#Famous Couple

[retropopcult]

Farrah Fawcett and Lee Majors holding a friend's baby, Christmas 1971

[morganbritton132]

Fic where the Corroded Coffin boys need money for The Battle of the Bands in Chicago.

They’re getting high and thinking of ways to come up with the money - selling their shit, donating blood, ect - when one of them suggest they do a ransom.

Dick Harrington is the richest guy in town. Surely, he’d pay big bucks for his only son, right? They could get enough cash to get to the Battle of the Bands and also buy new amps. They should do this, right?

It’ll be easy.

Turns out, it’s not easy to kidnap someone because Steve fights back surprisingly hard. Gareth is limping. Jeff has a broken nose. Grant has an asthma attack chasing Steve when he runs.

The only reason they get him is because Eddie hit him with his van and now they’re all panicking about how he’s probably slowly dying from a head bleed. This what they’re doing when Steve slowly regains consciousness, tied up in Gareth’s mom’s basement.

They don’t stop panicking until he’s like, “Um, can I get a cigarette?”

Steve is both the best and worst hostage they’ve ever had (also the only hostage they’ve ever had). He doesn’t scream or cry like they thought he would, but he’s really bitchy and kinda mean, and he does try to escape when Eddie unties him so he can use the bathroom.

It’s like three hours later when Steve tells them that his dad is not going to pay a ransom because like, “He doesn’t even like me.”

“He’ll pay,” Eddie says, breaking his hour long streak of ignoring Steve. “Anybody would pay to get their kid back.”

“He didn’t last time.”

Freeze. Record scratch. “What?”

“What do you need the money for anyways?” Steve asks. Grant tells him and a Steve nods like, “Oh. Yeah, I can get you the money. Easy peasy.”

Cut to a genre change. This is a heist now and the Corroded Coffin boys quickly learn that Steve is fucking insane and also, maybe their manager now?

[dedicatedfollower467]

for reference:

Amok Time = the canonical Fuck Or Die Episode

This Side of Paradise = the canonical Sex Pollen Episode (technically happiness/euphoria pollen but the sex part is heavily implied)

Plato's Stepchildren = the canonical Aliens Made Them Do It Episode (actually featuring Kirk/Uhura rather than anything with spock, but like. the potential is definitely there)

All Our Yesterdays = the canonical Huddling For Warmth Episode

The Enterprise Incident = the canonical Undercover Agent Sex Episode

[rayveneyed]

cw; suggestive / softcore smut, alcohol consumption (possibly dubcon), inappropriate workplace relationships, cisfem!reader

nanami kento is too old for fucking.

he tells you this at 1 am — in not quite as many words — a few too many somaeks in, lethargic and slow from the length of the workday. there’s enough alcohol in his system to have him silk-loose and soft, cursing more freely and allowing vulgarity (or what he considers vulgarity) to grace his ever-so-polite tongue.

you’ve never heard him like this before; you’ve never heard your straight laced coworker utter anything more than a family-friendly expletive (drat being a recurring character — old-fashioned, but endearing). but his shirt is unbuttoned at the collar and his hair is mussed, and the blush of intoxication is rising to his sharp cheekbones — and yes, he curses. it almost sounds elegant when he does it. rolling over his tongue in his poorly-lit living room, where he’d only bothered to turn one lamp on; gathering with his voice like balls of cotton wool deep in his chest.

you yourself have had one too many drinks — that is why you find warmth pooling in your stomach at the sound of his confession, at the sight of his face illuminated in honey-soft light. after all, you’d never let the barrier of strained, charged professionalism drop otherwise. you’d never accept kento’s sudden invite for a nightcap after a night already filled with drinking, surrounded by tipsy coworkers at a local izakaya; you’d never let him help you slip your heels off, deft fingers unbuckling the strap from your ankle and lingering just long enough for you to notice. you’d surely never sit so close to him on his fancy 1.5 million yen couch — and you’d never, ever entertain the comment he’d made, one that he never intended for you to hear in the first place.

“what was that?” you say, coy, as if the comment hadn’t twisted something horrid in your gut. (as if you weren’t imagining him flushed from top to bottom, panting against your neck. it’s the alcohol, you’re sure of it.) “you’re too old for all that crazy stuff? like what?”

his adam’s apple bobs. he’s sitting slumped low next to you, his head hanging backwards against the back of the couch and his gaze somewhere on the high ceilings above your head, like he can’t face you. pretty. handsome. “sorry. i was just thinking out loud.”

“i know.” you take a sip of your own somaek. “but we’re both adults here, right? i mean, i agree. i’m not as flexible as i was at 20.”

his laugh is more of a surprised huff — like he’s just as surprised as you are that your conversation has steered into such uncharted territory. perhaps he’s surprised that he’s even responding to it — but he does, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. his thigh presses against yours through those infernal khaki slacks. “mm. me neither.”

you shoot him a cheeky grin. “you were getting folded like a pretzel, i presume?”

another laugh, tinged with incredulity this time. “mm. something like that.”

you both sit in silence for a moment. his apartment really is lovely — the kind of apartment you only get when you’re as diligent as nanami, putting aside money for years and steadily working his way up the hierarchal corporate ladder. high ceilings and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows opposite his couch; a kitchen with a granite island; fancy furniture straight from an interior designer’s wet dream. it’s all neutral greys and browns, cozy and elegant and refined, and suddenly you wonder what his bedroom looks like. you take another sip of your drink.

“getting older’s not all that bad,” you say, almost offhandedly, speaking more to the tokyo skyline than your drinking companion. (you bet he has a double-king with fancy 500-count cotton bedsheets. probably some trinkets. man stuff like shavers and cuff links and aftershave.) “i like it slow anyways.”

a strange, choked sound leaves your drinking partner, and your eyes shoot over to him. you’re suddenly mortified at your careless blabbering — but drunk enough for your embarrassment to be eclipsed by a prideful ignorance. “huh? nanami-san, are you okay?”

he stares up at the ceiling once more. his throat bobs again. a slight blush has dusted the tops of his ears — but before you can linger in it, his eyes suddenly flicker to meet yours. you’re almost taken aback by it — the intensity with which his brown eyes suddenly bore into you, the sullenness and modesty from before pushed aside for something newer. something rawer. “…forgive me for my forwardness—”

“you’re forgiven.”

“—but, i…”

you swallow. he still hasn’t looked away. your breathing has stilted, stagnant and pressing, in your lungs. you fight the urge to press against the point where his thigh meets your own, already on the verge of squirming under his heady stare. “but…?”

straight-laced nanami kento breathes deeply, his chest moving with the force of it, and as his breath shudders out of him, he bites out: “i really want you, right now.”

your heartbeat rushes in your ears.

“but we’re coworkers,” kento continues, like he’s been sitting on it for a while — like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. his hand — the one not clutching his glass, the one laying on top of his thigh, flexes. “it’s unprofessional — completely inappropriate. i should be written up for simply confessing this to you.”

“but we—” you swallow around a dry throat — all moisture in your body seemingly gathering between your legs, hot and thrumming and nowhere to go— “we’re not working right now.”

a beat of silence.

kento finally looks away from you, and you can breathe again. you grapple with the sudden influx of air in your lungs, the anxiety of misstepping broiling in the pit of your stomach. while you internally struggle with yourself, nanami sets his somaek on the coffee table, before slumping back again.

“i suppose we’re not.”

unsurprisingly, kento does not make the first move. he just sits there, one arm behind his head and the other laying limp at his side, his chin tilted towards the sky and his eyes shut as if to sleep. it’s not in a way that might be construed as arrogance — this isn’t your high school boyfriend sitting back and waiting for you to pull down his pants — it’s pure and utter indulgence. climb over him if you want. kiss him when you want. cross the imaginary line drawn in the sand when it suits you — regardless, he won’t ever touch unless you explicitly make it clear that you want him to. desire curdles in your stomach, almost painful, and it's all you can do to scrabble onto your knees beside him.

before your anxiety takes control of your faculties — before you allow your cowardice to seize your limbs — you swing a knee to the other side of his hips. you're straddling him, close enough that you're sure you're sharing the same air, and — fuck, he's much bigger than you'd anticipated. he doesn't have the wiry, lean stature of the average salaryman — somehow, between sleeping overnight in the office and drinking at izakayas almost nightly, kento's frame is sturdy and large, muscular. like he works out often. you don't know how he does it with the long hours he puts in, but your thighs almost ache with the stretch of his hips between them — and pressed right against you, right where you're sensitive and aching and perhaps a little too needy, is his clothed cock. the slacks do little to camouflage the shape or hardness of it — in fact, you swear you feel it twitch when you seat yourself against it.

kento's eyes flutter open. his cheekbones are slowly reddening, his glasses hooked low on his nose bridge. his arms twitch where they lay, like he was about to move to hold you and thought better of it. you wish he didn't think better of it. "hi."

you give a little smile, hopefully looking less like you're brimming with excitable energy than you actually are. his lips really are quite close to yours. if you just leaned forward... "hi."

they're not chapped, his lips, but not shining with lip balm. they're soft looking and slightly pink, naturally down-turned in a way that makes him seem grumpy most of the time. but they're quirked up in a little smile, now, and all you can think about is how they might feel against yours. your lip gloss has long since rubbed off, between drinking and eating and drinking again, but would the remnants of glitter smear against his lips? would he come away tasting cherries?

kento clears his throat.

"i have to be honest with you," he says. he adjusts his glasses smartly, the way he does at the office, the way that has all the your female coworkers swooning. "i'm… passed the age of doing things no strings attached — that is to say, if—”

heart suddenly swooping in your chest — delighted at being indulged, of having your affections returned — and brain whizzing along like a child who's had too much sugar, you connect your lips with little fanfare. you're perhaps too enthusiastic — prodding his mouth with your tongue as soon as he'll let you, leaning forward until your chests press together and you can almost feel his heart beating through his skin. his lips are soft, after all. soft but weathered, moving so pleasantly against yours — and then his hands squeeze at the plushness of your hips, his teeth take your bottom lip between them, and—

you're panting when you pull away. panting and flushed and hot all over, barely an inch between you for fear of distance. you’re hot where you’re connected, so filled with nervous, excitable energy you think you might wither; nanami’s grasp on you, steel-tight and warm, does little to help. it’s all you can do to give yourself a second to recuperate, chest heaving — and nanami seems just as bad off. the usually well-kept salaryman looks a mess underneath you, with his lips swollen, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing uneven — even then, though, his eyes are far too intense for you to calm any.

“to be honest,” you say, "i’m — i’m a little too old for that, too, kento."

another small smile. the gap between you is filled once more. you both call in sick that morning.

[lavenderprose]

I don't think my Rook is a virgin or even particularly inexperienced; they're like thirty and the Mourn Watch seems to know how to fuckin party if the Hezenkoss plotline is any indication. However there's something that resonates with me about Emmrich being their first for OTHER things like:

- First time being brought breakfast in bed (Rook cries. Emmrich panics. Darling, it's JUST oatmeal!)

- First time actually taking a midnight stroll while holding hands? Rook thought that was just. Romance serial behavior. People don't actually DO that. Then they're in Treviso very late one night and making their way back to the Diamond and Emmrich pulls them close while walking along the canal, wraps their hand in his (Big. Warm. Long fingers) and kisses the back of their palm and just? Doesn't let go? For the rest of their walk?

- First time being apologized to in an argument? Rook is very used to people who are opinionated and knowledgeable--the Mourn Watch is basically a university meets a corporation meets a seminary (In the WORST kind of way, at times) so you're constantly meeting people who are singularly convinced of their own expertise. Rook, themself, can be pretty opinionated. The first time Rook disagrees with Emmrich on something and it gets a little heated, they figure they'll go cool off for a little bit and then go tell Emmrich how Special He Is just to put the argument past them, because that's what worked in the past, with other situationships. To their surprise, Emmrich finds them fifteen minutes later and sits down on the floor with them, huge old text book on his crisscrossed legs, and says, "Darling, I can't apologize enough. I looked it up and actually, you were correct--" Rook takes the textbook out of his lap and replaces it with themself.

- Most importantly, Emmrich is the first partner to make Rook feel like they can truly just...unmask. Be themself, and that not only will Emmrich tolerate that but ENJOY that. Emmrich enchants an orb to play the echoes and creaks of the Necropolis at night so that Rook can sleep better in the silent Fade; he spends an hour gently rubbing Rook's head after they snap at him one night because he realizes they're having a migraine. He's also, like, y'know, very very good in bed and seems to be genuinely horny for a lot of this stuff. Like, caring for Rook seems to genuinely DO IT for him y'know?

Rook tells him, "I've never had anyone love me the way you do," and Emmrich just tilts his head and smiles at them in that sweet, beautiful way of his.

"Darling," he says, "As the man who loves you, I can with confidence say that the others were doing it wrong. This is how you deserve to be loved, and shall be, so long as I breathe air--and perhaps long afterward as well."

Rook starts crying. Again.

[nellasbookplanet]

Mentioning Tusk Love and the potential of other independent stories set in Exandria reminded me of an old discord conversation about how they could Fix the courting of the crick for publishing (seeing as it's canonically a Bad Book due to being super dry and also racist towards drow) without breaking canon:

Rename it 'The Courting of the Kryn - a Reimagining of the Classic Story, by Jester Lavorre'

Present it as an in-universe fanfic-ish rewrite. There's a foreword where 'Jester' elaborates on the inaccuracies of the original, the impact the story had on her, and the importance of Dynasty-Empire relations. There's an acknowledgement section where she thanks Caleb and Beau as 'consultants on Empire culture', as well as an unnamed/under fake name/clearly Essek as an 'expert on the Luxon, dunamancy and Dynasty culture'. All his information on spy networks is eerily accurate and has his former co-workers scrambling. (He makes her keep all the dry historical accounts, but now it's accurate (with added dick-related puns)). She mentions that she reached out to the Bright Queen who reluctantly (after 5 messages in a row) gave some pointers. In her frantic research she possibly made some breakthroughs on the nature on the Luxon that has Essek reeling (there's a 'further reading' section where she lists the academic paper he wrote building on her discoveries and an entire list of the sources her consultants used).

For extra fun and meta-ness, include footnotes where she comments on things she changed/removed from the original and why, how various scenes may have been inspired by a real life couple or events, etc. Some of the footnotes are written by her consultants. Caleb and Essek get into arguments on dunamancy theory which is actually thinly veiled flirting. There's anatomically accurate drow sex (it's unclear whether the consultant was Essek or Caleb or possibly a certain brother, who was also consulted on Dynasty military practices).

[lazylittledragon]

ok so this is Extremely specific but it's the middle of the night and i can't stop thinking about it: anyone who was/is involved in the les mis fandom, did i hallucinate the enjolras cosplayer who made a fan novel and also a fan film and then later was exposed for cheating on his partner, divorcing them and abandoning his child with cancer to go and become a jewish lawyer or was that something that actually happened

[nancy-xx]

Nancy and Sid

Nancy and sid posing at their pindock mews flat in london, august 4th 1978.

On this day they had a party and amongst those in attendance were anna sui and anne beverley, Sid's mother.

[puretopia]

[allblognamesaretakenso]

this nomination is so special to me bc if you take out the steaminess its basically just colin's love confession. people tore him to shreds for having the 'worst/least memorable bridgerton love confession' and its the only one thats BAFTA NOMINATED!! that's luke's raw performance. his authentic acting choices (i mean, the man's fingers literally went viral). luke is finally getting the recognition he deserves, karma is real y'all ❤️❤️❤️

[surreal-duck]

@midoyuzuweek day 2 | circle activities / whispering marina

manifesting the ability to pass my photography class w this

[felsicveins]

i have a feeling that Julian looks at their old wedding photos and pictures of John Dory while drunk

just thinking

"What did he do wrong?"

King of fumbling

[kouhai-noticing-inc]

World Famous Fairytale Series (1975-1983)

[sophsun1]

Queer as Folk – 5.12: Mr. Right (Never Broke a Promise)

[chibibytes-anime]

The Kiss- (u/obliviani)

[kannra21]

Rafayel calm down that's your friend 😂