno-Garcia -- Velvet Was the Night

Page 94: Fatal Attraction -- inside the intoxicating depravity of Animal, Lisa Taddeo's meaty follow-up to Three Women

Page 95: Critic's Pick -- The Great Mistake by Jonathan Lee

Page 96: Critic's Pick -- In the Country of Others by Leila Slimani

Page 97: The Conversation -- Taylor Jenkins Reid and Paula Hawkins -- the names behind Daisy Jones & the Six and The Girl on the Train are coming for your beach tote

Page 98: Q&A with Zakiya Dalila Harris -- The Other Black Girl, former book editor Zakiya Dalila Harris' genre-bending evisceration of workplace privilege, is set to become the debut of the summer

Page 99: Critic's Pick -- Afterparties by Anthony Veasna So

Page 101: Q&A with Billie Eilish -- in between winning Grammys and releasing her sophomore album, the pop star is publishing her first (self-titled) book, a collection of never-before-seen pics of her early life on the road

Page 103: Parental Guidance -- your crib sheet on the best entertainment for kids from toddlers to tweens

* Q&A with Gabrielle Union-Wade and Dwyane Wade -- the actress and her NBA legend husband, bring it on with their new children's book Shady Baby

Page 112: The Bullseye

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dawncloudrising · 4 years ago

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Hey y’all,

I know I’ve been quote unquote “dead” around here, basically just running off of my queue. During the last few months, I’ve been trying to get things together for the current semester while also balancing out daily life with my father as much as possible. I heavily apologise for missing out on things I was tagged in and thought to myself I’ll do. I have a feeling I know what the answer will be with the rest. More under the cut, because major health stuff.

I had planned on going through my likes during the week of Labour Day (Sept 6) with the thought of catching up on old tag games and memes and whatnot. Dad was to be home all that week, and I’d typically have been left alone for about… 70% of the time. No big deal. Easy enough to write and create.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, dad started having terrible issues with speaking and getting his point across. He’d grow frustrated by saying one thing and not being able to get what he actually wanted to say out. I got him to see his PCP, and they couldn’t find anything. At that point, dad just chalked it up to being stressed out about changing departments where he works.

I would have agreed, if not for that next Monday (Sept 13). His speaking issues had grown to include walking and balance issues. (Note: we’re not the most graceful of people by a long shot, but… Dad wasn’t to the point of constantly coming close to falling.) Between that and him not remembering even his last manager’s phone number? It became a bigger issue right there. He did remember the PCP’s number, perhaps because it was a labelled number still in his call history. He was told not to pass go, not to collect $200, and to go straight to the ER. He tried to brush it off, but I had already lined him up with an outfit, taken his keys, and got him a ride.

It was found that night that he had an abscess on his brain. Later in the night, a biopsy was done and the doctors were able to get a good portion of whatever was there out. And the next night (Sept 14), I got the call. It was deemed to be cancerous. Possibly some of the worst news to get after losing two other close family members to different types of cancer.

Fast forward to today (Sept 29), dad’s been home for almost two weeks. Some days are good, some days are bad, all need to be taken in stride. I still have to play charades and the Pointing Game to try and understand what he wants- he doesn’t play very well, but it’s neither here nor there.

I’ve been thrown into the deep end for doing all of the chores. I’ve not broken another plate or bleached the wrong clothes yet. Cooking is another. And being his “home nurse” a third. It’s a lot for my severely unready and unskilled self to take. I’ve got family at the ready, however. We’re all kind of planning for the worst and that dad may not live for another six months, but we’re praying he sees 80 and goes somewhat back to normal. My sister has taken over trying to figure out what the whole family wants done while keeping me in an underwhelming loop. Photos are being scanned and copied. Family is figuring out who can take the animals and I IF dad has to go into assisted living. Just…. Things like that.

It’s a fucking lot to handle. Whenever I’ve gotten downtime between everything, I’ve been trying to take my anger and budding grief out on quests and mobs and rares. And even then, the tiniest thing can set me off into tears.

I know this may not fully excuse my radio silence here and the vagueness towards those I talk to through other means. I also know there could be way worse reasons to just disappear and be vague, but I still want to apologise for it. And apologise for future silence and outbursts and venting. This is not the last time something like this will come up, I’m sure, because grief is an odd beast. This is not something I should take out on other people, and if I slip up, I’ll try to apologise and make up for it to the best of my abilities.

#OOC posts #Serious Topics #Health #IDK how I'm keeping my head on either #Long post

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rainpuddle13 · 4 years ago

Note

19. playing with each other’s fingers

Ross&Demelza

I apologize, @veryflowerobservation, for taking so long to post this. It sorta got away from me :P I hope you enjoy!

This fic is a prequel to Tears and Sunflowers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was an ungodly hour. This having to get to the airport a minimum of four hours before an international flight was for the birds. Their flight to New York was scheduled to depart at 8:35am. Ross didn’t even know why he bothered to attempt to catch a few hours of sleep the previous night. Demelza was practically vibrating with excitement in the bed next to him. She had never flown before. So he’d done the only thing he could do in that situation -- help her work off some of that nervous energy -- and he bore the marks on his shoulders to prove it. He just felt sorry for the very nice elderly couple who were occupying the room next door to theirs at the hotel.

He checked his watch with a groan.

6:21am.

He thanked the good Lord above for exclusive traveler lounges. If he had to queue with the masses in the main terminal, he might not be responsible for his actions. That early in the morning, access to only that swill that passed for coffee at Costa, and masses of travelers with varying degrees of comportment would have him seriously contemplating murder. It would be a very poor defence if he was brought before the crown court, but surely an understandable one.

“You should eat something,” he said to her after she kept fiddling with the fingers of his hand resting on the knee if her crossed legs. They were cuddled together on a small sofa in a quiet spot where she could take in all of the hustle and bustle of the enormous lounge. There were quite a few people for that early in the morning, but there was so much space that it hardly felt crowded. He could feel her leg bouncing as she wiggled her foot. “The food is usually pretty exceptional.”

“I don’t know if I could,” she told him, weaving their fingers together and stilling her fidgeting for a moment, “too excited.”

Ross snorted softly as he was never one to be too nervous or tired to eat something. “You could get a haircut or a massage instead,” he teased, glancing over to see the expression on her face. The Virgin Atlantic Clubhouse Lounge at Heathrow was an overwhelming place with all sorts of over-the-top posh amenities. She was impressed they’d been picked up at the hotel and delivered to the airport in a private car and then were whisked through priority check-in and security in a matter of minutes.

“Really?” she asked, eyes widening with the obvious sensory overload she was experiencing.

“Yes,” he assured her, chuckling a little, and knowing her head would have exploded if she knew how much two upper class tickets had cost. “There’s a spa too and shower rooms.” Ross had wanted her first international flight to be comfortable and memorable, but he feared it might set her expectation a bit high for any future trips they might take. There was a far cry between the pampering in upper class and the indignities of the overcrowded economy class. It was just as well because he would need the extra legroom these days with his stiff knee.

She pressed a little closer to him and her fingers toyed with the heavy rose gold band he wore on his left ring finger that matched the more delicate one she wore. “You want to eat something don’t you?” she inquired.

“What I actually want is coffee,” he paused for a moment, his stomach answered her question with a low grumble, “and I probably could nosh on something.” He’d opted to keep his eyes closed for a few precious minutes while she got ready instead of sending for room service, safe in the knowledge that there would be an abundance of food and drink provided by the airline.

“I can try to nibble on something.” She pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek before standing up and holding her hand out to him and he couldn’t help but notice his beautiful wife attracting the attention of several of the men around them. Demelza was comfortably dressed in jeans that showed off her long legs to perfection and a deep gold turtleneck topped off with a rich brown leather jacket, and her glorious crown of red hair was barely contained by a loose braid.

Within a matter of minutes, he was attempting not to guzzle a cup of expertly brewed Sumatran coffee while waiting for his fry up to be brought to him. Demelza carefully sipped her steaming cup of tea, but left her plate of assorted breads and pastries untouched. He reached across the cozy dining table to snag a flaky and buttery croissant off the plate.

“You’re going to eat everything off my plate aren’t you?” he asked when she raised an eyebrow at his thievery.

“Noooo,” she swore, her eyes following the heavily laden plate an attendant placed before him followed by another to replace his near empty coffee cup with a fresh one.

He picked up the knife and fork to start in on the perfectly poached eggs after a liberal dousing of pepper. “You too can have your own plate. All you have to do is ask.”

“I don’t think I could!” she insisted, stabbing a bit of roast potato and grilled mushroom with own fork.

“Likely story,” he snorted, pushing his plate to the middle of the table so she could graze more easily. This was a common occurrence with her -- insisting she couldn’t possibly then proceed to demolish his plate in fairly short order. It always happened when he ordered something that was absolutely terrible for him, but so very good for that exact reason. Anyone else and Ross would find the behavior less than endearing.

“Are you going to tell me why we’re going to New York?” she queried while attacking the fried bread to smear in the runny eggs he had somehow managed to get a few bites of before she could turn her sights on them. “Not that I’m complaining mind; I’ve always wanted to go, but it’s a long way for a few days.”

It took everything in him not to blurt out the reason for what seemed like a sudden weekend jaunt across the pond, but actually had been in the works for months. She loved Van Gogh. The Met was having a once-in-a-lifetime exhibit. How could he not take her? “I told you I really wanted good pizza.”

“Oh, Ross,” she sighed in frustration, then changed her tactic. “You’ve been to New York before then?”

“Loads of times,” he answered, slathering strawberry jam on his croissant since it was becoming abundantly clear he wasn’t going to get to eat the breakfast he’d ordered himself, “though it’s been a few years now. Father used to go fairly regularly for business and would drag me along.”

“What did you do when you were there?”

“I used to spend a lot of time at the natural history museum and the New York Public Library.”

“Of course you did,” she smiled fondly as she spoke. She was well aware of his love of doing research and learning.

“I like dinosaurs,” he said matter-a-factly, "and the museum has an amazing exhibit.” It was true. He did like dinosaurs, even now, and he’d wanted to dig for them up until the point he discovered girls were infinitely more interesting, and alive. Demelza didn’t need to know that bit though.

“You are such a boy,” she said with a shake of her head. “What else did you two men do on the town?”

“Sometimes we take in a show or go to dinner at fancy restaurants. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was trying to teach me a bit of culture. One time we went because Papa wanted to see Van Morrison at Radio City Music Hall.”

“Really?”

He chuckled, surprised that little piece of information had taken her by surprise. She did know his father pretty well at this point. “He is a fan.”

“I’d say so. He can be so impulsive!”

“You have no idea,” Ross drawled, tamping down some very unpleasant memories from his youth that she need not be burdened with, “you didn’t know him in his heyday.”

She smiled fondly, and it warmed Ross’ heart that his wife and his father got on like a house on fire, but he could not help the occasional flare of jealousy it caused. “I bet he was quite the charmer back then,” Demelza giggled.

“You’d probably be married to him instead of me,” he said with a fair dash of bitterness. There were still a few things he just could not let go of and he knew it as childish to hold on to them for as long as he had, but then logic and his father were often mutually exclusive.

“I dunno about that.” Demelza reached across to take his hand with hers, twining their fingers and giving them a little squeeze, her eyes going soft as she looked at him. “I sorta kinda love you.”

“Only sorta kinda?” he teased, pulling her hand up to place a playful kiss to her knuckles.

“From the first time I saw you in the library,” she confessed, her cheeks suddenly blooming pink.

“Is that so, Mrs Poldark?” That was news to him and he was most definitely intrigued. Ross had known he was a goner for Demelza the first time he laid eyes upon her, even if it took him months to actually admit to himself, and then even longer to let her in on his feelings. He’d had no inkling she’d felt the same. So much wasted time.

“Saved by the boarding call,” she crowed when the announcement of their flight interrupted their playful banter, and quickly began gathering up her things. The head of the cute little calico stuffed animal cat he’d surprised her with that morning was peeking out of the top of her purse. The airplane charm that had been on the ribbon about its neck had quickly been added to her bracelet.

He grabbed up his laptop bag to sling over his shoulder and his cane. “Don’t think for one second that this conversation is over.”

“Not if I can make you forget about it,” she said with what could only be described as a diabolical grin.

He eyed her with great suspicion. It wasn’t in her nature to be scheming that much he did know, but she was definitely up to something. The question was going to be whether or not he’d survive whatever it was. “And just how do you plan to do that?” he challenged.

“Oh, I dunno,” she purred, taking his hand before pressing in close to him to place a very sweet and demure kiss to his cheek. “Have you ever heard of the Mile High Club?”

#poldark fan fic #poldark modern au #ross/demelza #romelza #pud fic #pud's ex libris #veryflowerobservation

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cc-pdf · 5 years ago

Text

Eclipse

Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Word count: 2400

Warnings: none

(Quirkless AU)

The fluffy haired boy had finally worked up the courage to ask you out, although he didn't tell you where you two would be going. He was so flustered when he asked you. His face was so red it looked like he was going to explode. He mixed up quite a few words too. Of course, you couldn't say no to those precious little eyes of his. If it wasn't for how bad you felt for him then you probably would've said no. You barely even knew him, but you knew it took him a lot of confidence to ask you out. Most of your friends had picked on you for saying yes.

Izuku was pretty shy and most definitely a nerd. His hair always looked like he just rolled out of bed. And, well, his fashion choices were.... okay. A couple people would pick on him sometimes, but not too often. You could tell he was pretty smart, but most of the time he seemed kinda awkward. As expected your friends would prefer you to go out with a popular boy that's on varsity teams and always pays attention to his looks. You would probably prefer that too, but you didn't want to hurt the little green haired boys feelings. You knew he was a pretty delicate boy.

A couple months ago your boyfriend had broken up with you. He had brown fluffy hair that always looked perfect and shining blue eyes. He was on the varsity football team of course too, his dad was the coach. He was nothing but perfect to you... well at least you thought. Your friend had set the two of you up at a football game several months ago in the fall. You liked him a lot especially because of how most girls were jealous you were dating him. It made you feel above everyone else. He was pretty nice but sometimes he would pick on other kids. Not harshly though. A couple months ago he had started to slowly ignore you. You took the hint and you haven't talked since. He found another girl. She was about 5'7 with beautiful long caramel hair. She had perfect skin and her body's curves were sure to make any boy swoon. Every time she walked past you could smell the sweet sent of expensive perfumes. She was any boys dream girl. The way he had just forgotten about you left a gaping hole in your heart. You're still not over him. His name just makes your stomach swirl in sickness.

Izuku Midoriya is smart enough not to go for bitchy popular girls, but he knew you were different. You were much nicer than the rest of them and he could tell you especially hated it when they picked on people like him. Sometimes it made you giggle though, which you felt wrong for doing. You didn't really act as cocky or stuck up as the rest of them either which confused him. He thought you were just absolutely stunning with that luscious h/c hair and those bright e/c eyes. During class he would always study your features in awe. He felt as if you were almost trapped in the world of popularity. He knew he could never get with someone that's friends with the populars, but he couldn't help but try.

It was a Saturday night and for the past half hour you had been working on getting ready. You were dressed in a comfy crew neck and a light colored skirt. You only had light makeup on, just some lipgloss and mascara, you didn't really need to impress the boy too much. You and your friends group chat was blowing up that night, they wouldn't stop teasing you about your little date. You ignored the messages, it annoyed you how petty they were sometimes, although you could agree with most of the things they were saying. You were startled as you heard a quiet knock on your front door.

"Sweetie! I think your somebody might be at the door!!!" Your mom said sweetly.

"Coming!" You yelled out from your room quickly finishing your mascara. You sighed and walked out of your room and to the front door. You slowly turned the door knob and opened it to the boy, as expected with his wild evergreen hair and his lazy outfit.

"Hi, y/n." He said almost shaking from nervousness.

"Hi!" You said with a smile. His cheeks were growing furiously red and he was trying his best to hide it. It made you giggle a bit.

"I'll be back Mom! Bye!!" You said as you quickly shut the door behind you.

"So, you never told me where we're going." You said trying to break the silence because you knew he was too scared to speak.

"Oh.. uh I thought we could go to one of my favorite places." He said shyly scratching the back of his neck.

"And where's that?" You asked curiously.

"It's a surprise." He said trying to hide his blushing face once again. He couldn't believe he was even talking to a girl like you.

"What's that you have?" You asked pointing to the long box in his hand. You really hoped he didn't get you a present. You already felt bad enough.

"You'll see." He said while starting to walk on the sidewalk.

"How long will it take to get there?" You questioned him.

"Only a few minutes." He said looking down at his feet.

You two silently walked along the sidewalk in the brisk night to your destination. It was pretty awkward but you dealt with it.

Finally you had arrived next to a cement wall. It didn't look too exciting. It was pretty confusing as to why he would bring you here. It looked like the outside of a dump.

"Here I'll help you over the wall." He said nervously.

"What? We're climbing that wall? I mean I don't usually scale walls on dates. You're nuts." You said sassily.

"Come on you can do it." He said trying to encourage you.

You ran up to the wall on your tip toes peering over it.

"Woah..." You said underneath your breath.

"Neat, right?" He said walking up next to you.

"What even is this place?" You said gazing over the wide field.

"It's the plane graveyard." He said trying not to sound too nerdy.

(Here's some pics if you don't know what a plane graveyard looks like. It's basically where they bring a bunch of old planes from wars and stuff.)

He grabbed your waist gently and helped you over the wall. He was trying so hard for his face not to turn extremely red. He then jumped over the wall after you. He led you over to one of the planes, stroking it as he walked by.

"This is the real history, not the stuff we see in those history books." He said studying the plane.

"Wait, are these real bullet holes?" You asked closely examining the holes in the metal. He smiled at you, he didn't know you would actually find this interesting.

"Yep!" He responded, walking over to the next plane.

He dragged his hand along the wing of the next plane as he walked towards it. You tried to too but you couldn't reach since you were just a bit shorter than him.

"The Navy found this one last year off the coast of Japan." He said looking at the wreckage.

"They did a corrosion study on it... after 40 years at the bottom of the ocean this is all it rusted." He said focusing on the front of the plane.

"Our grandparents sure knew how to make stuff." He admired the plane with only a few spots of rust.

"H- how do you know all of this stuff?" You asked looking up at him.

"Well, a pilot from 44, came back a few weeks ago to look at this. He stood here and looked at this thing the whole day..." He replied while taking a few steps back to take in the sight of the whole plane.

You looked at him in shock. You knew he was smart, but you didn't know he knew all of this.

"Hey! come on." He said jumping into the plane.

"A- are you sure we're allowed to do that." You said starting to get nervous.

"Yeah, nobody ever comes here anyways." He said waving you over.

You sighed and jumped into the seat next to him.

He opened the slim box he had been lugging around, only to see a small telescope.

"Here." He said handing it to you.

You gently took the telescope into your hands. You looked up into the dark night sky through it.

"Oh my god... look at all those mountains up there." You said fascinated while studying the bright full moon through the telescope.

"And valleys, canyons, and planes..." He trailed on.

"What's that thing up there that looks like a... star sapphire? What's that?" You said studying the different sections of the full moon.

"An asteroid hit there... it made a crack in the moon 100 times the size of the grand canyon." He said looking over at your precious face.

"And... on the right is the sea of tranquility. The first space ship from earth landed there. The day I was born..." He said looking back up at the sky.

"That's why you're so into astrology, right?" You said passing the telescope back to him.

"Astronomy." He corrected you softly.

"No, well up there it's just a future world..." He said looking into the telescope.

"By the time I'm my Dads age, people will be living there, and working. Maybe even us..." He continued on, placing the telescope on his lap looking back into the shining stars.

(Queue music. I would suggest listening to Eclipse by Pink Floyd right now.)

You looked over at him and gazed into his dark green eyes. You couldn't help feel fascinated by the way he explained those things. You weren't much of a person to be interested in space, but there was something about the way he stated these things. Were you falling for some nerd you barely even knew? You questioned yourself. It couldn't be. But nobody had ever done something like this before for you. It was a whole new feeling. For sure your old boyfriend would've never gone out of his way to do something like this, let alone even know anything about astronomy.

You two sat in silence for a few minutes gazing up at the thousands of stars in the late sky. You looked over at him and smiled a bit. He jumped a little when he realized you were looking at him.

"Oh, sorry." You said looking away.

"The moon, it looks different now... It's not as mysterious or romantic." You said playing with your hair.

"Well I'm sorry I ruined it for you." He said quietly looking down to his feet.

"You didn't ruin it, you just changed it, I guess..." You said staring into the big moon.

"You know... I had never actually studied the sky like this. Because of you, I think I have a whole different perspective on it now..." You said still admiring the different sections of the starry sky.

"What do you mean by perspective..." He asked in shock. He didn't know he would have this much of an effect on you.

"Like, I didn't know there was so much to look at... It's actually pretty interesting." You said pointing to each star trying to count them.

He gently smiled at you.

"You're different." You said.

"W- what?" He said confused.

"All of my friends think you're just some little loser. They pick at you all the time. Before this I thought you were just some random nerd that cared way too much about school." You said with a saddened expression.

"Yeah... I know." He said looking down, scratching the back of his neck.

"You're not though..." You trailed on.

"W- what do you mean?" He stuttered.

"You're actually pretty interesting. Now that I realize it... there's a lot more to you than what people say. You're pretty cool, you know." You said looking down at your feet.

"Oh, I- I didn't know you thought I was c- cool..." He said still stuttering.

"Could you ever count how many stars there are up there?" You questioned him, changing the subject.

"No." He giggled at you.

"Actually, theres supposed to be a solar eclipse happening soon... maybe we could go see it." He said turning around to look at your e/c eyes.

"That sounds pretty intriguing... How about, make it a date." You said looking over at him. You were actually pretty interested in him. He was much more than you thought before. Your friends were all wrong. Even if he is just some nerd like they all say, he really knew how to make you feel... special.

His eyes had lit up from your response.

"Uh... yeah sure." He said rushing his words while looking away trying to hide his rosy cheeks.

"Oh my gosh... it's already 9..." You said while looking down at your watch.

"Wait... that's a pretty nice watch." He said looking over to see it.

"Oh yeah... it was my grandfathers. Actually he was in the Vietnam War." You said moving your finger around the rim of your watch.

"Well, he must of been a great man." He said while jumping out of the plane onto the dirt.

You two had walked home that night, holding hands, while still studying the night sky. That night he had changed your whole perceptive on humanity. From now on you wouldn't focus on what everyone else said about someone. If you wanted to know they type of person someone was you would get to know them, not base them off of what everyone else said. Although your friends weren't thrilled by the fact you were falling for the schools so called loser, he was nothing but perfect to you. That night Izuku Midoriya had faded all of the thoughts of your old boyfriend away. He was different from the other boys... in a good way.

AAAA okay that was kind of cheesy but I hope you liked it. :)

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