Jodie Turner-Smith 2023 Vanity Fair Oscars after-party
Blue Dream
A mini series
Jacey is Erik’s new weed plug despite their dislike for each other
Warnings: Smut, Enemies To Lovers, Smoking Bi!Erik
This photo brings me so much joy, just the way they’re laughing together it’s sooooo
“The Offering Part 2″ (A Namor of Talokan Fic)
Part 1 HERE.
Summary:
Lebadi has embarked on a two-year secret love affair with K'uk'ulkan on the high seas with a Wakandan houseboat she purchased for their clandestine hook-ups. All is well until their union is discovered.
NSFW. Smut. 18+. (6,254 words) Namor x Black Female OC
If you enjoy the content, please reblog! That’s the only way our stories get circulated on this app!
“Baby, baby, baby… ”
Evil Needle & Sivey—“Baby”
He liked to kneel before her and kiss her belly button first.
The indentation on her lower stomach seemed to be his activation button for Lebadi and she loved to stand over him, weaving her fingers into his soft black curls that crowned loosely around his scalp, still moist from the sea. The tip of his warm tongue dipped in and out and when he kissed the skin around her belly piercing, his dark brown eyes never left hers.
That was his way… always.
Touch. Kiss. Gaze up at her. Kiss again. Lick. Stare deep into her soul before sucking and tasting again, lowering his head to her sopping folds that plumped and bloomed open, revealing the sticky pink entrance to paradise. She learned over the two years of their forbidden courtship that he used those dark eyes to claim ownership of her. Every part of her. Cloying… fiery at times, and oh, so sensual, the sloe-eyed gaze of K'uk'ulkan demanded obedience. Submission.
She gave in.
Favourite Lestat gifs from Is My Very Nature That of a Devil
INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE - In Throes of Increasing Wonder
"Their first love scene in the first episode we did talk a lot about the beats, like what are the emotional beats. We wanted to have a moment where you see them smile at each other. That it’s not just this burst of tortured energy turning into something, but it’s also that these two are really attracted to each other and this is an exciting thing and a promising thing for their relationship. All the promise is there at that moment. We wanted to make sure that that’s what that scene was about." - Jacob Anderson (x)
Attoye College AU | Mature | 2.3k Words | Part ½ | AO3
Summary: Attuma and Okoye compete in collegiate taekwondo. They were on the same team but were rivals – they were also sleeping together for around three months. They had done almost everything together, hate-sex to quick hookups after a training session, except they had never shares a kiss on the lips. That’s not something they did. That wasn’t part of their arrangement – their secret rendezvous – but it was something that Attuma daydreamed about all the time.
Content: Language; sex scenes; secret relationship; pining; angst
CHRIS PINE for Esquire Magazine (2023)
The best Chris.
IG: Wylin4mbj
I’m obsessed with these two 😍😍
I wanna be under BOUFFF of ‘em
Please read this man’s description of his dachshund and its most annoying habit
“I have a ridiculous dog named Walnut. He is as domesticated as a beast can be: a purebred longhaired miniature dachshund with fur so thick it feels rich and creamy, like pudding. His tail is a huge spreading golden fan, a clutch of sunbeams. He looks less like a dog than like a tropical fish. People see him and gasp. Sometimes I tell Walnut right out loud that he is my precious little teddy bear pudding cup sweet boy snuggle-stinker.
In my daily life, Walnut is omnipresent. He shadows me all over the house. When I sit, he gallops up into my lap. When I go to bed, he stretches out his long warm body against my body or he tucks himself under my chin like a soft violin. Walnut is so relentlessly present that sometimes, paradoxically, he disappears. If I am stressed or tired, I can go a whole day without noticing him. I will pet him idly; I will yell at him absent-mindedly for barking at the mailman; I will nuzzle him with my foot. But I will not really see him. He will ask for my attention, but I will have no attention to give. Humans are notorious for this: for our ability to become blind to our surroundings — even a fluffy little jewel of a mammal like Walnut.
…
When I come home from a trip, Walnut gets very excited. He prances and hops and barks and sniffs me at the door. And the consciousnesses of all the wild creatures I’ve seen — the puffins, rhinos, manatees, ferrets, the weird hairy wet horses — come to life for me inside of my domestic dog. He is, suddenly, one of these unfamiliar animals. I can pet him with my full attention, with a full union of our two attentions. He is new to me and I am new to him. We are new again together.
Even when he is horrible. The most annoying thing Walnut does, even worse than barking at the mailman, is the ritual of his “evening drink.” Every night, when I am settled in bed, when I am on the brink of sleep, Walnut will suddenly get very thirsty. If I go to bed at 10:30, Walnut will get thirsty at 11. If I go to bed at midnight, he’ll wake me up at 1. I’ve found that the only way I cannot be mad about this is to treat this ritual as its own special kind of voyage — to try to experience it as if for the first time. If I am open to it, my upstairs hallway contains an astonishing amount of life.
The evening drink goes something like this: First, Walnut will stand on the edge of the bed, in a muscular, stout little stance, and he will wave his big ridiculous fan tail in my face, creating enough of a breeze that I can’t ignore it. I will roll over and try to go back to sleep, but he won’t let me: He’ll stamp his hairy front paws and wag harder, then add expressive noises from his snout — half-whine, half-breath, hardly audible except to me. And so I give up. I sit up and pivot and plant my feet on the floor — I am hardly even awake yet — and I make a little basket of my arms, like a running back preparing to take a handoff, and Walnut pops his body right into that pocket, entrusting the long length of his vulnerable spine (a hazard of the dachshund breed) to the stretch of my right arm, and then he hangs his furry front legs over my left. From this point on we function as a unit, a fusion of man and dog. As I lift my weight from the bed Walnut does a little hop, just to help me with gravity, and we set off down the narrow hall. We are Odysseus on the wine-dark sea. (Walnut is Odysseus; I am the ship.)
All of evolution, all of the births and deaths since caveman times, since wolf times, that produced my ancestors and his — all the firelight and sneak attacks and tenderly offered scraps of meat, the cages and houses, the secret stretchy coils of German DNA — it has all come, finally, to this: a fully grown exhausted human man, a tiny panting goofy harmless dog, walking down the hall together. Even in the dark, Walnut will tilt his snout up at me, throw me a deep happy look from his big black eyes — I can feel this happening even when I can’t see it — and he will snuffle the air until I say nice words to him (OK you fuzzy stinker, let’s go get your evening drink), and then, always, I will lower my face and he will lick my nose, and his breath is so bad, his fetid snout-wind, it smells like a scoop of the primordial soup. It is not good in any way. And yet I love it.
Walnut and I move down the hall together, step by bipedal step, one two three four, tired man and thirsty friend, and together we pass the wildlife of the hallway — a moth, a spider on the ceiling, both of which my children will yell at me later to move outside, and of course each of these creatures could be its own voyage, its own portal to millions of years of history, but we can’t stop to study them now; we are passing my son’s room. We can hear him murmuring words to his friends in a voice that sounds disturbingly like my own voice, deep sound waves rumbling over deep mammalian cords — and now we are passing my daughter’s room, my sweet nearly grown-up girl, who was so tiny when we brought Walnut home, as a golden puppy, but now she is moving off to college. In her room she has a hamster she calls Acorn, another consciousness, another portal to millions of years, to ancient ancestors in China, nighttime scampering over deserts.
But we move on. Behind us, in the hallway, comes a sudden galumphing. It is yet another animal: our other dog, Pistachio, he is getting up to see what’s happening; he was sleeping, too, but now he is following us. Pistachio is the opposite of Walnut, a huge mutt we adopted from a shelter, a gangly scraggly garbage muppet, his body welded together out of old mops and sandpaper, with legs like stilts and an enormous block head and a tail so long that when he whips it in joy, constantly, he beats himself in the face. Pistachio unfolds himself from his sleepy curl, stands, trots, huffs and stares after us with big human eyes. Walnut ignores him, because with every step he is sniffing the dark air ahead of us, like a car probing a night road with headlights, and he knows we are approaching his water dish now, he knows I am about to bend my body in half to set his four paws simultaneously down on the floor, he knows that he will slap the cool water with his tongue for 15 seconds before I pick him up again and we journey back down the hall. And I find myself wondering, although of course it doesn’t matter, if Walnut was even thirsty, or if we are just playing out a mutual script. Or maybe, and who could blame him, he just felt like taking a trip.”
sorry to be serious about the vampire sugar daddy manic blender obsession chapter but i keep thinking about how in devil's minion the only time after the start of daniel and armand's intimate relationship where physical violence might be happening between them, it's ambiguous what's going on. there's just a block of naked dialogue: "how dare you!" "don't hit me. you might kill me." did armand hit daniel? did he gesture as if he were going to? did daniel think he might because he raised his voice or took a step forward? or is daniel not being serious at all and instead just theatrically emphasizing his own vulnerability as he often does when they argue about whether or not armand should turn him into a vampire? there's no way to know from what's on the page. makes me nuts
also while we're at it (ignore the fact that this post is from a month ago), the nature of the power armand has in their relationship is obscured by the indirectness of the text in other ways too. like sometimes armand is controlling daniel in a way that daniel obviously enjoys, and when that happens the story usually just says so, like when armand bathes and dresses him or orders him to buy anything he wants. but in other instances the language gets indirect all of a sudden. like the text doesn't say that armand makes daniel have sex with other people while he watches; instead it says "it was daniel who must bed these unfortunates, if armand could possibly arrange it [...]" clearly it's armand who is deciding that daniel must do this, but the phrasing de-emphasizes him as an actor. and i think it's interesting that this passive language pops up when the story hits something daniel has mixed feelings about doing ("[...] aroused by the dual purpose of every intimate gesture, yet he lay empty afterwards, staring at armand, resentful, cold"). there's also the line about armand picking out daniel's clothes for him: "heaven help [daniel] if he were to change a single item." what does that mean? an argument? a lot of nagging? very much not that? we don't know because the wording here has removed armand entirely. makes me nuts!!!!!!!!!
