#vogue britain

[newestcool]

Cecilia Chancellor for British Vogue December 1993 Photographer Mario Testino Source

#newest cool #newestcool #Cecilia Chancellor #british vogue #vogue editorial #fashion editorial #90s fashion #90s aesthetic #Mario testino #fashion photographer #fashion photography #vogue uk #vogue magazine #vogue britain

[hellyeahrihannafenty]

Rihanna - British Vogue, 2020.

#rihanna #fashion #candid #vogue #fenty #vogue uk #uk #britain

[sartoriale-designo]

Sunday funday...

#sunday #weekend #womenswear #milan fashion week #ireland #great britain #ralph lauren style guide #pittiuomo #pitti uomo #satorial #al bazar #palazzo pitti #pittiimmagine #men sweatpants and loafers #men's fashion #bespoke #vogue korea #vintage vogue #vogue japan #photography #pini parma #pittibygwd #suitsup #suitstyle #suitsupply #vogue uk #vogue italia #vogue #elle japan #elledecor

[the-sartorial-journey]

It's the weekend...

#saturday #ermenegildo zegna #weekend #pittiuomo #pitti uomo #ralph lauren style guide #palazzo pitti #pittiimmagine #men sweatpants and loafers #men's fashion #al bazar #satorial #stanley tucci #italian style #sunday #great britain #gentleman #vogue italia #southern italy #italy #the armoury #vogue japan #ring jacket #tokyo #milan #british #casual #pittibygwd #pininfarina #alfa romeo

[totallyhussein-blog]

I can do it! Be the change you want to see

Volunteering is apparently at a historic low in England, with The Guardian reporting on two different pieces of research revealing the damaging, long-term effect the pandemic has had.

According to the Time Well Spent report from the National Council for Voluntary Organisations, those raising money or taking part in sponsored events has fallen by 48% since 2018 and those organising or helping to run an activity has fallen by 52%.

So, are you looking for a change of scenery, fresh conversations and a new perspective? If you are, then this is the post for you!

Did you know, you don't have to live by the sea to get involved with the RNLI? The Royal National Lifeboat Institute are the charity which saves lives at sea and in 2022, the RNLI’s lifeboats were launched 9,312 times, their crews saved 389 lives and RNLI lifeguards saved 117 people.

Did you know, you don't have to be a soldier to get involved with Combat Stress: The UK's Leading Charity for Veterans' Mental Health? For over a century, Combat Stress have helped former servicemen and women with mental health problems such as ptsd, anxiety and depression.

Did you know, you don't have to experience conflict to get involved with the AMAR International Charitable Foundation? Since 1991, AMAR has been on the ground in countries which have been hit by displacement. AMAR safeguards people by keeping all of their staff trained to World Health Organization standards.

Did you know, you don't have to experience sight loss to get involved with Blind Veterans UK? From help with day-to-day living, getting out and about or staying in touch with loved ones, Blind Veterans -formerly St Dunstan's- are here to assist ex-Armed Forces and National Service personnel regain independence in life.

All of these organisations are UK wide, have informative websites and vibrant social media communities. People are free to ask questions about their work, you can also find in person events local to you and volunteering opportunities are all fully inclusive to people's needs.

#rnli #blind veterans #combat stress #the amar foundation #social media #volunteers #mental health awareness #health #uk news #manchester #liverpool #scotland #london #fundraising #nhs england #britain #vogue uk #education

[ludmilachaibemachado]

Jean Shrimpton photographed by David Bailey for portfolio "The Moods of Britain" for British Vogue, June 1963💐🩷💐💛💐

Via @fashiomodelhistory on Instagram💐

#60s icons #girlsofthesixties #60s models #jean shrimpton #the great and first supermodel #david bailey photographer #the moods of britain #uk vogue #1963 #🇬🇧

[omgthatdress]

In 1961, April Ashley was enjoying a successful career as a high-fashion model, having just appeared in British Vogue, when she was forcibly outed as transgender by a tabloid. Immediately, all the work she had been getting dried up.

April managed to pull herself along by marrying the son of a baron in Gibraltar, giving her the social status to live the life of a socialite. The marriage quickly fell apart, and April tried to enforce her right to an inheritance. The challenge led to a long, drawn-out court case to determine her gender. The court legally declared she was male, and set a precedent for trans discrimination that would stand for decades.

Following the decision, Ashley left Britain to live a quiet life away from the headlines.

In 2005, she returned to a very different Britain. The Gender Recognition Act of 2004 meant that she could have her birth certificate amended to have her gender listed as "female." She became an activist and a celebrity. In 2012, she was awarded with an Order of the British Empire for "services to Transgender Equality."

#trans #transgender #trans history #transgender history #drag #history of drag #queer #lgbt #queer history #lgbt history

[thepastisalreadywritten]

It was always going to end this way. The truth about Catherine Middleton’s absence is far less funny, whimsical, or salacious than the endless memes and conspiracy theories suggested.

In a video recorded and broadcast by the BBC, the princess says she has cancer and that she had retreated from the public eye to deal with her condition, while attempting to shield her children from the spotlight.

Instead, she had to contend with the internet giggling about whether she’d had a Brazilian butt lift.

My colleague Helen Lewis summed it up succinctly this afternoon: “I Hope You All Feel Terrible Now.”

What is there to learn from such a sad situation? The internet is made up of people, yet its architecture abstracts this basic truth.

As I wrote a few weeks ago, at the center of this months-long story was essentially “a sea of people having fun online because it is unclear whether a famous person is well or not.”

Underneath the memes was always something a little bit gross and indefensible.

Perhaps humans are just wired this way — to gawk and gossip.

There’s nothing new about hounding a member of the royal family or invading the privacy of a celebrity to sell tabloids or go viral.

You don’t even have to be a scold about it: Famous people are wealthy and beloved at least in part because they’re fun to talk about.

Exactly what we do and don’t know about their internal lives is part of the allure — the discourse comes with the territory to a degree.

But Catherine Middleton, of course, is a human too.

During this saga, I kept thinking about the reappraisal of Britney Spears in 2021, as well as the backlash toward past media and tabloid coverage of her rise.

A New York Times documentary dredged up old coverage of Spears from the mid-aughts, showing a young woman clearly in distress, being picked apart by glossy magazines.

Her suffering became entertainment. The response to this film was swift.

Some of the people and institutions that had shamelessly delighted in her pain backtracked: Glamour publicly apologized to the pop star on its Instagram account, noting, “We are all to blame for what happened to Britney Spears.”

Contrast the Spears reckoning with the Middleton drama and, if you’re being generous, you can see some of that newfound attitude in the media.

I was struck by Lewis’s observation that “Britain’s tabloid papers have shown remarkable restraint” throughout this mess.

Progress, perhaps, but what’s also telling is that they didn’t really need to do the dirty work: Random people on the internet were doing it for them.

They recklessly speculated, memed, and used their amateur sleuthing and networked faux expertise to concoct elaborate, semi-plausible explanations for her absence.

Was Catherine’s face actually Photoshopped from a Vogue spread? It wasn’t, but the conspiratorial tweet got 51.1 million views anyhow.

Missing from much of the discourse was the idea that its main character was a person who was likely struggling.

In essence, the internet democratized the tabloid experience, turning the rest of us into paparazzi and addled editors workshopping headlines and cover images — not to sell magazines but to amass some kind of fleeting online popularity.

In my least charitable moments, I see this toxic dynamic as the lasting legacy of social media — a giant, metrics-infused experiment in connectivity that has had a flattening, pernicious effect.

In 2021, I interviewed Elle Hunt, a journalist who’d tweeted an innocuous opinion about horror movies one evening and woke up to find she was trending on Twitter, her feeds choked with thousands of furious replies and threats.

When I asked her to describe the experience of becoming Twitter’s main character for the day, she summed it up thusly:

“You’re repurposed as fodder for content generation in a way that’s just so dehumanizing.”

Three years later, these words resonate even stronger.

What Hunt described to me then as “a platform failure,” feels to me now like a learned behavior of the internet, where people, famous and not, are repurposed as fodder for content generation. The cycle repeats itself endlessly.

This afternoon, the memes about Middleton shifted — from jokes about her whereabouts to jokes about how awful it was that everyone had been making fun of a cancer patient.

Feeling bad about the memes tweets immediately became a meme unto themselves.

Despite the tone shift, the reason for these posts is the same: They’re a way to take a person and repurpose their life for entertainment and engagement.

If this sounds exhausting and depressing, it’s because it is.

But the internet is also too big to be one thing. Clicking through social media this afternoon, I saw dozens of heartfelt testimonials, apologies, and well-wishes for the princess.

For a moment, from my perspective, it felt like watching a collective of people come to their senses.

A recognition, perhaps, of the humanity of the person at the center of the maelstrom.

Then, only a few seconds later, I saw a different post. It was a screenshot from the blockchain platform Solana, where users can create their own cryptographic tokens for others to invest in.

The name of the token in the screenshot is “kate wif cancer,” and its logo is a still of the princess sitting on a bench, taken from this afternoon’s video.

The coin’s market cap briefly surpassed $120,000. Only six minutes later, the price had cratered — the result of a standard memecoin sell off.

An awful thing happened. Some people made a joke about it. Other people made some money. And then everyone moved on.

NOTE: Edited

#Princess of Wales #Catherine Princess of Wales #Catherine Middleton #Kate Middleton #British Royal Family #cancer #chemotherapy #internet #memes #fake news #disinformation #misinformation #platform failure #social media

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Meghan’s Lies

by request of @britishroyalfamilyvideos​

Not comprehensive - this is just what I’ve tracked and they are not in any order. If I’ve missed any, add to the comments.

Meghan grew up an only child, never had any kind of relationship with Sam or Tom while growing up.

Meghan grew up in near-poverty where the $5 Sizzler buffet was a splurge.

Meghan didn’t know who Diana or the Royal Family was.

Meghan didn’t know that Diana did the Panorama interview.

Meghan told a television production she was union when she actually wasn’t.

Meghan’s character was being written off Suits because she was marrying Harry. (She was actually written off because Patrick Adams wanted out and her character was tied to his storylines.)

Meghan doesn’t have any family except Doria.

Meghan paid for college herself with her own student loans. (Thomas did; has receipts.)

Meghan has degrees in international relations and theatre from Northwestern University. (It’s actually a degree in communications, according to the commencement booklet.)

Meghan hated Britain because they were racists.

The Sussexes were more popular in Australasia than the Cambridges were.

Meghan didn’t want to serve newborn Archie on a silver platter to the British media.

Meghan wasn’t allowed to do a photocall at the hospital after Archie was born.

Meghan never talked to Oprah before Megxit.

Meghan wasn’t working with UK Vogue on a special edition.

Meghan couldn’t wear the same color of clothing as anyone else.

Meghan could only wear neutral-colored clothing.

Meghan was never going to dress her children like Kate’s Victorian ghost dolls.

Meghan was going to get her UK citizenship.

Meghan gave up her Hollywood team.

Meghan didn’t want a big public wedding and was forced into the big public spectacle by the royal family.

Meghan and Harry eloped three days before the Windsor spectacle with the Archbishop of Canterbury in their garden at Kensington Palace.

Meghan loves her engagement ring.

Meghan and Harry received permission from The Queen to name their daughter Lilibet.

Meghan loves Africa.

Meghan is committed and passionate about charity work and philanthropy.

There are no tabloids in the U.S.

All Americans have a rude, demanding, and 5am work ethic.

Paparazzi car chases

(All the times Meghan plagiarized quotes from others in her speeches)

Meghan frequented Korean spas in L.A. as a child.

Meghan didn’t collaborate with Scobie on Finding Freedom.

Meghan didn’t expect Thomas to publish her private letter.

The royals were the family Meghan never had.

The royals never welcomed Meghan into the fold.

The royals never gave Meghan any kind of help or training.

Meghan gave up everything for Harry.

Meghan didn’t announce her pregnancy at Eugenie’s wedding.

Meghan loves kids and couldn’t wait to be a mom.

Meghan’s dog was too old to fly overseas.

Meghan wasn’t allowed to decorate their home with items from the Royal Collection.

Kate made Meghan cry.

Meghan had a warm, friendly relationship with The Queen.

Meghan is the best boss ever.

Meghan made her own banana bread in Australia. (It was the Governor’s House chef.)

Meghan had suicidal thoughts the night of the Cirque du Soleil event and couldn’t stop crying at the event.

The royal family never helped Meghan with her mental health.

Meghan is being advised by the Obamas post-Megxit.

The children were refused titles by the BRF because they were racist.

Meghan refused titles for the children.

Meghan had a fish tacos lunch with Michelle Obama.

Meghan was pen pals with Hillary Clinton. (We know now that Thomas intervened on this.)

Meghan witnessed the LA riots.

Meghan supports independent grassroots journalism.

Meghan was going to hit the ground running in Britain after the wedding.

Her height. (She claims to be 5′6...maybe in heels.)

Meghan worked at the US embassy in Argentina. (She did a summer study program and ended up dropping out.)

Meghan didn’t know she had to curtsy to The Queen.

The BRF took her passport and car keys after the wedding and never let her travel.

Meghan wasn’t allowed to leave Nottingham Cottage or Frogmore Cottage unless it was for a work engagement.

They were evicted from Frogmore Cottage. (Netflix docuseries shows they were moving out June 2022.)

Meghan was concerned for her privacy in London and wanted to move back to L.A. because there were no paparazzi.

Archie was denied 24/7 protection by the royal family because he didn’t have a HRH and wasn’t a prince.

The family gossiped about Archie’s skin color and made racist comments to her about him.

The palace forced Meghan to take her name off Archie’s birth certificate. (Archie’s first birth certificate had his mother as Rachel Meghan, HRH The Duchess of Sussex. This birth certificate was later amended to have his mother as HRH The Duchess of Sussex.)

There was egg in the wedding food.

Meghan wasn’t allowed to have scents in St. George’s Church. (She wasn’t allowed to spray perfumes, but could have candles.)

The palace has Archie’s birth certificate locked under file and won’t give it to Meghan, so she can’t register him for school.

Meghan wasn’t allowed to do hair trials with her wedding tiara by Angela Kelly.

Meghan was the new Bond Girl.

Fire in Archie’s nursery in South Africa.

Meghan said titles are not important - people should be linked, not ranked.

Archie was too young to fly to Balmoral after he was born. (And yet they took him on 4 international private flights with Elton John...)

Meghan lied about her age. (This was while she was a working actress in Hollywood. Her age has been corrected so it’s not really a lie anymore.)

Belly padding during the pregnancy with Archie.

Sussex Royal had organic innate popularity on social media. Absolutely no bots were involved at all!

Circumstances of the miscarriage. (There are four different stories out there.)

Zoom calls with the Cambridge children during COVID lockdowns.

Zoom calls with The Queen during COVID lockdowns.

Flowers on Philip’s casket were from the Sussexes.

The Sussexes were invited to the Beckham wedding.

Lili would have a royal christening with The Queen.

Lili was christened.

The Sussexes were invited to the diplomatic reception held before The Queen’s funeral.

Meghan is best friends with Jennifer Aniston and they walk their dogs together all the time.

The children’s appearances are often edited/Photoshopped in published photographs.

Edit: More from the comments - credit to the blogs

Meghan didn’t have friends in school. (@rosesandmoonstones)

Meghan was prom queen. (@rosesandmoonstones)

Circumstances of the “racist royal” remarks (@scorpiotwentythree)

Meghan received a standing ovation at the UN, led by Ban Ki Moon (@scorpiotwentythree!)

The type of ambassador role Meghan had for the UN pre-Harry.

Meghan met The Queen in Balmoral over tea just after starting to date Harry in mid-2016. (@scorpiotwentythree)

“No one asked me if I’m okay.” (@rosesandmoonstones)

Meghan didn’t know racism till she arrived in the UK. (@jillydillypickles)

South Africans danced in the streets for the Sussex wedding. (@jillydillypickles)

#time flies Meghan lies #anon #lies

[fatehbaz]

It's a big mess of hubris; the manipulative use of scientific language to legitimate/validate the status quo; Victorian/Gilded Age notions of resource extraction; the "rightness" of "land improvement"; and the inevitability of empire.

This was published in the United States one year before the massacre at Wounded Knee.

This was the final year-ish of the so-called "Indian Wars" when the US was "completing" its colonization of western North America; at the beginning of the Gilded Age and the zenith of power for industrial/corporate monopolies; when Britain, France, and the US were pursuing ambitious mega-projects across the planet like giant canals and dams; just as the US was about to begin its imperial occupations in Central America and Pacific islands; during the height of the "Scramble for Africa" when European powers were carving up that continent; with the British Empire at the ultimate peak of its power, after the Crown had taken direct control of India; in the years leading up to mass labor organizing and the industrialization of war precipitating the mass death of the two world wars.

This was also the time when new academic disciplines were formally professionalized (geology; anthropology; archaeology; ecology).

Classic example of Victorian-era (and emerging modernist and twentieth-century) imperial hubris which implies justification for its social hierarchies built on resource extraction and dispossession by invoking both emerging technical engineering prowess (trains, telegraphs, electricity) and the in-vogue scientific theories widely popularized at the time (Lyell's work, dinosaurs, and the geology discipline granting new understanding of the grand scale of deep time; Darwin's work and ideas of biological evolution; birth of anthropology as an academic discipline promoting the idea of "natural" linear progression from "savagery" to imperial civilization; the technical "efficiency" of monoculture/plantations; emerging systems ecology and new ideas of biogeographical regions).

While also simultaneously doing the work to, by implication, absolve them of ethical complicity/responsibility for the cruelty of their institutions by naturalizing those institutions (excusing the violence of wealth disparities, poverty, crowded factory laboring conditions, mass imprisonment, copper mines, South Asian famine, the industrialization of war eventually manifesting in the Great War, etc.) by claiming that "commerce is a science"; "pursuit of profit is Natural"; "empire is inevitable".

This tendency to invoke science as justification for imperial hegemony, whether in Britain in the 1880s or the United States in the 1920s and such, might be a continuation of earlier European ventures from the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries which included the use of cartography, surveying/geography, Linnaean taxonomy, botany, and natural history to map colonies/botanical resources and build/justify plantations and commercial empires in the Portuguese slave ports, Dutch East Indies, or the Spanish Americas.

Some of the issues at play:

-- Commerce is "A Science". Commerce is shown to be both an ecological system (by illustrating it as if it were a landscape, which is kinda technically true) and a physiological system (by equating infrastructure/extraction networks with veins) suggesting wealth accumulation is Natural.

-- If commerce/capitalism are Natural, then evolutionary theory and linear histories suggest it is also Inevitable (it was not mass violence of a privileged few humans who spent centuries beating the Earth into submission to impose the Victorian/Gilded Age state of things, it was in fact simply a natural evolutionary progression). And if wealth accumulation is Natural, then it is only Right to pursue "land improvement".

-- US/European hubris. They can claim to perceive the planet in its apparent totality (as a globe, within the bounds of extraterrestrial space as if it were a laboratory or plantation). The planet and all its lifeforms are an extension of their body, implying a justified dominion.

-- However, their anxiety and suspicions about the stability of empire are belied by their fear of collapse and the simultaneous US/European obsession at the time with ancient civilizations, the "fall of Rome", classical ruins, etc. At this time, the professionalization of the field of archaeology had helped popularize images and stories of Sumer, Egypt, the Bronze Age, the Aegean, Rome, etc. And there was what Ann Stoler has called an "imperialist nostalgia" and a fascination with ancient ruins, as if Britain/US were heirs to the legacy of Athens and Rome. You can see elements of this in the turn of the century popularity of Theosophy/spiritualism, or the 1920s revival of "classical" fashions. This historicism also popularized a sort of "linear narrative" of history/empires, reinforced by simultaneous professionalization of anthropology, which insinuated that humans advance from a "primitive" state towards modernity's empires.

-- Meanwhile, from the first decades of the nineteenth century when Megalosaurus and Iguanodon helped to popularize fascination with dinosaurs, Georgian and later Victorian Britain became familiar with deep time and extinction, which probably contributed to British anxiety about extinction, imperial collapse, lastness, and death.

-- Simultaneously, the massive expansion of printed periodicals allowed for sensationalist narrativizing of science.

-- The masking of the cruelty in a euphemism like "land improvement". Like sentencing someone to a de facto slow death and deprivation in a prison but calling it a "sanatorium" or "reformatory". Or calling the mass amounts of poor, disabled, women, etc. underclasses of London "unfortunates". Whether it's Victorian Britain or early twentieth century United States: "Our empire is doing this for the betterment and advancement of all mankind."

-- If an ecosystem is conceived as a machine, "land improvement" actually means monoculture, high-density production, resource extraction, concentration.

-- The image depicts the body is itself is also a mere machine (dehumanization, etc.). And if human bodies are shown to be also systems, networks, machines like an ecosystem, then human bodies can also be concentrated for efficiency and productivity (literal concentration camps, prisons, factories, company towns, slums, dosshouses, etc.). This is the thinking that reduces humans and other creatures to objects, resources, to be concentrated and converted into wealth.

And so after the rise of railroads and coal-power and industrial factories in the earlier nineteenth century, the fin de siecle and Edwardian era then saw the expansion of domestic electricity, easier photography, telephones, radio, and automobiles. But you also witness the spread of mass imprisonment, warplanes, and machine guns, etc. And in the midst of this, the Victorian/Gilded Age also saw the rise of magazines, newspapers, mass media, pop-sci stuff, etc. So this wider array of published material, including visual stuff like maps and infographics could "win over" popular perception. This is nearly a century after the Haitian Revolution, so more and more people would have been able to witness and call out the contradictions and hypocrisies of these "civilized" nations, so scientific validation was important to empire's public image. (Think: 100 years prior, everyone witnessed widespread revolutions and slave rebellions, but now the European empires are still using indentured labor, expanding prisons, and growing even more powerful in Africa, etc. An outrage.)

Illustrations like this ...

It's people with power (or people with a vested interest in these institutions, people who aspire to climbing the social ladder, people who defend the status quo) looking around at the general state of things, observing all of the cruelty and precarity, and then using scientific discourses to concede and say "this was inevitable, this was natural" and not only that, but also "and this is good".

Related reading:

Peoples on Parade: Exhibitions, Empire, and Anthropology in Nineteenth-Century Britain (Sadiah Qureshi, 2011); The Earth on Show: Fossils and the Poetics of Popular Science, 1802-1856 (Ralph O’Connor); "Science in the Nursery: the popularisation of science in Britain and France, 1761-1901" (Laurence Talairach-Vielmas, 2011); Citizens and Rulers of the World: The American Child and the Cartographic Pedagogies of Empire (Mashid Mayar); "Viewing Plantations at the Intersection of Political Ecologies and Multiple Space-Times" (Irene Peano, Marta Macedo, and Collette Le Petitcrops); “Paradise Discourse, Imperialism, and Globalization: Exploiting Eden" (Sharae Deckard); "Forgotten Paths of Empire: Ecology, Disease, and Commerce in the Making of Liberia's Plantation Economy" (Gregg Mitman, 2017); Imperial Debris: On Ruins and Ruination (Ann Laura Stoler, 2013)

Fairy Tales, Natural History and Victorian Culture (Laurence Talairach-Vielmas, 2014); Mining the Borderlands: Industry, Capital, and the Emergence of Engineers in the Southwest Territories, 1855-1910 (Sarah E.M. Grossman, 2018); Pasteur’s Empire: Bacteriology and Politics in France, Its Colonies, and the World (Aro Velmet, 2022); "Shaping the beast: the nineteenth-century poetics of palaeontology" (Talairach-Vielmas, 2013); In the Museum of Man: Race, Anthropology, and Empire in France, 1850-1960 (Alice Conklin, 2013); Inscriptions of Nature: Geology and the Naturalization of Antiquity (Pratik Chakrabarti, 2020)

#abolition #ecology #landscape #colonial #imperial #haunted #modernity #temporal #indigenous #multispecies #temporality

[luxe-pauvre]

NOVEMBER 2023

Read:

How To Watch A Movie

repetition is tedious

On Her 40th Birthday, Alexa Chung Shares 40 Pearls Of Wisdom With Vogue

‘We need to break the junk food cycle’: how to fix Britain’s failing food system

Is society coming apart?

The big idea: should we get rid of the scientific paper?

Scientific Integrity and the Ethics of ‘Utter Honesty’

Me, myself and I

Look on the dark side

To Rescue Democracy, Go Outside

Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Fraser

Annhilation by Jeff VanderMeer

Watched:

The Marvelization of Cinema

the life and death of the fashion magazine

McMindfulness: When Capitalism Goes Buddhist

The Obsession with Female Rage in Media

The Long Shadow

Listened To:

Royal Blood's Back To The Water Below

How the $500 Billion Attention Industry Really Works

Went To:

Turn It Up: The Power of Music @ Science Museum

#Getting back to reading post-Upgrade. #Still failing to get into podcasts. There are so many. I can never catch up so what's the point in starting etc. etc. #personal

[sailtomarina]

Seven days a week

What Hermione craved more than anything else in the world at the moment was the hot silkiness of espresso, chocolate, and milk coating her tongue and sliding down her throat. She knew just the place.

She’d discovered the cafe a little under a month ago before her work trip to the Americas—a nondescript exterior, humble interior, extremely limited seating, and the smoothest roasts she had ever experienced. Their coffee redefined her very notion of the word, rewriting the atrocious imitations at Hogwarts, Three Broomsticks, and even the Leaky Cauldron, who all seemed to put more priority into butterbeer and other popular wizard beverages. She considered her discovery love at first sip, and her later time spent in the U.S. cemented her passion for the caffeinated drink which started her morning seven days a week. Coming back to Britain, she paid for addiction dearly in the form of incessant cravings that the mediocre offerings of other establishments failed to fulfill.

So, she returned to M. Coffee. 

It was while she waited in line to make her order that she noticed him. The shock of white blonde hair, trimmed perfectly and falling just right over his forehead, shone like a beacon in the tiny building. Draco Malfoy sat in elegant repose, one hand resting on his lap, occasionally bringing his mug up to his lips, and the other turning the pages of The Daily Prophet. If she angled herself just so, she could pull off pretending to miss him sitting at the far edge of the counter the way he was.

“Miss? Do you know what you would like?” The young woman standing behind the till blinked innocently at her, waiting for Hermione’s order. She wore a cheery red apron and a pin in the shape of a cup with ‘Daisy’ printed on it.

“I’ll take a large dark chocolate mocha, no whip, with a bit of cinnamon.”

“Certainly. Can I interest you in any of our boosters?”

Hermione followed the girl’s nod towards a board she hadn’t noticed before, one listing out a variety of different drink enhancements. The options included focus, energy, and stamina. A note at the bottom promised four hours of efficacy, which seemed like quite a long duration to Hermione. She would’ve expected maybe an hour at most. There were dedicated potions that didn’t last even half as long as one of these drinks.

“I’m good, thanks.” Glancing behind her and seeing no one, she let her curiosity get the best of her. “Have you tried these boosters?”

Daisy grinned knowingly as she prepared her drink. “I have. They’re Ministery-approved, if that’s what concerns you.”

“They are?” Hermione couldn’t help the disbelief that bled into her voice.

“Yup,” Daisy confirmed, “Boss wouldn’t have it any other way. Does everything by the books and triple checks it all himself.”

It wasn’t until the girl handed Hermione a bright red mug with cinnamon dusted across the foam that she realized she had forgotten to specify takeout. There was nothing for it, she supposed, then to sit as far away from Malfoy as possible and hope he didn’t notice her.

She had nearly drained the delicious concoction when a voice, low and confident, slid into her reverie.

“How’s the drink?”

Of course Malfoy would notice her. She should have shaved off her head, or dyed it Weasley red. She took one last swallow of her mocha before turning to face him. Sliding her eyes up his disgustingly fit form encased in a suit that would do the front cover of Vogue justice, she fixed on his eyes, just as strikingly grey as she remembered. What surprised her, however, was the way they crinkled at the edges with his smile. It wasn’t the cruel smirk of their childhood, or even the suggestive leer he used more as they got older. His expression appeared genuinely curious, and the openness of it disarmed her as readily as a well-placed expelliarmus.

“I must be dreaming.”

His brow crinkled in confusion, but he followed with a laugh and another question. “Why do you say that?”

“Draco Malfoy is asking Hermione Granger about her drink and looks like he actually wants to hear the answer.”

“Does Hermione Granger now speak exclusively in the third person?”

“She may be using it as some kind of twisted defense mechanism.”

They stared at one another for a silent beat before they both burst into laughter. She wasn’t sure what was going on and why he was talking to her, but she was in too good of a mood to let Malfoy ruin it. Oddly enough, she felt in a better mood now than earlier.

“The drink is lovely and I could drink it every day,” she conceded.

He looked inordinately pleased by her answer, and she couldn’t help but want to know more.

“Why do you ask?”

He cocked his head with a strange expression now on his face, and Hermione felt a bit of her old reservations spring up. Had she missed something obvious? He gestured toward her cup with an elegant wave of his wrist. The scarlet mug was just as empty as before, the ‘M’ on the side clearly displayed.

M, as in M. Coffee.

She returned her gaze sharply towards him, mouth agape.

“I’m surprised you didn’t realize from the start, Granger. This is my coffee shop.”

“But it’s so small,” she said accusingly, as if the very word offended her.

There was that smirk. Only this time, it wasn’t at her but somehow included her. “I happen to like small. I don’t plan on ever expanding, no matter how successful this place becomes. I just want to keep making limited batch roasts to my exact specifications and starting every morning with a cup and a newspaper.”

Hermione studied him as he spoke, noticing for the first time the relaxed slant of his shoulders that once seemed permanently tense. She hadn’t seen him much in the past handful of years after school. She knew they had each pursued masteries, and that they were both single—Witch Weekly couldn’t get enough coverage of the eligible bachelor.

She wanted to know more.

Gathering her courage felt as natural as breathing, no matter how much her nerves spiked and her brain screamed at her that this might not be the greatest idea she’d ever had. M. Coffee served the best coffee in Britain and Draco Malfoy was a puzzle she wanted to solve.

“Well, consider me a regular customer. I don’t think I can start my days without one of your drinks.” Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall and back to him. He maintained eye contact the entire time, lips curled into yet another strange smile she had never seen on him before. “I’ll be here every morning at 8 A.M.”

“I’m honored by your patronage.”

She nodded and stood to leave. When she made to bus her own mug, he stepped forward to meet her, large hands barely brushing hers in the exchange. The brief touch was cool, and she wondered how his hand would feel cupped against her flushed face.

“Thank you.” She tried to keep her voice firm, but a tiny tremble might have slipped through with the way he looked at her.

“Thank you, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“8 A.M.”

“Indeed.”

She spun around and fled as her courage flagged and she nearly continued the ridiculous verbal exchange. She didn’t see the way he watched her leave, the smile he maintained long after she was no longer in sight, nor the contemplative look he held before nodding decisively. He planned to see her everyday, just as she had stated, seven days a week.

Beyond that? Well, Hermione wasn’t the only one who liked a challenge.

WC 1298 Twitter prompt from @DramionePrompts

#dramione #dramione prompt #dhr fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy

[the-sartorial-journey]

Sartorial Journey

#sartorial #pittiuomo #italian style #pininfarina #salvatore ferragamo #ferrari #great britain #satorial #vogue italia #italy #sicilia #spain #tuesday #ralph lauren style guide #pitti uomo #al bazar #palazzo pitti #pittiimmagine #men sweatpants and loafers #speedmaster #men's fashion #gq spain #gq #pini parma #the armoury #japan #hong kong #alfa romeo #armani #ermenegildo zegna

[bijouxcarys]

Spotlight (Robert Plant x fem!OC)

Masterlist

Description: Robert Plant has been pining over Mallory Jackson for more than a year now, admiring her from afar, as many around the world did. But on the night of his Shaken 'N' Stirred release party in New York, he finds out just how much the pining is reciprocated…

Word count: 9.8k

Tags: @celestial-dragoness @callmethehunter @firethatgrewsolow @chromations @tangerine1969 @ourshadowstallerthanoursoul @angrychicksposts @inanebula @strsmn @m-faithfull @friccinfricks

1980s Britain. A time teeming with unemployment, depression, inflation, and political instability. Regular folk made do with the circumstances they found themselves in, and stars laid down their egos in support of those who made them who they were. Little boys wanted to be Indiana Jones, and little girls pined for their pop star fantasy. And every teenager sought for an escape from the pressures of knowing their carefree years were rapidly coming to an end.

Husbands worked endless hours, housewives worked to maintain a semblance of balance. And within each of these homes, under layers of unpaid bills and rent, sat the one form of media everyone could enjoy, afford, and revisit.

Magazines.

Feminine faces plastered on cover after cover, all with different stories, different styles… maybe one day that little girl could look like that, or that teenager would be able to attract someone as ethereal to marry.

A model’s world is not just about her hair, her eyes, or her body. It’s the very essence she possesses. It seeps through the glossy paper, and speaks to you, captivates you... If she’s talented enough. 

And those talented enough were lucky enough to enjoy the subsequent luxury of being a star.

Mallory had laboured in her desire for success. For fame. Just the word alone was enough to set her soul ablaze. She studied her own reflection for hours on end to perfect her movements; where to place her hands, which angle to tilt her head in, how wide her eyes should be. By 17, she’d suffered a dozen rejection letters, but it only fuelled her further. 

She would not stop until she had the best of the best. Until she was the best of the best.

That came at 20, when a chance encounter at a coffee shop led her to becoming a featured face throughout the August 1983 edition of Elle magazine. With time, people started to compare her to the likes of Elizabeth Taylor with a Brooke Shields oddity. 

By her 21st birthday, she’d become the face of i-D, Harper’s Bazaar, and Vogue. She’s garnered the attention of many, including the powerful Hugh Hefner of Playboy, and whichever big-time artist found themselves in need of a pretty face with long legs and a stern work ethic.

Amongst those big-time artists infiltrating the charts and taking advantage of the skyrocketing commercialism, laid the has-beens of the 60s and 70s, approaching middle-age and desperate to adopt modern styles, trends, and sentiments. A whole new generation, a whole new audience to win over—to remind that they were once akin to a God.

Yet, lurking in the shadows of modern pop, those with the desire to evolve as artists went about their lives, steadily adapting to the new era. 

Robert Plant embodied the latter, and was terrified of the former.

He welcomed the 80s with open arms, though he didn’t have much of a choice. Something had to change. And it did. Between the separation of Zeppelin, and later his wife of 15 years, Robert embraced his new life. He enjoyed his solo career, cherishing every experience and endeavour.

Not one to turn his nose up at the ever changing landscape of entertainment, he chose to live it.

Savour everything it had to offer, earthly pleasures and all.

Happy with the moderate following his solo career had garnered, and therefore the buzz surrounding his newest venture Shaken ‘N’ Stirred, Robert did what he did best and celebrated in style.

Of course, he recognised her from across the room, his release party in full swing. He wasn’t immune to stumbling across certain magazines, and the occasional advertisement in Piccadilly Circus, that had the lovely Mallory’s face plastered all over. Even from afar, through the gaps between each bustling attendee, she surpassed any expectation set in place by her media presence.

It was like a spotlight consumed her, everywhere she went.

He’d heard whispers that she may be attending this evening, and though he didn’t vocalise it, he secretly hoped she would. After all, it was a rarity for her to miss a release party of this candour. Unapologetic in her lust for life, and her zest for the glitz and glamour that came with every superficial venture she’d taken in her 22 years on Earth.

Mallory had already lived the life of someone twice her age, and Robert could sense it. Even through cover pages, television screens, or lit-up billboards. It was potent. Heavy.

And something he found oh so alluring.

Never had Robert felt particularly nervous to approach a girl, or at the very least the pressure to impress one. Not in a very long time. Usually, they flocked to him. He was the one to lay back, and let his magnetic aura attract every female of every shape, size, culture, height, and age. Then, he could meticulously cherry pick a handful to make his for the night, and if she was lucky, one would stay in contact with him.

Not tonight.

In his alcohol-induced buzz, Robert had encountered multiple women already throughout the night. He’d cuddled up to them, given them all the attention they needed within the boundaries of a public setting. But what he really wanted—no, needed—was that raven-haired young woman sucking on a lemon slice after a particularly strong shot of tequila. The symbolism was not lost on him.

Unbeknownst to him, Mallory had been subtly sizing up Robert throughout the entire soirée. Starting near the entrance, she engaged in chit-chat with anyone within earshot—maybe more than your average person would have found charming. But Mallory wasn’t your run-of-the-mill guest; she revelled in the attention and the curious eyes that inevitably followed her every move in her own stardom.

While graciously accepting compliments and manoeuvring through corporate-esque small talk, Mallory had a mental map of the room, like a seasoned explorer navigating uncharted terrain. She strategically identified groups that formed a path leading to the centre of attention—Robert himself. Direct approaches weren’t her style; Mallory operated with finesse.

To say she felt self-assured with each step toward Robert would be an understatement. Approaching big names was familiar territory for her; any inkling of anxiety evaporated as adrenaline surged with the realisation that he was her next target.

Luck was on her side as Robert wrapped up a conversation with another woman who gracefully excused herself. He momentarily froze mid-sip when he turned to find Mallory, the captivating woman he’d been eyeing all night, closing in. However, he quickly composed himself, a smirk playing on his lips.

Taking a moment to appreciate her attire, he couldn’t help but notice how elegantly it gripped her curves—just as he had dreamed about doing all night. Her chest, a perfectly sculpted feature, held his gaze a tad longer than necessary. The silk dress she wore left little to the imagination, but having seen her modelling lingerie, he effortlessly pictured the little black number crumpled on his bedroom floor.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr Plant,” she teased, a friendly smile gracing her lips, painted in a muted maroon that seemed to hold the secrets of a thousand whispered conversations.

God, her voice—a velvet symphony that played on the edges of Robert’s senses. His signature smirk, a mischievous dance on his lips, responded to her greeting. “What are the odds, eh? Almost like it’s my party,” he quipped, his smile deepening at the spark in her eyes, a laughter-filled serenade.

“Well, they don’t just let anyone run loose in a place like this in New York.” She tilted her head, a subtle game of observation playing in the depths of her eyes, decoding every nuance in his reactions and emotions.

“My dear, truer words have never been spoken,” he replied, a conspiratorial glint in his gaze. His free arm, an extension of casual confidence, wound itself around her shoulders. The smirk mirrored on her perfect lips, couples with the smoky allure in her eyes, hinted at her unspoken approval. She, too, seemed to yield to the gravitational pull, stepping closer into the captivating orbit he had initiated.

“How would you know who they do and don’t let in here, anyway?” he inquired, his head tilting down toward her, his hand maintaining a firm grip on her shoulder.

“Hmm,” she mused, allowing a tantalising pause to hang in the air, leaving him to wonder. “I’ve gotten around quite a bit,” she confessed with a cheeky grin, savouring his immediate interpretation. “Not quite in the way your imagination might conjure… though, I wouldn’t entirely rule that out.”

“So, that settles the burning question of ‘What exactly does Mallory Jackson do when she’s not enchanting the world with her incomparable beauty?’” he bantered, audacity colouring his words.

Mallory’s brows arched, a hint of astonishment gracing her features at his fearless demeanour. Yet, she reminded herself, this was Robert Plant—slightly tipsy and delightfully unpredictable. One could never predict what gems might spill from his gifted mouth.

“You know who I am, then?” she asked, a blend of question and confirmation.

“You don’t sound very surprised, luv.”

Mallory chuckled silkily, gracefully circling around to position herself directly in front of him. Her hand glided up, securing a steady hold on his button-up shirt. Gently drawing him closer, she practically purred up at him:

“Darling… Everyone knows who I am.”

With a daring yet barely-there peck on Robert’s lips, she released him. A rush of power surged through her, sending sparks of newfound confidence coursing through her nerve endings, even the most sacred ones.

Whilst she backed up, her hand remained delicately wrapped around his wrist, giving him a small squeeze in a silent provocation. His eyes narrowed down at her, as if trying to decode her. Figure her out. A fellow Brit in The Big Apple, young and carefree—a little like him at his most naive. But Mallory held something he didn’t when Zeppelin made their US debut; wisdom. A 22-year-old drowning in the misery of wisdom only someone twice her age could muster. She took the menacing possibility of a downtrodden existence, kicked it into another universe, and took life by the horns.

I have to have her.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him, her hair dangling to the side with the movements of her head. She had a knowing smirk on her lips, the question sounding as rhetoric.

Composing himself, Robert met her gaze, equally as intense and foreboding. Then, suddenly, he manoeuvred his hand to her waist, drawing her back into him with a steady force. Lowering his head closer to hers, he dropped his voice to a beguiling utter.

“I’m thinkin’ about how much I’d like to see this pretty dress on my hotel room floor.”

Mallory’s breath caught in her throat, the admission expected but achieving the effects of the most delicate foreplay. The cluster of people around them became insignificant to her, to him, the moment unfolding as a telepathic agreement.

“What else?” she dared to ask, her hand tentatively moving up to his muscular arm, fingers tightening around the material of his button-up. 

“I’m not sure I should divulge such classified information in such a public setting…” 

Running her tongue along her teeth, she tilted her head upwards to look Robert in the eye. Challenging him. “Well…” she breathed, her eyes flicking down to his lips for a brief moment. “Perhaps you should… show me… in a more… private setting?”

Got her.

Thickly swallowing, Robert cleared his throat and idly passed his almost empty cup off to a random passerby, before swiftly taking Mallory’s hand and leading her away from the crowd and out into the hallway.

Got him.

Mallory discarded her own cup on a nearby table quickly enough to allow herself to be swept away by Robert in the direction of the conjoined hotel lobby located just at the end of the narrow hallway. She kept quiet as he slowed the pace and bid the receptionist a good night, the girl responding with a flustered smile. Mallory smirked at her reaction, squeezing onto Robert’s hand as they enclosed themselves in one of the elevators.

“Seems like you have quite the influence around here, Mr Plant,” she teased, allowing him to take her into his arms after pressing the required button to his floor.

“Yeah? And what gives you that idea, Miss Jackson?” He freely lowered his hands to hold onto her waist, twitching below at how nicely she fit between his palms.

“The receptionist.”

“Hmm, pretty girl, isn’t she?” He narrowed his eyes, gauging Mallory’s reaction. Half expecting her to respond with an air of jealousy, as most girls would, and have.

“She most definitely is,” she simply agreed, matching his intense stare.

“Perhaps I should ask her to join us?” Testing the waters. Slowly. Steady, Rob.

“As enticing of an offer as that sounds,” she started, rolling her hips forward to get a taste of what he had waiting for her under those trousers. “Maybe that can wait for another time… I want you all to myself tonight.”

Robert let out a gruff breath, lifting a hand to hold onto the side of Mallory’s head. “You are such a little minx,” he grunted, before pulling her forward and finally locking his lips with hers in an intense kiss. She practically melted, letting out all of the tension building up inside her through an exhale as she meshed her lips with his. He was frantic, needy. Hoisting her up the elevator’s wall by hooking his arms around her legs, until she had no choice but to wrap them around his waist. 

Their tongues rippled in a circular motion, caressing each other in a silky swirl. They tasted like vodka and orange. Smelled like the clash of perfume and cologne, and a light musk from the heated environment. But no heat could match the one stirring between her legs as she arched into him, his greedy hands grabbing all over as he devoured her with his kiss.

When Robert’s lips made a steady journey down the expanse of her neck, the grip of her fingers on his shirt tightened. Desperate. A passionate yearn for more. A choked moan rumbled in her throat as he bared his teeth, gentle ridges nipping harshly at her delicate skin.

Mallory glanced at the row of golden buttons, a wave of relief washing over her as she saw they still had some time to be wrapped up like this before they reached the 7th floor.

“You better not be leaving marks on me.”

“Or what?”

“Ugh,” she huffed, her head resting back against the mirrored walls of the lift. Surrendering to his actions. Like it was meant to happen. His smirk was felt against her as he continued, holding the other side of her neck as he bit down brusquely, hollowing his cheeks and sucking like his life depended on it. It seemed to last forever, like he was draining her of her energy. Her ability to maintain her composure. Pain was pleasure, goosebumps spiking every inch of unclothed skin. 

Her legs tightened around him as he released her with a faint pop. He then kissed over the mark he’d made, satisfied with how deep of a shade it was, even upon completion, knowing it would only darken throughout the course of the evening.

“If I could bite a perfect ‘R’ along your beautiful skin, I would…” he breathed, jutting forward to nip at her lower lip. “But I guess impaling you on my cock will have to do.”

Oh, my goodness… Her breathing hitched, stunned at his words. She knew he was good, but not this good…

“You have no clue how long I’ve wanted you to speak to me like that,” she hummed, head light and fuzzy at the sensation of Robert’s fingers forking through her hair.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “Ever since I bought my first record… I heard that voice…” She ran the tip of her finger around the collar of his shirt, the ding from the lift sending a jolt of anticipation straight to her cunt. With a smirk, she whispered hotly against his lips. “And I knew I had to have you one day…”

It was a challenge for Robert to navigate the stretched out corridors of the New York hotel, his room located right down at the bottom, but seemed much further. His brain was imploding, going through all the things he wanted to do to the woman he had under his arm. She was so perfect. He wanted to do everything and more. He couldn’t choose a single sordid move to focus his mind on, even for a second.

He imagined her on top, underneath, on her side, on all fours. Against a wall, over a table, out on the bloody balcony. He wanted her in every position, anywhere, and everywhere.

What does she taste like? A lady of such elegance and beauty has to taste sweeter than the finest honey curated from the softest hive…

To swallow her, eat her up, indulge—to get wholly doped up on her essence. What a tale for the cerebral chronicle of his 37 years on Earth.

“Do you like whiskey?”

He had briefly subdued, painfully suppressed, his fantasies for a moment to cater to the gallant nature of his heart. Mallory appreciated it; to know he wasn’t wanting a quick fuck and dump. A long term situation appeared out of the question, and she knew that going into this, but she was not about to be used as a swift fix to satiate a libidinous rockstar.

She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

“I do, as a matter of fact,” she answered, admiring the interior of his room. “I drink like an old man…” she casually added.

Robert chuckled, pouring two short glasses of Aberlour-Glenlivet on the rocks. “That, my dear,” he spun, passing her one of the drinks, “Is the best way to drink.” They lightly clinked their glasses together and took sips with the sweet accompaniment of eye contact, countering the bitter bite of the liquor.

As Mallory licked her lips, savouring the expensive taste, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. With a hum, she brushed her hair behind her shoulder, tilting her head to inspect Robert’s damage on her neck. Huffing in amusement, she raised and lowered an eyebrow.

“My make-up team is going to hate covering this up…”

He grinned crookedly, chewing his lip in boyish wonder. Proud of himself. Elated that he’d caused such semi-permanent markings that would remind her of him every day—long enough to stir the most tawdry thoughts. Enough to make her want more.

And he wanted to make more.

“Can’t say I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Mallory smirked at him. “Can’t say I’m surprised by that statement, Mr Plant.”

“You love it, though,” he shrugged, taking another sip. She merely gave him a smile of concurrence, knowing he had hit the nail on the head. She did love it. 

Robert watched her like a hawk, from her red-bottom stilettos, up her sculpted, shiny legs, and straight to her long and layered dark locks, as she stalked the room with an unconscious refinement, finally reaching the bed, where she lowered herself to sit on the edge of the plush quilt.

“So. I guess it’s my turn to ask you.” She crossed one leg over the other, leaning forward to rest her arms over her leg. Like down at the party, he unabashedly feasted his eyes on the way her dress crumpled at the neckline, soft landscapes of her chest shimmering in the low lighting of his temporary home.

“Ask me what, luv?” With a hand in his pocket, he himself strode over slowly, stopping a healthy distance that allowed him to peruse to his heart’s desire.

“What does the incomparable Robert Plant do when he’s not dazzling the world with his unearthly vocals and…” She looked him up and down. “...Inebriating allure?”

What a way with words… He’d heard girls shower him with compliments for years now, and they all spoke of the same broad insinuations. Mallory left no room for insinuation, and all the room for a response as true as the blonde spiralling from his head.

“Well,” he inhaled, “When I’m not prancing around on stage, I tend to spend my time reading… possibly a bit of football here and there…” He trailed off, a roguish leer tugging at his lips as he averted his eyes. “And on occasion…” He took a smooth step closer to Mallory, the blue in his regard flooding her dusky gaze. “I get to take care of some of nature’s most sublime creations.”

Whilst stricken by his choice of words, she couldn’t help but stifle a small laugh, raising her glass up to her lips. “Don’t tell me it’s only on occasion.”

Robert responded with a chuckle of his own, and faux timidity in a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m sure yer well aware of my escapades, Miss Jackson, but I can assure you it’s not every day I get to spend my evenings in the presence of someone like you.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asked, tilting her head with a playful grin. “What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is,” Another step closer. She had to crane her neck upwards to meet his eyes now. “It isn’t often I get to be with someone I just so happened to be fawning over for months myself…” Robert’s eyes shifted to the small collection of magazines at the foot of the bed. Mallory followed his line of sight and felt her face flush crimson.

Paper media with her face, her body, plastered on the front page. Vogue, Elle, Harper’s Bazaar… and her infamous Playboy appearance.

With a somewhat jesting expression, she leaned over and pulled the latter from the collection, her eyebrow raising suggestively in his direction. Placing her glass of whiskey on the bedside table, she flipped through the September 1984 issue, chuckling to herself.

“People hated me for this, you know,” she told him apathetically. The bed dipped beside her as Robert took a close seat, his jeans confidently brushing against her bare leg. Without a second thought, she boldly moved her ankle over his shin, her foot dangling in a carefree manner at the end of the crossed-over leg. Her eyes, however, stayed glued to the pages in her hands.

“Why did people hate it?” Robert asked, leaning closer to her to peer over her shoulder. His chin skimmed her shoulder, breath dangerously close to her neck once again.

“I don’t know…” she mumbled. “I think people saw me as more of a… reserved person. With a little more class, I guess.” She shrugged, turning the page to the centrefold. Robert pressed his lips gingerly to her shoulder, dragging them along the thin black strap of her dress.

“Seems pretty classy to me, luv,” he hummed, moving his lips closer to her neck. “I, for one, thought it was one of the more elegant features. I mean, look at that…” His hand crept along her arm, fingertips hot in their wake as he trailed them over the pages. He paid special attention to the main shot of Mallory, wearing nothing but a sheer lingerie set. Not quite nude, but just scandalous enough to be axed from the more family friendly brands.

Robert went quiet as he took a moment to appreciate the beauty as he had done time after time already. It struck him, somewhere deep down in his gut, how one could only just see the slightly darker skin of her nipples through the pricey lace bra she adorned. How the same could be said for the flimsy material of her underwear, strategically covering all the places he wanted to admire so badly, but not opaque enough to conceal the dark patch of hair between her legs. It left barely anything to the imagination.

“You’re the perfect little tease, Mallory,” he continued, a slight rasp in his throat. His finger continued to trace her body on the page. “You could have bared all for everyone to gawk at, yet you didn’t.”

Mallory’s cheeks remained tinted a light pink, unknowingly tilting her body towards him, resting into the arm that held him up behind her. “That was the idea behind it… They weren’t completely sold on it, but I insisted. And I told them that if it wasn’t good enough for them, then I could always leave, and they wouldn’t have a special feature for that month anymore.” She glanced at him. “Needless to say, it worked,” she emphasised with a smirk.

Robert returned the smirk, leaning closer into her. A bold one… “Good for you, luv.” He was still transfixed on the photo, his finger stopping on her painted lips as though he was feeling the plush flesh in person. Then, he steadily traced his digit further down, over her chest, her stomach, and finally to her cleverly concealing underwear. His finger lingered there, making small stroking motions, before he took a deep breath. The gesture had Mallory squeezing her thighs together under the glossy covers of the magazine, unable to eliminate the thought of him touching her rather than the photo.

“And now,” he breathed, lowering his hand from the pages and to her leg, his palm hot against her skin as he squeezed into the flesh of her thigh. “I get to have the real thing…”

With that, he gently took the magazine from Mallory’s hands, placing it back where it belonged, before taking his own whiskey from his other hand and placing it beside hers on the bedside table. On his journey back, he caught her in another kiss.

He slowly guided her onto her back, his broad form hovering over her. Her hands gripped at his shirt once again, tugging at it needily as her tongue reunited with his. Robert breathed out through his nose against her, deepening the kiss in a desperate attempt to consume her entire being. Propping himself up on his elbow, his free hand caressed every inch of her body within reach. The silk of her dress was soft in his touch as it lowered to her legs once again.

He kept her completely distracted and caught up in the passion in their kiss, taking her by surprise when he inched his hand up her inner thigh. She sighed against the smirk on his face, still connected by their lips, as he reached a familiar lace she had hidden away.

The pads of his fingertips pressed down daringly along her clothed core, an obvious dampness to the material that had been building up all night. Her leg instinctively fell to the side, giving him easier access, allowing him to slip his hand into her underwear with an unrestrained hankering.

Her intimate curls were as soft as the silk, and Robert found himself relieved of her defiance in the face of popular trends. He broke the kiss momentarily, searching her eyes as his middle finger stroked along her slick folds, bearing a teasing pressure that made her hold on his shirt intensify and her lips part in the release of a breathy sigh.

“Have I gotten you all worked up, darlin’?” Robert asked with a smug glint in his eye. Peppering her chin and the ticklish spot just below her lips with the lightest kisses, he pressed further down against her, his finger easily slipping past her folds. A pleased grunt escaped him as he massaged the hot flesh.

“Robert…” she half moaned, half sighed, before attempting to grind her hips upwards, needy for more friction.

“Nuh-uh,” He shook his head, hooking a leg around hers to keep her tamed. “Just relax, Mallory. We aren’t in any rush, eh?”

“No, I guess we’re not,” she huffed. Robert couldn’t stop the laugh that fell from his lips at her impatience.

“Oh, is this the part where I find out you’re also a little brat?”

Whimpering, she pulled at his collar. “I’m not a brat!”

“Shh,” he subdued her, covering her mouth with a heated kiss, pressing her back down into the bed. It didn’t take long for the kiss to become frantic, a symphonic blend of his breaths, her moans, and the growing wetness below.

It was messy, the way they grabbed at one another. His hand clamped onto her hair, hers replicating the tugging motion on his. Robert’s other hand, trapped between her weeping cunt and the soft lace, performed the most erotic dance. From circling her tiny pearl, to dipping two fingers into her tight entrance.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he hissed, sloppy kisses trailing down her neck. He revelled in the way she arched into him, her head hanging back as one strap fell from her shoulder. His lips had reached the neckline of her dress, and he needed more. As his fingers continually pumped in and out of her, seemingly on their own accord, he made the animalistic move to pull the strap down further, easily allowing him access to part of her chest.

Even though the dress she had worn all night provided little protection against the cold night air beyond the walls of their coital labyrinth, the air around them hit her harsher than any blizzard once Robert had gained access to her breasts. His mouth was strikingly hot as he wasted no time in taking a nipple into it, suckling and swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub. His fingers, sending her into overdrive, so long and deep inside her. If he could make her feel like this by just his fingers alone, she struggled to even fathom what his cock could do to her.

Her fingers thread and clamped around his hair as he nuzzled her chest, progressively increasing the speed of his hand. He could barely believe his luck, oddly enough, that he had this goddess of a woman laid over his bed. That he was able to feel how hot and inviting her cunt was, even if it was just his fingers. And although he was going to wait to feel her cum, to taste her sweet release, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Mallory’s arm wrapped around his neck when he came back up to trap her in another kiss. She breathed heavily against his lips, his palm brushing against her clit with vigour, perfectly in tandem with the rhythm he had curated with his tepid digits.

“Fuck, Robert,” she moaned against his lips, her hand shooting down to hold onto his arm, feeling the muscles tensing and rocking with each movement he made.

Robert clenched his jaw, watching every contour of her face. “I was gunna try and wait it out, darlin’, but I don’t think I can. I need to watch you cum on my fingers…” His voice was not far from a growl, as though he was already inside her, milking himself with her body. Yet, he was still safely tucked away in his jeans, hardness surely growing, but purely trivial in the event of her pleasure.

“Well, if you keep going, you won’t have to wait for very long…” she purred up at him. What was supposed to come as a sultry tease, instead came as a breathless whisper. She was already on the edge. “Oh, God…” she groaned, head pressing back into the bed.

Robert scanned over her body, down to the rapid movement of his hand between her legs. He imagined how soaked she’d make his fingers, how they would glisten upon removal. Without having to see her, he already knew he wouldn’t be able to resist a taste. 

She was going to cum over and over again tonight. He’d make sure of it.

“Mm, I can feel how close you are, darlin’,” he rumbled, biting his lip as she writhed beneath him. “Look at me, Mallory.”

The command was simple enough. But there was an underlying desperation in his tone that prompted her to lift her head, locking her eyes with his. Giving her a satisfied smirk, he pressed their foreheads together.

“That’s it… I want to see those pretty eyes when you cum.”

Her hand slipped into the collar of his shirt, nails digging into the back of his neck as he finally let her grind her hips into his hand. Fucking his fingers, wishing it was his cock. But that would come later. Patience, Mal…

Mallory was panting, chest rising and falling. She couldn’t escape the piercing lock of his eyes. They brought her closer and closer, each second, until it was impossible to hold it in any longer.

Robert barely noticed he was holding his breath, as if he was awaiting a monumental moment—well, he was. To make this amazing woman feel good. He breathed out, sharply and hotly, feeling the burn in his muscles as Mallory finally convulsed around his digits, and a long whine fell from her lips.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” she moaned.

“That’s a good girl,” Robert nodded, grinning as he ground his own hips into her, desperate for friction against his hardened length. “You look so beautiful when you cum.”

Placing her hand over his, she gyrated and inhaled deeply as she rode out her orgasm. Once she’d let his hand go, he gently slipped it out of her underwear, leaving her empty and wanting more. His fingers were glistening, soaked.

Looking her in the eye, he proceeded to drag his tongue over the pads of his fingers, savouring the teaser.

“Hmm…” he hummed, before lowering his hand to her lips, performing a discerning swipe over them. “Open up, darlin’,” he whispered, biting his lip as she obliged, and slipped the digits into her mouth. She clamped her lips around his fingers, tongue swirling around them to catch a taste of her own juices.

With a provocative flourish, she took his fingers as far down her throat as they could get. Her smoky eyes were hooded as she let them go with an audible pop.

“I’m gunna tell you somethin’ now, luv,” he grumbled, lowering his head down to hum in a captivating candour. “I’m not usually one to listen to gossip, but…” He gently nibbled at her earlobe. “I’ve heard some interesting things about you and your… talents.”

She snorted, their fingers automatically threading together. “Elaborate?”

Robert chuckled, squeezing her hand. “Hm, well let’s just say that it’s got somethin’ to do with yer mouth.” He kissed down her neck and returned back to her chest, tugging the other strap down.

“Why don’t you just take it off?” she laughed, noticing his hunger. 

“Good point,” he snickered, moving up on his knees.

The previously heavy-with-lust air had dissipated momentarily as Robert helped Mallory remove her dress. There was a hint of humour in each movement, a subdued and disguised excitement that they were doing this. Two humans with a large following, unknowingly following each other since the dawning of their careers, finally coming together to execute the most exquisite dance of prolonged pining.

Eventually, Robert had to remove his shirt, feeling too constricted and restrained. Then again, anyone with common sense would have to alleviate themselves in some way or another upon the glorious sight of Mallory Jackson in nothing but her lace knickers and sharp heels.

“Where are you going now?” Mallory asked with a smile as Robert turned to rummage through his bags.

“Stay there, I’ve got something ‘ere… Where the fuck is it…” he mumbled to himself. “Ah! Found it…”

In his hands, as he spun on his heel, was an immaculately kempt Canon T80. A camera she was no stranger to.

“If you don’t mind?” Robert asked, cocking his head to the side like an innocent Alsation. “I’d like to have some mementos.” His smile was boyish, mischievous. Quintessentially Robert.

“Darling, I spend my life on camera,” she purred. “Of course I don’t mind.”

“Naughty girl,” he jested, chewing his lip as he turned the camera on and lowered onto one knee.

“The most interesting proposal I’ve ever seen,” she teased his stance, before getting up onto her knees in the middle of the bed. “Tell me how you want me.”

Like a starved boy for juvenile satisfaction, Robert proceeded to instruct Mallory on pose after pose, making sure to catch her at all the same angles he adored whenever he spotted them in magazines, billboards, and on the television. But these would be for him, not the rest of the world.

“My God, you really are gorgeous, aren’t you?” Robert murmured, mostly to himself, as Mallory stretched out across the bed on her stomach, hips raised and ankles crossed in the air. Her hair was draped perfectly over her back, a majority of it falling behind her shoulder so Robert and his camera could catch her face. She truly was a natural at working a camera, understanding all of the singer’s instructions, no matter how much he struggled to direct her at times.

With Robert’s eyes so fixed on her body placement, he didn’t even notice that she was hungrily eyeing the bulge in his jeans. It was so prominent every time he leaned forward, or shifted his weight. God, she wanted him in her mouth, in her hand, in her cunt. She didn’t care, she just needed him buried deep inside her.

“‘Kay, that’s enough of that for now…” he rose to his feet, setting the camera down on the bedside table, next to the glasses of whiskey and melted ice.

“Did you get everything you wanted, Mr Plant?” She smirked, watching him unbuckle his belt.

“Hm, almost, darlin’.” He dragged his eyes over her form, still laying her stomach down on the bed. Her backside was so perfectly round, just waiting for his handprints, his lips, his hands. Anything.

Noticing this, Mallory pushed herself up onto all fours, back arching in a tantalising fashion. It was almost like she was a doll, perched patiently on a shelving unit, waiting for him to take her as his own and play with her to his heart’s desire.

And he did just that; he instructed her to stay as she was, limiting her ability to see as he pulled his remaining item of clothing from his body. Mallory knew that, just inches away from her, was Robert in all his nude glory. All she could do was listen as the bedsheets rustled. Eventually, she felt his large hands encase her hips, fingers teasing along the hemline of her underwear.

“Sit up, luv…” She obliged, propping herself up on her knees and leaning back. Swiftly, he tugged her further, landing her on his lap. Fuck, she could feel him.

Robert’s eyes roamed every inch of her, from her shapely curves hugging his hips, to her ruffled hair, lengthy and wavy down the expanse of her back. He took his time, praising her soft skin with the tips of his fingers. He could tell she was getting impatient; he knew she could feel how hard he was for her, and she had no choice but to deal with it through nothing but a thin material separating the two.

Mallory shifted her hips, eliciting a sigh from her lips. With a smirk, he moved his hands around to sneak them upwards, barely touching her.

“Robert…” she warned.

He chuckled darkly, before suddenly pulling her hips downwards, thrusting his own upwards to grind against her clothed core.

“Shall we get these off, baby?” he hummed with a gravelly tinge, pulling at her knickers and letting them go to twang against her skin. She couldn’t have moved any faster as she practically ripped the underwear off, not caring if she actually did tear some of the delicate lace in the process. “Bit eager, aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah, you’ve been teasing me,” she huffed with a small roll of her eyes. Robert couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the small glimpses into her defiant character.

“Bit of a mouth on ya, eh?” He raised and lowered his eyebrows before ushering her back on top of him. “I want you this way…” He smirked to himself.

Before she knew it, her thighs were encasing his head, and she was face to face with his rock-hard length. Hm, she thought. Just as big as what people say…

She couldn’t wait to have him inside of her. To feel those veins against the slick walls of her awaiting cunt. The flutters had already begun, his breath mere inches from where she needed him.

His hands ran over her thighs as he took in the view, not sure if he wanted to delve in, or just admire a little longer. But, alas, the temptation was far too strong, and he had to take a taste. With an urgency, he pulled her down against him, attaching his lips to her weeping folds.

“Fuck!” she gasped, grabbing onto his leg to steady herself as his tongue lashed away at her. He growled against her, fingers digging into the plush flesh of her backside.

Mallory tried her best to keep up with him, giving the head of his cock kitten licks and light suction. She knew if she truly matched up to his actions, he wouldn’t last much longer, even though she’d barely touched him. It was obvious, the way his red hot tip seeped translucent pearly drops.

She writhed, moaned, whimpered, whined, through Robert’s every motion. He was unrelenting, flicking and swirling at her swollen clit, hot breath hitting her in all the right places. Her hand was obedient, running it up and down the length of his cock, squeezing at the tip, practically drooling at the sight.

Through her daze, she just about managed to catch Robert’s subtle gesture for her to stop her movements on him, before fully engrossing himself in her hot core. Tugging at her, he brought her even further up until she had her palms flat on his toned stomach. She followed the rhythm his hands set for her hips, steadily grinding against every suck and lather.

“Oh, fuck… yes…” she hissed, jolting at the sudden sensation of his tongue teasing just a little further upwards, testing the waters of unknown territory. She was sure she could feel the smirk on his face, but was too enthralled with his talented mouth to think too far into it.

“D-don’t stop…” she airily pleaded, wincing when one of Robert’s strong, ringed hands, landed a brisk slap against her skin.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he almost inaudibly grunted, words muffled by her cunt as he feasted. “Mm—cum on my tongue, baby, do it...” He was rambling by this point, the experience just as pleasurable for him as it was for her.

Back arching, she edged closer and closer. Making a steadfast approach to her second orgasm of the night. And when it finally hit, Robert’s fingers dug so harshly into her backside that they’d surely leave marks. Another thing for her makeup team to cover up…

He hollowed his cheeks as he drank in her release, chin covered in her essence. Thighs shaking beside his head, her body convulsed and jolted at the growing sensitivity she knew would compliment the inevitable release exquisitely.

She shakily ran her hand through her hair, clearing her vision of the few strands that had adhered themselves to her skin, as she crawled further down the bed to turn and face Robert. In his own world, he was busy licking his lips, enjoying the aftertaste of Mallory Jackson. Even better than he expected, which was a lot.

“I guess… it’s true what they say,” she breathed, inching closer to him until he could wrap his arms around her. “With age, comes wisdom.”

“Wisdom in what, luv?” he asked with a smirk, fingers threading through her hair. He caught her blush, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Time allows a man to learn the ins and outs of pleasing women…” he trailed off, a smug, crooked smirk on his lips. “...Not that I’ve struggled much in the past…”

Mallory rolled her eyes at him again with an amused chortle. “My God, all you rockstars are the same…”

Robert’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? And why’s that, then?”

“The… pseudo-arrogance is potent, my love,” she hummed.

“Pseudo?”

“Mhm…” she nodded, pulling him to her, steering his form on top of her, where he wedged himself between her legs. The heels of her stilettos grazed dangerously over Robert’s lower back, threatening to press down at any moment. She revelled in the instability—the unknowing in her inner sadist. It could come out at any point.

“You don’t believe I’m actually arrogant, then?” he asked, glancing to the side in slight trepidation at the feeling of her heels on him.

Mallory smirked, choosing to ignore the elephant in the room as she innocently, nonchalantly answered him. “No…” Her voice was a whisper, genuine and smooth, a stark contrast to the sordid threat lower down the bed. “I think you’re amazing,” she started, running her hands down his fuzzy chest, finger stopping to play with the pendant of one of the two necklaces dangling from him. “Talented…” Stroking his ego as gently as she did his chest. “One of the most gorgeous people I’ve ever seen.”

In such an intimate moment, Robert practically inhaled her praise. Her words proved her authenticity—she wanted to take the time to catch his aura before jumping into bed with him. Just like he had done with her. They knew each other from a gargantuan distance, never face to face apart from endless forms of media, but now they bonded. Souls adhered, now on the precipice of partaking in a lustful union of mutual attraction.

“And if you don’t mind me saying,” she finally took the plunge, applying the smallest amount of pressure into his back with her heel, causing him to careen forward, hips unintentionally gyrating into hers. He still had his hands clasped around her back, and he couldn’t help the need to pull her into him, bodies pressing flush against each other.

“You’re the only man who’s managed to make me cum more than once without actually fucking me.”

Fuck… He swallowed harshly, eyes narrowing down at her. He was certain this woman could make him come undone without actually touching him. 

“Well…” he sighed, exasperatedly. “I’m honoured to be the only one to do th–”

“No, I didn’t say the only one…” she interrupted, smoothly kicking off her heels and pushing them off the side of the bed. Robert’s brows furrowed in confusion, searching her eyes.

“I said the only man…”

It took him a minute to understand, but once he did, he felt his cock jump at the mere thought of Mallory and another woman. And she felt it.

“Fucking hell, Mallory…” he breathed out against her, lips teasingly close to hers. “That’s why you said about…”

“About the receptionist,” she giggled with a nod. “Now…” she giddily bit her lip, rolling her hips upwards. “I need you inside me.”

“Yer don’t have to ask me twice, darlin’.” With a peck on her lips, he leaned back on his heels, parting her thighs with a pressure that angled her in such a lewd manner. “You’d be surprised how many girls get rid of this nowadays…” he commented whilst running his hand up her leg to her mound, dark curls partly glittering with her arousal. “I don’t know why anyone would do that.” He shrugged, before focusing on the tip of his cock, dragging it along her slick folds, up to her clit, and then back down where he pushed against her, finally, yet steadily, filling her with his girth.

Mallory’s eyes fluttered shut as he did, the sensation already overwhelming her being. The stretch was intense, the stinging pain. As if he was taking her innocence for the first time ever. 6 years of experience, and she’d never felt anything quite like it.

“Open your eyes, baby,” Robert whispered, rubbing his thumb over her clit. She can’t have realised how much she’d tensed up, but he sure did. As her brown eyes met his, he gave her a reassuring smile, slowly pulling back, and then forward. He repeated this, inching deeper each time, until he was completely buried inside of her. “You’re so pretty,” he huffed, brows creasing as her cunt tightened around him with each thrust.

She couldn’t do anything but moan in response. Lay back and let this god of a man take her in ways she’d only dreamed about since she was old enough to understand it.

As he sped up the pace, his hands grabbed at her thighs, pushing them further towards her chest until she naturally resorted to resting her calves on his shoulders. Hitting her in all the right spots, cock nuzzling her spongy walls. Her breasts moved in tandem with the rhythm, the view otherworldly to Robert and too intoxicating not to notice.

His hands laid flat on either side of her head, his necklaces dangled in her face, and the piercing blue in his eyes drugged her as skin slapped below and bed springs croaked.

“That feel good, baby?” he gruffly asked, clenching his jaw. She nodded, lips parted as small whines fell. “Yeah?” She nodded again. “Say it—fuck, tell me, Mallory… tell me how fuckin’ good my cock feels…”

“Shit…” she hissed, flinching at one particular thrust, one that slammed against her cervix. “Yes, it feels so fucking good!” she groaned, hand shooting to his bicep, where she clawed at his skin. 

Obviously pleased with her response, Robert picked up his stabbing force. “Yeah, it feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes!” Her head was thrown back, giving Robert the perfect view of where he’d marked her earlier into the evening, and the sleek sculpture of her jaw. He was almost too distracted to catch the words that followed.

Almost.

“I fucking love how your cock feels inside me, Daddy.”

His thrusts faltered, but for a mere second. Mallory immediately lifted her head, heart hammering against her ribcage—oh, God…

“What did you just call me?” he managed to utter, stilling when he settled his entire length within her.

Swallowing, her inhibitions were truly scattering, and she didn’t care how pathetic she sounded. 

Only a Daddy could fuck her like this.

“I called you… Daddy,” she said with an air of vulnerability.

“I thought that’s what you said…” he nodded slowly, seemingly thinking over a fleeting idea, before he pulled himself back up onto his knees. Before she could question him, he instructed her to turn around. All fours.

Within seconds, he was back inside her, pushing into her as harshly as she bounced back against him. He could finally take her hair into his hand, creating a makeshift ponytail as he tugged and pulled at her, building momentum as they collided in erotic eruption.

“You’re so perfect for me, baby… so tight…” he grunted, groaned and panted through each thrust. She grabbed at the headboard with one hand, the other grabbing a fistful of the pillow below her. Her moans were stabs of provoked pleasure, synchronised with each pummelling of his hips.

There was something animalistic in Robert’s response to her back arching towards the bed, taking him deeper with her stretch. He landed another smack against her backside, embracing her body’s wanton reaction. 

Thighs burning, she continued to rock backwards, meeting his hips, feeling his full balls hitting her clit each time. Her senses were at the highest point possible—or so she thought.

Robert allowed a droplet of his saliva to fall, watching as it landed on the sight below him. Cautiously, whilst steadying his thrusts, he ran his thumb experimentally over the same unknown territory he’d teased with his tongue, and gauged a shiver from Mallory earlier.

“This okay, darlin’?”

Mallory smiled to herself, chewing her lip and nodding. “Yeah…”

Still thrusting his hips, Robert proceeded to apply pressure with his thumb until the tip of it was snugly resting within the tight ring of muscle. Already, it added to the sublime level of ecstasy Mallory had found herself in, and she groaned under her breath, the triple stimulation ramping her up.

“Good girl…” Robert praised, resuming the ferocity of his movements from before. Each careen forward, meant his thumb sank deeper, and eventually she fell into a string of whimpers, moans that bordered on screams, and pleas of encouragement to keep going.

“P-please… God, please don’t stop.”

He smirked, cock twitching and throbbing inside her. Holding out. Patiently impatient for her release.

“Say it again…” he growled breathlessly.

She cried out, nails clawing into the wooden headboard. “Please, Robert, please don’t stop…”

“Who?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Daddy! Oh, fuck, please… Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so hard, Daddy, please…” she pled vulgarly, voice worn and high, echoing and reverberating in her chest from how harshly he was slamming into her.

“Listen to you, baby… Such a dirty little girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes… Yes, yes, yes…” She nodded, biting onto her lip so hard she was sure she caught a metallic taste.

“You’re Daddy’s dirty little girl, aren’t you, hm?”

“Yes!”

“Say it.”

“Oh, fuck, right there…” she panted, head falling forward as Robert released her hair to land a hard smack against her backside again.

“Say.” Thrust. “It.” Thrust.

“I-I’m Daddy’s dirty little girl—I’m gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she blithered, unable to stop her body from arching back into him.

“That’s a good girl, cum for me, darlin’, let me feel it…” he grunted, moving his hand up to wrap it around her throat, pulling her back against his chest. They lowered, Mallory spread open across his lap as she continued to move her hips, grinding in pursuit of orgasm. Robert’s other hand pulled from her backside and shot between her legs, playing with her clit in his fingers. 

She was trapped. Fully encompassed in his arms as she tipped over the edge, surrendering to the magic of Robert Plant. Gripping onto his hirsute forearms, she laid her head back onto his shoulder, muscles twitching and tensing all over. Crying out, groaning; entire demeanour manipulated into nothing but a withering phenomenon.

“Christ, you’re clenching so hard around me, little girl,” he whispered hotly into her ear, hips stuttering as he found himself on the cusp of his own release. “Fuck, come here.” He pulled out of her, ushering her back up to the pillows so he could lie down on his side, bringing her back to his chest. He lifted her leg up, easily sliding back into her from behind, with his face practically hovering over hers at the same time.

He made her cum again, and again, and again, until she was shaking, flushed, completely weakened by his cock. Somehow, he’d managed to stave off his orgasm. Watching her in fits of ecstasy was just as good as experiencing his own.

But now, he knew he had to cum. There was no holding it back any longer.

Mallory found herself sitting back up, only this time, facing him. Kneeling over her like a statue honouring an icon. Only she was honouring him.

Robert’s fingers held onto her hair as she bobbed her head up and down his cock, cheeks hollowing and eyes blown with lust, staring up at him and his contorting expressions.

“Fuck, yes… Keep going, baby, I’m gunna cum down your throat,” he encouraged, suppressing the desire to start thrusting his hips against her mouth. She was doing a good enough job on her own, humming whenever his tip hit the back of her throat, circling his tip with her tongue, paying special attention to the fullness of his balls. She didn’t miss a single thing. She knew how to please a man just as much as he knew how to please a woman. And it was as clear as day why celebrity gossip practically eulogised her oral skills.

Mallory Jackson is perfect.

“Mallory… bloody hell, I’m cumming—ah, good girl, good girl…”

Her perfection was pristinely punctuated by the way she opened her mouth, giving him the full view of the thick ropes that shot from his cock, every drop coating her tongue and lips.

Her name spilled from his lips, over and over again, as he twitched and jerked against her mouth, eyes squeezed shut and jaw tightly jutted outward. She smirked as best as she could, never having witnessed such ethereal beauty in the heat of climax.

Once she was certain he was finished, she looked him in the eye as she swallowed his load, cleaning up the excess that ran down his shaft in the aftermath of convulsions. Shakily, he bent down and caught her tired and swollen lips in a heated kiss, collapsing back on top of her against the pillows.

Sheets stuck to them, heartbeats thumped a tremendous rate, whiskey on the side remained lukewarm and privy to the night’s sordid events. The two of them barely spoke as they tried to settle, holding onto each other in a haze.

“What… what time is it?” Mallory asked, chest heaving, looking over her shoulder. Robert lazily angled his head to look up at the wrist he donned a watch on.

“Half one…” He dropped his head back down, pulling Mallory further into him by her waist. “Party’s still goin’ on…” he added.

Shutting her eyes, she dragged her fingers along the damp hair on his arm to soothe them both. “Did you want to go back down?”

Robert chuckled airily, pressing his forehead into the back of her head. “Don’t really want to, but… Guess I should, really, shouldn’t I?”

Smirking, she gave him a light giggle in response. “Maybe… it is for you, after all…”

“Mhm…”

“But then again,” she turned over, laying her head close to his, “You get to choose what you want to do at your own event, no?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Very good point, luv.” He planted a sloppily aimed kiss to her lips, mostly getting just the corner of them. “You’re bloody brilliant, y’know that?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, I have my moments,” she hummed against his mouth.

“Well, how long you in New York for?”

“Couple more days… Why?”

Enveloping her in a complete embrace, Robert attached himself to her, like he had done to many in the past, but many so unlike Mallory.

“Maybe I could remind you how brilliant you are until you leave, then?” he posed, gazing down at her with hooded eyes.

“I’ve got a shoot tomorrow afternoon,” she informed him.

“I’ll come with you, then,” he shrugged.

“You’ll come with me?” she snorted. “Do you realise how massive that’d be? There’d be paps everywhere…” Despite her words connoting agitation, it was in her blood to enjoy the attention.

“Honey, you and me, we live for the spotlight, and we’ll bloody well die in it, too,” he grinned, “What’s the harm in a little provocation now and then?”

Mallory smiled, convinced this wouldn’t be the last time she’d see Robert Plant in her lifetime.

“No harm at all, Mr Plant.”

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[vintage1981]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAROLINE MUNRO! 

Caroline Munro (born 16 January 1949 in Windsor, Berkshire) is a British actress and model best known for her many appearances in science fiction and action films of the 1970s and 1980s. According to Munro, her career took off in 1966 when her mother and photographer friend entered some headshots of her to Britain’s The Evening News “Face of the Year” contest.

“I wanted to do art. Art was my love. I went to Art School in Brighton but I was not very good at it. I just did not know what to do. I had a friend at the college who was studying photography and he needed somebody to photograph and he asked me. Unbeknownst to me, he sent the photographs to a big newspaper in London. The famous fashion photographer, David Bailey, was conducting a photo contest and my picture won.” 

This led to modelling chores, her first job being for Vogue Magazine at the age of 17. She moved to London to pursue top modelling jobs and became a major cover girl for fashion and TV ads while there. Decorative bit parts came her way in such films as Casino Royale and Where’s Jack? (1969). One of her many photo ads got her a screen test and a one-year contract at Paramount where she won the role of Richard Widmark’s daughter in the comedy/western A Talent for Loving (1969). 

1969 proved to be a good year for Munro, because it was then that she began a lucrative 10 year relationship with Lamb’s Navy Rum. Her image was plastered all over the country, and this would eventually lead to her next big break.

Hammer Films CEO Sir James Carreras spotted Munro on a Lamb’s Navy Rum poster/billboard. He asked his right hand man, James Liggett, to find and screen test her. She was immediately signed to a one-year contract. Her first film for Hammer proved to be something of a turning point in her career. It was during the making of Dracula AD 1972 that she decided from this film onward she was a full-fledged actress. Up until then she was always considered a model who did some acting on the side.

A string of fantasy and horror roles followed, including starring turns in Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter (1973), The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1974), At the Earth’s Core (1976),  The Spy Who Loved Me (1977), StarCrash (1978), Maniac (1980), The Last Horror Film (1982), Faceless (1988), and The Black Cat (1989).

By the 1990s Munro had decided to focus more on her family, daughters, Georgina and Iona, and husband George Dugdale. However, since 2003 Caroline has renewed her interest in acting and has appeared in a number of film and audio productions. Since 2021 Caroline has been presenting the hit television series The Cellar Club for Talking Pictures TV.

The title First Lady of Fantasy was given to Caroline by journalist Steve Swires, who wrote many Starlog and Fangoria (@FANGORIA) articles on the actress in the 1980s and 1990s. 

Happy Birthday Caroline!

Official Website:  http://www.CarolineMunro.org

Representation: Thomas Bowington/Bowington Management

Some of her credits include: Dracula AD 1972 (1972), Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter (1973), The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1974), At the Earth’s Core (1976), The Spy Who Loved Me (1977), StarCrash (1978), Maniac (1980), The Last Horror Film (1982), Faceless (1988), The Black Cat (1989), Flesh for the Beast (2003), Turpin (2009), Midsomer Murders (2013), The Landlady (2013), Crying Wolf (2015), Vampyres (2015), Cute Little Buggers (2016), Frankula (2017), End User (2018), House of the Gorgon (2019), The Haunting of Margam Castle (2020), Ulalume - A Ballad (2023), The Pocket Film of Superstitions (2023), and the upcoming The Presence of Snowgood (2024).

#Caroline Munro #Hammer Films #Amicus Productions #James Bond #Bond Girls #The Spy Who Loved Me #StarCrash #Jess Franco #Paul Naschy #Captain Kronos #Dracula AD 1972 #The Last Horror Film #Slaughter High #Vampyres #Maniac #At The Earth's Core #Peter Cushing #British Actress #British Horror #BOTD #Doctor Who #The Golden Voyage of Sinbad #Ray Harryhausen

[rebelsandtherest]

ok so i’m going to preface this ask by saying that the name alfred is given to the first born males on my dads side, so it’s a name near and dear to my heart, that said, there’s an angle i’ve never (or in all likelihood missed) seen between alfred and arthur. and i crave your opinions.

growing up i knew that the name alfred became popular in the victorian period since the english started looking into history and saw king alfred and decided he was pretty great. so i wonder how arthur felt, to see and hear his estranged sons name so often. of course he’s glad that his country’s putting some respect on king alfred, but i can see him calling someone named alfred by their last name to avoid saying it out loud. “alfred, lord tennyson.” “who?” “lord tennyson.” “not a fan.” the man’s conflicted and petty.

or it could be the opposite, it could remind him why he chose the name to begin with. imagine him overhearing a man in a pub proudly boasting about how fast his little alfie is growing, showing off a picture he keeps of the lad. and arthur can’t help but smile to himself and feel a wee bit envious. a few situations like that, and he’s tentatively writing formal letters that go unanswered. a few decades and a great rapprochement later he can finally say alfred out loud without tasting bile.

or he could be so far up his own ass that he doesn’t even notice the trend in names. idk. definitely drunkenly hums ‘what’s it all about (alfie)’ in the 60s.

Ooooh man this is a good question! Thanks for sending in the ask.

This became an immensely long reply with a bad history lesson included (because I'm relying on my ADHD memory and hoping it doesn't scramble itself between my brain and the keyboard), so... sorry about the length.

Anyway.

I think the Victorian revival of "Alfred" as a name would have affected Arthur in a few ways, but within his context, I imagine that those moments would be relative sporadic.

So a few things:

First: The name itself is Anglo Saxon—the original ash (Æ) was replaced with an A to fit contemporary English spelling, and it would have been pronounced a little different obviously, but it is remarkably unchanged for an early medieval name over 1000 years old. So Arthur is probably used to hearing the name at least once in a blue moon, and I doubt anyone was much confused when he gave the name—even if it wasn't in vogue at the time—to his firstborn.

Second: The Victorian age for Arthur was absolutely chock-full of wars, particularly wars overseas. Victoria was called empress for a reason, because she had a penchant for stealing other people's land and sovereignty. So whether Arthur was enthused by the nonstop action or not (I'd wager he was, most of the time), he was incredibly preoccupied and probably didn't have time to mope about his son, so if the name ever made Arthur think about Alfred, it would be a short-lived reverie.

Third: The Victorian era was a historically interesting time for UK-US international relations. Your average USA citizen probably didn't spare much thought for English subjects an ocean away, but, on the whole, white Americans remained enamored with England as the "mother land", were keen on trans-Atlantic commerce, and eager to prove themselves as equals to their allies in Europe. This didn't exactly work.

Even so, Britain and the USA continued to host a bizarre mix of cultural proximity and mutual contempt. Bad blood had gone stale by the beginning of Victoria's reign, but stale blood bred an enduring sense of pettiness, especially on the British side. Though the two nations' diplomatic and economic relationships were strong and well-maintained, events like the USA's rather embarrassing showing at the 1851 Great Exhibition in London were devoured by the British public in a feeding frenzy of schadenfreude that solidified a kind of national desire to dunk on Americans whenever possible.

While Brits still relish dunking on Americans, the early Victorian need to put America down as an economic and cultural peer began to shift, at least in some ways, in the second half of the 19th century. The American Civil War devastated the English economy, particularly of the northern half of the country which depended immensely on American cotton to fuel its textile industry. The entire war, its fallout, and notably the end of slavery in the USA, were all topics that British citizens would have seen daily in their newspapers, a source of interest and immense anxiety. By this point, Britain as a whole had forcibly been made aware of how, like it or not, the state of the USA's government and economy affected their daily life in ways too large to ignore.

Whilst America quite literally murdered itself over the problems it'd decided to ignore for a century, Britain and Europe were all deep in the industrial revolution—hell, it started in England, hence the textile mills. England and the young German Confederation were both heavy hitters in the game, and improvements to seafaring technology as well as Britain's relentless expansion across the globe was continuously bringing in new wares from all around the world for European industrialists to copy and mass produce. European trade and industrial competition was booming.

Meanwhile, America remained intensely focused on itself, and understandably so. With the absolute disaster of Reconstruction, westward expansion, industrial revolution, and lest we forget, a bloody parade of genocides and land wars, the USA had plenty to be worried about within its own (expanding) borders. It was not isolationist in the true sense, but was not exactly competing for European attention at the same levels at it had earlier in the century.

However, when the USA eventually gathered itself to take more of an international presence, it would do so in a way that would take the entire world by storm. The sheer speed, size, and production volume of American industries began to challenge their European competitors. If you were white and well-connected or just immensely lucky, this was the age when the American Dream was born. The US military had undergone immense expansion since the Civil War, and they went from having a young navy only just big enough to form a blockade to having a navy large enough to send a top-of-the-line fleet around the world with literally no other purpose but to flex in front of their allies (and enemies) not even 50 years later.

.....This has been a very long winded way to explain that, while the Victorian Era was the heyday of Arthur's imperialist dreams and victories, it was also the very nascent stages of Alfred coming into his own and more or less forcing himself back into dear old dad's life. Coming hot on the heels of Victoria, The American Gilded Age, the Progressive Era, and the Great Rapprochement were all just around the corner. These shifts of history—to say nothing of the quickly-approaching storm clouds of World War—would bring father and son back together and force them to mend their relationship, at least as much as they could.

I think, in the early Victorian age, when 'Alfred' came into vogue after so many centuries, a part of Arthur would hear it with a sinking feeling in his gut, because he was certainly old enough to have seen the future on the horizon. Maybe it wasn't clear, or concrete, maybe he couldn't put it into words. But he would know, in some instinctual sense, that Alfred's star was rising in more ways than one, and that he'd would need to brace himself and his empire for whatever came next. So sometimes, when he heard the name, some indistinct prophecies would flash before his mind's eye, filling him with ominous dread that he couldn't have named.

Sometimes, if he'd been drinking or just in a sentimental mood, he would hear the name and reminisce on both the King Ælfred, and the golden son who bore his name. He would wax poetic about his firstborn and all that he'd accomplished in his life—daring even, perhaps for the first time in his life, to praise Alfred's tenacity, conviction, and strength during his fight for independence. He would of course be mortified by the drunken memory the next day.

Sometimes, it takes him off guard and he turns his head, fully expecting Alfred himself—a toddler, a child, a teenager, a young man—to step through the door and greet him. It lasts only moments, and the empty feeling that follows usually sends Arthur directly into some mentally or physically taxing task, to avoid uncomfortable emotions.

But I think more than anything, the re-emergence of the name would make Arthur feel old. So very, very old, when he continuously, despite repeated embarrassments, pronounces the name in the way he learned as a boy, with the long-i ash sound that his people forgot to pronounce somewhere along the last century or ten. The very same pronunciation mistake he couldn't seem to stop making all those years ago, when Alfred was small, still learning English and fully convinced a boy could have two versions of a name.

The same pronunciation that, even today, would make Alfred's head twitch up, looking for his father.

#long post #sorry for the long read if you made it to the end you have my gratitude #hws england #hws america #bad history lesson rofl sorry #please someone correct my history if you need to