#Yacht Club Games Presents

[gutsby]

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.

A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.

A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.

Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.

Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.

You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.

That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.

Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.

Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.

Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.

“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.

You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.

There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.

You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.

Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.

“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.

“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.

You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.

You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.

The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.

Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.

A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.

You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.

You did well at first.

Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.

Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.

Vomit-inducing.

Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.

You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.

And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.

Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.

“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.

“You first,” he said, chuckling.

You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.

You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.

“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”

Then, when the cup didn’t waver:

“Can they change the fucking song already?!”

Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.

“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.

You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.

Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.

“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.

You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.

“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”

Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.

You shrugged instead.

“Some guy from school.”

Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.

“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”

You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.

“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”

The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.

Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.

You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.

Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.

Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.

Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.

You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.

“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.

Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.

“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”

Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.

If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.

Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.

That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.

“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.

Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.

“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”

“Can you spike it with bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.

“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.

“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”

“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”

You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.

Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.

“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.

You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.

“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.

“Weird how?”

Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.

“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”

He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.

“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.

You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.

“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.

“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”

You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.

You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.

At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.

“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.

Ain’t that the truth.

Then, after a minute:

“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”

You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.

It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.

“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.

You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.

“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.

“Tweaking,” you corrected him.

“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”

You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.

“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”

Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.

You raised both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”

“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.

“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”

Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.

“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”

When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?

Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.

Good times.

You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.

“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”

“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.

The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.

“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.

You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.

He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?

What if Joel tells Tommy?

What if Tommy tells dad?

Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.

Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.

Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.

When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.

“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.

You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.

“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.

You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.

Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.

Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.

You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.

You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.

The only thing that followed were footsteps.

Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.

“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”

“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”

That made you pivot.

Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.

You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.

Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”

Joel didn’t flinch.

In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.

He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.

“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”

Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.

Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.

Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.

“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”

Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.

“My shorts, too?!”

You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.

“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”

Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.

Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.

You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.

“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”

“FUCK you!”

“Already DID!”

You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.

Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.

“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”

You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.

“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”

Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.

“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.

“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”

Joel was good.

He was an insufferable ass and he was good.

Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.

“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.

“What did I do?” he said, curious.

Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.

“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.

Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.

“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.

“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”

Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.

Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.

“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”

Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”

You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.

“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.

“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”

“Fucker.” That was your word.

And it worked well enough for Joel.

In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.

“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.

Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.

“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.

He what?

You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.

You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.

Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.

He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.

“Joel.”

He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.

“Joel, I—”

“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”

You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.

“You fucked her didn’t you?”

Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”

“You brought her here.”

“Had to.”

Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.

“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”

“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”

Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.

“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”

Oh.

“And you—” you started.

“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.

Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.

“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.

You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.

At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.

“Happy?” he said, after a beat.

You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.

Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.

“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.

“Uh-huh.”

Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.

Good that he could fuck you.

Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.

Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.

He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.

“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”

Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.

He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.

“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”

Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.

You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.

“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.

“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.

“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”

You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.

Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”

Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.

You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.

Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.

You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.

Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.

“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,

“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”

Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.

He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.

He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.

“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.

You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.

The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.

“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”

You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.

Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.

“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.

In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.

“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”

“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”

Evidently, he’d found your G spot.

Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.

You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.

“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.

“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.

You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’

Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.

You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.

Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.

So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.

He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.

Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,

“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”

“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”

He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.

“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”

You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.

“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”

You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.

“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”

“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”

The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.

“Want you to…cum on me, please.”

“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”

“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”

That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.

Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.

By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.

Must be fucking nice.

When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.

“Open,” Joel commanded.

You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.

He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’

You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.

Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.

There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.

“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.

You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.

Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.

He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.

With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.

You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.

Almost.

When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”

You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.

You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.

You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.

Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.

You hated it.

“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.

Hated him.

“How’s my baby been, huh?”

Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.

“I missed you.” Gently. Again.

You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.

Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.

You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.

Joel slowly descended your body.

“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.

You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.

“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.

You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.

Love it you could—and would. Without shame.

Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.

“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”

“Joel.”

You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.

You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.

Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.

In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.

“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.

Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.

You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.

Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.

You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.

When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.

Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.

When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.

You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.

Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.

He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.

Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.

With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.

You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.

“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.

“Hm?”

He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.

“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.

“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.

No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.

He could do this.

He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.

Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.

He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.

“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”

“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.

Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.

He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.

Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.

“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”

Wait—the fuck?

That came out wrong.

You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.

Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.

“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”

“Miller. Spit it out.”

Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?

Joel winced.

Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.

NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.

He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.

“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.

Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.

“Texted you back?” you scoffed.

“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”

Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.

“You never texted me, Joel!”

What?

Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.

“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”

“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”

Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.

“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.

At last, your expression dropped.

From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.

“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”

“Huh?”

“5 at the end, not a 9.”

“…No.”

“Yeah…”

Shit.

Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.

“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.

You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.

“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”

‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.

“What’s’at mean?” he asked.

You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.

“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”

‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.

Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.

A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.

“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.

You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.

“Mhmm.”

Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.

“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”

In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.

He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.

“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.

Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’

He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.

Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.

You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.

For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.

He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.

Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.

Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.

“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.

You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.

“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”

The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.

Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.

You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.

With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.

“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”

You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,

“So— so close, daddy.”

Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.

Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.

Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.

Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.

To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.

Thank fuck.

Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.

You grinned.

Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.

You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.

“Wanna try something fun?”

He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.

Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.

Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.

This was your idea of ‘fun.’

Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That would come later.

No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.

You froze.

Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.

One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.

“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.

“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.

And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.

Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You needed him whole.

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.

No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.

There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.

You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,

“—to the realization—”

“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”

Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.

Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

You thought you might like to see him that way forever.

Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.

You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.

You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.

[stardestroyer81]

With the recently announced Shovel Knight: Shovel of Hope DX, I figured there's no time like the present to bring an old favorite back into the spotlight... hey, Yacht Club Games! How about another character to play through the first campaign as? I have just the girl for the job...

Making her first appearance on this blog since 2020, witness the return of the Fated Acolyte, now sporting a brand-new look! 💜🖤💜🖤💜

[the-avaricious-meddler]

Name: Alana _____ Monikers:  -The Gambling Former Noble/The Gambling Revolutionary (depending on what circles you're in) -Mr Cards Age: 27 (Main 4 storyline), 34 (Violet Storyline) Species: Transition phase between Human and Curator Gender/Pronouns: Girlthing (She/it) Ambition: Heart's Desire (Power Ending) Profession: Correspondent Lodgings: Suite at The Royal Bethlehem Closest To: Revolutionaries Other Affiliations: The Liberation of Night (Allies), The Masters of The Bazaar (Target), The Cardsharp Monkey (Ally), Mr Pages (Enemy), Virginia (Enemy), The Bishop of St Fiacre's (Rival, One-sided), The Manager of The Royal Bethlehem (Complicated), Rubbery Men, Tomb-Colonists, The Court of The Wakeful Eye, The Dilmun Club (tentatively), The Youthful Naturalist, Polythreme Most Valued Primary Stat(s): Persuasive, Shadowy Most Valued Advanced Stat(s): Artisan of The Red Science, Kataleptic Toxicology Ship: Il-Altun-class Yacht  Estivals Experienced: Horticulture Hell, The Sixth Coil

Exceptional/Premium stories canon to this character: Caveat Emptor

Personality: Well-meaning but selfish, artistically inclined, loyal to allies but not always honest about who those allies are. Has strong revolutionary leanings, and aids The Liberation of Night- though unless you are already enmeshed in revolutionary circles, you wouldn't know it. Nasty gambling habit.

History:

Born on the surface in 1868 to a declining noble family.  Despite this, they still had a sizable estate, though they were frequently forced to use 'less than desirable' means of moneymaking to preserve their wealth. Her father was a factory-owner, and wanted her older brother to inherit it, whilst she was to be wed to a more successful family to boost the wealth of her own. She frequently witnessed the poor treatment her family's servants- and the factory's workers- were put through, causing her to become jaded to her way of life.

When she was 16, she turned to gambling, and through this she met a group that would permanently alter the course of her life- a small band of Liberationists that still lived on the surface. She joined them in secret, knowing there would be consequences should her family learn of her association. And eventually they did, and there were. At 18, she was discovered and fully disowned, ousted with little more than the clothes on her back.

She would remain on the surface for 7 years more, before deciding she could do more for her cause if she moved out of the Stars' sight. And so at age 25, she descended to The Neath, taking up residence in a cheap rookery somewhere between Veilgarden and Spite. It was around this time she learned about The Marvellous, and began to hatch a plan: she would find a way into this game, win at whatever cost, and use this victory to gain Power. Status. Enough to get into ranks high enough to consort with the Masters of The Bazaar. And from there, she would subvert, sabotage. Use that power to tear them apart from the inside.

Two years of searching. That was how long it took for her to get a potential in to the Marvellous. And how long it took for her to learn she'd have to wait five more if she wanted to play by the game's usual rules. But she wasn't interested in waiting that long. So she set about 'gently encouraging' the current set of players to begin the game early.

(Major spoilers for Ambition: Heart's Desire below)

A peculiar monkey, Intelligent beyond what it should be though not keen on communication, became her companion in this endeavor.

And her attempts, though tiresome and annoying, and requiring her to convince an imprisoned former Prince of hell to pretend to pretend to be freed and make an even further enemy out of the deviless Virginia, were ultimately successful. She convinced almost every player.

And then a larger obstacle presented itself: a Master of The Bazaar was a player. One Mr Pages, whom she already disliked, at that. She unfortunately needed to get its attention. But how?

It was then an individual she would come over time to despise showed up at her door. They introduced themself with no name, only a moniker: The Avaricious Meddler. A moniker she had heard before, not long after she'd descended to the Neath. One many disparate individuals had taken up over the decades with seemingly no connection.

They offered her a deal: They would help her with her goals, if she just did them a little favor later down the line. Not trusting them, but not having many other options, she agreed. 

They told her the location of a long-inactive cell of revolutionaries, and what to tell them to get them into action. What to do to target The Bazaar itself. 

Of course, before any part of this plan could be carried out, none other than Pages itself showed up. And it asked her to join the Marvellous. ...How convenient.

She agreed, of course. One doesn't turn down that kind of convenience when it quite literally comes knocking at one's door.

Being the one to disrupt the players' lives by starting the game up five years early, it fell upon her shoulders to put in the footwork to actually get things going. She would find a venue that fit with everyone's requirements, and convince whomever owned it to let them play there.

Of course, that location ended up being Arbor, one of the most irritating places to travel to. She was not unconvinced she was in some way being punished for her insistence.

(To be continued...)

[shovelinvoicesofhope]

Development on Shovel of Hope DX is in full swing over at Yacht Club Games, and Mole Knight is in on it! When the burly burrower receives his invitation, however, he mistakes it for an adventure of his own…

After witnessing the grandeur that is (Or, will be) a playable Mole Knight in Shovel of Hope, Mod Mona and I have been joking about Mole of Moling being real at last, which subsequently coerced me to write and voice this scenario just in time for Shovel Knight's 10th! I highly recommend opening the script for this audio in another tab if you'd like to follow along.

This is our longest voicework project yet, and we had a lot of fun with it!

— Mod Plague Minion (Formerly Mod Tinker)

(Disclaimer: There are two instances of a door knock sound effect present in the above audio, and I would like to stress that neither of them are real; I've muffled both instances as to not trick or startle any listeners!)

[man-you-were-meant-to-be]

80s wall street forcemasc

female stock broker in the 80s at the most profitable firm on wall street. she's brilliant, she's ballsy, she's got a sense for a rising stock like a shark has the sense for blood. one problem: she's a woman, and wall street's a boys' club. no matter how much money she makes on the floor, to the boys she's "that bitch in equities". one of the execs takes her under his wing, tells her the truth about wall street. you're either dinner or the diner, and he'll be damned if she ends up on one of those bastards' plates. he puts her on his team, trains her up, shows her how to bare her teeth, shows her how to rip and tear. she's not the bitch in equities, she makes others her bitch. after she sets a record for the company by making 50 million dollars' profit in a single deal, she's invited to the exec's yacht. in between rounds of poker and lines of coke on the deck, the exec tells her a little secret. the exec and the boys on the team used to be just like her -- sharks and tigers and hawks and piranhas who wore the skin of women, begging for an excuse to be set free from those cages. the exec's got that key to those cages, got his finger on the pulse of the greatest financial talents in the nation. wall street should be filled with men like them, real men, men who work twice as hard, who are twice as smart, who've got twice the nerve of any bitch who had a cock handed to him at birth. a secretary hands the exec a tiny box, which he presents to her -- her gift for being the best on the floor, evidence that she's one of the best brokers wall street's ever seen, her ticket to be a full member of the team -- a vial and syringe of testosterone. everything else she's said, done, given up in search of profit and glory have been pussy bets. now it's time to go all in. as if she thought she'd never be asked, she accepts the deal. she's feared by the boys on the floor like prairie mice fear owls. they sense something in her and her team that they don't have, something that makes them shrink in her presence. if the world were fair, the tigers would not be in the same pen as the meat and the men would not be in the same arena as the boys. but there's no justice in the world, and she is grateful for that; a fair game's never worth playing.

[teatalkblog]

Tea on Declan Rice, past or present, please. Is he a cheater as well?

Almost caught in 4k (2k actually).

Anyway, he started dating Laur3n Fry3r when they were teenagers, as they are said to have met at school. They're not married yet, but they have a son called Jud3 who was born in 2022.

The first allegations of cheating came in 2022 when he went on holiday to Las Vegas with J4ck Gr3alish. As you can see from the pictures in this article (https://www.thesun.co.uk/sport/18938280/declan-rice-clubbing-las-vegas-jack-grealish/), he was photographed leaving a club and surrounded by girls. Sorry for linking to The Sun, but I only did it for the pictures. The girl in the picture above is said to have joined them on the bus after leaving the club.

The fact that he's been on holiday with his England teammates to places like Ibiza, Mykonos & Dubai on several occasions doesn't help him with the cheating allegations, knowing how these boys are (https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-9801841/Declan-Rice-Mason-Mount-shoot-hoops-board-yacht-Mykonos.html). Again, linking this magazine just for the pics.

In November it was rumoured that he was cheating with Louis4 Johnson & B3tina Af0nso, the latter attending quite a few Arsenal games, as it seemed that D3clan and Laur3n were having an on and off relationship. However, there is no proof of this. Back in February it was said that he had a side chick who attended the Arsenal - Newcastle game, but there is no proof of this as well.

In April, Laur3n was horribly criticised for her physique, especially over these old photos of D3clan and Laur3n enjoying a holiday together (https://showbuzz.dnevnik.hr/celebrity/djevojka-nogometasa-declana-ricea-lauren-fryer-na-meti-ruznih-kritika---816647.html), because apparently he could have done better in choosing his partner as she doesn't fit the "wag" look. The online abuse led to her deleting all her photos from her profile & D3clan - apparently - defending her at a press conference, saying she was his safe place when he was lonely and he loved her more than anything, so there's no better upgrade. I still have to understand if this press conference really happened?

He was also seen partying after the Euros in Ibiza with a girl behind him (https://www.thesun.co.uk/sport/29326716/declan-rice-ivan-toney-party-ibiza-euro-final/) saying that Declan had allegedly cheated on his partner with a girl in Ibiza and if he hadn't scored in a certain game, this person would have leaked the chats & pictures? Is what I remember correct? I'll try to ask for the screenshot or the link to the news!

I don't remember anything else, so if someone wants to add/correct something, please do!

[grandmaster-anne]

The avant-garde Princess Margaret

By Andrew Morton | Published 16 June 2021

Decades before Prince Harry and Meghan Markle were flag-bearers of the progressive and global, Princess Margaret and Lord Snowdon were established as Britain’s hippest couple, peerless representatives of the ‘Swinging Sixties’ and living proof that the monarchy could be both traditional and modern.

According to Lord Ardwick, editor of the Daily Herald, the Snowdons signified ‘a new kind of royalty’. He went on: ‘they had far more contacts among writers and artists and so forth, not among stuffy courtiers. They became the new family model of fast travelling, hard-working, affluent young people – but at a price, a cost that was not always welcome.’ Together, this bohemian couple raced through the streets of London on Snowdon’s motorcycle or in his new Mini, visiting street markets, jazz clubs and theatres.

Such was their appeal that even First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy was deeply disappointed when neither the princess nor her husband was present at a dinner in honour of President Kennedy held at Buckingham Palace in June 1961. Internationally, they were the royal version of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton: sophisticated, artistic and raffish. Once, Margaret tried on the 29.4-carat diamond ring that had been given to Taylor by her third husband Mike Todd. She joked it was ‘vulgar’. Liz replied: ‘Yeah ain’t it great.’

Vibrant, dynamic and glamorous, Margaret and Tony in the early years captivated the nation, injecting new life and energy into what Prince Philip called ‘the Firm’. Everything from their fashions to their crowd – naturally ‘in’ – was a playful counterpoint to the Queen and her Court. If the Snowdons were deemed ‘hip plush’, the Queen was ‘starchy matron’ – her fashions were still chosen by her dresser since childhood, Bobo MacDonald. Just as her father had done, it was Tony who guided Margaret’s style, urging her to adopt simpler, skimpier trends to mirror the taste and temper of the time. Though she never wore miniskirts, her skirts and dresses were still much shorter than those of other royal women. She also experimented with kaftans, lace stockings and costume jewellery, and at one point the princess was voted just behind actor Grace Kelly in the annual ‘World’s Best Dressed Woman’ contest.

In contrast to the Queen’s unalterable look, Margaret’s hairstyle was constantly changing, from glossy bobs to elaborate, high-reaching coiffures adorned with hairpieces. Nor was she afraid to showcase daring trends: pale lipstick, heavy eye shadow, long earrings, and a provocatively low neckline. Tony’s clothes were just as modish: velvet jackets, voile shirts and barrow-boy caps. He even wore a white polo neck instead of black tie to formal events.

While the Queen and Prince Philip remained on British soil for their holidays, Margaret and Tony quickly became members of the international jet set and much-sought-after guests of the rich and powerful. At a time when travel abroad was exclusive and expensive, their holidays on a millionaire’s yacht or villa excited awe and jealousy in equal measure. In September 1963, when the Queen and the rest of the royal family were at Balmoral, the Snowdons holidayed on a private Aegean island owned by Greek shipping tycoon Stavros Niarchos, which came fully stocked with game birds for shooting parties.

The following year it was the turn of the British-born Aga Khan to fly them on his private plane to the exclusive resort of Costa Smeralda on the Italian island of Sardinia, where they were able to water-ski, sail, snorkel and sunbathe in relative privacy. They returned to the island often. On one occasion, the Aga Khan’s yacht, the Amaloun, hit a rock and started to sink. Tony dove into the water and the others took to a life raft, from which they were rescued by a passing boat. Significantly, the first person Margaret contacted to say all was well was the Queen.

That escapade did not dim their enthusiasm for all things Italian. It became a favoured holiday destination. In the summer of 1965, for example, the couple drove to Rome in Tony’s Aston Martin to see the sights and be received by the Pope in a private audience. The paparazzi stalked them constantly, one photographer observing: ‘You have to remember that Princess Margaret and Elizabeth Taylor are the two most wanted women in the world.’

Once the Snowdons moved into their newly renovated, 20-roomed home at Kensington Palace in March 1963, an invitation to supper or for a sing-along around the grand piano became the hottest ticket in town. Their social circle reflected their bohemian bent, singers, musicians, artists and writers all beating a path to 1a Clock Court.

Their servants did not mind working 18-hour days when they had the chance to glimpse luminaries such as designer Mary Quant, writer Edna O’Brien – Margaret did a good impression of the writer’s breathless, confiding speech patterns – actor Peter Sellers and his wife Britt Ekland, ballet dancers Rudolf Nureyev and Margot Fonteyn, and trend-setting hairdresser Vidal Sassoon. The Snowdons even befriended the Beatles, with John Lennon famously nicknaming the couple ‘Priceless Margarine’ and ‘Bony Armstrove’. On one occasion, George Harrison asked Margaret to get his drug-possession charges dropped. She declined. ‘I adored them because they were poets as well as musicians,’ the princess later recalled.

Their parties were replete with the rich and famous. The comedian and musician Dudley Moore would play the piano; Cleo Laine and her jazz musician husband John Dankworth would sing; John Betjeman, a future poet laureate, would tell stories. Often, Princess Margaret would join in playing the piano and singing tunes from her favourite musicals. When the lights were out at Buckingham Palace, they were still blazing until the early hours at the Snowdons’ salon – invariably at Margaret’s bidding.

Established in her own home for the first time in her life and with baby number two on the way, Margaret’s life was scintillating, busy and happy. She could even share the mutual joys and difficulties of pregnancy with her sister, as the Queen gave birth to her fourth child, Prince Edward, in March 1964. Elizabeth and Prince Philip made a modest concession to modernity: for the first time, Prince Philip was present at the birth, which took place in the Belgian Suite at Buckingham Palace.

During this time, the differing personalities of the two sisters became more sharply delineated and formalised as Margaret established her own home and social circle. At last she had her own salon where the princess, a performer and extrovert at heart, could literally hold court. By contrast, her sister focused her attention on her horses and dogs, her people being the country set who followed the jumps and the flats. Animals never broke her trust, let her down or came to her with difficult problems.

While Margaret inhabited a social halfway house, befriending the era’s popular icons as well as those with a handle before their first name, Elizabeth’s friends came almost exclusively from the land-owning aristocracy – she first knew her fourth prime minister, Sir Alec Douglas-Home, as the owner of land in Scotland – or were those from the Guards regiments such as Lord Plunket and Lord Porchester, her racing manager, who got to know her during the war. When her mother won the Whitbread Gold Cup with Special Cargo, Colonel Bill Whitbread and his wife Betty held a dinner party for the Queen Mother. After dinner they adjourned to another room to watch the race one more time. They were a chair short so the Queen sat on the floor, clearly being comfortable with the racing crowd she was with. It is hard to imagine her being so relaxed with Margaret’s friends. Like her father, the Queen was uncomfortable around artists and the avant-garde.

Trust was always an issue, hence the reliance on familiar faces, on the tried and tested. Arguably, for all their differences, her sister was the Queen’s closest friend and, along with her husband, most stalwart and loyal supporter. Though Margaret was the undoubted queen of the smart set, she was always the supporting act to her sister, never the star of the show. She gave a telling clue as to the origin of this family drama when she said: ‘I’ve never suffered from second daughter-itis. I’ve never minded being referred to as the younger daughter but I do mind being referred to as the younger sister.’ This was a question of place and position in the hierarchy. As historian Michael Nash observed: ‘While her father was King, her own position was more elevated. She was in the mainstream. Immediately after he died, she became a collateral branch.’

Since she’d been a little girl, Margaret was the one drawn to the spotlight, who loved being the centre of attention whether the audience was just her father or, during the war, a table full of Guards officers. Now it was in her sitting room at Kensington Palace that she reigned supreme, singing show tunes as she sipped Famous Grouse whisky.

She was, though, undoubtedly loyal to her sister, just as she was to her friends – a characteristic that pleased the Queen. Her role, as she told writer Andrew Duncan, was to support her sister in her difficult and isolated position. ‘In my own humble way I’ve always tried to take some of the burden off my sister. She can’t do it all you know. And I leap at the opportunity to help.’

Margaret was a pioneer in trying to remove the barriers of snobbery and protocol – but not all. Woe betide the conversational partner who referred to ‘your sister’ or ‘your father’. They received ‘the Windsor glare’. Though she struggled to turn on the electric kettle, when she was a guest at a weekend party she liked to muck in, whether it be laying the fire – a particular pleasure – stripping wallpaper or washing up. She hankered after a life more ordinary but not too ordinary. Royalty mattered most.

It was a social tightrope she walked all her life. As Tony’s business manager Peter Lyster-Todd observed: ‘I often stayed with them for weekends and you never quite knew what you were going to get; friendly Margaret or talking to “Ma’am”.’ It became a common refrain. While drag artist Danny La Rue found Margaret ‘witty and highly intelligent’, he maintained, ‘you always knew you were in the presence of a princess’.

For the Queen’s 39th birthday in 1965, the Snowdons joined Peter Sellers and several other friends in making a 15-minute home movie as a gift for Her Majesty. At one point in the film, Sellers, who played ‘The Great Berko’, proclaimed that in a world-record time of 11 seconds flat he would perform his celebrated impression of Princess Margaret. He then disappeared behind a screen and flung various articles of clothing into the air, after which, a few seconds later, the actual princess emerged, curtseying and grinning before retreating behind the screen. The Queen loved the movie and showed it frequently.

Within months, in November 1965, the princess and her husband were on a professional movie set, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Mary Pickford, Charlton Heston, Maurice Chevalier and James Stewart at Universal Studios in Studio City, Hollywood. The three-week, five-city tour of the United States was the chance to fly the flag for Britain and take time to enjoy the sights, courtesy of their host, Margaret’s long-time American friend Sass Douglas, who organised the tour. Besides Los Angeles, the couple charmed San Francisco’s old-money families, dazzled New York’s Upper East Side aristocracy, and greeted locals in small town Arizona – Sass’s home state – before schmoozing President Johnson at a black-tie dinner held at the White House. The royal couple, who had performed numerous successful overseas visits on behalf of the Queen, found themselves the subject of constant criticism – even though many thought the trip a triumph.

While the tour was followed with intense interest by the media, Palace officials watched in horror as the trip devolved into utter mayhem. The getting-to-know-you visit was supposed to show Americans just how sexy and unstuffy the British royals could be. Who more qualified to do that than the House of Windsor’s grooviest couple, Margaret and Tony? Instead, as one columnist put it, the visit caused ‘plenty of trouble’. The jamboree cost the equivalent of US$500,000 and many lost tempers. An aircraft of the Queen’s Flight was sent out to back up a Lockheed JetStar, which an obliging President Johnson had provided. In addition, British Airways lent them a VC10 jet. The couple’s entourage included a Mayfair hairdresser, two menservants, two maids, a detective, a secretary, a lady-in-waiting, a private secretary and the Deputy Captain of the Queen’s Flight.

What followed after touchdown was a litany of missed appointments, cancelled public engagements and highly publicised social snubs. The princess, with her dangerous mix of highfalutin’ formality and fun-loving affability, was difficult to read. One instant she could be all friends together, the next she would be the daughter of the King-Emperor astride her high horse.

At a party at the Beverly Hills Hotel, the princess sent a message across the room to say that she would like to hear Judy Garland sing. The singer was incensed by the lordly tone and the trivialising of her talent. She said: ‘Go and tell that nasty, rude little princess that we’ve known each other long enough and gabbed enough in ladies’ rooms that she should skip the ho-hum royal routine, pop over here and ask me herself. Tell her I’ll sing if she christens a ship first.’

Then, when Margaret met with President Johnson and his wife Lady Bird, she made full use of her ‘actressy’ nature. According to one observer, who saw her at a ball at New York’s Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, ‘It’s a put-on; campy; tongue-in-cheek camp. She’s doing an impersonation of herself.’ Princess Margaret – always the performer – loved opportunities where she could showcase her ‘star’ nature, becoming an exaggeration of her own public persona.

The couple were subject to a flurry of critical headlines from both sides of the political divide back in the UK, the left-wing New Statesman describing her tour as a ‘private rubbernecking trip to the American fun centres’ while the right-wing Sunday Express called it a ‘holiday frolic among the tinsel princes and princesses of Hollywood’.

After her return to London in late November, questions were asked in the House of Commons about her behaviour. In a private report, the British ambassador, Sir Patrick Dean, reported diplomatically: ‘They worked hard and played hard. It was a mistake that so much of their time was spent with and organised by Miss Douglas. It was not always possible to persuade the American public that HRH and Lord Snowdon were serious as well as gay people.’ When the princess spoke of returning to the States in 1973, British ambassador Lord Cromer torpedoed the suggestion. Margaret’s private secretary Lieutenant-Colonel Burnaby-Atkins was told, ‘Lord Cromer is not at all keen on having the Princess in the United States, possibly for some time to come. This is mainly due to the behaviour of some of HRH’s friends, who tend to take such visits lightly.’

With headlines like ‘Luxury tour’, ‘Who pays’ and ‘Own hairdresser’, the impression was left in the public mind once again that the princess was neither pulling her weight nor cost effective. Once established, this narrative would dog her for the rest of her life, no matter how many public engagements she undertook on behalf of the Queen.

The wheels were beginning to come off – not just in terms of her public image but also concerning the couple’s private behaviour. Similar in so many ways, the personality traits that had at first united now gradually divided them. It was Margaret’s tragedy that consciously and subconsciously she fell for a man who exhibited similar characteristics to herself rather than her sister.

Tragically, it soon became apparent that, in the worst sense, Margaret and Tony were ‘two peas in a pod’, both strong-willed, competitive, ‘centre-stage’ people used to getting their way. The princess had long been indulged and coddled, while Tony was magnetic and ambitious, bolder and more conniving than Margaret herself. With their personalities ‘too alike, too selfish’, as friends recalled, they were bound to clash. In this battle of wills, Snowdon, as the Queen’s biographer Sarah Bradford noted, was much better at being nasty than Margaret.

Though the earliest years of their marriage were happy and stimulating, Snowdon soon chafed at the bars of the royal cage – as his friends had predicted.

Before the couple married, Margaret’s lady-in-waiting Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, who first introduced them, asked the princess if she could genuinely cope with Tony’s ‘bohemian world’. When Lady Elizabeth explained that he would be here, there and everywhere with his professional commitments and would not always be home for dinner, Margaret dismissed her concerns, believing that their passion and deep connection would overcome all obstacles.

For all her surface royal sheen, Margaret was a surprisingly shy, insecure woman, more so than her sister, and once marital hostilities began it was easy for Snowdon to knock her off her perch. In the beginning he could pass off his casual controlling cruelties as practical jokes.

In the summer of 1963, when the couple stayed with wealthy Greek ship owner Stavros Niarchos on his private island, Spetsopoula, friends on a nearby island threw a party to celebrate Margaret’s thirty-third birthday. When Tony arrived, he brought presents for everyone – except his wife. Then, as the two were getting ready for the barbecue that night, Margaret shouted from upstairs, ‘Oh, darling, what shall I wear?’ Tony replied, ‘I think that ball gown you wore last week.’ Margaret, suspecting nothing, arrived at the dinner dressed to the hilt, while all the other guests wore casual jeans. These kinds of jokes-in-disguise progressively undermined her self-confidence and her trust in her husband. As the years ticked by, the photographer’s controlling behaviour could be described as mental cruelty.

For all her differences with her sister, she saw the Queen’s successful marriage as a template she should imitate. Like Tony, Philip was an alpha male, creative, bombastic and strong-willed but accepting of his secondary role in the marriage. As he had once told a friend: ‘This is my destiny – to support my wife in what lies ahead for her.’ In the early years, Snowdon performed this role exactly as Margaret had imagined – a smiling, gracious and deferential addition to her retinue.

Once he began working for the Sunday Times, he reverted to type, a workaholic with a wandering eye. An early riser, he was working when Margaret, after a long night carousing, was still in bed, often until shortly before noon. After a row he might send her a note, loving but firm, suggesting that she drink less and retire to bed earlier. Given her later health problems, this note could be interpreted as a husband’s fond concern for his wife. He had the ability, which she found ultimately frustrating, of skilfully laying every problem with the marriage at her door.

She knew instinctively that if she started complaining to her sister or mother, they wouldn’t want to know. They had experienced a lifetime of Margaret’s rudeness and self-absorption, so probably would side with the angelic and courteous Tony. The Queen knew it had been a long struggle for her own husband to adapt, so she sympathised with Tony’s juggling act, working as a photographer as well as undertaking national and international royal duties.

The couple began to move in different worlds. Though Margaret had longed to create a life outside royal circles, at moments of personal tension she fell back on the familiar, namely the formalities and superficialities of the royal world. In this world, her natural habitat, it was others who had to compromise to her standards and requirements.

But as Tony began to exhibit a growing need for independence, she became increasingly possessive, calling him on assignments, at restaurants or at the homes of friends. Lacking Elizabeth’s economy of emotion, Margaret could not accept that someone had ‘out-royaled her’. Since she was a girl, she had used her personality and position to get away with murder. As the gloves came off in their marriage, she began to realise she had finally met her match.

Though she was aware of the backstage drama in her sister’s marriage, the Queen simply watched and waited, hoping that matters would resolve themselves.

The cracks remained, as Tony found his duties as consort increasingly burdensome. He snapped, ‘I am not a member of the royal family. I am married to a member of the royal family.’ He focused fiercely on his job, travelling around the world on assignments, both for still photography and filming documentaries. It was creatively fulfilling but it was a world that was alien to the princess. Though she pleaded with him to let her join him on projects, he flatly refused, saying he wanted to be as anonymous as possible.

Meanwhile, Margaret remained at home, pregnant and bored. Just as the sisters had faced the challenges of pregnancy together, Elizabeth fretted over the effects of the deteriorating marriage on her sister. She knew that Margaret’s doctor – worried that marital strain was endangering her second pregnancy – had even warned Tony directly about his behaviour.

While the pregnant princess marked time, Tony was busier than ever, shooting portraits of the likes of Charlie Chaplin, and Sophia Loren. He also designed the impressive Snowdon Aviary at the London Zoo, which opened in October 1964. Most importantly, he began to evolve into a progressive voice for change, championing the disadvantaged, dispossessed and disabled. Not only did he photograph blind and deaf children, as well as victims of rubella, but he also started making award-winning TV documentaries about old age, mental health, disability, poverty and children. He was delighted that the Queen watched his work, the Sovereign complimenting him fulsomely on his efforts.

As Snowdon’s star rose, Margaret’s only claim to fame continued to be an accident of birth – a truth she shrank from her entire life.

The seeds of discontent were now sown. Rows she could bear; at least they signified emotional engagement. It was the silent treatment she dreaded. He would arrive home late and then head straight to his basement work room, often ignoring his wife’s requests to meet with guests.

With the birth of their second child, Sarah Frances Elizabeth, on 1 May 1964, there was a temporary truce. Tony had his assistant fetch a huge bouquet for Margaret from the florist. Ever conscious of royal protocol that the Queen must be the first to know the baby’s birth and sex, Tony instructed the assistant: ‘If they do it up in pink ribbon, hide it – otherwise the press’ll know that it’s a girl.’ An hour after the birth, Tony visited his wife and new daughter, then dutifully telephoned the Queen and Queen Mother, who came to see the infant in the severe black of court mourning following the death of the King of Greece. It was not an auspicious omen.

This is an edited extract from Elizabeth & Margaret by Andrew Morton

[tiredgamergirl]

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s most famous creation has been public domain for years and many have used the famous detective as subjects for series, movies and games throughout the years, both with the stories created by the original writer and brand new adventures. The Ukrainian company Frogwares released their first Sherlock Holmes title back in 2002, called “The Mystery of the Mummy” (available for free on steam) and kept on perfecting their craft , refining the mechanics and having highly acclaimed writing in the adventure game community in their later titles.

Sherlock Holmes Chapter One, as the name implies, is both a prequel and a soft reboot of the series featuring a younger Sherlock, recently graduated from boarding school and back to his family’s home on the Mediterranean Island of Cordona to come with terms with his mother’s passing years prior. Upon arrival, it is implied that Violet Holmes didn’t die of tuberculosis as he originally believed and he decides to uncover the truth no matter the cost. Along with his imaginary friend Jon (yes, not John Watson) the entire city is a melting pot of political tensions waiting to happen, conspiracies lurking at every corner in an open world environment.

The game starts introducing the player to the mechanics in a closed environment with a simple mystery in a very focused narrative, perfect to have the player acquainted to the controls. A  bold narrative decision that might divide opinions also rear its head: the game invites to analyze the evidence and ultimately make your own decision on who is the killer and what will be the conclusion to the case. Will you allow the criminal to escape or will they be locked behind bars? Will justice be served? Was the truth reached? Some of the cases are open to the interpretation and can be hit or miss, including one in particular that Frogwares had to clarify who was the “canon” culprit. One could say that it may give the players agency in making their decision and shaping their own Sherlock, while some might want a more certain answer. For example, in one of the previous titles, Crimes and Punishment, it was possible to check if the verdict was the correct one from the casebook after the conclusion of the case.

Once the open world reveals itself it features a well-crafted city with five different zones, each featuring its own ambiance and citizens going about their own business; Sherlock is free to walk around the British aristocrats in Grand Saray, visit the sailors around the yacht club and the port, visit the more hard-working lower class citizens among the rocky Miner’s End or try his luck gathering information within the walls of the Old City, home of the Ottoman population. The opening screen warns about social and gender prejudices present in the era and the developer acknowledges it and instead of pretending it never existed they try to handle it as tactful as possible – wherever they hit the mark or not is up to the player’s interpretation.   Sometimes in order to get information about a case or enter certain locations Sherlock can disguise himself or play a eavesdrop mechanic to get new leads or even new cases, the city itself has many cases ready to be uncovered and solved by curious players. Some cases are unlocked after story progression so it is always worth coming back and wandering around to find something new and traversing is rather easy and without loading screens except for getting to new closed areas, like a house. However, the game severely lacks a mini-map and it may be a constant back and forth to the casebook menu, opening the map and checking where you are and how to get to your destination even if you have placed a marker. The game will give an address and it is up to the player to read the map and locate the streets and how to get there without the assistance of street signs. Thankfully there are plenty of fast travel points and handcrafted landmarks to assist the navigation but can be a little frustrating if playing one of the treasure hunting quests.

The casebook mechanic is also something that may be a hit or miss: in order to analyze certain leads it is necessary to “pin” it, and that sometimes involves having the right lead to interrogate suspects or find information. In one of the sidequests, despite having the right clue pinned and wearing the right outfit to gather information the game refused to spawn the right time of passerby that could give me the location to keep the investigation going. The casebook can be useful in having small icons above each clue to inform what kind of activity the player need to do and once it is exhausted there will be no more red icons surrounding it and it gets updated accordingly. Sometimes there is some more legwork needed so a trip to the police station, the newspaper or the city hall is necessary to peruse the archives and find the right documents or articles for the new locations or even the crime scene proper and it is all available on the casebook.

Once in a crime scene the observation mechanic showcases the developer’s experience and attention to detail, with Holmes allowed to examine many of the objects individually, turning and expressing his assessment about the clues presented and sometimes prompted to make chemical analysis within the casebook. Other times, upon pinning a track clue it is possible to follow the footsteps of a suspect and end up in another location and find other important evidences. The chemical analysis can be skipped, they can be a brain teaser for the math fans. After all the clues are gathered, Sherlock can interact with a white orb that will allow him to recreate the scene in his mind’s palace. Controlling Jon, the player is free to wander around in Holmes’ concentration mode and place the events where the evidence was found and if successful Sherlock will narrate what took place. Sometimes it is also necessary to access the Mind’s Palace to connect the clues so Sherlock will make deductions to provide new clues and proceed with the plot. Lavish visuals and intricate expression capture also enhances the experience of each investigation, the world feels lived-in and vibrant, restrained in realistic ways. The most out of place might be Jon that tends to appear -- justified as he is a imaginary friend.  

Like some of his traditional stories, combat is also necessary at points. The player is invited to try their hand in criminal dens but sometimes they also happen throughout the cases, in which it is possible to skip the whole process. It might be an anti-frustration feature as the combat is clunky, sluggish and very frustrating at times. The arenas often have strategic spots to shoot that might incapacitate the enemy for a brief moment of time or Sherlock can use his tobacco box to stun the opponent and subdue for a proper arrest or can downright kill the opponent. The decision is up to the player, the combat was clearly intended to be strategic but it isn’t nearly as satisfying. It might be because Sherlock is still young, but traditionally he knows boxing and a few other forms of unarmed self-defense and it is sorely missed in these situations.

This game provides an experience closely assembling the novels; a myriad of cases with varying degrees of satisfaction, some can be merely busywork like following the tracks of a donkey but sometimes they can provide some interesting brain-scratchers. Sherlock is still in his early point, not a consulting detective just yet and it reflects in his arrogance and impetuousness. Trying to step out of his older brother’s shadow, sometimes he allows himself to be overtaken by emotions that are not often seen in his later career. A lot of this title hinges on his emotional core and his relationship with Jon and the memories he uncovers at his home.

There are some DLCs for this title: Mycroft’s Pride adds a series of cases at the behest of his older brother, M for Mystery sets up the stage for Holmes’ greatest nemesis, Beyond a Joke also introduces one of his famous enemies and is a fun piece of story. The only two rather disappointing extra content is the “Saints and Sinners” quest that can be compared to the more ‘busywork’ cases in the base game; and the Victorian Starter pack’s Lead Zeppelin case, but the later comes with a hefty sum of the in-game currency that allows players to bypass the struggle of going to bandits’ lair to amass money needed for one of the quests.

This game is a must try for fans of the genre despite the interface being an hindrance most of the times and with the ability of skipping the combat, it is easy to get immersed in the narrative until the end. There are, however, a few trigger warnings that must be taken into consideration before playing.

Tʀɪɢɢᴇʀ Wᴀʀɴɪɴɢs

Gore (death bodies)

Prejudice (class, racial, religion, gender discrimination, sexual discrimination)

Slavery (former slaves)

Sexual violence (one of the cases the characters refuse to use the photo evidence due to its contents)

Self-harming (one of the suspects in the last case)

Drugs and alcohol

Suicide (DLC M for Mystery)

Violence against minors

Drowning

[lotusevents]

Top Summer Party Venues to Elevate Your Celebration

As the sun shines brighter and the days grow longer, summer presents the perfect opportunity to gather friends, family, or colleagues for a memorable party. Choosing the right venue is essential to set the tone for your summer celebration. Whether you're planning an intimate gathering or a grand festivity, here are some top summer party venues that will make your event unforgettable.

1. Rooftop Bars

Rooftop bars are synonymous with summer parties, offering stunning views, fresh air, and a vibrant atmosphere. Venues like Madison Rooftop in London provide panoramic views of St. Paul's Cathedral and the city skyline, creating a magical backdrop for any celebration. With comfortable seating, stylish decor, and an extensive cocktail menu, rooftop bars are perfect for a chic and relaxed summer soirée.

2. Beach Clubs

Nothing says summer like a party by the sea. Beach clubs offer a laid-back yet glamorous setting with sun, sand, and surf. Venues such as The Bungalow in Santa Monica, California, combine a coastal vibe with luxurious amenities. Enjoy the ocean breeze, lounge in cabanas, and dance to live music as the sun sets over the water. Beach clubs are ideal for those looking to combine relaxation and revelry.

3. Garden Venues

For a more serene and nature-inspired celebration, garden venues provide a picturesque setting. Places like The Secret Garden in Kent, UK, offer lush greenery, blooming flowers, and elegant garden structures. These venues are perfect for afternoon tea parties, garden games, or evening dinners under twinkling fairy lights. The natural beauty of a garden venue creates a tranquil and enchanting atmosphere.

4. Poolside Locations

Poolside parties are quintessential for summer, offering a fun and refreshing environment. Venues like The SLS Hotel in Beverly Hills provide a chic poolside setting with luxurious loungers, stylish cabanas, and top-notch service. Whether it's a daytime pool party with cocktails and DJ sets or an evening gathering with ambient lighting, poolside locations offer versatility and a cool respite from the summer heat.

5. Country Estates

For a touch of sophistication and grandeur, country estates offer a stunning backdrop for summer parties. Venues like Aynhoe Park in Oxfordshire, UK, provide sprawling grounds, historic architecture, and luxurious interiors. Country estates are perfect for large gatherings, offering ample space for outdoor activities, elegant dining, and even overnight accommodations for guests. The opulence and exclusivity of a country estate add a special touch to any celebration.

6. Urban Courtyards

Urban courtyards combine the best of both worlds: the convenience of a city location with the charm of an outdoor space. Venues like Dalloway Terrace in London offer a stylish courtyard setting with lush greenery, floral decorations, and a cozy yet sophisticated ambiance. Urban courtyards are ideal for cocktail parties, casual dinners, or networking events, providing a hidden oasis in the heart of the city.

7. Private Yachts

For the ultimate in luxury and exclusivity, hosting a summer party on a private yacht is hard to beat. Yacht venues like The Venetian in Dubai offer opulent settings, complete with gourmet catering, entertainment options, and breathtaking views from the water. Whether cruising along the coastline or anchored in a picturesque bay, a yacht party offers a unique and unforgettable experience.

Conclusion

Selecting the perfect summer party venues are key to creating an unforgettable event. Whether you prefer the urban sophistication of a rooftop bar, the natural beauty of a garden, or the luxurious setting of a private yacht, there's a venue to suit every style and occasion. As you plan your summer celebration, consider these top venues to ensure your party is a resounding success.

[jcmarchi]

Yacht Club Games Reveals New Shovel Knight Updates Including A Brand New Game

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/yacht-club-games-reveals-new-shovel-knight-updates-including-a-brand-new-game/

Yacht Club Games Reveals New Shovel Knight Updates Including A Brand New Game

Yacht Club Games hosted its own Direct-style presentation today, primarily to commemorate the 10th anniversary of Shovel Knight. As such, the event featured various Shovel Knight-related announcements, including the reveal of a brand-new game.

This new Shovel Knight game has no title and was not shown, but Yacht Club confirmed it’s in development. It also hinted that various clues about the nature of this title can be found in other Shovel Knight games, such as Shovel Knight Dig, Shovel Knight Pocket Dungeon, and Shovel Knight: Treasure Trove. 

The studio also states, “We’re committed to crafting an experience that not only honors the Shovel Knight legacy but also pioneers groundbreaking, innovative gameplay mechanics. This isn’t just another sequel – it’s a bold new adventure that will launch Shovel Knight into an entirely new dimension of gaming.”

We’ll have to wait to see what this new game is, but the studio did reveal an enhanced version of the original game called Shovel Knight: Shovel of Hope DX. This is essentially the definitive edition of the 2014 indie classic, featuring 20 new playable characters, a rewind function, save states, online multiplayer, cheats, and more. Shovel Knight: Shovel of Hope DX has no release window or announced platforms. As for smaller updates, Yacht Club announced free DLC for Shovel Knight Dig (its final content pack) and Pocket Dungeon.

[embedded content]

Yacht Club also provided an update for Mina the Hollower, its upcoming action-adventure game. A new trailer offers a montage of gameplay, and Yacht Club states the project is “nearing completion of the initial pass on all level content.” It plans to spend the next few months polishing and refining gameplay. Yacht Club reveals that the game has grown larger than expected since its reveal in 2022; it now features an “expansive” overworld and RPG elements. The studio says to expect a big gameplay reveal in the near future.

[embedded content]

For on Shovel Knight, check out our review of the original game here. You can also watch our exclusive documentary about the making of Mina the Hollower here.

[lewisibarra1512]

So, this concludes Summer Game Fest 2024. Over four days of real game announcements catered to real, hardcore gamers. But I'm not done yet! Come Friday will see me both livestream Yacht Club Presents and create a colourful Shovel Knight portrait in real time. Followed by an upcoming Annapurna Interactive Showcase with new and upcoming premieres to take place.

Not too sure when the latter will announce the date, but I'll keep myself informed using a reminder. Speaking of, did any of y'all heard about iPad getting a Calculator?

[worthplaying]

Yacht Club Games Presents Live-Stream Will Celebrate 10th Anniversary Of Shovel Knight With Updates And Announcements

http://dlvr.it/T7rKFZ

[gamingpark]

Annunciato direttamente dai creatori di Shovel Knight: tutto su Yacht Club Games Presents 2024

Ricordiamo chePala Cavaliere Pocket Dungeon è stato rilasciato qualche tempo fa per Nintendo Switch. Ora potremmo avere altre notizie su questo franchise. Yacht Club Games ha annunciato l’edizione 2024 di Yacht Club Games presentala loro presentazione online. Ecco cosa è stato condiviso: Si terrà il 14 giugno a: 11:30 PT 2:30 p.m. ET 7:30 p.m. nel Regno Unito 20:30 in Europa Altri orari…

[remodelingheroesberkeley]

Bayfront Bliss: Family Fun at Shorebird Park in Berkeley Marina, CA

Nestled on the western edge of Berkeley, California, Shorebird Park offers a delightful escape for families seeking adventure and relaxation by the bay.

This park boasts a range of attractions that cater to engaging and enjoyable experiences for all ages. From the interactive displays at the Shorebird Park Nature Center to the picturesque trails offering panoramic views of the San Francisco Bay, Shorebird Park is a favored destination for families seeking recreational activities.

More than just a park, Shorebird Park is a sanctuary where nature intertwines with education and adventure, creating a unique environment that merits further exploration.

Exploring Shorebird Park's Attractions Situated in the heart of Berkeley Marina, Shorebird Park stands out as a hub of child-friendly entertainment and natural beauty, offering a multitude of attractions that cater to visitors of all ages. The park is renowned for its accessible nature trails, meticulously maintained picnic spots, and the interactive 'Adventure Playground,' a haven for children to exercise their creativity and explore.

One of the unique features of Shorebird Park is the 'Nature Center.' Here, visitors can participate in hands-on exhibits, informative workshops, and educational tours that focus on the local ecology and preservation efforts. The center also features a variety of live animals, providing a chance for children to engage with nature in a safe and controlled environment.

For those seeking more active pursuits, the park offers sailing and kayaking opportunities through the 'Waterside Workshops.' A stroll around the park's serene Cesar Chavez Park reveals stunning panoramic views of the bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, and San Francisco skyline. With its blend of educational, recreational, and natural attractions, Shorebird Park invites visitors to feel a sense of belonging and connection with the community and the environment.

Family Activities at Berkeley Marina Beyond the enriching experiences offered by Shorebird Park, Berkeley Marina presents a wide array of family-oriented activities designed to engage all age groups, making it a prime destination for wholesome family fun.

The marina's Cesar Chavez Park, with its vast open space, is an ideal location for a picnic, kite flying, and outdoor games. It also offers a spectacular 360-degree view of the San Francisco Bay - a sight that will leave both children and adults in awe.

[ailtrahq]

With the rebranding by Facebook, Metaverse became a household word gaining popularity among digital twins and training applications. Recently the concept created its roots in the gaming zone, seeking the attention of gamers. Legends of the Mara, a virtual game by Yuga Labs is ready to offer a fantastic gaming experience to gaming enthusiasts soon.     Let’s explore the game insights and launch details.        All About the Metaverse Game  Yuga Labs and Faraway are on the way to combining forces to release an open beta for LoTM. The plan is to launch the Metaverse game sometime in September, first presented to a small team of Otherdeed NFT holders in July. The announcement simply stirred the gaming landscape and got the attention of gamers and NFT enthusiasts. LoTM is a 2D web-based metaverse game, built in the Otherside metaverse world. The game offers Otherdeed NFT holders to experience the game in a more stellar and impressive manner.  The open-world game caters Otherdeed NFT holders to several gaming experiences including farming sediments, hatching vessels, and fighting something called “The Shattered”. The enthralling 2D standalone welcomes all voyagers to take part in the adventure. However, there are some special benefits to the Otherdeed NFT holders. Claiming a Vessel NFT unlocks the true potential of Otherdeed.     Vessels, environment, and sediments are three main factors on which LoTM actually relies to offer an outstanding gaming experience. Vessels and mysterious meteors offer players strong Mara allies with classic roles. Environment on the other side helps in predicting the worker capacity for Otherdeedsand applied only on the Farmer and Hunter roles. Sediments add to production from an Otherdeed.              When will the LoTM Game Launch? On August 31, Yuga Labs, one of the popular digital asset and blockchain technology firms announced the launch of open beta for LoTM. The debut is expected to come into action sometime in September. First exhibited to a small group of Otherdeed NFT holders in July. The game idea was first introduced in March 2022 and the Otherside Metaverse gaming platform continued to reflect the large expansion of the Bored Ape Yacht Club (BAYC) universe. Metaverse startup Roar Studios was acquired by Yuga Labs in July for the development of Otherside.  “The game will progress over months along with offering a variety of rewards to the Otherdeed NFT holders” added Yuga Labs in the announcement.    Emphasizing the significance of Otherside, Michael Figge, the CCO of Yuga Labs stated that other metaverse worlds offer pretty unimpressive experiences which directly affect the interest of gamers towards the virtual world. “Its IP licensing mechanism is a great feature allowing BAYC holders to monetize the PFPs” added Michael Figge.  Conclusion  The announcement of Yuga Labs for the launch of the open beta for LoTM filled excitement among gamers and NFT enthusiasts, especially the Otherdeed NFT holders. Open beta of the Metaverse game is expected to be launched sometime in September. It is also disclosed that the game is going to offer special rewards to the Otherdeed NFT holders.  Source

[discoverdurhamnc]

Things to Do in Durham this Weekend (Aug 17-20)

Check out our full Durham events calendar.

If you'd like to add an event to our calendar, submit an event here. Please check with the event organizers to see if events change due to weather. Have a great weekend!

Venue Weekend Schedules

Events at DPAC

Aug 17 and 18 at 7 p.m. - Leanne Morgan with Special Guest Karen Mills (sold out)

Sat, Aug 19 at 8 p.m. - Arrival From Sweden - The Music of ABBA

Events at The Carolina Theatre

Sat, Aug 19 at 6 p.m. - Please Don’t Destroy Live

Events at The Pinhook

Thu, Aug 17 at 8 p.m. - Gengis Don And The Empire and Zoocrü

Fri, Aug 18 at 8 p.m. - Diggin In The Crates!

Sat, Aug 19 at 8 p.m. - Pop Punk & Pasties : A Burlesque Tribute To 2000s Pop Punk

Sun, Aug 20 at 11 p.m. - No Visa + The Conjure with DJ RP Boo

Events at Rubies on Five Points

Fri, Aug 18 at 10 p.m. - The Floor with Special Guest Mobelizer

Sat, Aug 19 at 10 p.m. - Fortune Factory Presents: Club Cabana

Events at Motorco Music Hall

Thu, Aug 19 at 8 p.m. - The Heavy Heavy with Joelton Mayfield

Events at The Fruit

Thu, Aug 17 at 9 p.m. - Overgrown Throne, Paranoid Maniac, Hot Rats, and sister, brother

Fri, Aug 18 from 6-9 p.m. - Energenesis: Paintings by Jalen Jackson & Jessica Goldstein

Fri, Aug 18 from 9 p.m. - 2 a.m. - Haus Of Liqueur Welcomes You To Hell: Drag Show & Dance Party

Sat, Aug 19 from 8-11 p.m. - The Seven Deadly Bibs

Sat, Aug 19 at 10 p.m. -  DanceGruv Radio Presents: Transmissions featuring Jask

Live Jazz at Sharp 9 Gallery

Fri, Aug 18 at 8 p.m. - Thrio

Sat, Aug 19 at 8 p.m. - Mark Tipton Quintet

Live Music at Blue Note Grill 

Thu, Aug 17 at 7 p.m. - Celebration of NC Songwriting

Nancy Middleton, Stan Lewis, Carrie Marshall & Kirk Ridge

Fri, Aug 18 at 6 p.m. - The Duke Street Dogs

Fri, Aug 18 at 9:15 p.m. - JVo & Co

The Wiley Fosters perform the solo music of John, Paul, George, and Ringo

Sat, Aug 19 at 4 p.m.

Sat, Aug 19 at 8 p.m.

Events at Moon Dog Meadery

Thursdays - Free Board Games

Thu, Aug 17 at 6 p.m. - Guildhall Board Game Night

Fri, Aug 18 at 8 p.m. - 3rd Friday Lindy Hop Dance Night with Djam!

Sat, Aug 19 at 8 p.m. - Comedy on Broad Presents - The Bull Pen

Events at Arcana

Thu, Aug 17 - Queer Trivia and Tarot with Rene

Fri, Aug 18 - Ally J & Kevin Clark and Tarot with Virginia

Sat, Aug 19 - Patrick McGrew and Tarot with Emily

Sun, Aug 20 - Ann Arader and Tarot with Emily

Events at Durty Bull Brewing Company

Thu, Aug 17

5-9 p.m. - Food Truck: El Jefecito

7-9 p.m. - Thursday Trivia with Nick

Fri, Aug 18

12-9 p.m. - Food Truck: Tacos Paraiso #1

8-11 p.m. - Open Mic Stand-up Comedy

Sat, Aug 19

2-9 p.m. - Food Truck: Tacos Paraiso #1

3-7 p.m. - 3rd Saturday Vintage + Maker Market

4-6 p.m. - Live Music: Taxicab Preacher

Sun, Aug 20

12-4 p.m. - Food Truck: Pull-Ups NC

1-3 p.m. - MotoGP Watch Party

2-4 p.m. - Hammered Trivia with Thor

Events at Boxcar Bar + Arcade

Sat, Aug 19 from 3-6 p.m. - Meet and greet with adoptable dogs from Hope Animal Rescue

Sat, Aug 19 from 7-10 p.m. - Stephen Alexander

Sun, Aug 20 from 2-5 p.m. - Grand Ole Uproar

Sun, Aug 20 from 6-9 p.m. - Steven Compton

Events at Fullsteam

Thu, Aug 17 from 8-10 p.m. - Fullsteam Trivia!

Fri, Aug 18 from 6-8 p.m. - Hello, Durham: A Community Meet & Greet

Sun, Aug 20 from 6:30-8:30 p.m. - Songs for Humans

Events at Glass Jug Beer Lab in RTP

Thu, Aug 17 from 5-10 p.m. - Evelyn's Tex Mex BBQ Food Truck nights

Thu, Aug 17 from 6-9 p.m. - Beer Garden Jam Sessions

Sat, Aug 19 from 5-8 p.m. - Yacht Party in the Beer Garden

Events at Glass Jug Beer Lab in Downtown Durham

Fri, Aug 18 from 6-9 p.m. - Tasman Bay Release Event

Events at Boxyard RTP

Fri, Aug 18 from 5:30-8:30 p.m. - LOJO: Log Off, Jam on

Sat, Aug 19 from 12-3 p.m. - Mini Bazaar hosted by perSONALIty designs

Sat, Aug 19 from 5-8 p.m. - Saturdaze: DJ Ras J

Live Comedy at Mettlesome

Thu, Aug 17 at 7:30 p.m. - Was It Something I Said?

A live sketch and variety show.

Fri, Aug 18 at 7:30 p.m. - Was It Something I Said?

Fri, Aug 18 at 9 p.m. - Hush Hush

Improv inspired by anonymous secrets from the audience.

Sat, Aug 19 at 7:30 p.m. - Was It Something I Said?

Sat, Aug 19 at 9 p.m. - House Party

A mix of short and long-form improv with audience participation.

Events at Atomic Empire

Fri, Aug 18 from 6-8 p.m. - Disney: Lorcana TCG Release Party

Sun, Aug 20 at 12 p.m. -  7 Wonders: Duel Tournament

Multi-Day Events

Intergalactic Bead & Jewelry Show at Durham Convention Center

Love vintage beads? How about Chinese crystal or Ethiopian Opal? Find all this as well as large selection of rare beads, findings, tools, and more at the Durham Bead Show!

Ages 13+

Sat, Aug 19 from 10 a.m. - 5 p.m.

Sun, Aug 20 from 10 a.m. - 4 p.m.

$5

Home Stand at Durham Bulls Athletic Park

Thu, Aug 17 at 6:35 p.m. - Dollar Dog Night

Fri, Aug 18 at 6:35 p.m. - Friday Night Fireworks

Sat, Aug 19 at 6:35 p.m. - African American Heritage Night, Ripken the Bat Dog, and Saturday Night Fireworks

Sun, Aug 20 at 5:05 p.m. - Kids Run the Bases

Thursday, Aug 17

Thirsty Thursdays at Dashi

Each month Dashi's Thirsty Thursday drink specials revolve around a monthly theme – spirits, cocktails, special ingredients, brand, location, etc. – with new sips every Thursday. Learn more about upcoming themes on their website or visit them in person – there's always something new to try from their expansive bar!

5-10 p.m.

Vinyl Night with DJ Deckades at Gizmo Brew Works

Enjoy fresh vibes on the patio with DJ Deckades. Bring your own vinyl to share or just listen to what the DJ is spinning.

6-9 p.m.

Free admission

Boulders & Brews Meetup at Triangle Rock Club - Durham

Show up and climb at TRC Durham, then head over to Hi-Wire for some brews. Don't worry if it's your first time or haven't bouldered before; everyone's welcome.

Your first visit to the gym with the Meetup includes free admission and gear rental, and subsequent visits with the meetup are $15 and include harness rental (outside of meetups, day pass rates of $19 apply and do not include rentals).

6:30-8:30 p.m.

The Gojo Sessions at Gojo by Goorsha

VOID Air Motion Sound System, rotating lineup of talented electronic music artists both local and beyond. 

Every week, every Thursday

7:00 p.m. - 12:00 a.m.

$10 cover at the door

Trivia Night w/Big Slow Tom at Clouds Brewing Brightleaf Square

Join Clouds Durham for Big Slow Tom's Trivia Night, every Thursday. Win some prizes, drink some beer, and show your smarts.

Enjoy $4 select draft and $5 rotating bartender's choice all night.

7:30 p.m.

Free admission

Al Strong Presents: Jazz on the Roof at The Durham Hotel

Al Strong is a two-time Grammy-nominated artist who will bring regional jazz artists to improvise on the Roof. Performers will play a set, then members of the community will be invited to join in the jam session.

7-9:30 p.m.

Free admission

Flashback Flicks: 2023 Summer Outdoor Movie Series at Washington Duke Inn & Golf Club

The JB Duke Hotel and Washington Duke Inn & Golf Club, are hosting a summer outdoor movie series that celebrates classic feature films across the decades, ranging from beloved romantic comedies, suspenseful thrillers and tales of adventure.

JAWS

Free admission

Friday, Aug 18

Tasting at Ten at Counter Culture Coffee

Every Friday morning at 10 am, Counter Culture Coffee opens their Training Centers to coffee lovers who want to learn more about Counter Culture Coffee’s high-quality, sustainably sourced menu.

10 a.m.

Free, but donations accepted

Hands-on History at West Point on the Eno

Join in for milling demonstrations and discover the inner workings of West Point on the Eno's historic water-powered grist mill.

2-4 p.m.

Free admission

Third Friday in Downtown Durham

Support local artists and add beautiful works to your collection.

6-9 p.m.

Free admission

Third Friday at Golden Belt Arts

See new exhibits and meet with resident artists.

6-9 p.m.

Free admission

Underground Cocktail Series at 21c Museum Hotel

This special cocktail series focuses on new, experimental, or thematic cocktails dreamt up by expert bartenders, available only in the lower-level bank vault. Sip and see what their team has been mixing up, and be among the first to experience these exclusive drinks. For August's event, they are taking inspiration from the season with a focus on cool, refreshing Summer Classics.

7-9:30 p.m.

Free admission

Erie Choir + Entrez Vous + Neill Weyman at Shadowbox Studio

Born of navel-gazing self-indulgence and vague ambition, Erie Choir began at the dawn of the new millennium as the solo acoustic folk singing sort-of-thing of Sorry About Dresden’s Eric Roehrig.

Kelly Reidy (singer-songwriter, Theoretical Physicist, Lou Reed devotee, rock’n’roll enthusiast) and Clark Blomquist (multi-instrumentalist member of The Kingsbury Manx, drummer for Dan Mechior Band, former Spider Bags guitarist, consummate Road-Dog, Bohemian Punk true-believer).

Neill Weyman is the new band with Neill Prewitt, Ben Spiker, and Bob Wall.

8 p.m.

Ticket info TBD

Saturday, Aug 19

Durham Farmers’ Market at Durham Central Park

The Durham Farmers’ Market offers locally grown fruits and vegetables, meats, eggs, cut flowers, artisanal cheeses and breads, home-baked pies, honey, handmade chocolates, preserves, local wines, handmade soaps, fresh pasta, and artwork of all sorts!

8:00 a.m. - 12:00 p.m.

Free admission

South Durham Farmers' Market at Greenwood Commons Shopping Center

The market strives to support new and growing farms and vendors in the greater Durham area, and they are also home to some of the most iconic Durham brands around.

8:00 a.m. - 12:00 p.m.

Free admission

parkrun Durham at Southern Boundaries Park

A free, fun, and friendly weekly 5k community event. Walk, jog, run, volunteer, or spectate. It's up to you!

8 a.m.

Free admission

Durham's Civil Rights History in Downtown Durham

Explore Durham’s Civil Rights Legacy with Preservation Durham’s walking tour. This exciting tour focuses on many of the sites in downtown Durham that were important during the 1950s and 60s Civil Rights movement, including the Durham County Courthouse, the Arts Center (originally Durham High School and later City Hall), the Kress and Woolworth buildings, sites of sit-in protests and the "Confronting Change" exhibit at the Carolina Theatre.

10 a.m.

Registration required, donations appreciated

"Geer Cemetery: A Legacy of Resistance" at Museum of Durham History

The exhibit is an outdoor display highlighting information and artifacts from the ongoing preservation work being done in Geer Cemetery. Geer Cemetery, located in Durham, is a historic African American cemetery with burials from the late 1880s until the 1930s. It is one of the oldest public cemeteries created by African Americans in Durham.

10 a.m. - 2 p.m.

Free admission

Brightleaf Harvest Day at Duke Homestead State Historic Site

Experience North Carolina farming culture and history at Duke Homestead! They’ll be harvesting their tobacco out of the field and demonstrating the process of tobacco looping. Visitors are welcome to try their hand at these activities, or to chat with an interpreter in the historic house.

10 a.m. - 2 p.m.

Free admission

Crafternoons at Gizmo Brew Works

Free pint with purchase of craft box. Choose from a variety of craft packages available for all ages.

12-10 p.m.

Guided Walking Tours with Triangle Adventures

2 p.m. - Downtown Durham Walking Tour

4 p.m. - Durham African American History Tour

6 p.m. - Downtown Durham True Crime Tour

$10

Rock the Park Movie at Durham Central Park

Top Gun: Maverick

8:30-10:30 p.m.

Free admission

Bachata Fixation at Luna Nightclub

Bachata plus salsa, kizomba/zouk, and more!

Free lesson starts at 9 p.m.

$10

Sunday, Aug 20

Al Strong Presents Jazz Brunch at Alley Twenty Six

Al Strong, the Grammy-nominated jazz trumpeter, composer and recording artist, will bring a rotating lineup of musicians to perform during Sunday brunch at Durham's Alley Twenty Six. Weather permitting the band will perform in the bar’s namesake alley.

Music from 12-2 p.m.

Trivia at Navigator Beverage Co.

Hosted by the Triangle’s Trivia team, Hammered Trivia, gather your team and post up to compete for prizes and enjoy an afternoon of great drinks, great friends, and great games.

2-4 p.m.

Free admission

DPS Fest at Durham Central Park

DPS families, come and enjoy games, food, door prizes, bounce houses, and performances; make a self-care kit to start your school year off right; dunk your principal to earn money for your school; and learn about DPS and community resources that will help you this school year.

3-7 p.m.

Free admission

Running Art Exhibits

Paul Hrusovsky: New Paintings at Craven Allen Gallery

The paintings in Scratching the Surface showcase the diversity of Hrusovksy’s subjects and techniques, ranging from the figurative to the abstract. All feature the luscious surface textures and color harmonies for which the artist is well known.

Gallery hours: Mon-Fri from 9:30 a.m. - 6:00 p.m. | Sat 10:00 a.m. - 4:00 p.m.

Runs through Aug 26

Free admission

Andy Warhol: You Look Good in Pictures at the Nasher

Andy Warhol: You Look Good in Pictures explores the breadth of the artist’s relationship with photography through several distinct bodies of work including screenprints of celebrities, all of which were taken from photographs, a group of Polaroids and black and white snapshots illustrating his social circles, and an early silent film of the curator Henry Geldzahler from 1964.

Tue-Fri from 10:00 a.m. - 5:00 p.m. | Sun from 12-5 p.m.

Runs through Aug 27

Free admission

Member Artists Exhibit at 5 Points Gallery

Get ready to be enthused, moved, and enriched by the power of art in this notable exhibit, “Inspiration Ignited”. This thought-provoking showcase invites you to dive into various realms of inspiration, as the artists share their unique visions with a range of styles and mediums including paintings, sculptures, fused glass and mixed media works.

Meet the artists at the Third Friday reception on Fri, Aug 18 from 6-9 p.m.

Runs through Sep 9

Free admission

“Lovingly Prepared by: A Multimedia Installation by Feed Durham” at Durham Arts Council

Feed Durham is a scrappy mutual aid collective that came together in response to mounting hunger in the Durham area, due to COVID. Since 2020, we’ve fed 155,000+ neighbors in need through our sprawling no-contact cookouts, where we lovingly prepare meals for 500 people per day and offer grocery giveaways.

Filmmaker/Photographer Katina Parker, Sculptor/Muralist/Illustrator Dare Coulter, Emmy-nominated filmmaker Saleem Reshemwala, Samantha Everette aka “The Shooting Beauty,” Jade Wilson, Courtney Symone of “Silent Sam” fame, D.L. Anderson, Jasmine Leeward, Tommy Coyote, Anna Carson DeWitt, Elizabeth Miller-Derstine, and Casey Toth (formerly of the News + Observer).

Mon-Sat from 9:00 a.m. - 9:00 p.m. | Sun from 1-6 p.m.

Runs through Sep 12

Free admission

Art of Peru at the Nasher

This gallery features ceramics, textiles, metalwork and carvings produced by ancient cultures across what is known as present-day Peru.

Tue-Fri from 10:00 a.m. - 5:00 p.m. | Sun from 12-5 p.m.

Runs through Dec 2

Free admission

Love and Anarchy at the Nasher

Drawn from the Nasher Museum’s extensive historical and contemporary collections, Love & Anarchy demonstrates some of the ways in which these two concepts have inspired artists, visually and conceptually, over millennia.

Runs through Feb 18, 2024

Free admission

Exhibit at 21c Museum Hotel

Truth or Dare: A Reality Show

Runs through March 2024

Open 24 hours

Free admission