#virgin media television

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

David Tennant with Michael Sheen (Good Omens promo video) and then David Tennant with Catherine Tate (Doctor Who bts video) trying to convince us that they work very very hard :D ❤ (poor David trying to censor his actor companions :D)

David and Michael smol interview for Virgin Media Television, 10.7.2023

Michael: We never bicker.

David: Nooo.

Michael: I mean, that's that's sort of the key to it, I think. Yeah. Is that when we're not directly working together with each other on screen or whatever, it's just very sort of easy.

David: Mmm.

Michael: I mean, we're we're both essentially quite lazy actors, and we… it's too much hard work to be…

David: We can't say that!

Michael: We can't say that no.

David: No, we're very professional.

Michael: Sorry. Yes, we are, we are.

David: We are very appropriate.

Michael: It's too much. We see it, you know, we see other actors on set and everyone's working very hard, and it's just very easy for us.

David: We work very, very hard. Don't listen to him.

-

David: We have to make it sound that this has been difficult.

Catherine: No.

David: Do we have to say it's been hard.

Catherine:It's not hard work or… I don't mean it's not…

David: It's not easy!

Catherine: It's not easy!

David: Don't think this is easy!

Catherine: Don't get me wrong, don't think this is a walk in the park.

David: Very hard! Very… it's a very specialized job!

#good omens #gointerviewedit #david tennant #michael sheen #david and michael #interview #david and michael interview #david interview #michael interview #funny #videos #doctor who #catherine tate #working very very hard #Youtube #s2 interview #virgin media television #virgin media television 2023 #transcripts #video interview

[oksanaastankova]

# the lady in the green dress

#this is so similar omg #jodie comer #killing eve #help #fiona shaw #cathy tyson #tv baftas 2022 #virgin media gafta television awards 2022 #emmy awards 2019 #emmys 2019

[moiraiinesedai]

the duo i didn’t think i needed. oh god look at them.

#Camille Cottin #Suranne Jones #Virgin Media BAFTAs #BAFTAs #british academy of film and television arts

[sophs-style]

sophs-style:

Dina Asher-Smith (wearing Victoria Beckham) at the 2022 Virgin Media British Academy Television Awards on Sunday (8th May) in London.

#dina asher-smith #2022 Virgin Media British Academy Television Awards #2022 Virgin Media BAFTA TV Awards #2022 British Academy Televison Awards #appearance #appearances #event #outfit #victoria beckham #bvlgari #celebrity style #celebrity fashion #celeb style #celeb fashion #red carpet style #red carpet fashion #fashion #style #stylish

[themotherofhorses]

im begging you, dark!aemond bodyguard of the president/king’s innocent daughter omggggg

pairing: bodyguard!aemond targaryen x president's daughter!reader

warnings: explicit language. oral sex. loss of virginity (kinda). daddy kink. slight breeding and housewife kink. small mentions of past obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.

notes: hello, long time no write. consider this me using this request like i'm saddling the horse after getting thrown off.

(also ik aemond might not seem AS dark as other times but like pretty pls read between the lines. thank you ☺️)

masterlist

For being the nation’s current president, your father was quite the fucking fool of a man.

He loves you, truly. How could he not? You were the spitting image of your late mother, and the youngest of his children- his sweet little chick that was barely beginning to spread her wings and leave the nest. He would never forgive himself if you ever got hurt due to his elected role as the commander-in-chief and head of state.

That was the main reason why he hired Aemond Targaryen as your personal bodyguard.

The man had a commendable record behind him, despite his young age. Your father was beyond impressed with him when he first interviewed him for the job. Two tours in the U.S. army as a sergeant and sniper before receiving an honorable discharge and a Purple Heart due to an eye injury while seeing combat overseas. According to some of the everyday politicians, he threw himself over his younger nephew during an ambush with enemy fire, and took a massive chunk of bomb shrapnel to the left side of his face; doctors saved him, of course, but his eye was too damaged to save.

They offered him a glass eye and a fully paid scar revision (along with special vet benefits and apparently some hush-hush money as well), but he refused it all. Instead, he accepted the purple heart, crammed a pretty and shiny sapphire into his empty socket, and made sure everyone- military personnel and civilian altogether- looked him in both eyes whenever they addressed him.

The rumors were true- Sergeant Aemond One-Eye was as terrifying as he was deadly.  

Perhaps that was the reason why it did not take very long for him to be buried between your thighs.

You never had a boyfriend before, always too devoted towards your college academic and hobbies, and way too protected and overshadowed by your father. But it was Aemond who stole your first kiss, two months into his new job as your bodyguard. He had been accompanying you on a small shopping trip to the mall, treating it as a sort of bonding experience. When you had mentioned the new lip gloss you were trying out (it was flavored ‘chai latte’), he had asked to taste it.

Okay! you giggled, thinking nothing of it; only for it to be a week later and with his head in between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man.

“Stop it…! Aemond! My daddy might walk in!” You cried, tossing your head back against the pillows as you bit down on your bottom lip to stop the moans from tumbling out. It was all in stupid vain; your bodyguard had you putty in his hands. Anything he wanted, you would happily give him- yourself included. “A-Aemond…!” How could he ever stop? Not when you sounded oh so fucking pretty, so sweet and yummy, his newfound favorite meal served to him on a silver platter, just ready to be completely devoured.

Aemond shook his head. “I don’t give the tiniest shit, babygirl,” he muttered as he sucked on your clit, only pausing every few seconds to kiss your soaked pussy. He had to be soft as well, considering this was a fucking dream come true for him.

The poor bastard remembered all the times he saw you on the television, in those paparazzi photos and the Christmas cards and those gorgeous social media posts of yours. No one would ever understand just how badly he wanted you, and the lengths he went just to have you.

And, well, maybe you should’ve thought first before stepping out in that sinful, short-cut and backless blue dress, the one that made you look perfect for him to knock up, his pretty little housewife. Perfect for him. Made for him. He kept your legs wide open with the tightest grips as he feasted on your cunt, ignoring your desperate (but adorable) attempts to push him away.

“If you can’t handle this, how will you handle my cock?” he tutted. “Poor baby, I’m going to fucking destroy you.”

Everything made your pretty face scrunch up in pleasure, especially when you felt him lick a large stripe up your pussy before he shoved his face in only deeper. You squealed, hiding your face from behind your hands. You could feel his nose, his chin, the heavy pants and low growls and soft kisses he peppered along inner thighs. “And what did I say to call me?” before he gave your ass a hard spank.

You whimpered, already on the verge of sobbing. Fat tears were streaking down your cheekbones. “I-I’m sorry…s-so sorry, daddy!”

Oh but your entire body felt like it was lit on fire- a burning yet tightening sensation nestled deep within your belly. It was so strange. You didn’t know what to make of it. Your head lolled to the side while your back arched up from the bed and your hand found Aemond’s long, whitish-blond hair.

(A common genetic mutation in his family, according to him. Some of the politicians mocked it as the ‘new Habsburg jaw’. You thought it made him look all the godlier.)

His hands soon slid up to your breast, palming and tweaking your nipples between his fingers. Your toes curled as you felt ready to explode at any second. “Daddy!” you mewled, peering down through teary eyes to watch as his face shook side-to-side. His own face held sheer bliss, especially when he brought a finger to trace along your drenched folds. “Daddy…! Daddy! Ah, gods, please!”  

“Yeah, that is right, pretty baby, I’m your new daddy now.”

Your father was none the wiser to the fact that, every night, his youngest daughter’s bodyguard had her in a mating press every night, whispering into her ear that it would not be long until she made him into a real daddy.

It was the least you could do in return, considering he was protecting your life with his.

After boring meetings and countless banquets and your a.m. college classes, Aemond would be quick to shove your panties in your mouth before bending you over the nearest furniture set.

You were his.

All his.

His pretty baby, his sweet little future housewife, the girl whose picture he used to secretly carry in one of the vest pockets during his days in the military.  

One day, your father pulled him aside and offered him a bonus.

“Truth is, son, you’re doing such a fine job at protecting her. I don’t worry as much as I did before you came along. We could not ask for a better bodyguard, Sergeant,” he admitted, patting him on the back. “Would there be anything you’d like in payment? A vacation? A bonus? Some free time with your family? I know you miss your mother very much; my little girl told me.”

But Aemond shook his head, declining everything. “Sir, with all due respect, your daughter feels like my new family now, considering how close we’ve grown in these past several months, and my duty in keeping her safe. I would prefer to remain by her side if you would allow it,” he said, and your father gave him a cheeky grin.

“Should I perhaps be worried, Sergeant?”

“Of course not, Mr. President. I adore your daughter, but only as a brother would his little sister.”

So it was true, it seemed- your father, bless his heart, was quite the fucking fool of a man. It should’ve been no surprise to him at all that seven months down the line from his conversation with your bodyguard, you would be trying to hide a swollen baby bump from everyone's eyes.

And if he really was smart, then he would’ve remembered the reason why the Targaryens were so often compared to the old Habsburgs of Austria.

#aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #dark aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #request #vic writes 🧸

[katebishopsbow]

･｡☆*☽ Masterlist ･｡☆*☽

hello! i’m kate and these are my writings💜 some of my work contain explicit sexual content, minors please do not interact! thank you for supporting my work!

heat exhaustion • oscar piastri x driver!reader ↳ word count: 2.6k ↳ summary: the heat was unbearable in the qatar gp, and you ended up fainting on broadcast television. knowing that the media was going to exploit your little incident and turn this into an issue of why women do not belong in motorsports, you were engulfed by guilt and self-hatred, and oscar was there to comfort you.

10 things i hate about you • oscar piastri x reader ↳ word count: 3.4k ↳ summary: you decided to write down a list of 10 things you hated about oscar piastri in an attempt to get over your crush on him when he revealed that he had recently gotten a girlfriend. two things didn't go as planned: the list didn't work, and he found out about it.

stardusts and golden specks • oscar piastri x reader ↳ word count: 1.2k ↳ summary: when conversations turned into arguments and all you could feel when you looked at oscar was pain and exhaustion, you learned to say goodbye and let go of your first-ever love.

you're just a man, it's just what you do (m) • carlos sainz x reader ↳ word count: 2.1k ↳ summary: you should have known better than to believe in carlos' loving kisses, sweet lies, and all the times he called you his. because he's just a man, it's just what he does.

me and you against the world • max verstappen x sister!reader ↳ word count: 1.4k ↳ summary: nobody enjoys being booed, and even the toughest of fighters like max verstappen would get disheartened from it. looking right through his act on camera, you decided to give your brother a call to tell him how proud of him you were. what you didn’t expect though, was to hear max cry.

unwanted • charles leclerc x sister!reader ↳ word count: 1.5k ↳ summary: your brother was ready to give you a serious lecture after you tried sneaking home from a late-night party. but when he saw your teary eyes and found out that a boy had made you feel unwanted, he felt like his heart was being ripped apart.

daisy • charles leclerc x sister!reader ↳ word count: 3.1k ↳ summary: you and charles used to be inseparable, but with him constantly being away for all his races, an invisible wall began to form between you and him. it took a crash for you two to acknowledge what had happened, and try mending the broken pieces of your relationship.

missing piece • f1 grid x driver!reader ↳ word count: 3k ↳ summary: you have always taken pride in your ability to handle the press, until a journalist mentioned a sensitive topic that you had tried desperately to avoid – your estranged father. you struggled to give a response, and your fellow drivers showed no hesitation to jump in and defend you.

never have i ever (m) • bradley bradshaw x reader ↳ part i, part ii ↳ word count: 11.7k ↳ summary: a game of never have i ever leads to bradley (as well as everyone) finding out that you are a virgin. the thought of being your first drives him a little crazy, and he can’t wait to ruin your sweet innocence.

a study break (m) • neymar jr x reader ↳ word count: 2.8k ↳ summary: in the middle of studying for your physics exam, neymar decided that you needed a little break, and he’s more than happy to help you de-stress.

something unholy (m) • neymar jr x reader ↳ part i, part ii ↳ word count: 2.8k ↳ summary: while babysitting davi, you went up to neymar’s room to get something for the two of you to play with. it turns out that the room wasn’t empty, and you ended up catching neymar doing something unholy.

#masterlist

[hollywforever]

Holly Willoughby attends the Virgin Media British Academy Television Awards at The Royal Festival Hall on May 12, 2019 in London, England.

#holly willoughby #bafta television awards #blue dress #celebrities #red carpet event #evening dress #fashion #so pretty #tv presenter #hot celebs #stunning beauty

[jilyandbambi]

yeah, if 6 teenage girls and 1 teenage boy had emerged from the Canadian wilderness after 19 months with a 1 year old baby in tow, there would've been no escaping the media hellstorm. They would've been on 20/20 within 3 months. One group interview and a few candids of Shauna holding the baby would've been the price they'd all have had to pay in order to be left tf alone because while in 2023 society pretends to care about trauma, PTSD, and teens' mental health, this was the 90s--when Nicole Brown Simpson was blamed for her own murder, Lorena Bobbit was a late-night punchline, R. Kelly marrying 15 y/o Aalyiah was an open secret, grown men were calling into radio stations to speculate on 16 y/o Britney Spears' virginity, and Monica Lewinsky was doxxed and getting death threats for sucking off Bill Clinton.

What I'm saying is:

Seven teens (the girls + Travis) surviving against the odds for 19 months is the epilogue to a tragedy with enough unanswered questions to keep true crime nerds speculating & reporters digging.

But them being found with an infant? Had it come out that one of the girls was pregnant and gave birth during the ordeal? That's mainstream tabloid fodder. The kind that not even "papers of repute" would turn their noses up at. Barbara Walters, Lesley Stahl, and Mike Wallace would be beating each other and TMZ down to get the first interview, the first photo of the baby. NBC would've backed a U-Haul full of money onto the Shipman's, the Martinez', and the Sadecki's front yard (because speculation as to who the actual father really was would be kept going until it came directly from the source). Did she know she was pregnant when she got on the plane? Who else knew? What was it like giving birth? Did any of the other girls get pregnant? How many of the girls did Travis do it with? Weren't any of them afraid of the same thing happening to them? Did doing it help them cope?

And it wouldn't just be the media. Doctors, child development specialists, psychologists, sociologists, and academics would be calling non-stop to get Shauna and the baby to participate in clinical trials and studies.

The only way they'd have been left alone is if they'd done a televised interview and ended it by pleading to be allowed to go on with their lives in peace

#shauna shipman #wilderness baby #yellowjackets meta #yj meta #yj s2 #yellowjackets #idk what the point here is. the thought just came to me

[world-of-celebs]

Georgia May Foote seen on the red carpet during the Virgin Media BAFTA Television Awards 2019 at The Royal Festival Hall in London.

#georgia may foote #stunning #hot celebs #bafta television awards #red carpet #british celebrities #beauty #actress #celebs

[borntoocry]

you and ellie are on a first date after making things official and you guys take edibles and go to the zoo, when you guys get back home you and ellie have sex for the first time and it’s really cute and awkward cause ellie is a loser AH IM BLUSHING😭😭

let me preface this by saying it's not all that. this request has taken me a very long time because 1. I was on vacation with no internet, and 2. I have lost so much motivation to write. so give this some slack. BUT, enjoy!

not proofread!

wc: 5.1K

Dates are not an activity you participate in. It might be because before today, you’ve never been asked out on one. But even with your virginity regarding any romantic aspect, dates seem embarrassing to you. A night full of awkward laughter and jokes you have to laugh at or else you’re deemed a shitty person. You have to seem interested even though you might not be. You might not even like the restaurant you’re sitting at, or the museum you’re sleepily wandering around. And if there’s a price tag on the meal, tickets, or whatever it might be, you have to paw at your purse, pockets, fake jean pockets, even though the person who asked you out is the one who has to pay. 

At least that’s what dates look like in movies and television and across social media.

You try not to let that image dance across your mind when Ellie, your official girlfriend as of last week, asks you out on an official date. These past couple of days have been all about official with you two: holding hands on daily walks, posting one another on social media, sharing creative joints like crosses Ellie has never made for anyone else, and going around town kissing and hugging and being the poster adults for PDA. 

You like to think that because of how you’ve been acting towards one another, this awful idea of dates won’t even exist after the date to the zoo today. How Ellie is with you—soft, overly cheesy, kind, comedic—doesn’t compare to the assholes you’ve seen ditch women in movies, or on Twitter where women have said men have made them split the check. Ellie would never do such a thing—she’d rather die than let you pay for anything while she’s with you. 

You’re getting ready for the date when someone softly knocks on your door—so soft you would miss it if your room wasn’t merely a foot next to the entrance. You only have on the black bralette Ellie bought you and a pair of jeans. You pick up a tank top and rush to the door, your arm shoving itself into the right arm hole. You slightly open the door so only your forehead and eyes can be seen, and peek outside. Ellie stands there, dressed in a black Henley, a washed-out brown bomber jacket, her black jeans, and her insanely beat-up Converse. 

You pull your arm out of the tank top and fully open the door, the bottom half of your face stringed into a defined smile. “Hi,” you say. Ellie doesn’t move instantly as she stares you down. She just smiles as harsh as you are—maybe even harsher—and nods. “You hungry? I have a couple snacks in the pantry if you want something before we go.” 

She shakes her head and walks into the apartment, her eyes still trained on your body. You want to laugh and pull her head into your neck, ruffle her little shag with your recently painted nails, kiss her until her eyes are trained on your face and not your tits. 

“Uh… No. I’m fine. Are you alright?” 

You shake your head and pull her into your room by her pinky. White and pink lights is all that illuminates your room, no buggy yellow overcast that paints an odd look on your face. Ellie says she enjoys how it’s dim and bright at the same time; how euphoric it feels to sit on your bed and watch you paint your face. 

You don’t really talk to one another after that, only sit in melodic silence as you continue setting your face with powder and hurry to apply your lip liner and plum lipstick. When you dust off your face and stand to pick out your clothes, Ellie digs into her bomber jacket, her face contorted into wiggly eyebrows and a poking tongue. 

You stand back and place your hands on your hips, observing her doing. You open your mouth, a breathe hopping into the air before Ellie cuts you off with a… an apple fritter covered in saran wrap. 

You pull a confused face and drop your hands from your hips. “Is that a—“ 

“It’s an edible,” she cuts you off, unwrapping it. “Are you okay with that?” 

You nod as you walk up and sit beside her. You’ve known she’s sold weed in many forms—pens, carts, disposables, buds, whatever the names for them were—since you met her, but she’s never once sold edibles. You’ve known her for less than she’s sold, but you know she’s never once made oil for edibles, nor baked anything a day in her life. 

Air bubbles at your lips and pops, signaling that words are also about to pop out of your mouth. But again, Ellie nicely cuts you off—as though she can read your mind. 

“I made them last night. I kept getting edible-making videos on my feed and decided to give it a go. They’re for our date.” 

The scent of weed coats the air and your nostrils. It takes a second for it to dim down, but once it does you can finally smell the caramelized apple, the brown sugar and overall sweetness of the baked treat. 

You huff a laugh of surprise and lift a finger to your lips. “You baked this?” 

Ellie shrugs. “With the help of Dina, yes.” 

You nod, figuring that Ellie alone is incapable of baking anything as time consuming as apple fritters. Thanks to Dina, of course, this baked good looks and smells absolutely delicious. 

“So… do we eat it now or wait?” You ask, your fingers curiously running across her thighs. 

Ellie chuckles and a light blush coats her freckles. “If you’d like,” she says, then splits the fritter in half. She lifts the piece into the air and looks up at it with second thoughts. “Can you handle half?”

You look at the large half, almost instantly remembering her customers reviews: strong, ‘will hit you really hard,’ ‘I knocked out with one hit.’ Some may have been more exaggerated than others, but the vast majority claimed Ellie’s weed was strong. And if you take the entire half she offers you, you’ll be so high you end up throwing up. 

You shake your head and take the piece from her. You split it in half and give her the bigger piece. “I’ll this, get dressed, and by the time we get to the zoo, I can see if I need more.” 

She nods and slides the bigger piece of apple fritter from your fingers. She pops it into her mouth and chews then swallows. She looks over at you as you lick the residue off her fingers and wink. She shuts her eyes for a second and opens them as if she’s been struck over the head, dizzily reacting to your wink. Her red cheeks brighten as you stand in only your bra and jeans and walk over to your closet, where you unhook your bra and try on different shirts. 

The zoo, in most occasions, is not your cup of tea. When you were a kid you’d much rather sit in the antarctic section of the path and watch the penguins bounce around and jump into their icy water. The smell of waste and excretion was light and the room was typically cold. You enjoyed sitting there and watching them until your parents rounded back the path and picked you up. 

But now as you walk about with Ellie—high as hell, might you add as you took another quarter of the edible before entering—you’re enjoying all aspects of the zoo: the giraffes, gorillas, birds, every single one, and especially the penguins. The cool air that remains trapped in the room smoothes over the skin under your jacket, leaving goosebumps all over your body.

“It’s cold,” Ellie whispers against your neck. Her body is shaking although she has spent every second in this room glued to your side. “You used to love it in here?” 

You chuckle. “I typically came here during the summer,” you tell her, “when most families come. We have decided to come here during the fall—which I’m not complaining about, by the way.” 

“I take no offense,” she happily replies. “But… it makes sense.” 

You wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her up to the window revealing all of the flopping penguins. No one is in this room, they only walk in and glance at the penguins after the cool air strangles them. 

You press your free hand against the glass and a penguin turns its nonexistent neck to watch you guys. It hops down the ice block where the rest of its family lives and waddles to the edge. It flops into the water and sinks down. You laugh as it floats back up and spins. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper against the glass and watch it fog up. “Is the penguin putting on a show for us or is that just in my head?” 

“Mhm-mhm.”

A string of laughter falls out of Ellie’s mouth and it catches up to you, too. Soon enough, you both are in a fit of laughter. Due to the questionable amount of the edible you’ve ate in the past hour and a half along with the dancing penguin, you both are doubling over and slamming your foreheads against the glass. 

You rub your stomach to tend to the growing pain while Ellie holds onto your arm, trying not to fall to the floor. 

“I think we had too much,” Ellie says through heaves. 

“How?” You ask as your laughter simmers and you can finally catch another look at the penguin. It’s back on its rock beside its pals and you wonder if the show happened at all. “You’re not light-weight.” 

“Dina and I used a looot of oil in these things. Like… too much.” 

You place a hand on your lower belly and suck in an intoxicating breath. “Oh God,” you mutter. 

Ellie’s eyes steady—as does her posture—and she places her hands atop your shoulders, smoothing the worry down your arms and through your fingertips. “You okay?” She asks, her face contorting into a doctor-esque look. “Do you want to go now?” 

You look over her, as if you haven’t been staring at every inch of her since you arrived at the zoo. Her black jeans do her ass the biggest, fattest favor, and the tight Henley snuggling her breasts make you want to take its place. When she turns her her head every which way, you stare down her face, as if you haven’t seen her freckles a load of times, or the hair she continues cutting shorter. (This time you hope she keeps it this way. )

“You want to go?” She asks again, and you remember she asked you this in the first place.  

You shake your head and sigh as you realize it was a mistake. You’re slightly dizzy and fucking freezing. “We can leave this exhibit. Let’s move onto the next one.” 

“The ants and insects?” Ellie asks, obviously a joke as she slides her fingers onto your torso and tickles your you.

You squirm and slap her hands off. “No! Hell no! I mean the giraffes.” 

Ellie kisses your cheek and runs her mouth along your ear. “Okay,” she whispers, and you have to tighten your hands into fists to keep them from running up her damn Henley. 

Your hands are wrapped around a cheeseburger and you’re leaned against Ellie’s old gray truck. You sit outside your apartment and watch as people get in and out of their apartments and cars. 

“Do you ever wonder what people are leaving?” You ask. Your question is stuck in a blob of the same question and you try your best to word it correctly. 

You look over at Ellie as her brows wriggle on her forehead. “Whaddyamean?” She asks, her mouth full. Usually you’d stand up and run away after watching your date talk with their mouth full, but you must be in serious love because you find it cute as hell. 

“Like…” you breathe. “When people walk out of their houses, or whatever, I wonder where they’re going. Who are they going to meet? What are they going to do? Or when I’m driving—or you are—and you stare out the window and just look at these drivers faces; do you not wonder where they’re going? If they have a family they’re coming home to. If they’re struggling in some part of their life but they’re happy nonetheless.” 

“Sonder,” she says. 

“Hm?” 

“Sonder,” she repeats, now looking at you. She’s completely entranced. “I’ve heard that’s what it is.” 

“Is it weird that I wonder that?” You ask her. 

She shakes her head as if that’s a stupid question to ask. “No. I think it’s interesting to always have those questions. To always want to know.” 

You nod even though you yourself think it’s strange. No one has ever been on her side on this matter. You explain yourself well to those you tell—past partners, flings, friends—but no one has attempted to understand. 

“Seriously” you ask, much quieter, less thrilled to hear her truth. 

Ellie sets down her burger and the faintest chuckle rips through her. “You think I’m a liar?” She questions. 

You shrug and lower your burger to your thighs. The wrapper between your fingers is greasy, it almost feels as though its mimicking the sweat coating your forehead. Anxiety is biting your skin off; Ellie knowing about what most run from cannot be thrilling. 

“I don’t think you’re a liar.” You pick up your drink and take a sip, soothing the lump of food lodged between your words. “I just don’t know if you’re telling the truth.” 

She laughs this time and takes your drink from your hands. “That, my love, is quite literally the definition of a liar.” 

“Is it?” You ask, sounding smaller and smaller the more you talk. You feel like it, too. 

Ellie places the drink beside you as she walks around your shaking body. She steals the burger from your hand as well and carefully dumps it into the take-out bag. You stare at her through all of her motions, especially as she looms over you, her body wriggling over yours and ready to grab your hands. But as she does—grab them—she pulls back. You both laugh, you more than her, causing a scarlet tone to spread across her dotted cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you chuckle. “It just feels so…” 

She violently nods. “Yeah.” 

“Anyways”—you shake your head and scramble all of the past few seconds into an amnesiac memory— “tell me what you were going to say.” 

She does so as well, and instead settles her hands on your knees. “You are not strange, or crazy, or creepy. You just have a creative mind and a desperate need to know about people. You may not go up to them and flat-out ask what they’re feeling, or if they have kids and a partner and what-not, but you think about it, and you hope they’re okay.” She stares into your eyes now and you stare back. Typically you silently beg for the other to fall tired of staring, but this time you take it in like a warm blanket.

This moment causes you to realize Ellie is different than who you’ve spent time sharing deep secrets with. As she hazily drinks you in and smoothes her thumbs over your knees, softer than anyone has ever handled you, you see how different she is. How different she feels when you think of her. How your body doesn’t empty itself of warmth when you think of your potential 'futures' together. 

Ellie feels safe. She is safe. And she loves how you think of every passerby with the same care as you do with friends and family. 

You wipe your greasy—and sweaty—hands on your jeans and push her rustled hair behind her left ear. Your thumb glides past her earlobe and ghosts over her jaw. 

Ellie leans herself onto your hand, takes her own, and touches every single one of your fingers. She sounds like a horse as she whinnies and rubs her face against your palm. 

She continues turning until her lips meet your fingers. She kisses your fingers and slowly opens her mouth, air striking your skin and casting goosebumps along it. Her tongue darts out and licks the pad of your index. You shiver. 

You fight to keep your eyes on her but break as Ellie chuckles. A rumbling sounds in the pit of your stomach and instantly, you know you’re in trouble. You look down at your lap and try to cross your legs, but everything down there is far too uncomfortable to do so. 

“You okay?” Ellie whispers. 

You nod. “Yeah,” you say through nervous laughter. “I just don’t want anyone to catch you falling into your urges, you know?” 

“I don’t care,” she whines. “I want to.” 

It feels as though a fly catches in your throat. You can barely breathe at how she sounds—whiny, desperate, in need to kiss you… and not just on your thumb. You want to let her do it all to you right now as she stares hungrily into you, her chest rising and her lips puckering. But…to kiss her and deeply taste her when anyone could be peeking through their curtain or getting off as they watch through their car window… You would much rather not. 

“I want to, too, El,” you reply. The rest of your sentence tugs at your tongue but you bite down on it. 

“But..?” 

“But if you want to then I think we should go inside.” 

Ellie grabs your face and smashes her lips against yours. She kisses you hard and fast, her teeth closing down on your bottom lip. Her hands wander from your face to your shoulders to your lower back. She sneaks her fingers under your shirt and grasps your skin. 

Your mouth parts and a humiliating groan slips out. You shut your mouth by biting down on her lip—as she had done to yours. 

Ellie digs her nails into your skin and soon enough, you’re full-on making out—teeth silently clashing, mouths sucking on lips and tongues fighting one another for a kind of flavor only insanely horny folk’ can taste. 

“Okay,” Ellie hums against your mouth. “Let’s…” She runs out of breath and you pull away. “Let’s go inside?” 

You bite down on your swollen lip and nod. “Mhm-hm,” you answer with a shaken brain and a pulsing center. 

Ellie grabs your to-go bags and drinks and slips her hand into yours as she leads you up to your apartment. You slide your key in shake it around, unlocking the door that somehow feels difficult to open. Maybe it’s because you want to fall inside and fuck Ellie’s brains out for the first time already, or you simply forgot how to open doors. 

You finally get to open the door and as if you’re on a mission, you pull Ellie inside with enough force to pull her arm out of her socket, and slam the door shut. Poor neighbors you have, but they’ll understand. They see Ellie come by almost everyday, and each time they see her, they raise their eyebrows and cross their fingers, as if to say ‘Today is the day,’ but it never is. 

However, tonight… might be the night. 

You open your door with your hand desperate to hold hers. You tug her into your room and as if anyone else lives with you, you shut the door. You drop your bag and kick off your shoes. All you can hear is your short and rapid breaths. 

“You want to?” Ellie asks after you’ve done kicked your shoes off and have slid out of your jacket. 

You look up as your fingers tug at your shirt. Her shoes are off and her jacket is dangling off her pointer finger. You feverishly nod. “Yes,” you spit out. “Yes, I do. I really do. Only if you want to.” 

Ellie drops her jacket and hastily makes her way to you. She grips your shirt where you hold it and pulls it up your body. “Up,” she whispers, “please.” 

You like it—her attempt at being rough. You say attempt because after she roughly pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it onto the floor, she smoothes your hair down and tenderly kisses you. 

You’re left in your black bralette and jeans. Ellie looks down at your body from where you stand centimeters apart (it feels like such). Her breath spreads across your breasts and your nipples harden. You tip your head back and stare at the ceiling as the feeling of Ellie’s fingers appear at the button of your pants. 

“Can I take these off?” She asks. 

You nod. “Please,” you say, your voice groggy. 

She quickly undoes the button and pulls down your zipper. She slides the denim down your legs and kisses your thighs as she does so. You watch her as she does this—how her body slides down, her ass looking great in her jeans, her body almost arching at the taste of your skin. 

She aids your legs out of the holes and pushes the jeans away. She stands up again and feels the ridges of your body: the slight jump from your plump thighs to your hips, the stretch marks sliding across your tummy, the groove of your belly button. 

Ellie takes her time feeling your body, smelling your skin, dotting hickeys along your hips and space between your underwear and belly button. She groans as she reaches your breasts. Her face appears in front of you as though she wasn’t just at your tits, and she kisses your cheek, her hands palming your breasts through your bra. 

You release a strangled moan. You nod and nod, pushing her forward. 

She leans down to kiss your tits while her hands work on pushing your bra strap down. You can’t bear standing as she does this to you, so you push her back until her knees hit your bed. You push her down and smile at her as she pushes herself up on her elbows. 

“Oh god,” she mutters as she looks at you. “You’re beautiful.” 

You blush. “Shut up.” 

She shakes her head and swallows, the sound pinging in your ears. “No. C’mere. Please.” 

You nod and hop up onto the bed. You straddle her waist and rest your hands on the hem of her shirt. You tilt your head to the side and move your body around atop her. You whimper and she curses beneath her breath. “Why are you still dressed?” 

Her mouth opens and you laugh. 

“C’mon,” you murmur. You paw at her shirt and begin pulling it up her body. She sits up and lets you take it off. You leave it on the bed and quickly get back at her body—toned and ready for you. Your fingers roam along the band of her bra and find their way under. You cup her tits and run your thumb across her hard nipple. “Does this feel good?” 

She chokes out a “Yes,” and rolls her head back. Her hips buck and you continue. You pinch her hardened buds and watch her bite down on her lip and curse louder than you’ve ever heard before. She’s blushing all over, her cheeks fiery red, causing her freckles to hide behind the ferocity. Her chest has become splotchy, and not from any hickeys you’ve imagined giving her. She’s blushing and hot, too—physically hot. Warm to the touch. 

"You okay?" You stop to question. 

She nods. "Nervous. Horny." Her words and wobbly but flopping out of her mouth in big waves. "Both?" 

You chuckle and with the back of your hands, you push her bra up over her sore tits. She blushes harder and you lean down to kiss her lips. "Stop," you hum between pecks. "You’re okay. It’s just me." 

"That’s exactly why!" She groans and tilts her head to the side, her eyes rolling as you run your fingers down her body and maneuver your mouth to her tits. Thankfully, Ellie isn’t some masc lesbian who thinks salivating on and over her breasts is atrocious. Currently she’s moaning and humming your name, begging you to keep going. 

"I want more," you say, popping your lips off her nipple. 

"Wh-what, like… You want me to take my—" 

"Take your pants off, yes. And those boxers of yours if you’d like, too." 

She swallows and nods. "Yeah. Of course. Just erm… Scoot back a bit." 

You pull your legs over hers and  unbutton and unzip her pants. You pull them down and as she did to you, you take her feet out and lay her pants to the side. 

Now she’s bare. Almost. 

You sweep a hand over her thighs and close to her center. A thumb accidentally glides over her clothed clit and she jerks. "God, please," Ellie whines. She slaps her hand over yours and grasps it tightly. “Just…” Her mouth trembles, lips widening and shutting as if she’s either going to cry or… cream her pants. “Skip the extra foreplay. I need you on me.” 

You nod and plant a soft kiss on the inside of her thigh. You jump up and pull down your panties. You toss the boring boy shorts onto the flowing pile of clothes and start to crawl onto the bed. 

Ellie watches you with wide eyes. Her breath is snug in her throat and her knuckles are white from how tight she’s holding the bed sheets. 

You sit beside her—your ass on your heels—and grip her side. From there, you trail down to her navy boxers with a wet spot right on her center. You smirk but send your tongue to fight the inside of your cheek to prevent it from spreading across your face. 

Ellie sits up as best as she can and tears off her boxers. She sends them flying somewhere in the room and you both chuckle at the sound it makes. Your mouth drops in a certain wonderstruck you have yet to experience. She’s shaven, only leaving one dark strip. 

You nod, ready. You grip her hips and nudge open her thighs. You look into her eyes and move your hands up onto her shoulders. She braces hers on your waist and pulls you up onto her thigh. You lower yourself down onto her and feel the heat of her skin on your pussy. You groan and bite down on your lip. 

You look at Ellie as she situates herself beneath you and ask, “Is this okay for you?” 

She nods. She rolls her hips against you and you drop your head, your mind already foggy the more she rolls and circles them. You follow her lead, both awkwardly trying to figure out what feels best and how to continue doing that. 

Quickly, though, Ellie catches onto the specific way she rolls her hips, pelvic bone slamming into you perfectly. You push a hand down onto Ellie’s clit and circle your fingers around the pulsing bud. She jolts but the movements spur her on. She moves faster and the chord in your lower belly is being pulled taut. 

You groans and gasps in the air coming from the both of you leave behind the embarrassment of the first few seconds of heat action. You dig your nails into her hips and take the lead as Ellie slows down. 

This… this leaves Ellie gasping and fucking quaking. You roll onto her and slither a hand onto her nipple. You roll her hardened bud between your thumb and index and she arches her back. She digs her hands into the mattress and lets out an ear-shattering moan. You lean down and kiss her breasts. You grasp and lick them, and this drives her crazy. 

“Touch me,” she says. 

“I am, babe,” you pant. 

She grabs your hand and leads it down to her center. She trails your fingers down her slit and groans at the contact of your hot fingers on her clit. You lift your hips in order for her to follow you down right where— “I want you inside me.” 

You blush. The redness—not of the heat tinting your skin—chars your cheeks and you skip a breath. “In—inside of you?” 

She nods. “Please,” she whines. 

You nod and slide a finger inside of her. She’s wet, so easy to slide another in. And you pump your fingers in and out of her, sliding your palm against her clit. You look down at the mess on your hand, then at Ellie’s sex hair and sex face and how red her tits are. 

Your core is throbbing. How you are as of now—knuckles deep inside of Ellie, fucking her out of her mind—has you coming yourself. The sound of your fingers against her wet pussy along with how hot she looks writhing beneath you has the chord in your belly ripping. 

You gasp at first. You cry out her name and soon enough, Ellie is coming. She shakes and slaps her hand over your wrist. “Keep going,” she begs you. “Keepgoingkeepgoing—“ 

You do so. And the more you go, the more her legs shake. She presses herself against your palm and soon enough, she comes again. This time, she slowly pulls your hand away with her thighs tight against you fingers. She whines when she fully pulls you away. 

She takes that hand and pushes it onto your lips. “Open,” she says, and you do. She slips her fingers into your mouth and you suck her cum off your fingers. “Good. That’s my girl.” 

You roll your eyes and pop your mouth off your fingers. “Don’t say that or I’ll sit on your face to shut you up. 

She tilts her head with wide eyes and looks up at you. “Is that a threat? Because I surely wouldn’t mind that.” 

You push her into the mattress and straddle her waist with sore thighs. You kiss her mouth and suck on every inch of her mouth. “I wouldn’t mind either.” 

“Then c’mon,” she says, slapping your ass. “Get on and ride my face darling.” 

#ellie williams #elliewilliams x reader #ellie williams tlou #lesbian romance #ellie williams x you #the last of us #oneshot #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams headcanons #ellie the last of us #tlou2 #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x f! reader #ellie fanfiction

[probablyasocialecologist]

There have been numerous individual reports, just in this war, of children, mothers and grandmothers being randomly sniped by Israeli soldiers. There are the stories of Palestinians sniped, or executed on the spot in front of their children, having waved the white flag of surrender. There is the story of dozens of Palestinians found in plastic bags near a school in northern Gaza, having been killed execution-style, blindfolded, with their legs and hands tied. There is the story of Hind Rajab, the six year old girl in Gaza City who was stuck in a car with her dead family after they were killed by Israeli fire. And who was murdered along with the Red Crescent crew who came, having coordinated safe passage with the Israeli military, after she called them begging for help. The scale at which children are being killed cannot be an accident. Children reportedly make up 12,300 (or 41%) of the estimated 30,000 Gazans killed during Operation Swords of Iron, far beyond anything seen in Afghanistan, Syria, Ukraine, Iraq or Yemen, even discounting for the relatively young median age in Gaza. Even the raw numbers of children killed, in a few months in a small population, far exceed the numbers killed over five years of war in Syria, eight years of war in Yemen, eleven years of war in Afghanistan, and fifteen years of war in Iraq. One does not merely stumble upon such outcomes. They are the overt expressions of an overt calculus of a culture which holds that there are “no innocents in Gaza”, that Palestinians are from the age of four up brainwashed “terrorists” who have “brought this upon themselves”. What else is the ideological function of the stories circulating in rightist Israeli media, asserting that Gazan children as young as ten joined in the 7th October attack? Isn’t there something uncanny about the idea of a child that is also a mass murderer? Something that is, as David Livingstone Smith observes of the racialised enemy in Making Monsters, both subhuman and superhuman? And what contrasting model of childhood is implied in the decision of Israeli television channel, Kan, to have Israeli children to sing a ‘Friendship Song’ about the “annihilation” of Gaza? The soldiers have been granted, and have availed themselves of, extreme license for lubricious blood-letting. Here is the macabresque, as Edward Weisband defines it, where the cruelty has a deliberate and gratuitous theatricality belying its strategic rationales. Something is being staged here at the junction between what Weisband calls “disordered perpetrator desire”, “supererogatory moralism” and “a perverted sense of heroism”. The elaborate performativity of the sadism is at least suggested by the extraordinary rate at which soldiers post evidence of their war crimes to TikTok, along with various bizarre ‘skits’: soldiers playing in an empty playground for example, or staging a mock maths class in a deserted Gaza schoolroom. The joke in each case being the haunting absence of children. Who is the audience for this elaborately performative sadism? Recall the spectacle of Israelis setting up chairs on the hillsides of southern Israel to watch the bombing of Gaza during Operation Protective Edge in 2014. Recall the far-right dancing in the streets, to wild cries of “There are no children left in Gaza … Gaza is a cemetery!” War is a national festival and, while forms of indirect physical participation such as signing messages on bombs or raving to block aid to Gaza are still possible, the carnival can now be enjoyed through the medium of likes and laugh emojis, as with the gory ‘72 Virgins’ Telegram channel, which the IDF now admits is its own doing. But there is also the opportunity to troll, to trigger the libs: you care about these subhuman monsters, well let us show you what we do with them. You are anxious, we are having the time of our lives.

#israel #palestine #zionism #gaza #war crimes #IDF

[consanguinitatum]

David Tennant as a Narrator: DT Goes A Bit Space-y, Pt. 1 - We Are Astronomers (2009)

If you're a fan of David's, you're used to using all sorts of ways to see and hear him perform. You might turn on the television to watch him in shows like Doctor Who or Good Omens. You might flip on your media player of choice to listen to him do sixty-gagillion voices in Cressida Cowell’s How To Train Your Dragon series of audio books, or you might catch him on the radio doing Chase UK bank or Virgin Media adverts. You could even fire up Just Cause 3 or Call of Duty: The Final Reich to catch him in a video game.

But did you know you could also go visit your local planetarium?

David's work as a narrator is just as rich and wide-ranging as all the other aspects of his acting career. So for today and in the following post, we'll take a look at two of these narrative productions connected by a common thread - space.

Come with me back to 2009. It was the International Year of Astronomy (IYA2009), and Edinburgh-based charity Dynamic Earth had received funding from the Science and Technology Facilities Council to partner with a number of UK-based organizations - including the Armagh Planetarium, the Centre For Life, INTECH Science Centre & Planetarium, the National Space Centre, Royal Observatory Greenwich, and Spaceport - to create a 25-minute long 360° full-dome show for planetariums and digital dome theatres called We Are Astronomers.

And it got the then-current Time Lord, David Tennant, to narrate it.....

----

Read further right here on Substack.

Leave comments for me there, or come on back here and tell me what you think!

#davidtennant #obscuredavidtennantperformances #WeAreAstronomers #Narration

[dailycomer]

JODIE COMER attends Virgin Media British Academy Television Awards at The Royal Festival Hall on May 08, 2022 in London, England.

#jodie comer #jodiecomeredit #dailywomen #glamoroussource #userladiesblr #flawlessbeautyqueens #thequeensofbeauty #chewieblog #event #bafta awards 2022 #bafta awards #2022 #photos #creation #**

[inhalerupdates]

Clip of Inhaler’s interview with Virgin Media Television’s Uprising

#interview #video #inhaler #inhaler dublin #inhaler band #elijah hewson #eli hewson #josh jenkinson #robert keating #bobby skeetz #ryan mcmahon

[sophs-style]

sophs-style:

Jodie Comer at the 2022 Virgin Media British Academy Television Awards on Sunday (8th May) in London.

Jodie wore a plunging tuxedo-inspired custom BOSS gown. Jimmy Choo ‘Max’ platforms and Messika jewels completed her look.

#Jodie Comer #2022 Virgin Media British Academy Television Awards #2022 Virgin Media BAFTA TV Awards #2022 British Academy Televison Awards #appearance #appearances #event #outfit #boss #Jimmy Choo #messika #celebrity style #celebrity fashion #celeb style #celeb fashion #red carpet style #red carpet fashion #fashion #style #stylish

[dean-isms]

“There are two things that I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, you are not gonna die a virgin.”

Reference: Sesame Street

Episode: 5x03 “Free to Be You and Me”

Writer: Jeremy Carver

Spoken To: Castiel

Media Type: Television - Children’s

Timeframe: 1969 (Premiered)

Description: Sesame Street is an American educational children's television series that combines live-action, sketch comedy, animation and puppetry. In an interview with the LGBTQ website "Queerty," Mark Saltzman who wrote for "Sesame Street" for more than 13 years starting in 1984 said Bert and Ernie mirrored the relationship he had with his partner Arnie.

#season five #television #from the dean isms spreadsheet #okay dean!