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maxmcyfield · 4 hours

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CALLUM TURNER as Thomas Webb in The Only Living Boy in New York (2017)

#q #o:serim's boy #on my knees rn...

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maxmcyfield · 1 day

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Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton Bridgerton (2020– ) 🐝 2x08 “The Viscount Who Loved Me”

#q #percy x dylan #otp:i always knew #au:low fantasy #au:bridgerton

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maxmcyfield · 2 days

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Michael Cimino by Jerry Maestas

#q #luis #HELLOW??????

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maxmcyfield · 3 days

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Perfect Days (2023) dir. Wim Wenders

#q #movies #save #luis

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maxmcyfield · 4 days

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by clicking on the source link you will find a page with 116 gifs, all made from scratch by myself, of ashley liao in p.hysical. ashley is taiwanese and is currently 22 years old, but was around 19 during the filming of this show. i don’t care what you do with these, just don’t be gross and don’t claim them as your own. if using these, give this post a reblog. thank you !

#q #gifs #in love w her ngl

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maxmcyfield · 5 days

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#the card that broke the entire cast Cards Against Humanity in 2023?? | Smosh Games

#q #smosh things #i quote this moment too much tbh

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maxmcyfield · 6 days

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a little case of writer’s block (or, justifying unseemly endeavours) / percy x dylan 🔞 / london, 1814 (bridgerton au) / @jokermoreau @worshipwrites

Writer's block did many things to one's psyche. Doubt, anxiety, paranoia, a full reconsideration of one's life choices. Writing a new novel in general too brought on similar woes, but the block of the mind seemed to make one particularly desperate. Taking risks, thinking out of line, acting on impulse — the life of a writer was much more dangerous than most could ever imagine, and all for the betterment of the fruits of their labour.

At least, that's what Miss Percy Yeom was saying to herself to justify her unsightly actions on this day. Sneaking in the shadows of the night without her maid, keeping her head low. She borrowed her maid's frock — one that the poor girl thought she’d lost — hidden under a heavy cloak; was thankfully unnoticeable as most on the streets were drunk at this point.

Still, she kept herself quiet and didn’t allow any mistakes for anyone to raise suspicion. If anyone caught her, she'd be shunned, given the cold shoulder of the ton that her family feared for her all her life. But most of all, she’s quiet because of who she’s tailing. What she’s doing.

The man she considered her closest friend, the person her childhood self was besotted with for years, Lord Dylan Thakur walks the streets with an alluring swagger. She didn’t know where he was going, or what he was planning on doing, but when she saw him walk out of his family estate (the one right next to the Yeom’s), she was suddenly overwrought with the desire to follow him. Curious, is all. Maybe it could lead to some inspiration for her blocked head.

But, the longer they stray from Mayfair, the more she realized she’d made a mistake. The more she thought of the many ways people could see her — maybe some jilted old prospect, or worse, Lady Whistledown. Her steps stuttered. Maybe it was time to return home. Save herself any trouble, ignoring the lack of any material she got tonight (except maybe that she had a new way to explain how Dylan walked: open, confident, and attractive).

The moment she looked up to see where they ended up, however, her mouth dropped open. She should not be here. Not in front of a brothel, where she can see Lord Thakur start to make his way in.

She should be running, already halfway back to her home to hide under the covers and never think of attempting something like this again. Writer or not, she’d be crazy to go any further, the implications were far too disgraceful for her to even entertain!

But… Percy did consider herself more a writer than a lady… and her publisher had mentioned erotica. That it was profitable, something maybe even far beyond what her two, almost three romance novels could dream of giving her. And reaching five and twenty soon, it would only allow her freedoms that being just an old maid couldn't.

Between her justification to herself, she catches Dylan pass by one of the windows, and quickly, suddenly, she's slipped into the alleyway next to the brothel.

Her heart was pounding from the adrenaline, and fear. Maybe even from the excitement. Ideas flit through her brain slowly, like honey seeping through cakes, something she’d been struggling with the whole week — maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all…

Immediately, she heard them. The noises. Moans? Moans, yes. She remembers how they were described when people were… entangled.

Percy ducked, kept her back pressed flush against the brick of the building, the top of her head brushing against the window panes as she walked further down. As much as she came here for inspiration, she wasn’t exactly keen on watching anyone and everyone. And she was deep in enough to admit, she’d only done this to see him, catch sight of something she could have only ever imagined. With her luck, he’d have been assigned to the top floor.

Alas, it seemed some god of chaos and debauchery wanted to assist her, because right then, she heard him. Muffled, but undeniably Dylan Thakur, in the last window before the end of the alley.

Quickly she made her way to it, planting herself just under sight. Percy can’t hear much at all, maybe catching a word or two… she could hear a woman’s voice too here and there. And then it went silent.

There’s a twinge too, in her chest, hearing him, doing… this. His rakely duties, in a word. This shouldn’t surprise her, especially since she knew what happened in these houses, but perhaps that sixteen-year-old part of her felt dejected all over again when she realized he would never be interested in her. That he didn’t see her in this way, the way of passion and beauty.

Which made it all the much easier for her to push herself — it’s not as if she’d ever see this side of him otherwise, right? Perhaps it would sate that small younger self of her’s that had been enamoured by him for so long.

As if right on cue, she noticed them. The sounds– moans. A woman’s one at first, but they were followed by something more masculine. Dylan’s moans, though they sounded more like grunting rather than much else. They stirred a strange feeling in her belly, something she refused to acknowledge, so after taking a few deep breaths, she popped her head up to ignore it and see what she’d been curious about this whole time.

Which really, did anything but help her ignore the feeling because what she sees makes her stomach blaze with heat.

Dylan stood naked, proud, next to a four-poster bed. Her eyes raked greedily over his form, the soft and hard lines of him, her throat going dry. When she reaches downward to his pelvis, she noticed his hand was tangled in the woman’s hair, her head bobbing over what she can only assume was his penis. She did read that oral sex was a thing… But what mattered was that it made his face contour in ways she could have never imagined, his sounds doubling in volume, the image undoubtedly burning into her brain for better or worse.

When the woman pulled away from him, Percy’s eyes widened. His member– his penis glinted in the light of the room, standing proud, and hard, and large. She swallowed, eyeing it, unable to understand why she wanted to keep looking. She’d seen them in her books, anatomical examples, and drawn figures. But his looked much better than them all, pretty, almost — in the heaviness of it, the wideness of its girth… something she caught herself thinking of in terms of the size of her mouth.

Before she could even reprimand herself for the thought, he sat on the edge of the bed, and the woman (whose face she didn’t see, thankfully) followed, straddling him, and all at once, his member disappeared inside her. She couldn’t help the small gasp that came out, one that forced her to slap her hand over her mouth because it was followed by a new sound, something small and undeniably horrid in origin that she was even embarrassed to admit ever happened.

Because the way he held on to her hips, like a vice, grinning between groans of pleasure, made her whole body freeze. She stood there, staring, the ache between her thighs so painful that it became her. Part of who she was — could feel herself, her honour, slipping the longer she watched. But she couldn’t stop, not when every laugh, smirk, every grunt from Dylan drew her in, kept her rooted.

And inevitably, her mind wandered. That she was the cause of him sounding like that, that he was making her feel so good that she was just a touch below screaming. That he was the one touching her, instead of her trying so hard to ignore the way she was hurting in the depths where she felt a moistness seep through.

Eventually, they come to a halting, climactic stop, and Percy pulls herself away then, if only that the woman pushed him on his back, leaving her without any view of the face she had been staring at, therefore she had no reason to stay.

She walks back home quickly, head filled with ideas — for her current book, for the erotica she’ll let her publisher know she’ll write for the next season — and filled with thoughts of Dylan Thakur.

(That night, she touches herself for the first time.)

#percy x dylan #otp:i always knew #percy #o:dylan #mine*#jokermoreau #usfw

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maxmcyfield · 6 days

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