#the time for lingerie dennis has finally come

[psymachine]

hear me out: you, me, dennis, and god all know he looks good in lingerie, but maybe he's a little bit unsure what mac "the problem is you're into all that early 80s glam rock femme shit; definitely had masc4masc in his grindr profile" mcdonald will think of it

#macdennis #macdennis fanart #still probably ooc but i don't care lol #this was mostly just an early bday/christmas present to myself but hopefully you can enjoy it as well~ #the time for lingerie dennis has finally come #the softest i've drawn them so far lol #the headcanon is that dennis just springs shit that he wants on mac instead of talking about it #that way if it backfires he can blame it all on mac being an idiot #but not this time reynolds------ #i have a very confident victoria torturing mac comic in the works to make up for this don't worry #rob can pry mac calling him “den” out of my cold dead little paws #machinegoods #suggestive

[daydreamstew]

If you’re still doing prompts !!! #80  “I didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey’.” :)

Hello!! 💕 Thanks for the prompt! I wrote this today instead of thinking about the fact the finale is tonight! 😩

Idk how I feel about this, but it’s a booty call fic set in season 1 if Beth had kicked Dean out and he had stayed out...you can read it on AO3 here or on here if you want :)

80. “I didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey’.”

Rio is in her kitchen.

That’s not really a shock because she did invite him here. And it’s not like he hasn’t been here before. But still. Rio is in her kitchen. Groaning out a pleased sound while eating one of the cinnamon cookies leftover from when she had baked them in a frenzy to send with the kids when they went to Judith’s with Dean earlier.

The cinnamon cookies that she’d eaten about six of that evening. When the door shut behind Danny, the last straggler, she ate a cookie. When she went to straighten up the kids’ rooms and found them empty. Another cookie. When she flipped through the channels and found nothing to watch. Time for a cookie! When Dean called to fill her in on how the kids were settling in and to try to guilt-trip her into letting him move back in. TWO cookies.

She’d needed to get a hold of herself before she ate any more. She’d needed a distraction. And a bourbon.

So she’d gone on Netflix and flipped on some early Grey’s Anatomy. She wanted something juicy so she picked the episode where Izzie cuts the LVAD wire because she always loved Denny, but then all of a sudden Meredith and Derek were having passionate, adulterous sex in an exam room. And Beth got swept up in the tension of the argument about the way McDreamy looks at her and how he’d pulled her panties down and the way they had just wanted to devour each other.

And, well, it had gotten to her. And then she had been hungry for something other than cookies and she’d had a couple of bourbons and so what if she’d texted the one person in her phone that had come close to looking at her that way?

B: Hey

R: Yeah?

B: Can you stop by? It’s urgent.

R: 15 min

And, true to his word, he’d been there fifteen minutes and one bourbon later. And now he was in her kitchen, standing on the other side of her island while she leaned against the sink, finishing up the cookie. Licking the crumbs off his pink lips and looking at her expectantly.

“Ain’t you got some urgent business you gotta tell me about?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

And, oh god, she had not thought this through. He has no idea why she summoned him here tonight. What was she thinking? She doesn’t know how to follow through on a--a booty call. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? She’s never done this before. She’s a booty-call virgin!

And she’s wearing leggings and an old tank top! Aren’t you supposed to get all dolled up to try to seduce the person? She only has on the mascara and lip gloss she’d swiped on to go to the grocery store earlier to grab some more flour for the cookies. And then she looks down and realizes that there’s evidence of her stress-baking left behind on her shirt, flour coating her beat-up tank top like a big sign that says “I’m an unsexy mess.”

She puts on her best prim smile, pushing through her doubts.

“Yes of course. Very urgent,” she chirps, lying out of her ass.

He grunts something out, seemingly not convinced of its importance.

“Um, did you want another first?” she asks, pointing to the plate of cookies and trying to buy some time. “I could make you some coffee!”

She turns towards the coffee machine and starts to fiddle with it, but, shit, she hadn’t thrown out the grounds that morning. She’s about to hastily rectify that when she hears movement and turns to find Rio circling the island to stand across from her.

He’s looking at her with his head tilted, face neutral.

“Hey,” she breathes out.

And, god, what is she doing? Greeting him like he hasn’t been here for 5 minutes already. But he’s so much closer now and she can smell his cologne, see some stray lint on his peacoat.

He breathes out a chuckle, looks down, and smiles before looking back up.

“Yeah, I didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey’ and have snack time, darlin’, so I’m gonna need you to spit it out,” he says, impatient and sneering.

And, okay, that’s dramatic. It only took him 15 minutes to get here.

“Spit what out?” she squeaks.

She really should’ve come up with an actual excuse for him to be here. But she’s just intoxicated enough by the combination of the bourbon and his scent that coherent lies have become inconceivable.

He takes another step forward, and she has to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He seems so unaffected by her presence. Oh god, what if she had made it up in her head? What if all the teasing flirting was manipulation? What if he never looked at her the way she thought he did?

“What it is that you need,” he answers, voice low and husky and delicious.

She’s about to call it off—maybe fake getting an emergency text from Annie as an excuse—not wanting to risk the rejection. But then. Then his hooded eyes dip down from her eyes to her neck and down to where her cleavage peeks above the neck of her tank.

Her heart rate picks up as she watches him lick and bite at his bottom lip as his gaze drifts down the rest of her curves the way she always thought it did.

She hadn’t made it up. 

She swallows and pushes her chest out a little more, lets her glossy lips fall open in a subtle pout.

His eyes return to hers and he rasps out, “Ain’t seen you in something like this before.”

He reaches out and tugs at the hem of her shirt. He’s looking at her in a ratty tank top like she’d put on her best lingerie for him. She shivers and lets out a breath from her mouth.

His eyes glance down to her pouting lips and that’s all the encouragement she needs.

She tentatively leans forward and up slightly onto her tiptoes and captures his lower lip between hers, kissing him softly.

He feels him stiffen for a second before he melts into it and grips onto her hips, pulling her toward him, deepening the kiss.

And his hands. His big hands that she touches herself to. Thinking about them touching her. Those hands are all over her, kneading at her ass, and tangled in her hair and gently feeling up her breasts like he if he’s too eager, it may all stop.

And his mouth. His lips and his teeth and his tongue that she always imagines licking and nipping all over her body and down between her thighs. They’re battling with her lips and teeth and tongue.

It occurs to her that she hasn’t kissed someone other than Dean in more than 20 years. It occurs to her that it had never once felt like this. She feels like she’s on fire. Feels the heat everywhere. But especially low in her gut. Wetness pooling between her legs. 

He’s groaning into her mouth, a pleased sound. Not unlike the one he had released when he was eating the cookie that she can taste on his tongue.

And she could kiss him for hours, days, years of her life, but she needs to breathe. So she pulls back and gasps in air while he does the same, hands gliding under her tank top to feel at the soft skin of her waist.

“Damn,” he breathes out.

“Yeah,” she agrees.

“This the urgent business you called me over here for?” he asks, breathless and teasing her, pinching at her waist.

“Shut up,” she responds, lurching forward to kiss him again.

She nibbles on his lower lip and slips her tongue in his mouth and pulls a moan out of him while she drags her nails over his head. She drifts her hand down from his black t-shirt covered stomach to his groin to discover the hard line of his erection. He grunts into her mouth as the length of him twitches against her hand.

She wasn’t the only one that was hungry.

#look i know the finale is in an hour and a half #but here’s this #my writing #brio prompts #prompts #angst/fluff prompts #brio #brio fanfic #brio fic #brio fanfiction #nbc good girls #asks #lilliloves

[letterboxd]

Savage Cinema.

From anarchists and adultery to milk baths and massacres, Matthew Turner shares five of the weirdest and wildest highlights of Hollywood’s pre-Code era, as #PreCodeApril comes to a close.

Pre-Code April was directly inspired by Noirvember, a month-long celebration of noir cinema instigated by Marya Gates (Oldfilmsflicker). I did Noirvember for the first time in November 2019, really enjoyed it, and thought it would be great to do the same thing for pre-Code movies. Although I’ve watched most of the classic 1930s films, I realised there were a huge number of pre-Code films I’d never seen (of my Letterboxd list of over 900 Pre-Code films, I have only seen 200).

As a sucker for a bit of wordplay, no matter how tenuous, I picked April partly because it’s six months away from Noirvember and partly because of the shared “pr” sound in April and Pre-Code. I’ve been absolutely delighted by the response—the #PreCodeApril hashtag on Twitter is a daily treasure trove of pre-Code-related joy, but I was genuinely thrilled to see the response on Letterboxd (here is my watchlist for the month). It’s been a real pleasure to see pre-Code movies constantly popping up in my ‘new from friends’ feed. My hope is that it’ll be even bigger next year—and that maybe TCM will want to get involved, the way they do with Noirvember.

Produced between 1929 and 1934, pre-Code cinema refers to films made in a brief period between the silent era, and Hollywood beginning to enforce the Motion Picture Production Code censorship guidelines (mandatory enforcement came in from July 1934). The “Code” in question was popularly known as the Hays Code, after then MPPDA president Will H. Hays. As the depression set in and box office declined, theater owners needed fare that would drive cinema-goers to the movies. It was a wild time to be a scriptwriter; they threw everything at the page, designers added even more, and actors played out the kinds of scenes, from the suggestive to the overt, that would otherwise be banned for decades to come.

The following five films demonstrate some of Hollywood’s craziest pre-Code excesses. They’re still jaw-dropping, even by today’s standards, and notably give female characters an agency that would be later denied as the Christian morals of the Code overruled writers’ kinks.

Madam Satan (1930) Directed by Cecil B. DeMille, written by Elsie Janis, Jeanie Macpherson and Gladys Unger

A critical and commercial flop in 1930, Cecil B. DeMille’s utterly insane musical comedy stars Kay Johnson as a straight-laced wife who plots to win back her unfaithful husband (Reginald Denny) by seducing him at a costume party, disguised as a mysterious devil woman. The location of this party? Oh, nothing too fancy, just on board a giant zeppelin. (“Madam Satan or: How the Film gets Fucking Crazy on the Blimp,” as Ryan reviewed it.)

Madam Satan is not by any stretch of the imagination a good movie (the editing alone is laughably bad), but as a piece of pre-Code craziness, it really has to be seen to be believed. Co-written by a trio of women and set in just three locations, it goes from racy bedroom farce to avant-garde musical to full-on disaster movie after a bolt of lightning hits the blimp.

The film is justly celebrated (in camp classic circles, at least) for the wildly over-the-top costumes paraded in the masquerade ball sequence, but there’s weird outfit joy everywhere you look. Keep an eye out for an enterprising extra who’s come dressed as a set of triplets.

Call Her Savage (1932) Directed by John Francis Dillon, written by Tiffany Thayer and Edwin J. Burke

Adapted from a salacious novel by Tiffany Thayer, Call Her Savage was former silent star Clara Bow’s second-to-last film before her retirement at the age of 28. She plays Texas gal Nasa Springer, who’s always had a “savage” temper she can’t explain. In the space of 88 minutes she goes from wild teenager to jilted newlywed to young mother to prostitute to wealthy society girl to alcoholic before finally (it’s implied) settling down with her Native-American friend after discovering that she’s half-Native-American, something the audience has known all along.

Bow’s performance is frankly astonishing, to the point where you simply can’t believe what you’re seeing from one moment to the next. Sample scenes see her savagely whipping both a snake and her Indian friend, smashing a guitar over a musician’s head and violently wrestling her Great Dane… and that’s all in the first five minutes. She’s also frequently in a state of near undress throughout—one funny scene has her maids chasing her with a dressing gown because they’re afraid she’ll run down the street in her négligée.

The rest of the film includes alcohol, adultery, strong violence, attempted rape, murder, syphilis (not named, but heavily implied) and baby death. It’s a veritable smorgasbord of outrageous content and Bow is pure dynamite throughout. The film is also noted for being one of the first on-screen portrayals of homosexuality, when Nasa visits a gay bar in the Village frequented by “wild poets and anarchists”.

Smarty (1934) Directed by Robert Florey, written by Carl Erickson and F. Hugh Herbert

This deeply problematic sex comedy features pre-Code stars Joan Blondell and Warren William (often nicknamed ‘The King of Pre-Code’) at their absolute filthiest. Blondell plays Vicki, a capricious, happily married wife who gets an obvious kick out of taunting her husband, Tony (William). When he cracks and slaps her at a party, she divorces him and marries her lawyer, Vernon (Edward Everett Horton), whom she also goads into slapping her in a deliberate ploy to win back Tony.

Essentially, Smarty hinges on Vicki liking rough sex and it’s completely blatant about it, ending with her sighing “Hit me again” (the film’s UK title!) as they sink into a clinch on a couch, a rapturous expression on her face. It’s a controversial film because on the surface it looks like it’s condoning domestic violence, but it’s very clearly about Vicki’s openly expressed sexual desires—she wants to be punished and dominated, she just has a rather dodgy way of getting what she wants.

It might be unsophisticated, but in some ways Smarty is remarkably ahead of its time and ripe for rediscovery. To that end, it would make a fascinating double bill with Stephen Shainberg’s Secretary (2002). Oh, and it’s also chock-full of lingerie scenes (like most pre-Code films), if you like that sort of thing.

Massacre (1934) Directed by Alan Crosland, written by Sheridan Gibney, Ralph Block and Robert Gessner

Several pre-Code films (notably those made by Warner Bros) took a no-punches-pulled approach to their depiction of social issues, and star Richard Barthelmess actively sought out such projects. Here he plays Joe Thunderhorse, a Native American who’s become famous on the rodeo circuit. When he returns to his tribe to bury his father, he ends up fighting for their rights, taking on corrupt government officials and religious authorities.

Massacre is fascinating because on the one hand it’s wildly insensitive—Barthelmess and co-star Ann Dvorak are both cast as Native Americans—but on the other, it burns with a righteous fury and does more than any other Hollywood film (before or since) to champion the rights and highlight the injustices dealt out to Native Americans. That fury is encapsulated in a horrifying and rightly upsetting rape scene (it happens off-screen, but the cuts leave you in no doubt) that the film handles with surprising sensitivity.

In addition to being a passionate fight against racism and social injustice, the film also has some genuinely shocking sexual content. Most notably, Joe is seen making love to a rich white woman (Claire Dodd, who’s also in Smarty) who has an obvious sexual fetish, flaunting him in front of her friends and making a shrine in her room with Native-American paraphernalia.

The Sign of the Cross (1932) Directed by Cecil B. DeMille, written by Waldemar Young and Sidney Buchman

Yes, this is Cecil B. DeMille again, but no list of weird and wild pre-Code films would be complete without the jaw-dropping ancient Rome epic, The Sign of the Cross. Adapted from an 1895 play by Wilson Barrett, it stars Frederic March as Marcus Superbus (stop sniggering at the back there), who’s torn between his loyalty to Emperor Nero (Charles Laughton) and his love for a Christian woman (Elissa Landi), while also fending off the advances of the Emperor’s wife, Poppaea (Claudette Colbert).

The film is racy enough in its sexual content alone: highlights include the famous scene of Claudette Colbert taking a nude milk bath and an erotic “lesbian” dance sequence, where Joyzelle Joyner’s “most wicked and talented woman in Rome” does ‘The Dance of the Naked Moon’ at Frederic March’s orgy, trying to tempt Landi’s virtuous Christian, to the obvious arousal of the gathered guests.

However, it’s the climactic gladiatorial-arena sequence that will leave your jaw on the floor. Lasting around twelve minutes, it includes: someone getting eaten by a tiger, a tied-up, naked women being approached by hungry crocodiles, pygmies getting chopped up by female barbarians, elephants stomping on heads, a gorilla approaching a naked woman tied to a stake, a man getting gored by a bull, and gladiators fighting to the death, complete with blood and gory injury detail.

The whole thing is genuinely horrifying, even for 2021. Best of all, DeMille pointedly critiques the audience (ourselves included), by showing a series of reaction shots ranging from intense enjoyment to abject seen-it-all-before boredom.

Matthew Turner (FilmFan1971) is a critic, author, podcaster and lifelong film fanatic. His favorite film is ‘Vertigo’. The films in this article are also listed here: Five of the Pre-Code Era’s Most Outrageous Films.

#preCodeApril #pre code april #precode april #hays code #mppa code #cecil b demille #clara bow #matthew turner #letterboxd #1930s films #1920s films #depression films

[naturaldisasterfanfiction]

12. Part 6

Robyn is curled tightly into my chest; I feel like she has got closer and closer and got even more comfortable with me. Her breath warmed the fabric of my tee, her legs are hooked around mine and her eyes are closed. I feel a little choked up that she is asleep on me just like that, she is always tired now and I get it. Her stomach is actually just slightly poking me, but I can feel it on me. The day has been eventful and close to her leaving, I am glad she didn’t because they all do run away but she didn’t and that alone makes me want to do better. Robyn is just using me as a comforter, and I don’t mind at all. I don’t think she is asleep actually, her eyes are closed but flutter every so often. Her delicate hand brushed the collar of my tee between her fore and middle finger. Like I said, she is clearly using me as a comforter. I had to pull my chin in to look at Robyn, she is like a baby though, and it’s making me laugh. Kissing her temple and laying my cheek on her head, she is cute, and I can practically watch her sleep until the sunrise, if she is asleep that is. I am not sure if she is but then she would be snoring if that. The movie is still on but is now background noise for us, I am too engrossed in watching Robyn. My hand slid its way, finding her exposed skin, just on her thigh and brushed softly with my fingers. Her breasts are flush up against my ribs and radiated a warmth, this is why I can feel her bump on me. My mind wandered, and then fell right back down to the strong stubborn woman tucked into me. I sat stubborn because she plays it all off about it all, she just doesn’t want to know or is probably scared but she has backed down and now look at us. Clearing my throat “sleepy?” I said but she didn't open her eyes “hm” she shook her head that was pressed just under my collar bone and moved her arm to hook under and around my shoulder. Her left leg hitched around my thigh and her heel dug into the back of my knee. She couldn't be that comfortable, she is just really getting up and all under me “want to go to bed?” I asked because she can’t be comfortable “no” she managed to say, so I am trapped.

I had to laugh, she really just woke up and it’s just ended “so you did fall asleep?” I am shocked she did because she didn’t at first, also no snoring. Robyn looked up at me like a deer caught in headlights but then rested her head back, I did not expect her to sleep at all. I know she been lowkey making some flirtatious jokes “are you ok?” I asked, she seems so quiet “yes, just thinking. I need to stop falling asleep so much, can I have some water” nodding my head, Robyn slowly got up from me, pushing the blanket away “what time is it?” reaching over to the table, grabbing the water bottle “just like two in the morning, the bed is made for you. I did it, it’s the bed where nobody but me or Roro have slept in, don’t worry” seeing her bump, the tee has rode up, moving to the side a little “I am a mess” she seems very tired, watching Robyn drink water like a creep I am, she has a nice neck that I have kissed many of times “do you have like coco butter here?” Robyn asked as she put the cap on the bottle back on “uh, I am sure I do” why does she want that “if you can find it for the morning for me, I am going to pee” watching Robyn get up from the couch, she has not bothered to put the tee down and I can see some kinky lingerie, lacey actually “it’s Savage Fenty” Robyn caught me looking, she smiled at me pulling the tee down “it’s nice” I complimented, Robyn’ smile is infectious, she is so beautiful pregnant.

I am like a dog, I stay put when she goes, I have to laugh at myself with how whipped I am because I love her to death but she has been gone a while and I should find that cocoa butter for her “I am back, your toilet is nice here. I am such a mess, I look terrible. I wish I had my make up with me” Robyn sighed out heavily sitting down “you’re beautiful” she really is “maybe I wanted that compliment” she pointed at me which made me laugh “you want to touch my bump? You can if you want, I don’t want you to feel scared. Have you touched one before? I think” Robyn touched her bump “she does some movements at night, but then it’s when I lay down but if you want, I don’t mind” watching Robyn touch her stomach “does it hurt?” I asked “erm, it’s not painful but I get a lot of aches and pains, stretch marks, a few I have but it’s not painful. It’s like a flutter I feel, she is just moving around, I think she did kick but I was on a conference call and I didn’t react like I wanted, in excitement but it’s not painful, for now. Just I get the general back pains and I am tired, sometimes I am ok with it. My feet seem a little swollen, I do and I don’t sleep because of this so I am more tired” nodding my head “I’ve not bothered to erm, touch that bump” Robyn chuckled “you can touch it if you want” Robyn sat back “you won’t break me, come on” I feel really nervous about this, not sure if I should “I am sure our baby will love to hear her dad, I mean I do. Sometimes” she added, dragging myself along the couch and closer to Robyn “it’s weird to see you like this, you know. To see you pregnant, it’s crazy to me. I don’t know” this is like the real first time because when I did it with Dennis he just wanted pictures “it’s ok” Robyn smiled at me, such a reassuring smile. Shuffling closer “I have never seen such a look on your face, why are you scared? It’s literally ok, come here. Give me your hand” holding my hand out, she held my wrist “just here, mhmm. She isn’t going to move now, I don’t think” squinting my eyes at Robyn “she can feel? Well hear?” I asked, Robyn nodded her head “she knows, we feel together. So also we will hate you together” Robyn smiled at me joking “I can believe that actually” she let my wrist go, I can’t believe that Robyn is pregnant, it’s just not registering “I don’t know why but I want to listen to it, like I want to my ear against it” Robyn giggled “if you want, go for it” shaking my head laughing “I am a weirdo, you know that by now” I won’t be too much “you think if I rub your bump then she will wake up?” Robyn giggled “awww, you’re so cute, I suppose. Try it” lightly rubbing Robyn’ bump “tell her you’re her goofy ass dad” looking up at Robyn laughing “uhh no, oh wait. Are you hungry?” I questioned, Robyn shook her head “like I said, goofy but that is she. That is my daughter moving nigga!” letting out an oh, that is so weird “I love you already” I pressed a kiss to her stomach “you’re making me” Robyn said, moving back smiling “I need to get used to it, I don’t know. I just, I am trying to register a lot, and you know” Robyn placed her hand on my arm “I get it, at first I didn’t but I do. You haven’t had that chance to experience a baby” smiling at Robyn “thank you” she understands, and I am happy that she can understand me.

I swear having ADHD really gets to me, I am just everywhere “do you need anything?” I don’t know why I am asking but I am “what do you mean?” Robyn asked “like, you need anything. You want to be picked up to take you upstairs or your feet nails? You want them done?” Robyn giggled and then cooed out “no I am thank you, but I appreciate it, I don’t need anything” nodding my head, looking down at Robyn’ thighs, they look good to be honest. Dragging my eyes up and meeting Robyn’ she was watching me, of course she was “you had fun with that?” nodding my head, Robyn got up from the couch “you going to sleep?” I jumped up but Robyn pushed me back down “calm down” she chuckled, sitting back down and looking up at Robyn just hovering over me “another toy of yours” Robyn leaned down to pick it up, my hand hovered over Robyn’ thigh, I want to touch but I am trying to be good because I am thinking with my dick and her legs are long, they go on for a while “uh, it’s Royalty’” I know she purposely did that in front of me, licking my lips smiling at her “mhm” Robyn raised an eyebrow and then placed the toy at the side of me, I don’t know why but I sat back on the couch, she is towering over me so like yeah “do you have to go? You good here, you know that right” watching Robyn lift the tee up a little, before she sat on my lap facing me. Licking my top placing my hands on her thighs, lazily she put her arms on my shoulders “I actually can’t wait to go Chris, so you out of luck with that” I am sure Robyn is thinking the same thing as me, she has to be “what time you leaving?” I feel her face coming closer and closer to mine “morning” I breathed out smiling, her face is merely inches from mine “mhm” she smirked, she knows what she is doing “I can drop you off?” I offered; Robyn shook her head but nuzzled my nose along with it “I will be picked up” she is sat right on my dick too.

My hands slid around Robyn to caress her ass as our mouths met finally, first a peck and then into a passionate kiss. I firmly squeezed her round ass, slowly I slid my hands up her back, a low moan from Robyn, she began to slowly grind her hips back and forth in my lap. Breaking away from the kiss, pulling the tee over her head and went right back to kissing Robyn. My hands cupped her breasts in each hand, I don’t know why but I just smiled and then Robyn did too which broke the kiss with her but then began kissing her throat. As I slowly kissed further and further down her chest, I began to lightly swirl my tongue around her nipple, gradually increasing my pace and pressure. Ana's breathing increased along with his pace. I locked my mouth over her nipple and sucked it into my mouth. Her back arched and gasped, clenching my head firmly to her. Letting her nipple go from my mouth looking up at Robyn as she lowered her to me and kissed again, the want and need in the kiss right now, it has been long awaited for us, just us. Robyn moved her head back ever so slightly, her lips hovering over mine. Getting up from the couch with Robyn, I thought I would have struggled but I didn’t and then I was going to throw her on the couch, but I didn’t because she is pregnant. Lightly placing her down on the couch.

Gently I pushed her knees apart, guiding her as she opened herself to me. One foot fell to rest on the floor and I lifted the other up over the back of the sofa. I gazed down at her “now” I said, Robyn hid her face “stop it, I swear. Don’t!” she shouted; her lips swollen. This is pregnancy pussy, I know Robyn’ pussy. I reached out a single finger and slid it up her slit, caressing her inner folds and dragging it across her clit. I brought the coated finger to my lips and sucked, I expected what I remember. She always tastes good; I bent down on to my knees and planted my face firmly inside her thighs. My tongue travelled up her slit, scooping out the sweet nectar. I played my tongue back and forth across the swollen lips, sucking each one into my mouth and nibbling on them as I went. I licked her clean of juices and finally buried my tongue as deeply into her hole as it would go. Robyn gasped; I firmly ran my tongue over her pussy. Finally, I slid my hands under her to cup her ass, massaging them as I licked her. Her hips began to gyrate, and she started to moan. I began to flick her clit with my tongue, she started clenching her ass. I licked her clit as fast as I could and looked up to see her gazing down at me, she roughly squeezed her breast, rolling her nipples again and licking her lips.

I decided to go upstairs to the bed, I am not doing no sex thing on the couch she pregnant and it’s not comfortable “are you sure you’re ok too?” I pointed; I don’t want her to be in pain “would I have started it if so?” pulling my boxers down, stepping out of them. Grabbing the pillow, it’s amazing what things you do and pick when you are ready to have sex, placing the pillow behind Robyn’ back, just under her lowers back “you really out here just picking me everywhere, do I not weigh heavier?” shaking my head “that is because I been wanting this, I been trying to be a good boy. I just want you to be comfortable” the pillow positioned her pussy up towards me at the perfect level. I lifted her legs until her knees were on my shoulders, thighs spread a bit wider to accommodate her pregnant bump. With a slow thrust forward I entered her, smoothly and slowly. Robyn is so wet that my dick slid home easily until I was buried into her. She let out a moan as I filled he, I stayed still for a moment, revelling in the warmth. I began to move in and out of her, surprised at the tightness of her, given the massive amount of lubricant she is producing. I moved slowly in and out of her “you look so beautiful” I increased my pace just a bit and smiled “Jesus, this is different” pregnancy pussy is different in a good way.

Pressing a kiss to the back of Robyn’ head, her leg coiled around me, her fingers digging into my thighs. And I entered her from behind, filling her, her body stretching and opening, accommodating my full length of him. She shuddered; I moved inside of her quickly, quietly, choked with unspoken words and cries of pleasure that got lost into long, agonizing sighs and moans. Robyn’ back pressed against me, holding her against me. Robyn’ hand intertwined with my fingers that was wrapped around her chest “ah, fuck Chris” she breathed out, she pressed a kiss to the back of my hand that was in her hand. Quickening my pace a little as I continued to go in and out of her “I love you” the words came out of her mouth, it wasn’t me which side tracked me “I love you too” I breathed out but getting my mind back to what I was doing “remain pregnant forever” this pussy is the best pussy on gods earth “oh my god!” Robyn squeezed my hand hard, which made me quicken even more knowing her orgasm is here.

I have had that SUV outside Chris’ home for a good ten minutes, this doesn’t include the fact I made Ja get my breakfast and come back with that, so I ate first with Chris. That sex made me not want to get out of bed “you don’t regret us having sex right?” Chris has asked me this for the second time now “not at all, don’t say that. I mean I was in the bed with you still was I not? But it’s made me late, I don’t regret it at all. I just want you to be ok though, your sad face is really making me sad. We had breakfast so that is a good thing” putting my feet in the sneakers, I have taken Chris’ clothes, socks too because I have nothing with me “let me do that for you” looking up at him confused “what?” I questioned “your laces, not good to do all that” he sat next to me, he grabbed my leg and placed it on his lap, I yelped out falling back into the couch “do you really have to go? It’s like you have no appointments or anything, we can literally hide here” I just remained silent, he knows I do “but Chris, I will always be a phone call away. If I don’t pick up then I will be sleeping, that is what I am about now but I will be there” I scoffed “be nice to me, I had sex last night” Chris grinned “I am nice, I was very nice to you during sex” he is right “it was beautiful, it’s been nice Chris. I have enjoyed myself but don’t piss me off and ruin things now that I am gone” I hope he doesn’t “after that pussy, man. I ain’t doing shit, oh and I swear. It freaked me out” he froze while tying my laces “I tasted your milk, not a lie” I gasped “shut up!” I spat “not a lie, I know I did” he never said, that is weird but shameful at the same time “it was nice though” he smiled.

Staring at Ja with the duffle bags “just hurry up, we do need to go!” he shouted, I bet he is not happy. Clasping my hands together sighing out “so” I smiled at him “I don’t want you to go” he is giving me that sad face of his “please don’t do that Chris, we will see each other again. Come on now, I care about you so much. I am here for you, come on” he is stood so far away from me, he is really sad about this “it’s going to be long though, you’re far away Robyn I worry. You know” nodding my head understanding “say bye to us” Chris nodded his head “thank you for staying when I pissed you off, it’s nice to have someone that actually believes in you. He placed his hand over my bump, this time with such ease “I will see you soon dumpling” frowning at him “oh hell no, you what?” I said, I know he didn’t say that “ok mini toot, little dumpling bugaboo” I laughed out shaking my head “stop, that is a no. Come here, I want the biggest hug from you” I said as Chris lazily hugged me, he is so sad “I really don’t want you to go” he said in my ear “we will see each other soon” moving my head back to look at his face, pressing a kiss to his lips. A kiss I initiated, moving my arm to touch his cheek lightly with the back of my hand “I am going to be dropping everything here for you, I am coming. I won’t let you down, have a safe flight and be safe” nodding my head believing him, he kissed my lips before hugging me again.

Climbing into the SUV “about fucking time” the driver closed the door “your booty hurt from sitting around or something?” I asked, he is here crying about doing nothing “not exactly, look they all are waiting on you. But do spill the tea on him, look at him” I didn’t want to look at him but Ja is pointing at him. Looking out of the car window, he is so sad. It’s just the sadness in his eyes, I will miss him a lot. Chris waved and it was weird because the windows are blacked out, he knows I am looking at him “he looks very sad, what did you do?” Ja is asking but I am not saying shit “nothing, we just spoke a lot. We have a lot of history Ja, we had to iron out what is to happen for the baby. I am just worried about him, I have to be careful with trying to make a big deal out of Chris coming to London but if he does get rejected I cannot just leave it at that, I promised him. I don’t think they will but they pick on behaviours and his behaviour and has not been great, not even including the past, more recent things. His misuse of drugs that is known but we need to pray Ja” for his own peace of mind too, I don’t want Chris to be left out and now I had sex with Chris I just have a lot of feelings everywhere right now. My phone pinged in my hand, looking down at my phone and seeing Chris has messaged me, opening the message up ‘Shit is dumb and I miss you but now this home is lonely, extra sad rn. Lemme know you get there safely but I’m going to go and cry, thanks for the bras’ pulling a face at the last part, what bras, I didn’t leave no bras behind “oh” I said, he took them from the bag, nasty ass.

#Chrianna FF #Chrianna Fanfiction #Chrianna #Fanfic #Fanfiction

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Further Complications (Part 2 of Ways & Means)

Author: Eggnogged

Year: 2010

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Tony Harrison/Saboo/Mrs.Harrison

Tony Harrison has been texting him filth all week. Saboo has done his best to ignore him, hoping he’ll get bored and forget about their ill-advised tryst/wedding, but it’s been several days now and his phone is still beeping on an hourly basis. On top of that, they have a meeting of the Shaman Council scheduled for next week. Obviously he’s going to have to deal with this... situation. No one needs to find out about Saboo’s temporary lapse in judgement; he’d never live it down. If he wants to be able to show his face at the Shaman Club again, he needs a word with Harrison. So he finally texts Tony back to ask for his address, and seconds later his phone beeps again: knew u were just playin hard 2 get u slag no1 can rsist teh H man - We need to talk. I want to resolve this situation in an amicable and mature manner. I hope that isn’t too much to ask of you. dont prtnd yr not gagging 4 it big man me & mrs h r waitin - You disgust me. I’m coming over for a chat and NOTHING ELSE. yeah well see about that sunshine *** Saboo’s first thought upon reaching his destination is that he must’ve got the directions wrong. His GPS always seems to get confused by the fact that he’s using a magic carpet, and it wouldn’t be the first time that he’s made a wrong turn somewhere. It’s already hard enough to believe that Tony actually lives on Earth, but the fact that he lives in a mansion in the countryside, with expansive manicured grounds guarded by a huge iron-wrought gate? That is just ridiculous. The place has got to be worth millions, and by the looks of it, employs a staff of at least a dozen. Meanwhile, Saboo lives in a bedsit in South London. It doesn’t seem fair. Well, there is one way to find out if he’s in the right place. Saboo presses the doorbell and waits. Seconds later, the door is opened by an ancient-looking servant, who looks like a butler straight out of the 1870s. Judging by his wrinkles, stooped back, and glaucoma, Saboo thinks that he may very well be. He gives Saboo a once over, milky eyes settling on Saboo’s hat with mild distaste. “Sir?” Saboo is nothing if not respectful of protocol, and even though he is less than impressed by this butler’s insolent manner, he remains polite. “I am Saboo, I believe I am expected.” The butler nods feebly, “Yes, sir. Mrs Harrison will be with you presently.” He motions for Saboo to follow him inside and then shuffles down the marbled hallway. Saboo removes his hat and takes a moment to straighten its long feather, and before he has time to do much else, he hears the unmistakable sound of high heels clattering up towards him. He looks up just in time to see the stiletto shoes round the corner, and he follows them up to find himself face to face with a woman. A real woman, a human, not a female version of whatever Tony is. And she is no ordinary human woman, either. Her stockinged legs seem to go on forever, culminating in curvy hips and a narrow waist, and she is sporting a massive set of tits. Inexplicably, she’s wearing bunny girl lingerie, with pink satin ears poking out of her shining blonde hair. Saboo stands there by the door and stares openly. “You must be Saboo!” she purrs, leaning in to kiss him on each cheek, and smiling at him with her perfect teeth and perfect mouth. Her perfume is intoxicating, and Saboo thinks he may have forgotten how to speak. Undeterred by his silence, she continues, “I’ve heard so much about you of course, but my husband never told me you were this handsome.” This is the biggest surprise of all. Not the house, or the grounds, or the servants, but the fact that Harrison, a disembodied testicle (and not even a particularly likeable one at that), appears to be married to this buxom blonde Amazon. It defies all logic, it seems astronomically unlikely. Surely Tony’s put some sort of spell on her. A love potion, maybe? Shaman law strictly forbids the personal use of love potions, and Saboo is definitely going to have a word with Dennis about this. “He makes me laugh,” Mrs Harrison says with an affectionate smile, as though she can read his mind. “Well, that, and he’s exceptionally talented in bed,” she adds with a saucy wink before sauntering down the hallway and gesturing for him to follow her. When she turns around, Saboo notices that there is a pink bunny tail pinned to the back of her lacy knickers. He tries not to stare at it, but it’s bouncing up and down in such a hypnotic fashion that before he knows it, he’s followed her down lavishly decorated hallways and up a massive marble staircase, into what appears to be the master bedroom. He takes one worried look at the king sized bed, which seems to take up half of the room, before his eyes wander to the giant oil painting above it. It’s a revolting tableau of pastel hues, depicting Mrs Harrison, clad in an elaborate bejewelled wedding gown and cradling Tony in her arms. The Tony in the painting is wearing a bowtie in the space where his face ends and his tentacles begin, and the two of them are gazing at each other with sickening adoration. Saboo suddenly feels like he’s going to be ill. “Mrs Harrison—“ “Please, call me Cindy.” “Erm, Cindy, I was just hoping for a quick word with Tony, maybe I’d better go wait for him in the sitting room...?” “You make yourself comfortable,” she replies, gesturing towards the bed as though she hasn’t heard him, “I’ll go get Tony, he’s just having a nice bubble bath.” She’s gone before Saboo can argue. He sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed, taking care to face away from the painting. Minutes later she returns with Tony in her arms. She’s cooing at him like he’s an infant or a particularly adorable puppy, peppering his big head with little kisses, leaving red lipstick traces all over his pink skin, and Saboo has to fight down a fresh wave of nausea at the sight. “Ooh my baby’s all clean now, but mommy’s going to get him all dirty again, won’t she?” Cindy brings Tony up to her face and they share a long, messy kiss while Saboo just stares, horrified. He wants to remind them that he’s there because it seems they’ve forgotten, but it seems rude to interrupt. When they break off, both Harrisons turn to look at him with matching seductive smirks. “We’re going to get really dirty with your cute little friend, ain’t we, baby? Really naughty,” Cindy purrs. Tony gives him a lecherous grin, “I dunno Cindy, Saboo said he’s only here to talk.” Cindy laughs at that, a clear, tinkling sound, “But didn’t you tell him that we’re all married now?” Saboo starts to think that maybe it would’ve been a better idea to have this talk over the phone. *** Soon after, Saboo finds himself divested of all his clothes except his hat and slouching against the headboard. Cindy had talked him into doing a slow strip-tease, which had been a bit exciting but mainly embarrassing due to Tony’s catcalls, but after that he’d been directed to sit there and wait, so that’s what he’s doing. It turns out that it’s really difficult not to comply with everything Cindy says. The Harrisons really seem to have forgotten about him now , because Cindy is laying flat on her back with her knees up, fondling her breasts, and Tony is settled between her legs and going down on her with unnerving enthusiasm. Neither of them is paying attention to Saboo, and the air is filled with the sounds of Cindy’s gasps and Tony’s moans. It’s a bit revolting, this whole scene, and Saboo thinks that he should definitely get up and leave. He’s not even that turned on anymore, and he could get all this, minus the freak show factor, from online porn. Any minute now, he’s going to leave. He’s going to get up, walk away, and… Oh god. “What... What’s that all about?” There’s something growing out of Tony’s body, between two of his tentacles. It’s longer, wider and darker in tone than his normal appendages, slimy and kind of horrifying, all strange angles and lumpy little barbs. “Ooooh yeah, you thought you knew all about me, but I’ve got all sorts of tricks up my sleeves!” “You haven’t got any sleeves. You don’t even have arms, you freak.” Tony opens his mouth to retort, but he’s interrupted when Cindy mewls plaintively and pushes him back between her legs, her long manicured fingers pressing into his pink flesh. Saboo can only watch as Tony expertly works his tongue on her clitoris and pushes his swollen appendage and several of his tentacles inside her body. That now familiar feeling of disgust and intense arousal returns and Saboo presses the heel of his palm firmly against his hardening erection, while Cindy curses and sings and gasps and pleads until her toes curl and she stiffens with a strangled moan. Saboo is no stranger to the female orgasm, and while his own performance with the ladies is rightly renowned, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a woman come this hard in his life. She looks like she’s having some sort of seizure, her eyes wide and unfocused as her back arches right off the bed. Saboo can see the ripples in her stomach and the trembles in her thighs from where he’s sitting, and suddenly her marriage to Tony doesn’t seem all that unlikely. Once it’s all over and that Cindy appears to have passed out from the force of her orgasm, Tony slowly retracts his glistening tentacles and his weirdly shaped genitalia from her body, looking very pleased with himself. “Oooh baby, another job well done. She is out for the count!” “All that time I thought of you as just a pink ball sac,” Saboo says, sounding a bit strangled despite his attempts to be cool and casual, “I was wrong. You appear to be a very elaborate, sentient sex toy.” “That’s right, bow down to the prowess of the H-man!” “That wasn’t a compliment, you bean head.” “I think you’ll find it was, you sexy beast. I ain’t spent yet, I saved some of my best moves for you. I promise you, you haven’t lived until you’ve felt my multi-hexagonal penis all up inside you.” “That’s repulsive, Tony. I don’t want that thing anywhere near my person.” “Ooooh, here we go again, the old denial! Give it up, Saboo, I can see you’re aching for it!” Tony is right of course, and what’s the point of putting up a fight when he’s already naked in bed with this oversized ballbag? Saboo grits his teeth and picks up Tony, settling him on his stomach. “I wouldn’t say no to another lap dance,” he mumbles quietly, throwing a quick glance at Cindy, “but what about your wife?” Mrs Harrison appears to have partially regained consciousness, stretching languidly, but her eyes are still closed. “Our wife, you mean. She’ll join in when she’s ready, don’t worry your gorgeous little head about it,” Tony replies, licking his lips and slithering slowly down Saboo’s body. Saboo closes his eyes in anticipation, remembering the slick pulsating feeling of Harrison’s insides that time in the hotel room, but Tony seems to have something else in mind. He brushes his tentacles lightly against Saboo’s straining cock but circumvent it entirely, slowly inching his way down until he finds himself back on the bed, between Saboo’s legs. “What—That’s not what I—...” “Ooh, I know what you want, you slag. Maybe later. Right now there’s something else I want to do,” Tony says greedily, and suddenly there’s one tentacle wrapping around the base of Saboo’s cock, one gently lifting his balls and yet another sliding between his arse cheeks. Saboo jerks back, banging his head painfully against the headboard and dislodging his hat. “Woah there, Tony!” An alien bumming is not what he had in mind, but judging by the gleeful look in Tony’s eyes and the engorged state of his, er, member, that’s definitely what is going to happen unless Saboo reacts quickly. “Shit, Tony, I don’t...” “Hush, you great prude. Oh, I’ve been after your delicious pumpkin arse for years! Just lie back, relax, and let the H-man take control!” Saboo definitely means to grab Tony by his clefty bonce and toss him across the room; that is the order he sends to his muscles. But, somehow, he finds himself spreading his thighs a bit further to give Tony and his tentacles better access. “Ooh, that’s it, good man! Don’t fight it, my friend, you know you want it.” Thankfully, Cindy chooses this moment to rejoin the proceedings by crawling over the bed, sliding a hand in Saboo’s hair, and kissing him soundly on the mouth. This way he can focus on her plump lips and the feeling of her glorious breasts pressed against his ribs, and he can try to ignore Tony’s lecherous moans and gasps as he pushes one tentacle inside. It isn’t long before Saboo’s lost all sense of shame, whimpering and moaning wantonly as Cindy kisses her way down his body and Tony works his delightfully slick and wriggly tentacles. Saboo knows that Tony only has two or three tentacles at work down there, but it feels like a dozen, fluttering inside him, massaging his balls, running up and down along his shaft, rubbing against his perineum. It feels rather like the entire universe has migrated into his balls, and by the time he feels Tony’s freakishly shaped member pressing against him, he’s practically begging for it. “Shit off! You are driving me crazy, Saboo, you beautiful man. Oooh that’s it, feel my alien penis! Feel me all deep inside you!” Somewhere through the roar of pleasure, Saboo has the fleeting thought that even Kirk would be disgusted by what they are doing, but then Tony rams against his prostate and Cindy wraps her perfect lips around Saboo’s erection, and he stops thinking right away. They go at it several more times over the course of the night in various combinations and positions, like they’re posing for a fucked up version of the Kama Sutra, the Tentacle Edition. Right before he passes out from exhaustion, aching and sticky and still buzzing with pleasure, Saboo thinks that maybe he doesn’t mind this marriage so much after all. *** It’s late morning when Saboo wakes up, his legs tangled into manky sheets, crammed into a corner of the giant bed. He’s cold and uncomfortable, so he sits up and looks around blearily. The Harrisons are still sleeping; Cindy is lying on her side in the middle of the bed, her long luxurious blonde hair fanned artfully over her pillow, and she’s curled up around Tony, hugging him to her chest like he’s a particularly freakish stuffed toy. Tony’s face is wedged in between her breasts, and Saboo sleepily wonders how he can even breathe... but then, who knows how Tony breathes, or indeed if he needs oxygen at all? Before he can start thinking too much about Tony’s internal workings, Saboo extricates himself out of bed as quietly as he can to avoid waking the sleeping couple. He makes a quick grab for his discarded clothes, sticks his feathered cap back on, and tiptoes out of the room. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’s definitely going to sort this mess out.

#Tony Harrison/Saboo/Mrs.Harrison #the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #saboo #tony harrison #mrs.harrison #saboo/tony harrison #tony harrison/mrs.harrison

[aliciameade]

Baby - Ch. 5

Title: Baby Author: aliciameade Rating: *** M *** Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson Summary:  That tearful kiss shared between Stephanie and Emily wasn't their first—and it certainly wasn't their last.

(Chapter 1)

Also on AO3.

Stephanie knows she’s in over her head.

She knows it the minute she picks up the phone to call Miles’s grandmother to tell her Miles wants to spend the weekend with her when he has done no such thing. But that doesn’t make her a bad mother! Miles loves his grandmother. He doesn’t get to see her that often being as she lives a few hours away in Boston and she’s more than thrilled to have him visit. So is he.

(She knew she was in over her head the very first day Emily invited her into her home.)

She drives him up to Boston Friday after school—she notably did not see Emily at school—and they have dinner together before she returns to Warfield.

The entirety of her Friday evening is spent pampering herself with as many creams and lotions as she can find in her cabinets. She has a glass of red wine while she soaks in the bath. She exfoliates. She shaves. She moisturizes. She puts fresh linens on her bed and allows herself the luxury of sleeping nude knowing her son isn’t going to burst into her room in the middle of the night needing a hug after a bad dream.

She sleeps in. It’s well past 9:00 am when she finally glances at the clock and then she rolls over and lets herself sleep until 10:00 am.

She cooks breakfast for herself, eggs and bacon and fresh fruit all from the farmer’s market. She tidies up around the house. Makes sure her bed is made. Opens the windows to let the crisp fall breeze air out the place. She showers. Shaves. Moisturizes.

She spends an inordinate amount of time deciding which new lacy thong she should wear and ultimately decides to forego one altogether.

The one she stripped from Emily and kept lays in the drawer amongst her own. It’s inconspicuous; no one would know it doesn’t belong to Stephanie.

But she knows.

She does put on the new black lace bra she purchased specifically for today, though.

She hopes Emily likes it.

Her makeup is light but she has a little fun with her hair, parting it on the side instead of the middle; she doesn’t want to seem as though she’s trying too hard. This is just another Saturday. Laundry day. And she always wears coral-hued dresses that stop at mid-thigh when she’s home alone doing laundry.

When she closes the washing machine lid, she has to lean against it for a moment to slow her pulse. Just being in the laundry room arouses her now.

Once it’s past noon, she decides to make herself a real martini. She’d bought a set of high-end cocktail glasses a few days ago. She keeps them in the freezer next to the bottle of Aviation Gin she bought the same day. Vermouth. Gin. A nice big twist of lemon. She sits on the couch with her feet up as she sips it.

She puts on the playlist she’s spent a few days curating to play through the surround sound system. It’s mostly quiet jazz with as many 60s-sounding French songs as she could find online that reminded her of Emily’s house. She reads the newspaper, an actual, physical copy of the newspaper. It’s yesterday’s; she’d picked it up from Davis’s mother’s house, but she doesn’t mind.

She’s on her way back to the kitchen, mind pleasantly warm, to make a second martini when a shadow outside stops her in her tracks.

It passes the curtained window and comes to a stop in front of her door.

Stephanie holds her breath but nothing happens. No knock, no doorbell. The figure just stands there perfectly still.

It’s enough to make Stephanie shiver. She knows who it is. She has a feeling Emily saw her shadow, too, and is deliberately waiting.

So she sets her glass on the counter. Fluffs her hair. Spritzes a tiny bit of Dennis Nylon’s fragrance, Chastity, down her cleavage.

And she opens the door.

She prides herself in not falling flat on her face as she nearly did the last time Emily showed up at her front door. She’d had time to mentally prepare for today and she thinks she keeps her cool, though she doesn’t try to hide the way she can’t seem to get her eyes to move from Emily’s very bare chest.

Emily’s outdone herself this time. Truly. Her black slacks sit high on her waist and the white blazer she wears conceals her breasts—and that’s it. There is no shirt, no vest, at least not that Stephanie can see, between her body and her coat. It’s skin from her neck to her abdomen where the jacket’s single button closes it. Skin that still has the fading marks Stephanie made with her mouth a few days ago.

She finally manages to look up and feels the need to exhale. Emily is stunning as always. Picture perfect. Emily lifts her head, then, too, and Stephanie can feel her eyes rake over her until they’re staring at her from beneath the brim of a black fedora.

“You look beautiful.”

Stephanie has to blink a few times. That’s what she’d been about to say but Emily said it first. “So do you. Um, come in?” she says as she steps aside to let Emily pass.

She removes her hat once she’s inside and places it on the counter next to Stephanie’s empty glass. “Martinis already?” she says as she picks up the glass and twirls it. “Make me one?” It’s not a question so much as a demand.

“Of course, yeah,” Stephanie says as she closes and locks the front door. She has to approach Emily to retrieve her glass. It feels like gravity pulling her across the room until she’s in front of her to reach for the glass.

Only Emily holds it out of reach.

Stephanie’s about to protest when she feels Emily’s other hand land on her lower back to pull her in until Emily’s leaning down to kiss her.

She hears herself whimper the moment their lips touch and while she maybe should be ashamed by how obvious her desire is, she decides not to care. Emily is the one who’s come to her. The one who invites her in. Invites herself over. Kisses first.

The kiss is slow and Stephanie loops her arms around Emily’s neck. She feels Emily’s free arm wrap around her waist to pull her closer and Emily sighs when Stephanie glides her tongue through her mouth.

“How ‘bout that drink?” Emily says with a smile when they part.

“Yeah, just…” Stephanie says before pulling Emily down to kiss her again, still soft and slow, until she can convince herself to step away from Emily.

She leaves the glass with Emily, remembering she has three more in the freezer and feels Emily’s eyes on her as she places two on the counter to make the drinks.

“I taught you well,” Emily says with a smile as Stephanie tosses out the splashes of vermouth into the sink and pours the frozen gin.

“I like to think I’ve taught you a thing or two, too,” Stephanie says as she finishes with the twist and carries the drinks back to where Emily is waiting.

Emily takes up one of the drinks and gives it a little swirl. “And what have you taught me?”

“How to make a lonely, single mom come harder than any man ever could.” Stephanie taps her glass to Emily’s without waiting for a response. “Cheers.”

Emily’s drink remains untouched as she stares at Stephanie. It feels like an eternity before she sniffs a little in laughter and takes a drink. “You didn’t teach me that, baby.”

“Well, I’m not as smooth with words as you are and it’s the only sexy thing I could come up with on the spot,” Stephanie says with a wave of her hand as she takes another drink.

“You don’t have to try to be sexy, you know.” Emily won’t stop looking at her and it’s almost uncomfortable. “Is that true?” Emily says after another moment.

“Mm. Very.” Stephanie takes another sip, then laces her fingers with Emily’s to lead her through the house.

“Where are we going?”

“You said you wanted to see my bedroom.”

Stephanie expects to be flooded with memories every time she steps into her laundry room. She did not expect to be flooded with desire and anticipation the moment she stepped into her bedroom hand-in-hand with Emily. It makes her stop short and she hears Emily do the same a beat later. She doesn’t know what to say so she says nothing at all, not until she feels Emily’s lips on the bare skin of her left shoulder.

“So...this is it.”

She hears Emily chuckle in her ear before a tongue traces its edge. “This is cute,” Emily says as she breaks away and starts surveying the room as she did the kitchen last weekend. “Like you,” she adds with a wink that makes Stephanie hide her blush behind another sip. “Let’s see...the second drawer of your dresser.” She watches Emily stop in front of the piece of furniture and glance over her shoulder. “This dresser?”

She nods; she’s opened that drawer at least a dozen times to look at it, to remember what it felt like to have Emily inside her that way. She’d been tempted to use it on herself but she’s managed to wait, knowing Saturday—today—was only days away.

“This drawer?” Emily says unnecessarily as she pulls the drawer open. “Oh, my little Stephanie…” she says what seems to be to herself. “You do like to feel sexy.” She turns halfway with a handful of Stephanie’s new lingerie dangling from her fingers.

Stephanie half-expects her to just pocket them all but she drops them back into the drawer and reaches again. This time she closes it and returns, martini in her right hand, harness and toy in the left.

Stephanie finishes her drink and sets her glass on the vanity. She knows she’s staring at it too long by the way Emily shakes it to get her attention and she smiles shyly when she meets Emily’s gaze.

Emily finishes her drink, too, as she tosses the items onto the bed. She places her glass on the vanity with Stephanie’s and suddenly she’s close enough for Stephanie to reach out and touch again, but she refrains.

“House is pretty quiet. I like the music, though. You’re not going to Single White Female me, are you?”

“What? No!” Stephanie wishes could change the music but she’s left her phone in the living room. “I just like it, I would never -”

“Steph, chill,” Emily says with a laugh. “I’m kidding.”

Stephanie takes a breath. “Funny.”

“Is Miles here?” she asks as she steps out of her heels. She still towers over Stephanie by several inches but it’s not as severe now.

“Spending the weekend with his grandmother.”

“Oh?”

Stephanie fidgets for a second until she finds her resolve. “I want you to spend the night. And I don’t want us to worry about waking up our kids.”

“You think I want to spend the night?” Emily asks.

Stephanie can see try she’s trying to be cold, but her eyes haven’t left Stephanie’s cleavage since she put down her glass so Stephanie reaches for her hand. She guides it under her dress, between her legs, higher and higher until she’s pressing Emily’s fingers against her body. The way Emily’s eyes darken betray any attempts at rebuffing Stephanie’s boldness.

“I know you do,” Stephanie breathes as she controls how and where Emily’s fingers touch. “And I want to hear you moan my name.”

She feels Emily come alive at that. Fingers slip into her and an arm wraps around her waist. “No underwear?”

“Didn’t want to slow you down,” Stephanie says, voice a little weak as Emily starts fucking her, right there standing in the middle of her bedroom.

“You’re so wet already.” Emily takes a step forward and it forces Stephanie to take a step back. Closer to the bed.

“Have been since I woke up knowing I’d see you today.” Stephanie keeps stepping backward until she feels the bed behind her.

“You want me that bad, baby?” Emily says with a smirk down at her. She feels fingers playing with the zipper on the back of her dress.

“I’ve never wanted anyone more.” She gasps as Emily’s fingers curl inside her. She thinks she might come, still dressed, still standing, if Emily keeps doing that. She reaches for the button on Emily’s blazer and unbuttons it. Stephanie’s hands move right to her bare breasts, covering them both, then leaning in to capture one in her mouth. She hears Emily’s breathing change and it spurs her on. She unbuttons her pants with her free hand, nipple between her teeth as she shoves them off Emily’s hips to the floor. Her hand roams over the cool flesh of her ass to her waist where she grabs the thong to pull it down one-handed as far as she can reach.

She has Emily undressed in less than a minute.

“Put it on,” she says after letting the nipple slip from her teeth.

“Bossy,” Emily says as she shucks her blazer and kicks her pants aside. She reclaims her hand, then, and Stephanie holds back the groan of loss as she watches Emily suck her off her fingers and strip off her thong before she reaches for the harness to step into it. She slips the toy into place next. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Stephanie dumbly asks before thinking. Then she moves. She turns and climbs onto her bed on her hands and knees and waits there.

She feels Emily following her. “Oh, really?” Hands land on her hips and she has to drop her head; she feels dizzy. “My innocent little Steph isn’t so innocent.”

“You can’t be surprised,” Stephanie manages to tease. “Not after everything.”

“I’m not.” Those hands flip her skirt up and then they’re on her ass, petting her, taking turns slipping between her legs and through all the wetness there, over and over until she’s ready to beg.

But she doesn’t have to.

She feels Emily pressing into her. Slowly. Steady. Completely.

That’s when she finally lets herself moan for the first time. It’s loud and she doesn’t care. She widens her stance a little and presses back, trying to take her even deeper.

“Oh, you sound good, baby,” Emily says and she sounds good, too. Her voice is like velvet and her hands feel like it, too, as they glide over Stephanie’s skin.

She’d intentionally kept her dress on; she wanted to feel like a naughty mistress being taken hard and fast. The only thing, though, is that while Emily is taking her, she’s not taking her hard, nor fast, and all Stephanie wants is to feel her hands on every inch of her body and too much of it is covered.

“Take my dress off,” she breathes before Emily’s even pulled back to thrust in the first true time.

“Little late for that,” Emily replies, though Stephanie feels hands on the zipper again, this time drawing it down all the way. The dress gets pushed up, next, and Stephanie grabs it with one hand to pull it over her head and toss it to the floor.

Emily’s hands feel like they’re petting her as they stroke down her back, between her shoulder blades, once, twice, a third time until they come to rest on her hips. She’s slow. She’s so agonizingly slow every time she pulls back and presses forward that it makes Stephanie groan in frustration as much as it makes her moan in pleasure.

“Faster,” she says through a moan.

“Mm, no, I don’t think so.”

The reply is almost infuriating and Stephanie lifts her head to look over her shoulder. Emily’s smiling at her, as serene as could be while she fucks Stephanie slowly. “Why not?”

“You said I make you come harder than anyone. Don’t question my methods.” Emily says it with a wink and such a genuine smile that it makes Stephanie groan again and give in to however Emily wants to take her. She grabs a pillow and lowers herself to her elbows to rest her head and close her eyes.

Emily’s pace is so steady that it’s maddening. Stephanie thinks she could truly be driven insane with the need for release that she is nowhere near achieving. Every thrust feels like the first, never picking up speed or pushing harder. Giving her a taste but never the meal.

She groans in frustration and tries to speed things up herself, rocking back and forth quickly, only for Emily to tsk at her and move with her instead of against her to negate her efforts.

“Emily…” she says with a whine into the pillow.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“You’re killing me.”

She hears Emily chuckle. “No, I’m fucking you.”

Stephanie flips her middle finger at her. “And killing me. Just—just—”

“Just what?”

“Go faster. Please?”

“Since you asked me nicely…”

She groans when she feels Emily finally, finally begin to speed up. She almost bites the pillow to muffle it but remembers she doesn’t have to. Instead, she lets the sounds spill from her lips freely hoping they spur Emily on, begging without words.

And then she feels Emily pull out.

“No, why -” A hand to her back keeps her in place when she tries to sit up in protest.

“I said don’t question my methods.”

Emily’s slipping back into her a moment later, this time feeling cool and extra slick and the recognition of what it is, that Emily stopped to supplement Stephanie’s own arousal, makes Stephanie reach a hand out to brace against the headboard.

She holds her breath.

And Emily pulls back and thrusts into her.

Again.

And again.

Faster and harder until Stephanie can’t do anything but moan and try to keep her soul from leaving her body.

It does, though. It leaves her the second Emily grinds her fingertips into Stephanie’s clit.

She can’t breathe and she thinks she might die as every muscle in her body tenses. Coils. Prepares.

“You’re so beautiful when come, baby,” Emily pants behind her. “Come for me.”

She does.

Her eyes tear and the fire that’s been burning for so long engulfs her. She can hear herself; she would be embarrassed by it if she didn’t know how much Emily liked hearing her. She feels the tickle of hair brushing her arms, lips on her neck, breasts against her back as Emily holds her, buried deep, fingers still but pressing firmly, as she comes.

“Oh, my God,” she says with a sob when she finally can.

Emily’s still kissing her—her neck, her shoulders, her back. Fingernails trace her skin leaving goosebumps in their wake across her back. “Should I stop?”

“No,” she whines but gasps when Emily starts thrusting again. “Yes, I mean. I can’t...stop. But...don’t.” She knows she’s not making sense but Emily stops and she feels her slip from her body. That’s when Stephanie’s body finally gives out and she falls flat to the bed.

She feels Emily move with her, still over her body but the harness is gone and Stephanie revels in the sensation of every curve fitting over her own so perfectly. She hums as Emily’s hands trace down her arms to pull them out from under the pillow and intertwine with Stephanie’s.

They’re both still, then. Stephanie gathering herself. Emily lying over her, holding her hands, until Emily breaks the silence. “Turn over,” she whispers into Stephanie’s ear as she moves onto her hands and knees to give Stephanie the space to do so.

Her limbs are slow to listen but she gets herself turned onto her back and opens her eyes.

She’s grateful she’s lying down when she does because seeing Emily, disheveled hair, face flushed, and smiling at her would be enough to make her knees weak. Instead of collapsing, she can smile back.

“You don’t want me to stop?” Emily says, still smiling as she settles over Stephanie again, this time lying next to her with a leg thrown casually over one of Stephanie’s. She uses it to pull a little and spread her legs.

“Like I could ever tell you ‘no’?”

Stephanie thinks that response is a little too daring, too honest. If Emily considers it as such, she doesn’t make it known. Instead, she brings their lips together and Stephanie feels her fingers tracing lines down her chest, circling the nipples prominent under the thin lace of her bra, down her stomach until they’re framing her clit. They close against it and pull gently and it makes Stephanie’s hips lift and she forgets how to breathe.

Emily’s kiss disappears just when Stephanie’s growing desperate for air. It disappears because Emily’s mouth is on her neck and making its way lower until it’s sucking on her nipple, through the bra that might as well not exist for how good it feels. It moves lower still, to her stomach, and Stephanie parts her legs and watches Emily settle between them. They hold each other’s gaze as Emily’s tongue draws through Stephanie’s wetness.

She groans at the sight and the sensation and she can see the effect it has on Emily. Her eyelashes flutter and her lips close over swollen, sensitive flesh to gently suck and Stephanie’s head falls back.

She doesn’t even try to reach down and grab Emily’s hair.

She doesn’t have the strength after what she just went through.

Instead, she feels. And she listens to her own moans. To Emily’s that come in response. To the indecent wet sounds of Emily’s mouth on her working her up again, coaxing her toward another orgasm that Stephanie so desperately wants to give her.

At the sensation of Emily’s tongue sliding into her, she finds release again. The moans she hears aren’t hers and it thrills her to know how much Emily enjoys this. How much she must like how it feels as Stephanie clenches around her tongue. Pulls it in. Comes on it.

She squeezes it again, purposefully this time, once it’s passed when she senses Emily about to pull back.

The groan of satisfaction that follows confirms her guess and she relaxes. She feels Emily not stopping, though not really working to start anything new. She’s lapping at her. Teasing a little. She feels her cheek rest on her thigh as her tongue continues to play with her, and Stephanie thinks she could fall asleep from how relaxing it is.

Except it’s the exact opposite of relaxing.

Emily Nelson licking her is anything but relaxing.

She sits up a little to watch it again, how she’s in no hurry, has no apparent plan or pattern or intent to move things along. How content she is to be there, making Stephanie feel good. Apparently oblivious that she’s even being watched, so Stephanie bounces her hips a little.

“Excuse you, I’m busy,” Emily says with a glance before going back to her task.

“It’s my turn.”

“I’m giving you your turn.” Emily’s particularly firm with her tongue and Stephanie’s too sensitive for it; it makes her hiss and she reaches to push her away but ends up grabbing her hair and pulling her away. “Oh. I see.”

It takes a second for her to realize what she’s done. How she’s pulled Emily’s hair, how she still is, holding it tightly so she can’t move. It’s a rush of sexual power just like the moment Emily had submitted to her and her belt.

She gives her a little shake. “I said, it’s my turn.”

She watches Emily’s jaw drop at her tone and then it snaps shut. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m open to suggestions.” She smiles at Emily and releases her and they both sit up. Stephanie finally sheds her bra as they seem to size one another up, though Stephanie knows she has been given the upper hand now. “I might not grant your request, but I may consider it. What do you want?”

“I want…” Emily’s eyes flit about the room as though she’s looking for something, but they land on Stephanie and they seem softer. “I want you.”

Stephanie smiles at her and sits up on her knees like Emily is to bring them eye to eye. She frames her face gently, thumb tracing her cheekbone. “I’m right here.”

“I don’t want you to fuck me.”

The answer takes her aback a little and she hopes it doesn’t show. As much as she wanted Emily to fuck her senseless tonight, she’d wanted to do the same. “That’s okay, we don’t have to do -”

“No,” Emily interrupts. She takes Stephanie’s hand, the one not touching her face, and starts guiding it between her legs. She’s so wet it takes Stephanie’s breath away. “I don’t want you to fuck me. I want you...to make love to me. Like last time.”

If she hadn’t just forgotten how to breathe, that would have done it for her. She knows she’s in over her head and Emily isn’t making it any easier.

She nods and leans in to kiss Emily gently. She’s soft with her touch, too, when Emily’s hand falls away to allow Stephanie to continue on her own. She focuses more on the kiss than anything, slow and deep and she feels Emily sigh into it.

She’s slow with her fingers, too. They caress and tease and Emily’s so wet she uses three fingers instead of two and Emily’s hands slide through her hair to hold her there, or hold on, as they kiss. As Stephanie touches her slowly.

She doesn’t know Emily’s even close until she’s gasping against her lips and shuddering in her arms.

“Oh, Em,” she whispers as she holds her until she’s still. The moment is dangerous. The silence between them is dangerous and begs to be filled with dangerous words of affection and Stephanie kisses her to prevent that.

Emily shakes her head and starts kissing her back harder. More passionately. More deeply until Emily’s pulling Stephanie down to lay with her.

She feels Emily’s hands roaming her body, grabbing and scratching and it feels needy. It makes Stephanie feel possessed. It makes her hips rock against the lithe body beneath her and she feels Emily’s lift in response. There’s a moan against her lips and it makes Stephanie rock into her more quickly and suddenly they’re on a track again.

That is until Emily catches her hips with her hands and stops her.

“What? What’s wrong?” Stephanie asks, already breathless.

Emily shakes her head and brings her down with a hand to her neck to kiss her again, hard and deep. She feels Emily’s other hand leave her hip and she can tell she’s moving, reaching without looking, and when their kiss breaks, Emily’s smirking at her.

“Now what?” Stephanie says, body on full high alert.

The ting of metal and hush of leather get her attention and she looks to her right to see the harness in Emily’s hand.

“Oh.”

“You still think you can fuck me better than Sean?”

Stephanie feels her heart stop. “I mean…”

“Show me.”

Chapter 6

#murder moms #asf fic #a simple favor #fanfic #here we go again...

[mst3kproject]

812: The Incredibly Strange Creatures who Stopped Living and became Mixed-Up Zombies

Okay, first off, fuck that title.  You know how I write out the full title of Attack of the The Eye Creatures every time I refer to it, out of sheer spite?  I'm going to do the opposite here.  I'm not even going to type out the full acronym. From here on, this movie is known simply as Mixed-Up Zombies, which would be a perfectly good title for a movie made by somebody better at movies than Ray Dennis Steckler.  Apparently the title he originally wanted was even longer, being a riff on the full title of Dr. Strangelove. You can google if you want to know what it was, because I'm not typing that either.

The posters bill MUZ as the First Monster Musical, which is a big fat lie.  I'm pretty sure that to qualify as a musical, a movie has to include more than one song-and-dance number that helps to tell the story, in situations where no sane person would be singing and dancing in real life. Horror of Party Beach (which billed itself as the First Horror Monster Musical) is also not a musical, because its songs have nothing to do with the plot and are all performed by the Del-Aires, who are presumably getting paid for it.  I Accuse my Parents is closer to being a musical, because the songs do express the status of the relationship between Kitty and Jimmy – but it's still not quite there, because Kitty only sings as part of her job.  Mary Poppins is a musical.  Singing in the Rain is a musical.  Fucking Jeeves is a musical.  MUZ is not.

The actual plot of MUZ is somewhat mysterious.  I can tell you that this is the movie where Alex the Chimp's creepy robot double wants us to get our tickets here! and the episode in which Mike and the bots keep making transvestite jokes that really didn't need to be made, but I'm not entirely sure what's actually going on in the story. I guess there are these two carnival performers: Carmelita is an exotic dancer luring men into the clutches of her sister Estrella, who turns them into zombie slaves and sends them out to kill people. Why the two of them do this I have no idea.  Possibly it has something to do with Estrella seeing the deaths in her tarot cards.  If her predictions won't come true on their own, then damn it, she'll make them come true!

This rather vague story is told to us through a character named Jerry, played by writer/director Steckler.  He bills himself as Cash Flagg, which is only slightly less stupid of a stage name than Touch Connors. Jerry can't touch Watney Smith on the Hate-O-Meter but he still scores a solid eight out of ten – he's a rat-faced, lecherous man-child who refuses to work because “life is meant to be enjoyed”.  I imagine this is what Steckler himself would say whenever his parents asked him when he was going to stop making terrible movies and get a real job.  Jerry takes his rich girlfriend Angie to the carnival and then ditches her in order to watch Carmelita's strip show.  I think we're supposed to believe that Carmelita hypnotized him into it but nothing in his prior behaviour suggests that this isn't something he would have done anyway.  Under Estrella's mind control, he murders a couple of dancers and then almost kills Angie when she obnoxiously twirls her umbrella at him.  In the end he is unceremoniously shot by the police, who do that a lot in these movies.

One thing that is unavoidably noticeable in MUZ is that somebody, possibly the costume designer and possibly Steckler himself, has a thing about female body hair.  We never see any actual body hair in the movie (even on the men), but the female dancers wear costumes that almost seem designed to make up for the lack!  Marge the dancer's outfit consists mainly of black mesh with a few opaque patches where something naughty might show, and the bit that covers her crotch is a black inverted triangle that looks much more like pubes than it does lingerie.  I thought this might be my own pervy imagination, but then we see the lead dancer at the girlie show.  She also has a black triangle on her groin, with a feathery top to it that makes it look like her pubes come up past her belly button, plus she's wearing that feathery thing around her shoulders that often looks much like armpit hair.  I don't know what to make of this. It's really weird.

Another thing that draws the attention is how tediously uninspired the nightclub scenes are. These, as Tom Servo observed, make up a significant portion of the movie, but they're just not very interesting to watch.  The comedian has the same repertoire as your divorced uncle at Thanksgiving dinner.  Marge and her partner look like they're at their first ballroom dance class and are doing their best to follow the teacher but have no idea what's going on.  The girlie shows Jerry attend consist mostly of dancers walking in circles or doing very limited steps in place, and singers who just stand there.  It's like we're watching video of a junior high talent show.  It's hard to say who's at fault for this... the direction certainly isn't very interesting, but neither is the lighting or the choreography, and the performers are okay-ish at best.  I think we're just looking at a paucity of talent across all fronts.

The various nightclub acts are irrelevant, anyway.  They're nothing but filler, and the movie uses filler to try to distract us from the fact that we never have any idea why these things are happening.  What is it that Estrella and Carmelita are trying to accomplish through their seduce-and-zombify routine? We don't know, because the two of them never talk to each other.  The sisters ought to have some kind of symbiotic relationship.  Carmelita brings Estrella gullible men to make into zombies, and we'd assume that this must also benefit Carmelita in some way – but how?  Is Estrella eliminating competition by killing other dancers who might rise into Carmelita's starring role?  If so then Marge, who is a drunk on the verge of losing her job anyway, was not the best victim to illustrate that.  If the two of them have some kind of larger plan, like world domination (or at least carnival domination), then we never see any hint of it.

The movie would honestly have been way more interesting if it had actually been about whatever the sisters' evil plan is, but instead, it's about fucking Jerry. I think Jerry's story is supposed to be a tragedy, in that Estrella and Carmelita take this happy young man and completely destroy him, but it's impossible to make that work when Jerry really doesn't start off with anything to lose.  He has no job, no ambition, no hobbies... he seems to live as a leech on the ass of his pompadoured, foreigny friend Harold, and his idea of a good time is watching bargain-rate strippers.  There are probably plenty of real people much like him, but they're not the people the average movie-goer likes or admires. A tragic hero is a man who loses everything, but Jerry never had anything except for his romance with Angela, and he ruined that all by himself.

Jerry is not only a singularly un-likeable character, he's not even any fun to hate.  The rednecks in Giant Spider Invasion were so absolutely awful that it was a good time just watching them scream and get eaten.  Jerry is too bland for that, even at his worst.  We fundamentally do not care what happens to this asshole, and as a result, his story is not at all compelling.

As dull and unfocused as the movie is, I think it might have an intentional theme.  Recall that Jerry doesn't want to get a job – he's a free spirit who wants to do his own thing and enjoy himself.  You occasionally hear self-proclaimed free spirits refer to those of us with real jobs as 'zombies'.  Maybe this is a story about Jerry finally having to bow to capitalism, which ultimately destroys him.  The scene about Jerry's joblessness and the fact that the movie bothers to contrast the semi-squalor in which he lives with Angela's wealthy family is just enough to make me think Steckler could have had some kind of economic point to make.  If so, the metaphor is not sufficiently well-developed to really say anything, and we aren't interested enough in Jerry to care in any event.

A lot of MSTies think this movie visually resembles Manos: the Hands of Fate. The two films do share a lack of decent lighting, a warm late 60's/early 70's pallet, and a general 'somebody's last known photograph' feel.  But while Manos' cinematographer was a guy named Robert Guidry who had never done the job before and never did it again, MUZ was shot by fucking Vilmos Zsigmond. You've never heard of him, but only because nobody knows the names of cinematographers – him doing MUZ is kind of the equivalent of finding out Hans Zimmer wrote the Haunting Torgo Theme.  Fifteen years after MUZ, Zsigmond won an Oscar for cinematography on Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and he went on to be nominated three more times, for The Deer Hunter, The River, and The Black Dahlia.

Ray Dennis Steckler also kept making movies, but his have titles like The Thrill Killers and The Sexorcist. Unsurprisingly, these have been nominated for zero Oscars and are too obscure even for the Razzies.  I'll see if I can find a couple of them for Episodes that Never Were.

#mst3k #reviews #the incredibly strange creatures who stopped living and became mixed-up zombies #all carnival no magic #60s #everybody do the zombie stomp

[nikki-reuclife]

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Tips For Choosing Your Prom Gown

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Most good photographers can have their unique website and also this is undoubtedly a good starting point your research. If the website may be optimised correctly, you ought to be capable of start building up a photo (pun intended) with the form of work they produce. There should be galleries you are able to read through which galleries might be sectioned into photography types, including weddings, portraits and possibly other special occasions too. Before you select the perfect piece of jewelry on your big day, become aware of several points in the checklist. First and foremost, wedding ceremony jewelry piece that you select must fit and gracefully complement your wedding reception dress. The color, design, metal and pattern from the piece ought to be in a way that it accentuates the facial structure, and lends it a perfect petite look. With a wide range of wedding jewelry on the market today, it gets rather taxing selecting the ideal piece to your big day. Do not get baffled with all the possibilities open in the market. Select a piece that complements your style, your dress, your hairstyle and above all your personality. When it comes to the catering aspect, you and your partner will need to taste the meals yourselves to be able to finalize the menu, but all details conducive approximately that food-tasting session can be remedied from the organizer. Keep in mind that there's just one thing that matters most to your guests, which would be the meals and drinks at your reception and the way they are served. So, ensure that you instruct your organizer to acquire this detail right by finding the right caterers which can be seen to serve the type of food you think that your main guests will cherish.

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff - Some brides get caught up inside small specifics of the wedding ceremony. Remember that some decisions seriously don't matter that much. Don't dwell on the small details and keep in your mind the important points which can be most critical. As the bride you have to be in a position to let a few of the decisions go and concern yourself with small things.

[pipbabi]

Whitsundays wedding packages

Whitsundays wedding packages understands all occasions are “special” we listens to your inspiration and necessities, provide advice and ideas on how to realize, then a package deal value can be determined. My service additionally consists of fixed discussions and advice once booking date has been confirmed making certain all points and expectations are met. Uncover AUSTRALIA is the package deal specialist, enabling your total journey to be booked in one single online booking. Experience all of the romance, tranquillity and adventure of an award-successful tropical paradise and one of the world’s most fascinating non-public island and honeymoon locations. Bringing true cinema quality and expertise to your wedding. A advice by Vacation Canvas, Emirates One&Solely Wolgan Valley is a conservation-based mostly retreat, that combines absolute luxury and seclusion with a quintessentially Australian bush experience. Hamilton Island’s Common Supervisor of selling, Denny-Lyn Dixon mentioned, ‘Hamilton Island is an iconic Australian holiday vacation spot and in addition an ideal location to get married.

Airlie Seashore is the ideal location to host your vacation spot wedding ceremony with a huge number of accommodation options, restaurants, activities and a cosmopolitan resort atmosphere. Now we have hundreds of venues that you would be able to select from, including all the things from a formal wedding reception venue to a vacation spot wedding venue. Wedding ceremony Goals - It could be the dream of the bride or groom to have a traditional marriage ceremony and perhaps one would sacrifice this for the opposite. Along with the components talked about above, you should also consider the theme of your marriage ceremony. Unfortunately, although wedding suppliers might truthfully wish they could, they can’t learn your mind. Sundowner also offers Hens and Bucks parties for marriage ceremony couples who wish to also host these pre wedding ceremony activities within the Whitsundays instead of in their residence town. Some couples stretch the celebrations out for a week - and where higher to spend your ‘wedding week’ than the great Whitsundays? Hamilton Island: as you might expect, Hamilton Island is one among the primary selections for a lot of couples planning their wedding ceremony due to the extensive collection of beautiful settings obtainable for the ceremony and the benefit of getting every part organized.

So it’s probably not a matter of what choices are available to you, however rather, what you truly want to your wedding day—there aren't any limitations! Some packages even embrace cocktails or any of the dining choices available at the Twelve Apostles Hotel. With a variety of provisioning options to select from, courtesy of our provisioning service, it's our pleasure to wine and dine you whilst you calm down and take in our region’s famously turquoise waters and island vistas. There is a deal for everybody with a large range of Queensland journey offers to choose from. You can chopper over with just the 2 of you, or Heli Taxi will take their whole fleet to the skies to transfer 17 passengers without delay till your entire visitor listing is barefoot on the beach. Opt to marry on Boathaven Seashore or take a fast scenic flight over to Whitehaven Seaside and return to have fun in type with up to a hundred and twenty of your nearest and dearest.

Having serviced effectively over 5000 occasions now, we have seen it all when it comes to props (and we do mean all of it). I've been a photographer for a few years, as a member of the AIPP, I photograph weddings in the Sunshine Coast, Brisbane, Gold Coast & Toowoomba. What do you assume are the upcoming tendencies for 2014/2015 weddings? Tickets are promoting quick for our Brisbane wedding honest which is only some short weeks away now! Ocean front wedding chapel, wedding celebrant, marriage certificate. Whether or not it’s a backdrop of azure blue water you’re dreaming of, an elegant island wedding chapel, coral beaches, or grassy knolls with a tropical island setting, Daydream Island has you covered. Daydream Island gives a number of reception packages, locations and dining styles. We've two separate pool areas with BBQ’s and lounges and tables & chairs for al fresco dining. As a trained Intimo Lingerie Bra whitsundays wedding package prices Fitter & Stylist I've my own unbiased enterprise & come to your house for personal, professional & exceptional service.

For these wishing to take pleasure in a romantic keep, make sure you e book into the Coral Sea Suites, which, as the title suggests, sit proper on the sting of the Coral Sea and are available full with balcony spas and hammocks. In addition to be taught one thing new about Pinup…if you come away with a gorgeous cheeky pose that's individually you I’ve executed my job! I loved the time I had with Sam, the stylist, she did a tremendous job and made me really feel so relaxed. As a video production firm, we're used to creating films for our purchasers which can be partaking and inform their stories. I imagine that you need to create a relationship/reference to shoppers in order to produce nice shots. Day 2 - you might be collected from Toscana Village Resort and taken to the Whitsunday airport to board your airplane for an amazing aerial view of the Whitsunday islands and Barrier Reef out to see the iconic Heart Reef. Show the youngsters how hot you might be with a ball in the alley on Hamilton Islands personal 9 Pin Bowling Alley or the mini golf course or get the adrenaline pumping on a jet boat! Perhaps you’re hungry for the simplicity of cocktails and nibbles, craving a seafood buffet, got a taste for a traditional spit roast barbecue or possibly you’re ready to go all out with a sumptuous ‘no expense spared’ formal dinner. Getting Married At Gretna Green: Five Must-Dos To Ensure A Great Wedding In A Romantic Location Once you have finalized the date for the wedding you'll need to get busy making the larger number of preparations that will make your mood very special. The wedding music you choose features a essential role to experience on this day given it really helps to welcome you and your guests and set up a festive atmosphere. In fact, if you don't play music at appropriate points in the wedding after that your big event will have a really strange feel with it. It is therefore best that you pay awareness of this subject on the very outset. Just as 25 years' marriage became related to silver via a medieval German tradition of presenting the wife having a silver wreath, the 50th was marked with the presentation of a gold wreath. Gold, while like a soft, malleable metal, can also be long-lasting. It doesn't go rusty or oxidize in mid-air, and it is one of several least reactive with the metallic elements. This sense of permanence plus an unchanging nature is the reason it's traditionally used in engagement rings, to symbolize an eternal union. Silver anniversaries at twenty five years may be marked using a renewal of vows, a substantial party to see relatives and friends, a second honeymoon or holiday of your life, or indeed all of the above. The same goes for your golden wedding. However, by this time inside a couples' life they will often likewise have everything they already want or need. Gifts, therefore, are more of a challenge.

Sometimes you can not begin to see the band live. I would claim that greater than 50% of our clients have NOT been able to start to see the band they hire in person. Don't worry if you can't. There are other ways. See if they have any LIVE videos. It is challenging to fake a great performance on tape. Also, require references and refer to them as. A good band should submit the references using their quote if they have absolutely nothing to hide. Ask your wedding reception planner, she knows who the great bands are.

Do plan for winter weddings. Winter could be a romantic season for weddings and not so when you are not prepared for the cold and losing daylight around past 3 inside the afternoon. So ensure that you bring enough jackets and blankets (for shooting outdoors) and schedule your ceremony at the same time that leaves you sufficient daylight.

[mastcomm]

What Do You Wear to the End of Days?

LONDON — In 1139 Archbishop Malachy of Armagh supposedly had a vision of the future that became known as the “prophesy of popes.” In it, the Irish saint predicted the names of 112 pontiffs who would rule until the end of days. Though it was later shown to be a 16th-century forgery, the second to last pope on the list was Benedict, which has suggested to some in the Roman Catholic world that the final pope could be the current pope, and the apocalypse is nigh.

Actually, not just the Catholic world but, apparently, the fashion world, too.

Over the weekend, Simone Rocha put the idea front and center on a dress. It was lovely — royal purple splashed with a gold scripted rendering of the saint’s name, draped in swathes of black satin — and it was sandwiched between piles of baptismal lace and tulle; watery fisherman knits and oyster satin slithers; elaborately embroidered cross-topped sacred hearts: the semiology of prayer, loss and rebirth. And it was not happenstance.

Brexit has finally been approved. Storm Dennis, officially classified as a “weather bomb,” was lashing Britain as the shows began, flooding roads and wreaking havoc. A designer here could be forgiven for thinking it’s the end of days. It’s definitely the end of something. The issue for everyone is what comes next.

“Of course I’m worried,” said Molly Goddard after her show of tulle extravaganzas mixed with chunky Fair Isle knits and nerdy-cool tailoring that was an ode to her youth in the late 1990s around London’s Portobello Market. “I’m worried about the people in my factories, most of whom aren’t English, even though the factories are nearby.”

That’s to be expected. As was the existential questioning of identity that was an underlying current in so many of the clothes here: What does it mean to be British? What content do these symbols we put on our backs contain any more?

What was less predictable was where such thinking led some designers: not to the depths of despair, but somewhere else entirely. To a world after doomsday. To renewal, and reinvention.

Could cynicism be out of fashion? What an idea.

Identity and Its Discontents

But first, there was a lot of black. A lot of big, swaddling volumes. A lot of covert messaging and a lot of wrestling — some good, some weighed down with angst — with the past. For some: a lot of royal sleevage. For others: argyle, houndstooth, tweed.

Victoria Beckham belted her curving black sheaths and neatly tailored culotte-suits with hands-across-the-hips silver and cut diamond-shaped holes into her sweater vests like a remembrance of things lost. Emilia Wickstead offered big puffed sleeves and even bigger skirts; Roksanda, a safe space of billowing, shimmering drapes of many colors and chunky, patchwork-nation knits.

At Burberry, the chief creative officer, Riccardo Tisci, named his collection “Memories:” of the brand itself, but also of London, when he was a fashion student, living in the Bethnal Green neighborhood, and of his trips to India, where he started his own label; of the melting pot of the capital and the designer mind. That meant — checks! And trench coats! Lots of them with feathers and faux furs, deconstructed into parts and twisted into sari-like assemblages; mixed and matched and also madras for men and women; leopard and contrasting linings thrown in.

Also the occasional big star plastered on the front of a shirt, and a festival’s worth of rugby stripes in cinnamon and turmeric, as if for a game of Quidditch in Mumbai. Also some go-go silver fringe, for evening. Also a lot of green (afterward Burberry announced the show had been certified carbon neutral and that it was creating what it called “a regeneration fund” to support carbon insetting in its supply chain).

If that sounds like it is skating across the surface — not the environmental initiatives, which are laudable, but the fashion interpretations of the national totems — that’s also how it looked: polished, easy to wear, but lacking depth and soul. Which is odd, because Mr. Tisci is nothing if not an emotional designer, and it often takes an outsider (he’s Italian) to really grapple with a country’s imagery. It’s as if he is deliberately denaturing himself to appeal to as many people as possible; going not with his gut, but with his market research.

Of Risk and Reward

In any case, it still made more sense than Tommy Hilfiger’s #TommyNow celebration of Americana, inclusivity and his celebrity connections in stars, stripes, anchors aweigh, neon and slogans — “Just Rise;” “Still Human;” “Loyalty” — via collaborations with the singer H.E.R. and the Formula One star Lewis Hamilton. The effect was of a semi-party in a place that isn’t really in the mood to party any more (and that has increasingly mixed feelings about the “special relationship” between itself and its former colony anyway). The message was meaningful, but the medium confused.

Mr. Hilfiger has never been a thinking person’s designer. That is absolutely fine; not all clothes need a philosophical grounding (that would be exhausting). But a little sensitivity to context and timing is no bad thing.

British fashion — London fashion — has always had an identity more rooted in risk-taking creativity than in page-view calculation and hashtags.

In the willingness, for example, of Hussein Chalayan to not just double down on the idea of a suit and turn a pair of trousers into a cardigan for his Chalayan show, so the legs wrap the shoulders and the hips shadow the back, but to dare to write and sing his own songs, live, as an accompaniment (that’s putting yourself out there). In the explosive romance of Richard Quinn’s Buckingham Palace-size florals and empire drapes; the pointed extravagance of his nod to Pearly Kings and Queens, the cockney performers with mother-of-pearl studded costumes. In a sense of history, and the gumption to turn it on its head.

Historical Revisionism

Which is why it was so striking to see the connections between the 1920s and the 2020s being drawn at Erdem, with his Cecil Beaton-inspired checkerboards and bias frills; his Erté feathers and lamé Wedgewood-print puffers; his flapper dresses dripping loops of pearls. At Christopher Kane, where things took a turn for the sexually subversive (he called his show “Naturotica’) in more Art Deco geometries. Meant, apparently, to reference the love triangle of Adam, Eve and the serpent, and followed by lacy lingerie slips, strait-laced shirt dresses with sheer mesh tops and chain mail apple-red skirts slit to mid-hip on either side.

And at JW Anderson, where in a terrific collection Jonathan Anderson reached across the century to mix the classic with the couture with the sci-fi to create something viscerally, elegantly modern.

“I was thinking about that moment in the ’20s when everything resurged and rebounded,” he said backstage after the show, which he dubbed “nouveau chic.”

So he took heritage swing coats in camel and wool and blew them up to “optimistic volumes,” adding giant swaddling leather collars; crushed fantasy beer-can-print lamé into shift dresses; crafted sleeveless metallic bubble gowns out of fringed metallic knits to mimic a very glamorous Snuffleupagus; and topped the shoulders of flowing flannel capes, curvaceous tweed coats and silver screen siren gowns with fronds of pearly cellophane that wafted gently in the wind.

It is possible, of course, to question whether the 1920s — the years between the wars — is actually the best harbinger for fashion to embrace. They may have represented a great creative flowering, a burst of energy and social revolution, but they did not exactly end well. On the other hand, you can’t argue with the fact that if, indeed, the four horsemen are coming, at least this way we can greet them with aplomb.

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#Life style

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Low-priced Air travel Travel Tips.

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[naturaldisasterfanfiction]

4.

Stretching my body out sighing out, that was a nice stretch. Looking up to the ceiling smiling to myself, since I have had my scan, found out I am seven weeks which was a week ago so now I am eight weeks. I have heard the heartbeat and I feel the connection, I feel I have someone with me through this journey even though I am alone in a way, but I am not, I have baby Fenty with me. Pushing the covers off of me and getting up out of bed, my smile grew seeing my scan picture. I rest it up on the side table so I can look at it and fall asleep with my baby scan facing me, I am incredibly happy now. I have accepted it and it’s the best thing that has happened to me, I am literally on a high right now but slightly tired. We came to California, arrived last night. I am getting the Humanitarian of the Year award with BET, I could have sent a video, but I just said I will just come here and get the award, then I can go New York, see my workers. Get some work done in New York and then my photoshoot for the promo, do my promo video shoot for Fenty Beauty and then go to Mexico to finish off the lingerie shoot I was doing, all before I become big when I then have to hide behind a camera, unless I get a double chin before then, I will have to wear a mask. The reason I wanted to come and get the award myself, it’s because this bitch is going into hiding, I won’t be getting nothing for nobody or doing anything so I thought why not give the fans some pictures and a little run on the red carpet. I am lucky, lucky in the sense that my body is not making big changes so fast because I won’t be able to deal if that happened.

Standing at the side staring at myself in the mirror, there is a slight pouch to me, ever so slightly but this is another one for the books. Taking a picture in the mirror of me standing to the side with my stomach out, I want to keep it for myself. This will probably be my only baby, I mean I am not going to find a man and if I am bad now, I will be worse after this because of my child, men out there are very weird. Moving my hand and letting my long tee fall, looking at the picture of me. I am very happy about this, I had to accept it which took time to do but I got there and now I am happier than ever. My aim is to do everything before The Diamond Ball, that is when the world will find out because I can’t hide it, by then I will be embracing it and ready for the world to know. I have all of this planned out, just that one thing I am not sure where to add and that is Chris. Where do I put him, where do I include him in this because as much as I am not ready for it, the world isn’t. I love him, I can openly say that but he’s a mess. I laughed at him stalking me, but I am doing it to him now, I am watching him and seeing what he is doing and what quote he put up. Every post on Instagram is the most negative bullshit about his aura, nobody cares. He is searching for something he can fix, himself and I hate it for him, but I can’t fix him and help myself. Chris is a worry because I do want to tell him, in the right setting.

My mom be feeding me “I am done” pushing the plate back “you eating for two Robyn” I chuckled at my mom, her face is ever so serious “I know but my baby is tiny right now, it just needs a little bit. As long as mommy is ok, baby is ok. I have never felt so happy, inside I am happy. I feel whole because I have wanted this” Rorrey rolled his eyes “why do I need a dad when I have you” kissing my teeth “he is going to be the first one in love, trust me” Jen pointed out “you women all say this, I will be in the living room playing games” he got up from the chair “it’s so good to see you like this, because I was scared you was going to jump into getting rid of it, to see you so vibrant and happy. It’s just nice to see” Mel has come back from Barbados and is with us in California, which I am happy about “I was scared Mel, I was so scared to think what I have got myself into, I didn’t feel in control but god is guiding me and I will get better with it. I am not perfect, and I will make mistakes, I am not perfect. I wish I was perfect, as a mother to be, I will make the mistakes” I know I will make mistakes “what about the father? You’re in Cali, he is here also” I feel like all eyes are on me now, Mel had to do this “I may be feeling good in myself about this baby but I still need time to tell him mentally, he is fighting demons on his own and I see it. I don’t know if you girls look on his Instagram, I remember when his page was all fine, he was good and now he’s just dark with his words and I am seeing things I don’t like. I want to help him, but I have to help myself, I am thinking can he handle this because every time I am with him, close to him or people see it. He gets abused about it like I need protection, it hurts me to see it. No matter how much I tell the world I am ok they do it to him, this can mentally put you down. I am trying to find peace within me to help him as I am pregnant, I just don’t know. I want him to be ok with this. I mean even I got subjected to abuse about it, it’s a lot and I am just trying to find the right balance” clasping my hands together “I will tell him, that is all I can tell you” he worries me, his mental state does. And then I see him with whippets, he is doing drugs and I am just put off, I don’t want to say that either. I just need to gather myself; I will do it though and he will know, and I will be able to help guide him or we argue together about it all but it can go either way for both of us “I suppose, you ain’t a nobody he got pregnant so this will be a big deal. It does need to be handled right” I am glad they are on board and realise it is a big thing for the both of us, it’s just got to be done right.

Jen walked into the bedroom “what happened?” she asked, she is asking because I have now gone back into bed and I feel terrible all over again “pregnancy” I mumbled “you were ok before, but anyways. Jahleel wants you out soon to get dressed, I mean you will be late there. We have two bodyguards; Frank has arrived, and we got Rich. Extra security for you, it needs to be done. I want you to be extra careful, you are sensitive so mind yourself” nodding my head “stop looking so grumpy and besides, pregnancy can do that to you, one minute fine and the next miserable” poking my lips out “I have nobody to hug me in bed” I mumbled staring at Jen “well here I am! Your cuddle buddy has arrived” I smiled watching Jen walk around the bed “hold me, make me feel all warm” I smiled to myself, I just need a good cuddle in bed “you’re just worrying, that is all. Stressing yourself out” Jen said feeling the bed move behind me “I suppose, but I am happy. Just need a moment to myself to gather my thoughts and stuff” Jen is so annoying, she is giggling all up in my ear “stop it” I giggled “come here, my little baby want snuggled” Jen held me from behind “you’re not the hug I wanted, I regret it” I really do now “awww you have the scan on your side table, it has your forehead already. We already winning” smiling to myself looking at the baby scan, I swear to god she is annoying, Jen touched my boob “they feel sore yet, wait till these little babies start feeling sore. You about to feel even more moody” she is not the best cuddle buddy at all.

Why am I hating this, sat here staring at myself in this mirror is making me feel insecure “does my face look fat to you?” I asked Priscilla, I feel it “bloated as fuck” Yusuf shouted from across the room “wait what!” I turned in the chair ever so quickly “woah, calm down. I could have poked your eye out there, Yusuf laughed to himself “you are so gullible, you look beautiful stop it. Your hair is looking shinier though. I like it” Yusuf is such a bitch “whatever” turning in the chair “are you done?” Priscilla eyeballed me “I do not want a lawsuit if I poke your eye out, now can we all relax?” I sighed out “I am ok” I am not really; I feel like shit. In the morning I was so happy, felt so good in myself. Then I felt like I wanted to be sick and now I am self-conscious, I am ok. My people say I am fine so I must be fine “we need to hurry up sis, like you about to be so late” Ja said at the side of me “well what is new?” waving him off “what is new? Girl, you about to be rushed in, I want bitches to faint when they see on the red carpet, you hear that? The red fucking carpet. This like my last award show I be doing, can we not?” he has a point “Rihanna finally quitting music?” Yusuf said laughing in the background “wait until your fans bully you” rolling my eyes.

Smirking at Jahleel, I feel bad that I haven’t told Yusuf or Pricilla “is this Vodka? Since when?” Yusuf pointed out “since now, I have changed” I lied “let me taste then? We aren’t having you back out now! You always do this, we taking this together” moving the shot glass frowning at him, Jahleel put water in it, I am so glad I have him to do it “shut up” he is playing “let’s just do this then I can leave” watching them clink shot glasses and I joined in with them, I gasped “Yusuf!” I screamed out “this bitch lied!” hitting his arm “ok, look. There is a reason to this!” I shouted “she is on a water diet” Jahleel said like that makes a difference now I got caught “no way, my girl loves a glass of wine” Jahleel mouthed I tried “I should tell you both anyways, I need my team on board and I will see you both here and Dennis, wherever he is. Dennis. Come here because I will need you all eventually again. This has to be secret, like kept in here but then again you all are good at that” Yusuf has the judgemental look on his face “what did you do now” he crossed his arms “me? Nothing but” I breathed out, I mean there is no reason to hide this from these when they will be there with me “well, I am pregnant” I said smiling before hearing crash of glass hit the floor “Yusuf!” I shouted “no, you’re lying?” he said in disbelief “I promise you; I am pregnant. This is why Ja and I have been arguing back and forth about the timings, this will generally be my last time to do anything related to red carpet for a long time. It’s about to be about me and my baby” Yusuf looks so scared but I think he is in disbelief “you always said the sperm donor is coming and you did it” Dennis hugged me “I am so happy and I can’t wait to do the pregnancy photoshoot with you!, I have ideas now” I cooed “but I know the dad anyways” Priscilla hugged me “so happy for you, you deserve this. You really do” they are so sweet “oh, who is it?” Yusuf is like ready for a storm “I will sue all of you but I trust you all, so uhm. He doesn’t know yet, it was a drunk thing. It’s Chris’ baby” I admitted “Hemsworth?” Daniel said “would I be drunk with him? But Chris Brown” Yusuf let out a shriek, staring at him “you are pregnant with Chris Brown’ child? Rihanna what the fuck have you been doing!?” Ja is nodding his head like I told you so “a lot, clearly but it’s a mess and I am sure you all are ready for the ride?” Yusuf laugh “bitch I am shook, but I am ready. Come here you crazy fucking bitch” Yusuf hugged me close “you about to be a beautiful milf, I am here for it baby” I chuckled at Yusuf saying that but he is not wrong, I will be that now.

I wore something revealing, I thought why not because I can right now. I am wearing a satin robe over a plunging playsuit which showed off my toned legs. High heeled strappy sandals and a chunky pendant necklace completed my look, and my long black hair curled and tied up in a loose updo. I am ready for this “am I even ok to go on the red carpet? Like am I that late?” I hope not, I want to show off my legs “we are going to show you off, don’t you worry” Ja said, oh the carpet is still kind off full “your mom said for you to just go in from the back?” Frank said in the front “my mother worries too much it is ok; she needs to stop worrying. Thank god she is at home” rolling my eyes, she is fussing. The SUV came to a halt and Rich came out of the SUV in front, watching him run over to the SUV “I don’t want everyone fussing now, I mean it” I am ok, they will know if I need help or not. The SUV door opened; Rich held his hand out to me. Grabbing his hand as I got out “you look so beautiful, oh my god!” Taraji came out of nowhere “thank you” I said smiling at her, looking behind me at Mel getting out.

Mel laughed at me, I don’t find her funny “this is why I don’t come” I said in a whisper “it’s just you, sitting with the Cash Money record team, it’s nice to see” I laughed shaking my head, I am sat next to Lil Wayne which is fine because he is not here, but just behind me on the left of me I have Drake and I have Chris here too, I did see him with another shade of colour on his head but it was quick. He didn’t see, I saw him “don’t you think the girls here are a hot mess, like this whole place is a hot mess” me and Mel are just bitching “They be wearing things just to wear them, I mean is this a strip club” Mel laughed “says you, looking like you going to some sex club for rich men” hitting Mel’ leg “I think hot mess was on the cards, chile” looking ahead of us “I am blessed, I am so blessed to be sitting next to the queen, my queen. How are you?” getting up from my seat “I am good, when I heard I am sitting with you, I asked to move. Not going to lie” Lil Wayne looked at me offended as fuck “come on now, I will be good. Promise, you know I appreciate you” sitting down on my seat laughing “you better be good” I rather sit in the back but here I am, all in the front like I asked for this, maybe I shouldn’t have worn this.

Some unknown dude called NAV is performing, my time to go to the toilet “you coming” I said as I got up, this is my toilet break “yes I am” Rich came out of nowhere “I am just going to the toilet” I laughed at him “I will walk you” seeing from the corner of my eye, Drake is coming “yes, let’s go this way” turning on my heels “watch out” hearing Drake say, oh the camera is conveniently here “you good?” he hugged Mel first, he knows I don’t care for it “nice seeing you” Mel said, maybe I should go the other way. Drake looked at me “like old times, we should have performed work together if you was coming” I nodded my head smiling, he didn’t hug me which is good of him “I need the bathroom” I pointed at him before walking off “the bathroom is that way” he pointed the opposite side “I didn’t know you got a new job of directing people now” hitting his arm to move out of the way, I caught him licking his lips before walking by Rich to go “hey!” Cardi rushed over to me “your legs look so good, bitch!” hugging her laughing “thank you, I regret it now. I cold” I laughed it off, but I am being deadass about this.

I wonder if I will have a girl, I really would like a daughter but I don’t for either because this is a blessing, like praise Jesus, I am blessed but if it’s a girl, that would be beautiful for me. She will be my bestie forever “Rihanna!” hearing my name, looking up like a deer caught in headlights. I am so confused “get up” Mel said as she got up to clap, oh this is me. I am so lost because I rather sit and daydream of my baby now, I laughed looking around “thank you” I didn’t want to walk alone either but here I am, alone but it’s whatever. Walking by the crowd jus clapping for me “Rih” Rich came up behind me, he held my hand as I went up the stairs “thank you” smiling at him, he is coming out of everywhere today “thank you so, so, so much” hugging Debra “thank you so much” I said to her but I do not remember a single word she said, turning around to the crowd and seeing the standing ovation, this will always get me shy “thank you” I laughed down the mic, even though theses lights are shining in my eyes I can still see Chris from here, his multicoloured self just there, waiting for them to sit down before I started.

I blew out air as I was helped down by Rich, I am glad that is done and it is a commercial break “you looked great up there” Mel said “thank you, I felt nervous” Mel held my hand, everyone is walking around because it is a commercial break “I want to go now, I am just done now” I pulled a face “let’s go this way” Rich led the way, I guess Rich knows a quicker way out for us “Chris is here, why don’t you tell him that you have something to tell him. This is your chance” Mel said in my ear, is Mel crazy staring at her like she is crazy “he is right there, just say it” Mel dragged me, Chris is speaking to Usher but I caught him looking at me and he looked away so quickly, he knows I caught him but he looked away in annoyance, I know him and he seems angry and he’s probably angry I told him to go that night. It’s like everything was in slow motion, Chris moved back from Usher, he is staring at me and I am staring at him as I am being dragged to him. Slowly I see a smile form on his face, am I really doing this “come” Rich blocked my view and stood in front of Chris “let’s go before it gets busy again” Rich moved and Chris’ smile disappeared, Mel let my hand go thinking I am saying anything “hey” that was it “hi” walking by him, that was so awkward for us and I just fucked that up but I was put on the spot.

I am glad to be in the SUV “what happened to you saying Chris I have something to tell you, come to the apartment?” Mel is annoyed with me, but I was put on the spot “I freaked out Mel, he seemed to be so mixed with emotions. Like he was angry, annoyed and happy. Only thing we said was hey and hi, it was all awkward and I felt like everyone was watching us, it’s not the setting, I am not ready to deal with Chris” I wish they just let me live, let me just do this how I want it “he smiled because it looked like we was walking towards him, you need to get over people seeing you both speak. You sharing a whole ass child, the public going to have a field day with you both” she has a point but that is my issue to get used to that.

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Chrianna Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fanfiction

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What Do You Wear to the End of Days?

LONDON — In 1139 Archbishop Malachy of Armagh supposedly had a vision of the future that became known as the “prophesy of popes.” In it, the Irish saint predicted the names of 112 pontiffs who would rule until the end of days. Though it was later shown to be a 16th-century forgery, the second to last pope on the list was Benedict, which has suggested to some in the Roman Catholic world that the final pope could be the current pope, and the apocalypse is nigh.

Actually, not just the Catholic world but, apparently, the fashion world, too.

Over the weekend, Simone Rocha put the idea front and center on a dress. It was lovely — royal purple splashed with a gold scripted rendering of the saint’s name, draped in swathes of black satin — and it was sandwiched between piles of baptismal lace and tulle; watery fisherman knits and oyster satin slithers; elaborately embroidered cross-topped sacred hearts: the semiology of prayer, loss and rebirth. And it was not happenstance.

Brexit has finally been approved. Storm Dennis, officially classified as a “weather bomb,” was lashing Britain as the shows began, flooding roads and wreaking havoc. A designer here could be forgiven for thinking it’s the end of days. It’s definitely the end of something. The issue for everyone is what comes next.

“Of course I’m worried,” said Molly Goddard after her show of tulle extravaganzas mixed with chunky Fair Isle knits and nerdy-cool tailoring that was an ode to her youth in the late 1990s around London’s Portobello Market. “I’m worried about the people in my factories, most of whom aren’t English, even though the factories are nearby.”

That’s to be expected. As was the existential questioning of identity that was an underlying current in so many of the clothes here: What does it mean to be British? What content do these symbols we put on our backs contain any more?

What was less predictable was where such thinking led some designers: not to the depths of despair, but somewhere else entirely. To a world after doomsday. To renewal, and reinvention.

Could cynicism be out of fashion? What an idea.

Identity and Its Discontents

But first, there was a lot of black. A lot of big, swaddling volumes. A lot of covert messaging and a lot of wrestling — some good, some weighed down with angst — with the past. For some: a lot of royal sleevage. For others: argyle, houndstooth, tweed.

Victoria Beckham belted her curving black sheaths and neatly tailored culotte-suits with hands-across-the-hips silver and cut diamond-shaped holes into her sweater vests like a remembrance of things lost. Emilia Wickstead offered big puffed sleeves and even bigger skirts; Roksanda, a safe space of billowing, shimmering drapes of many colors and chunky, patchwork-nation knits.

At Burberry, the chief creative officer, Riccardo Tisci, named his collection “Memories:” of the brand itself, but also of London, when he was a fashion student, living in the Bethnal Green neighborhood, and of his trips to India, where he started his own label; of the melting pot of the capital and the designer mind. That meant — checks! And trench coats! Lots of them with feathers and faux furs, deconstructed into parts and twisted into sari-like assemblages; mixed and matched and also madras for men and women; leopard and contrasting linings thrown in.

Also the occasional big star plastered on the front of a shirt, and a festival’s worth of rugby stripes in cinnamon and turmeric, as if for a game of Quidditch in Mumbai. Also some go-go silver fringe, for evening. Also a lot of green (afterward Burberry announced the show had been certified carbon neutral and that it was creating what it called “a regeneration fund” to support carbon insetting in its supply chain).

If that sounds like it is skating across the surface — not the environmental initiatives, which are laudable, but the fashion interpretations of the national totems — that’s also how it looked: polished, easy to wear, but lacking depth and soul. Which is odd, because Mr. Tisci is nothing if not an emotional designer, and it often takes an outsider (he’s Italian) to really grapple with a country’s imagery. It’s as if he is deliberately denaturing himself to appeal to as many people as possible; going not with his gut, but with his market research.

Of Risk and Reward

In any case, it still made more sense than Tommy Hilfiger’s #TommyNow celebration of Americana, inclusivity and his celebrity connections in stars, stripes, anchors aweigh, neon and slogans — “Just Rise;” “Still Human;” “Loyalty” — via collaborations with the singer H.E.R. and the Formula One star Lewis Hamilton. The effect was of a semi-party in a place that isn’t really in the mood to party any more (and that has increasingly mixed feelings about the “special relationship” between itself and its former colony anyway). The message was meaningful, but the medium confused.

Mr. Hilfiger has never been a thinking person’s designer. That is absolutely fine; not all clothes need a philosophical grounding (that would be exhausting). But a little sensitivity to context and timing is no bad thing.

British fashion — London fashion — has always had an identity more rooted in risk-taking creativity than in page-view calculation and hashtags.

In the willingness, for example, of Hussein Chalayan to not just double down on the idea of a suit and turn a pair of trousers into a cardigan for his Chalayan show, so the legs wrap the shoulders and the hips shadow the back, but to dare to write and sing his own songs, live, as an accompaniment (that’s putting yourself out there). In the explosive romance of Richard Quinn’s Buckingham Palace-size florals and empire drapes; the pointed extravagance of his nod to Pearly Kings and Queens, the cockney performers with mother-of-pearl studded costumes. In a sense of history, and the gumption to turn it on its head.

Historical Revisionism

Which is why it was so striking to see the connections between the 1920s and the 2020s being drawn at Erdem, with his Cecil Beaton-inspired checkerboards and bias frills; his Erté feathers and lamé Wedgewood-print puffers; his flapper dresses dripping loops of pearls. At Christopher Kane, where things took a turn for the sexually subversive (he called his show “Naturotica’) in more Art Deco geometries. Meant, apparently, to reference the love triangle of Adam, Eve and the serpent, and followed by lacy lingerie slips, strait-laced shirt dresses with sheer mesh tops and chain mail apple-red skirts slit to mid-hip on either side.

And at JW Anderson, where in a terrific collection Jonathan Anderson reached across the century to mix the classic with the couture with the sci-fi to create something viscerally, elegantly modern.

“I was thinking about that moment in the ’20s when everything resurged and rebounded,” he said backstage after the show, which he dubbed “nouveau chic.”

So he took heritage swing coats in camel and wool and blew them up to “optimistic volumes,” adding giant swaddling leather collars; crushed fantasy beer-can-print lamé into shift dresses; crafted sleeveless metallic bubble gowns out of fringed metallic knits to mimic a very glamorous Snuffleupagus; and topped the shoulders of flowing flannel capes, curvaceous tweed coats and silver screen siren gowns with fronds of pearly cellophane that wafted gently in the wind.

It is possible, of course, to question whether the 1920s — the years between the wars — is actually the best harbinger for fashion to embrace. They may have represented a great creative flowering, a burst of energy and social revolution, but they did not exactly end well. On the other hand, you can’t argue with the fact that if, indeed, the four horsemen are coming, at least this way we can greet them with aplomb.

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