#A Preview of Coming Attractions

[pinetree-poet]

WEDNESDAY'S WEEKLY POETRY PROMPTS: 7/31/24 ~ A PREVIEW OF COMING ATTRACTIONS

A PREVIEW OF COMING ATTRACTIONS © 2024 - G. Smith (BMI) =================== Friday night at the picture show, The marquee lights are all aglow. He buys their tickets, holds the door, she walks in. They both have the feeling, something’s about to begin.

They pause and look over the concession stand, The next thing he knows, she takes his hand, With popcorn and Cokes they take their seats, As she passes close, he says she sure smells sweet.

The house-lights dim, the room grows dark, And for that split second, they both hear their hearts. This guy and this girl, Their world in a whirl; How will things work out? Do they have any doubts?

It’s a preview, Of coming attractions; A movie trailer of their life; Equal and opposite, Reactions. The lows and the highs, Through the rest of their lives; It’s a preview, Of coming attractions.

The last reel plays and the credits roll, Then they’re out on the square, taking a stroll; Past the hardware store and florist’s shop, At the jeweler’s window, they slow to a stop.

She laughs in a way he’s not heard before, But curfew is coming, so he gets her car door. They pull in her drive, Both feeling alive; And that tentative first kiss, Is complete utter bliss.

It’s a preview, Of coming attractions. A movie trailer of their life. A technicolor dream, Up there on the screen, Not some shadow picture in old black and white. It’s a preview, Of coming attractions.

Happiness and joy, Heartbreak and sorrow; This girl and this boy, Facing new days, new tomorrows.

It was a preview Of coming attractions. A movie trailer of our life. A cactus filled western, A romance about our turn, With me as your husband, and you as my wife. Just a preview, Of coming attractions, No sequel could possibly equal. Our happily ever-after life.

[devereauxsdisease]

left Twitter at last. Love your fics Hannigram fics so much. If you have any more in the pipeline I would love to know but thank you anyway for all the fantastic stories. I am Allegramanontroppa on AO3 strictly a reader not a writer. Was @partbiscuit on Twitter and am sadpapercourtesan on Instagram/threads. Thank you for the stories, every one of them are great. Are you still writing? If so where? And thank you again. Sara, daughter of Immigrants. Mother of Spaniels.

Hi! Thank you so very much for the kind words!

I'm not sure whether or not to say I'm sorry you left Twitter? I've actually never had a personal Twitter account because that site ramps up my anxiety and always feels sort of combative. (So if y'all want to talk shit about me over there, no worries, I'll never see it. 🤪) I'm more than happy to sit here like Ferdinand the Bull and sniff flowers while other people do fandom wars or whatever happens on Twitter.

I've actually got three stories in the wings I hope I'll have out soon-ish. Here's a little preview:

Hannigram: Will and Hannibal end up in Latvia Post Fall and Hannibal uses long winters and the promise of a sauna to bring them together...

Spacedogs: Adam's dad meets Nigel when he sees the man screwing his son on the kitchen table. He makes an immediate decision to get rid of this creep - but is his first impression a correct impression?

Hannigram, longer fic: Will's empathy extends to his sense of taste. He can tell what someone is feeling if they cook for him. I wonder if there's a cannibal out there who would LOVE that trait in a partner?

Like I said, they're written and currently going through beta, so fingers crossed you'll see them in the coming weeks. I so appreciate you reaching out and being so kind to me.

Best,

Dev, daughter of Baltimoreans and mother of mutts

[ghostradiodylan]

I don't usually do WIP Wednesdays, but this is a snippet of my WIP and it happens to be Wednesday... Posting a little preview for accountability because I really need to finish this and get it posted!

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His walk back to the lodge would be peaceful, scenic even, if not for the macabre circumstances. The woods are coming to life like they always do at daybreak. They’d been friendly, a cherished place of respite just a few short hours ago, but now each sound sets his teeth on edge, has his imagination conjuring an enemy approach to correspond with every rustling of grass, every breeze that moves through the canopy of leaves. He’s nearing his destination when Ryan’s paranoia actually manifests into something real, stops him dead in his tracks.

Someone or something is staggering out of the tree line and toward the lodge, pale and lanky and coated in blood. The sight of it kicks Ryan’s heart into overdrive. Chris Hackett is dead and the sun is up. Ryan knows, logically, that the monsters should be gone, but it sets off every alarm bell in his brain anyway, has him raising his rifle and switching off the safety, just in case. He stares into the distance for a few seconds more and is struck with a realization that shocks him so badly he nearly drops the gun. Instead he slowly lowers it and engages the safety again, letting it dangle from the strap over his shoulder. The tall figure he’s got in his sights is not a werewolf. Not anymore. 

“Dylan.”

Ryan breathes his name into the morning mist like a secret. 

Dylan’s usually fluffy hair is stuck down to his head with blood and rainwater. His formerly gray t-shirt is now mostly varying shades of deep red and is so thoroughly torn that it appears to be more hole than shirt, hanging off his torso like some sort of crudely-fashioned fishing net. His cropped jeans are shredded to ribbons up to his knees and his stilted gait, Ryan realizes, is likely due to him having lost his shoes when all the skin exploded off of his body. By Dylan’s typical standards, he looks pretty rough, but he’s just about the most beautiful thing Ryan can imagine seeing at the edge of the forest on this godawful morning.

He’s alive. He’s okay. Until this moment, Ryan hadn’t even consciously known that he’d been expecting another outcome. Truthfully, he hadn’t allowed himself to think about Dylan very much at all once he’d left for the Hackett house. He’d done some quick and necessary compartmentalization to focus on the more pressing problem of Laura and Chris. Now, he feels the protective numbness he’s wrapped around himself like a blanket shifting and falling away, his battered heart hammering as it fills with something that could only be hope. He hesitates for a moment, as though he’s afraid that calling out to him aloud will cause Dylan to dissolve into the ether like a ghost. Then Ryan takes a deep breath and finds his voice. 

“Dylan!” he shouts, and Dylan startles, his head whipping around in search of the sound. He spots Ryan and looks like he’s doing a double-take himself, his gore-spattered face alight with recognition and disbelief, like he can’t quite accept that what he’s seeing could be real either.

“Ryan?” he calls back, “Ryan!”

Ryan reaches a full sprint in Dylan’s direction before he even realizes that he’s running.

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[catalisst]

[fanficfanattic]

Like everyone saw augusnippets day 2: platonic bathing/hair care/make-up and went Dani Rojas + Jamie (and @abubblingcandle added Sam too!)

And I mean, I also thought that but didn’t pre-write something. So I was like “I’ll just put someone else with Jamie!” Then remembered there are 20 other players. And that I write for multiple fandoms (technically).

I’ve made my decision! And it is one that will make @orbitalpirate happy! This whole post is just a teaser for them honestly. I have the day off but won’t be posting the fic for a while yet. 😈

Edit: added a link to the fic. A Broken Butt

[scaryscarecrows]

Jason’s first thought when he opens his eyes is, that is the biggest cobweb I’ve ever seen.

His next is, Deathstrokecameradeadthey’realldeadmyfault–, and that’s the one that sends him jolting upright with the full intention of puking. Nothing comes up, a rapid reminder that he hasn’t consumed anything since…since…

What time is it? he wonders, and then, where the fuck am I?

A dark room, he can tell that much. Small. Not Medical, but it still has the smell of blood and medicines. Both of these are quickly explained by the bandages around…several things, actually. Torso. Shoulder. There’s a brace on his knee that he didn’t have last time he checked. Come to think of it, He’s not in his armor anymore. He’d lost the helmet almost immediately–thrown it at Deathstroke and activated the bomb–but the rest…

[adonis-koo]

I’ve read chapter 18 so many times ❤️ I also noticed our MC hasn’t said “I Love You” to Jungkook yet BUT she does show she loves him with her actions with him🥹 I love this couple so much, I want them to have so many kids together 🥹

!!!! someone noticed !!!! I very intentionally wrote it that way because while the timing felt right for Jungkook it just didn’t feel quite there for MC, and I figured, why not? And Jungkook very easily told her in 18 that if she wasn’t ready to say it, if she didn’t feel it, that was fine, he was just finally admitting his own feelings.

MC is definitely in love with him and it’ll be a matter of time before she declares it, but when and how is up for debate

[shrinkthisviolet]

Morgan Wells + Barry Allen

qocc oc challenge 2023 (Aug 25): The Ties That Bind Us

create something for the most important relationship(s) in your oc’s life!

TikTok link

Taglist:

@arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @vexic929 @raith-way @ironverseocs @thechaoticfanartist @nolanhollogay

Send an ask or DM if you want to be added or removed!

[videoeclectic]

A new video all about Kirk and Spock is out now!

[sunshinechay]

Finally got to watch the new Laws of Attraction episode and damn, the calm before the storm.

Also I’m calling it now. Thanthai is the real chekov’s gun and the teddy bear is a red herring.

Thanthai is going to flip the board on his father and come clean about everything and he’s going to be the reason his father gets taken down. They’ve drawn way too much attention to just how scared Thathep is of his son leave/running away. Than knows exactly what his father is nervous about and he’s going to tell the world. Especially if it means Thee will be okay and he’ll be able to get out from under his father’s abuse.

[whumpcereal]

Working on the next bit of Will and Tommy's Very Bad Day™️, and it's making me feel some kind of way, so even though it's not ready, please accept this humble "first date" snippet as my apology for what's transpired and what's coming. (Basically, I just need to remind myself that they'll be okay).

Annie steps back so that she can look at his face, letting her hands rest on the flat of his chest. He is solid and warm. Safe. Whole.

“Hi,” she says again. 

“It’s really good to see you,” Will says. His voice is rough and a little hesitant, but Annie’s heart beats faster to hear it. Dad silenced him so quickly–Will’s voice is still new to her. “Thank you for coming all this way,” he says. 

“Tommy drove.” 

There’s the slightest tension around Will’s mouth, but he doesn’t say anything other than, “Oh.” 

Annie tries not to wince. Poor Tommy. “He’ll be back later.” 

“Sure.” 

“Hey,” she says, reaching up to touch his cheek. His skin is smooth beneath her palm. “It’s just us. Just you and me.” 

Will’s brown eyes slip closed for just a second, and he leans into her touch. “Just us.” 

“Our first date?” Annie says hopefully. 

Will opens his eyes again, and he smiles. “If you want it to be.” 

“It’d be my first date ever.”

“Well, then, I’m honored.” 

“Me too,” she answers. She rocks forward on the balls of her feet, fighting the urge to press up on her toes and kiss him. She doesn’t want to do too much too soon. She’s happy just to be here with him. She knows she’ll never take that for granted. 

[2001fairyprincess]

dating apps as a disabled lesbian are r o u g h ……… i’m gonna die alone i can feel it

[mercurygray]

Hey, remember yesterday when I said that thing about OCs and having food at home?

850 words later, I stopped for takeout...and I have a new OC.

"You said I was indisposed again."

It was always a statement - never a question. Iselde nodded. The truth was always best, with Helaena. Not because she saw it, the way the others always said she did. The Princess only liked straightforward people. It was one of the first things Iselde had learned, when she'd first come to King's Landing. Aegon likes wine, Aemond likes books, and Helaena likes the truth. "I thought you would not like to see him, your grace. He was… in an amorous mood."

"You're good at lying," Helaena said. "Like Mother is."

[lycrabustier]

Gotta love the hope the old Paramount “coming attractions” bump can bring.

From Friday the 13th Part VIII, 1989, VHS

[titleknown]

So, I have been steadily chipping away at Kaijune stuff, but it's gonna be Kaijuly by the time I'm done with it thanks to... setbacks, in regards to one I thought was gonna be the easiest. So juggling that with Artfight is gonna be fun.

But, I figured I may as well preview another project I'm working on, some concept art of some characters for a CC-BY webcomic I'm working on with brilliant writer and friend of the blog @o-hybridity!

Granted, some stuff may change by the final project, and she finally convinced me to do it in regular black-and-white rather than this neon-on-black-style due to the tone she wanted to convey and also because; well; writing-wise it's kinda her baby.

But yeah, be on the lookout for that, because we got some really fun ideas cookin' that we can't wait to show you!!

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb) | x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

tagging @starkeysprincess bc she saw it first <3