f3maled0g
simone
♥ she/they ♥ "don't be lotion" ♥ whore for goncharov (1973) ♥
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occasionally a fanfic writer when i can be bothered 👹🤗😝
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#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda x reader#edmund pevensie x reader#edmund pevensie imagine#edmund x reader#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin imagine#remus x reader
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Alex Turner: "I have some photos from that shoot that Tina did. A guy showed me these lost photos that were found after the photographer died. That clicked immediately; it looked like an album cover, even long before we wrote this album."
Singer and artist Tina Turner passed away today at the age of 83. She is the cover of The Last Shadow Puppets' second album. The album cover consists of a sepia-toned photograph of the singer dancing, originally taken in 1969 in NY. It was photographed by Jack Robinson.
Simply the best. Forever 💔
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To grow up in Tennessee, picking cotton, be abandoned by both parents, survive an abusive relationship, battle with ageism, sexism, and racism just to come out as one of the best performers of all time.
You’ve fought the good fight and won, rest in power Tina Turner!
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“What’s eating you?”
Edmund Pevensie x Fem!Reader
Warnings - We live in a society, allusions to sex, innuendos.
Summary - Gurl I dunno.
A/N: Don’t repost, re-blogs are absolutely fine
—————
“Pevensie!”
There you appeared with a moonshine induced stagger. One could have sworn Edmund Pevensie’s eyes shone. He quickly assumed his original demeanour. Cold and unbothered, although now with a certain lightness to his shoulders. All the while, you made your boisterous trek to his spot, sporting a lopsided grin.
“Hello,” you sung, albeit badly.
He released an audible humph.
“Geez, something crawl up your trousers, old boy?”
“Okay.” Edmund raised a brow. Then, another.
You paused, maintaining deadly serious eye contact as if about to divulge the most sordid goss.
“What’s eating you?”
“Excuse me?”
“The phrase,” you jabbed at an explanation. “What’s bothering you?”
“In what world are you from where they use that euphemism?”
“Give a girl a break, concern is the most honourable gift I’ve ever bestowed upon anyone,” you returned a salute.
He scanned your hopeful countenance with a critical eye and took a generous swig of brown from a suddenly procured flask in his hand. Ed sighs, his thoughts muffled by the wild clamour of teenagers coupled with the cantankerous ambience that parties generally possessed without fail.
“So,” you inhaled, teetering on the edge of a conversation doomed for death. “Wanna get out of here?”
His lips twitched with a growing smile at the sight of your determined look in his periphery, more than prepared to bolt at the door. Not that you ever noticed the subtle glances, after all, stoicism was his magnum opus while yours ignorant bliss.
“Suit yourself,” you concluded with a shrug and waltzed out the exit and Edmund felt obligated to follow, legs mechanically willing themselves in your direction. Someone had to look out for you.
Just when he thought he’d lost you, Edmund found you leaning against the stout wood of an old oak. You bathed in the staple warmth of summer air, skin set aglow by the moonlight streaming through cracks of the foliage.
“You know, it’s considered rude to stare.” You whispered with closed eyes, conscious of his burning scrutiny.
He lingered at a comfortable distance from you, enraptured by your surreal tranquillity. Your eyes fluttered open, the reflection of the moon evident in your dilated pupils. He drew closer, your presence willing him to motion, like a magnet, until he was close enough to hear the rhythmic pattern of your breath.
The proximity was agonising, enticingly so. Your tangibility rushed him into a confused frenzy. He wanted to touch you. Worship the deity that you were. Longing nagged at him. How was it you were so close yet out of reach? It was aggravating. You were aggravating and this puzzle could only be solved in one way.
You looked at him through your lashes, a haziness dancing across your face. “What’s eating you, Pevensie?”
What passed in the moment was a blur.
Edmund stood before you, obscuring the view of the moon. You tilted your head, the bare slope of your neck appeared so inviting. It took everything to restrain himself. To maintain his resolve. But if you would just ask nicely, sweetly. Edmund’s heart would yield.
Your stare was a siren call to him. Beckoning and beckoning. It seemed his heart was not the only appendage at your beck and call. Edmund’s hands had a mind of their own and commanded forward. You bristled, the grip snaking around your waist shook your guard.
“Is this o-”
“Yes,” you gasped, much like a fish out of water.
Edmund chuckled, “You didn’t even let me finish, love.”
“In the biblical sense, I just might if you got on with it already.”
Seriously, you were rushing this? He pictured this a little differently, wanting to take his time with the pretty thing before him and explore the contours of your soul. After all, not only was Edmund Pevensie a fighter but a lover too.
Impatient hands latched onto his shirt collar, willing him forward and flush against you. The contact stirred something deep within your lower belly, something reserved only for him. He kissed you hard, then pulled away, noses nudging each other’s. You smiled, baring your teeth with closed eyes.
“Y/N,” Edmund breathed, “Look at me.”
“Hmm?”
“I like you, alright?”
“Alright. I like you too.”
Resolve broken.
You laughed heartily. “So, why don’t you just get it over with, buddy boy?”
“Buddy boy, huh?” He pulled away, extending a hand to pull you from the mighty oak. “You really are something.”
“Thanks a bunch, Eds,” you scoffed, jutting your tongue out. “Not only am I aroused, but aroused and disappointed.”
You turned to leave but Edmund stopped you.
“Listen, it’s not that. I just-”
“Are you a virgin?” you deadpanned, “Is that what this is?”
Edmund pouted, wounded. You raised two brows.
Ignoring the blow to his ego, he pressed on, “I just want to take my time with you, is all.”
Oh. You warmed from the explanation.
“So, that’s what’s been bothering you.”
You approached again and this time planted a kiss on his cheek, his face unusually ruddy from the affection.
“Well, at least let me take you home?” he suggested.
“I do have a curfew.”
“So, about the sex…” you began, looping an arm around his.
Edmund rolled his eyes, “Name the date.”
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god i love that people are finally getting into goncharov because it means i can FINALLY get people to listen to the little known musical adaptation
literally the best song in all of musical theatre canon and like FIVE PEOPLE know about it
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i lied. we're not gonna have sex. put your clothes back on, i need to explain the goncharov (1973) parallels with greek tragedy
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Our Badussy Hero's
General Minaj
Jiafei, Queen of The Products
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Evening and Night allegories, 1880s
William Bouguereau
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