#and i love YOU dearly what a coincidence

[sexynetra]

14, 24, 28, 32 for the ask game !! ✨

14. what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

I want to take a solo trip someday! I’ve gone to meet people and I’ve traveled with groups and with family but I want to go somewhere just me someday :)

24. What's one thing you're proud of yourself for?

I am proud of myself for making an effort to broaden my horizons and really allowing myself to actually start envisioning a future for myself outside of just staying alive :)

28. do you collect anything?

Yeah i collect shitty meme oversized t-shirts and stuffed animals :) Both collections are obscenely large and will be with me until I am in the grave. Also books I guess I have so many books

32. how many tabs do you have open right now?

on my computer? 7. On my phone? thousands :)

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears. 

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood. 

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog. 

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

[xianyoon]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐤𝐞 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

wriothesley x gn!reader. pure fluff & comfort, wriothesley is insecure and has trust issues, the fortress is written to be a much worse place than what genshin has written it to be. reader is his comfort and all, ok? & reader is a social worker bc that's what i'm studying hehhee ノ very much based on my own interpretation of wriothesley's vulnerabilities. ノ wc 2.1k.

there is a title reserved only for the one who breaks through the plexiglass exterior of the duke –his sweetheart, his darling dove, his all. how does this title come about, however?

perhaps we start at the beginning ; the beginning, the dusty secrets held dearly that were only shown through shared glances and lingering touches on each other’s office doors. being the fortress’ ( or rather, wriothesley’s ) resource broker was no easy job ; you know nothing yet hear everything, from vague gestures to whatever outrageous plans soon-to-be ex-convicts wanted their future lives to be on the topside, to crying fathers realising that their daughters had grown up without them.

it was a tiresome job, you agree. tiresome, fulfilling, but still tiresome ; the days seemed to pass slowly, a never-ending spiral of complaints and insecurities. sometimes, it was even unpleasant.

incredibly unpleasant, that is –– until the one day where joy seemed to seep into work more, looks of disdain directed towards paperwork now looking somewhat spirited.

you found yourself falling in love with no one else but the duke.

the duke of meropide; his Grace, a low-profile man, yet someone who holds one of the highest titles in fontaine. chatter grows amongst a lack of knowledge. some say he killed people for his title – a bloodthirsty assassin, willing to do anything to get his hands on the tiniest modicum of power. some say he is a man haunted by his past ; a lying cheater, a thief, a kidnapper ; any infamous name that holds him at his knees, begging for a second chance.

perhaps he is the king of the criminals, the ringleader, whose heinous crimes have even gotten past the esteemed iudex of fontaine. most folks of the upper city do not like wriothesley ; you know that.

so how, despite everything – including your status as practically a saint, your amiable connections with people above, your line of work – how did you ever fall for the duke?

1) the duke is kind.

he is kind, he is trustworthy, he is lovable. the last sentiment bears witness the hard truths of his work – years of building a mask for himself has taught the public that he is a wicked man. short with children, dismissive of others – all untrue, whispered rumours that grow from untimely coincidences.

people typically never stick around long enough to learn the truth – they never do. late nights of his restless tossing and turning; mimicking his chest rising and falling to trick himself into sleeping, finally at peace – has reminded you that despite his seemingly unbreakable armour, wriothesley is still someone who gets hurt –human.

perhaps that is one reason he is so enamoured with you. your constant reminding to him that he is still human is something he adores. you humanise him. he is kind, he is trustworthy, he is lovable.

“do you need my help?”

you want to say no, you’ve got this, thank you – but you see him standing by the wooden doorframe, hands practically itching to get something for you.

there is something so perfectly innocent about his question; so filled with longing – it is only then, golden rays of sunlight filtering through the waters, gently touching everything in its path with evening glow – you realise that perhaps all the duke wants is to feel needed.

“i do, actually. how is your timing always impeccable?” you break into a smile, and suddenly the room feels a smidge lighter, his hopeful anticipation transformed into eager helpfulness.

he is lovable and he is needed. he is kind.

2) the duke is protective.

there is no doubt in that sentiment – you say it with your chest, looking at his steady gaze. wriothesley is especially protective of you in the fortress; your self-proclaimed personal bodyguard, accompanying you from waiting loyally by the topside entrance and waiting for you to sit comfortably in your office seat before casting one last gaze to make sure you’re safe.

“are you sure you’re comfortable? i’m happy to have an assistant fetch you more pillows-”

“thank you, but i’m oka-.” your voice is muffled beneath the mound of hand-stitched pillows he deposited.

“the pillows aren’t that nice, but they’re really all we have, perhaps i shall send a request for neuvillette to grant us extra allowance-”

“wriothesley.”

he looks up from his ramble.

“thank you. i appreciate it. i’m quite alright– this is more than enough for me. thank you for your hospitality.”

you share a brief moment of understanding, eyes meeting, corners of lips upturning for a second– 

“the pleasure is all mine. i’ll leave you to your work, then.” you see a hint of an exhaustedly contented smile on his face before the door is closed.

there is no doubt that wriothesley is protective over you. you’re a diamond in the murky waters of the meropide – you are an outsider, a foreigner; a face not yet haunted by the depths of the fortress. you are fresh. sultry men and covetous women fix their gaze on you as you walk past with your case notes, guileful eyes boring into the back of your head. like a pack of wolves waiting to lead their lamb to slaughter.

“an efficient lot, hm? all done with your tasks for the day? perhaps i should ask sigewinne to cook more mystery lunchboxes.”

his voice breaks through the anticipatory silence, a siren that sends even the bravest of wolves scrambling for shelter.

“r-right away, sire!”

even the bravest of wolves never fail to stammer at the duke’s feet.

3) the duke loves you.

if there is one thing that should not be doubted – 

it is his love for you,

and your love for him.

wriothesley thinks that he is subtle; that he is, to the unsuspecting and unobservant. most do not care to notice how he starts smiling a tad more, or how he locks eyes with you every time you walk pass, or how he utters a prayer to any deity listening to protect you in the fortress. there is only so much wriothesley, the man, can do.

you make him human. in your presence, he is not the duke of meropide nor the god that reigns over the fortress – he is wriothesley. he is broken and he is hurt and he is rough around the edges not because he wants to. he laughs and he cries and he remembers how he used to clasp his hands together, hoping that one day, they’d be yours instead.

wriothesley holds a fear as tightly as it grips him – perhaps if he strangles it to death, he will never be plagued by the anxiety that one day, you will unpack him in full and the clothes will be stored away and all that’s left is a miserable box – a shell of who he used to be. when the sunlight spills through the trees, and the morning fog starts to clear, will you like what you see?

it is obvious when this fear takes him by the hand and threatens to choke him. he becomes withdrawn, tired, bland, even – he is so beside himself with the worry that he has no ounce of strength for a facade anymore. the curtain falls, and the performer you see onstage is the ghost of his typically suave demeanour. once-organic jokes feel forced and his smile is haunting– still a weary beautiful, but hauntingly so.

“please, i beg of you, tell me what’s wrong.”

“it’s nothing.”

“it’s not nothing.”

“it is nothing you should be concerned with, i promise. you have more important matters to attend to than this.” he looks back down at his paperwork, burying and sinking into his armchair, gaze refusing to meet your waiting one.

“you are an important matter that i wish to attend to. please, wriothesley. i can’t make it better if i don’t know what’s wrong.” you plead.

“it is,” he grits his teeth – lying through his teeth, if you will.

“it is nothing. i assure you that. i am perfectly fine.”

you sigh hearing that. the duke, stubborn as always.

“you forget that it is my very job to point out discrepancies between my clients’ behaviour and their words.”

he looks at you – his expression hard to read. it isn’t one that is unkind, nor mocking, but he is not quite taking himself apart bone by bone to lay in front of you either. frankly, he is just. . . curious.

“i don’t understand you at all. i am not your client. in fact, it’s quite the opposite – i am your boss, yet you insist on treating me like some . . . something to be unearthed, dissected. does that bring you joy? am i a mere specimen, just waiting to–” he sets his fountain pen down midway, staring at his now-cold english breakfast tea. the intricate flavours would have mulled by now; it is nothing but a pathetic, lukewarm flavoured water. “are you just waiting for–”

“what part of ‘ i care for you ‘ do you not understand?”

for the first time in a long time, wriothesley shuts up.

“from the second i walked through the doors of the meropide, blindfolded because i wasn’t allowed to know where the entrance was on the first day– you have been nothing but kind to me, wriothesley. you are patient and generous, you give me more than i can ever ask for. why is it so hard for you to believe that i have come to care for you as well?”

wriothesley doesn’t speak.

“i love you, wriothesley,” you whisper.

“and i am sorry that it has taken me long enough to say it because apparently it is not clear to you why i care for you so. i adore you, your grace, i beg you to believe me when i say i wish to see you nothing but loved.”

it is only until a few days after that he gathers the words – and the courage – to speak again.

i’m sorry,

the letter reads. he isn’t quite ready to talk in person yet.

please meet me in my office at 2200 hours.

– w.

you arrive at his office, bleary-eyed after a long day of consultations and sorting through the tireless stacks of mail that find itself on your office desk.

“wriothesley?”

he falls.

“i’m sorry. please– i love you as well. i am sorry that i didn’t– no, couldn’t trust you, when you had shown me nothing but the reason why i could. i beg you to believe me, my worries has nothing to do with your lack of efforts. from the start you have been the very subject of my desires–”

“wriothesley.” you hold his face gently, fingers lightly grazing his flushed cheeks.

“it’s alright. i love you.”

he buries his head into where your clavicle lies, breathing heavy sighs of relief.

“i’m sorry.”

“you have nothing to apologise for, i promise.” you move to sit on his office couch, holding him close – you find yourself pressing a gentle kiss to his bicep, your head leaning against his shoulder. the couch dips with his shift in weight, and he rests his head against yours.

“please don’t promise me that. i know i have done wrong.”

“my love,” you experiment with the new title – it rolls right off your tongue. it feels right.

“you are human. it is okay.”

“i’m sorry.”

“all is forgiven.”

4) the duke knows he is loved.

weeks pass since the emotional disclosure between you and the duke – a shared understanding to love quietly in public but loudly when it was just the two of you. lingering touches, a shared smile hidden behind stacked of the fortress’ paperwork, a gentle nod of acknowledgement in passing –your love is quiet but it is as real as it can be.

“welcome home, my love.” you smile, nuzzling your face into his collarbone – he is fresh from the meropide, there is a slight undeniable stench, but his cologne covers most of it and enraptures you in his scent.

“aren’t you exhausted? i saw the client you were dealing with today.”

“i am. but i’m alright.”

“are you sure?”

“positive, dear. thank you for asking.” you tiptoe to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, landing with a slight bounce in your step.

“you look happier today. did something happen?” wriothesley smiles, setting his bag down.

“nothing, really. just . . . reminiscing, i believe. how utterly i’ve fallen for this sweet, sweet darling of a man.”

he barks out a laugh at that, a soft smile finally reaching the corners of his eyes.

“you’re about to make this sweet, sweet darling of a man start weeping if you keep saying these sentimental things.”

you shove him off you and pinch his side.

“go get changed! dinner is almost here.”

“ow- ow! okay!”

how ever did you fall for the duke? truth be told, you thought it was rather simple. it’s not like it was hard to do so.

thank you for reading !! this one took a lot out of me, so if you enjoyed this, a reblog with tags + a comment goes a long way !!! hehehe

[endless-ineffabilities]

I will never say that I am in love (18+)

{ alternate title: you are the love of my life }

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the one-eyed prince falls, the realisation comes to him in the scent of flowers. In his nephew's laughter. In his dreams.

themes/warnings : just pure sweetness, our emotionally constipated and repressed Aemond Targaryen, he thinks some *impure* thoughts in this one (how dare he!!!), he does NOT want to even think about falling in love (what a stupid distraction, he is not weak, you all should know) - also, he is DOWN BAD for the reader.

all my other works

a/n : this is the first fic I'm writing completely in the male lead's, in this case Aemond's perspective. Complete train-of-thought type of storytelling. (also, this is not in my scheduled works, the idea came to me after watching the new promo clips for s2... never in a million eons did I ever think I would hear Ewan Mitchell utter the word "cheugy" but oh well) - Enjoy! 🖤

{ I. flowers ▪︎ II. innocence ▪︎ III. dreams }

I.

Aemond decides that he finds pleasure in your scent.

The thought comes to him as he strolls through the halls of the Red Keep. Not a strong one, not a revelation by any means. A mere inkling of something he favours.

It is innocent. It is nothing.

He had spied some flowers peeking from just beneath a window. Roses, peonies, or some other, he did not bother to truly look. He glanced them out of the corner of his eye.

And he thought of you.

You smell something rather akin to those flowers - blooming and enticing and sweet.

A simple observation, rising to him now from his memory.

That is all.

Your scent reminds him of springtime in the gardens. You are pleasant, there is no doubt, but that very sweetness can only be construed as sickly if divulged in for far too long, too often.

Besides, his icy disposition does not really take well to flowers in the spring. They are more like to whittle under his boot, and shrivel from the coldness in his gaze.

You are not for him. No.

Flowers. Sweet things. The gentleness in your voice when you call him 'my prince'. Aemond scoffs at himself as he walks on.

It is no transgression to be distracted. It is a natural thing.

You are a distraction, and Aemond decides to think of you no more.

II.

Aemond comes to Helaena's chambers to visit with his niece and nephews. It is only by coincidence that you are almost always there too.

"Prince Aemond." Your voice resembles a song in greeting him. "Queen Helaena has just left to speak with Lady Alicent, but she should return shortly."

"Hmm." You are not a lady-in-waiting to Helaena, but more of a companion, a friend. Yet you do not mind looking after Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor when their mother is indisposed.

This is where Aemond finds you, most mornings. Were it anyone else, he might have sent them away, so that he can spend time alone with the children.

But he lets you stay, because, of course, Helaena would prefer it so. She dotes on you so dearly, Aemond has noticed.

In these instances, he lets you stay only because it is what Helaena would want. Why else?

He settles on an upholstered stool and beckons to the children. They eagerly waddle their way over to their beloved uncle.

You watch the interaction with a smile, as you always do. With your legs curled underneath you, comfortably seated on the floor a few feet in front of him.

Aemond used to pay you no mind, but increasingly it has been nagging at him that you are observing, taking him in.

It is inane to be self-conscious; there is no reason to be. He is the Prince - being perceived has been a constant all his life.

He is the Prince, and you are merely a lady companion.

But when you say things like, "They are very fortunate to have you as their uncle, my prince," it makes him feel a sense of pride. Like it is some accomplishment to be complimented by you.

He knows this. He knows he is a good uncle.

Perhaps it is just that. Vanity.

You pointing it out has nothing to do with anything.

Jaehaerys crosses the many strides it takes for him to reach you again, and he pulls at your hand.

"Come," he giggles.

"Where, sweet boy?"

"Come, come here, come here," he mumbles mostly to himself, grunting when you are unmoving and his three-year old form is unable to magically transport you as he wishes.

"Okay," you laugh once, getting on your feet with your body bent to his level, and you let him pull you to where he wants.

Which is... right next to his dearest uncle Aemond.

"There." Jaehaerys claps his hands in glee, as you curl up on the floor beside Aemond's outstretched legs.

"He has a sense of humour, that one," you grin, looking up at Aemond.

Aemond sees your expression up close and you look okay. Comely. Fine. You are not bad-looking, by any means.

You are the most beautiful lady in the court.

You are fine, just fine.

Aemond would not mind seeing your face everyday; he already sees it every night in his dreams.

And it is just fine.

"Is something the matter, my prince?"

Call him that. Do it again. Or better yet, replace prince with his name. Call him 'my Aemond'.

Aemond desires nothing more than to hear it.

Because... because he is vain. Nothing more than that. It would take a high degree of devotion for someone to utter the words 'my Aemond' to him. And who would not want to be at the end of such idolatry.

Perceive him. Worship him. Consume him.

You already consume him.

Aemond stands abruptly, and you scramble to follow suit.

"Aem... Aemond," you stammer. "I mean, forgive me... my prince, what is wrong?"

Aemond looks down. Your delicate hand is gripping his arm, the sleeve of his tunic doing nothing to mask the heat of your skin.

He is of dragon, he is of fire.

But your touch burns.

The clacking of wooden toy horses ring in the background, the children lost in their imagination.

"Nothing," Aemond clears his throat, and folds his arms behind him so your hand falls. "I am alright. I must go."

The smell of sweetness lingers in his nostrils. Your sweetness. He is growing weak.

He steps away, "I bid you farewell, my lady."

"My prince."

Call him Aemond. Call him by his name, title be damned. By the gods, call him yours.

Aemond nearly rushes out of the chambers, his gait sure and his footsteps heavy.

Tonight, in his dreams, he will finally release his foolish desires and that will be the end of it.

Behind his eyes, he will touch you and taste you and watch you crumble underneath him.

And he will be your Aemond.

That will be the climax of this passing fantasy.

III.*

Aemond has stripped down to his undergarments, supine above the silk sheets of his bed. He runs a hand over his face, and he sees you.

All the better for it, he supposes, that he gets rid of it now before it ruins him further.

It is a memory, from only one moon ago, but he sees it clear as day.

You had let your hair down that day, and it flowed freely, following the gentle breeze. Nestled in what Aemond found out to be your favourite spot in the gardens, needle and thread in your dainty fingers, you tell him that you are embroidering a veil for your dear mother.

You request for him to sit with you, and Aemond obeys.

Pleasantries are exchanged, about the weather, your duties, his training. All the while Aemond watches the contour of your lips, how it stretches back to reveal your smile when he says something that could not be the farthest from amusing, but you find it amusing anyway.

He stares you down questioningly.

You blush then, turning your focus back to your work, "Apologies, but I... I admire the way you speak, my prince. As if every word is deliberate, carefully chosen. You are intelligent, and you care what you say."

"Hmm," he said then, but now...

In his mind, he lets you know just what he wants, "Have you ever been bedded, my lady?"

You look at him in shock, of course you do. Those rosy lips part, and Aemond wonders whether your lips below possess the same shade.

In his grand chambers, Aemond lets his hand drift down, down from the planes of his stomach, to his hardened cock. He licks his lips, and imagines the softness of your own. He strokes the leaking tip with his thumb. The picture continues.

"Do you not ever wonder about the deed?" Aemond asks.

"M-my prince...I do not... I - "

"You must," he sneers. "You must, as I do, and when I do, it is you who floods my very thoughts, and consumes my very being."

"I do not know what to say."

"Say you want to kiss me."

His grip tightens, drawing down and up his cock, covering it with the milky white that has leaked from his tip. He is pained, teeth pressing down on his lower lip. He imagines your hands on him, your dress undone as you watch him come undone.

"We mustn't," you look down in shame. Your legs clench together to keep in the warmth.

"Come here, my sweetness," he leads you to sit atop him, and your work clatters to the ground.

You try to look away, try to hide just how much he is affecting you.

"Kiss me," Aemond pleads.

You comply. He slips his tongue past your lips.

Faster, wetter, he gets harder and it is unbearable. His hands are not enough, he wishes to plunge his aching member right into your soaking folds. Wishes to watch beads of his sweat fall on to you as he pounds you without mercy, his cock squelching deep inside your cunny until it is sore. If only you will ache as he does. Come as he comes.

Aemond lifts you up and the two of you end up stumbling down on the grass. He does not relent. His fingers make quick work of the strings and ribbons holding you together. Your breasts come free and he latches his mouth on one, his tongue swirling against the nipple.

"Oh Aemond!" you moan, and it is a scandal. It is everything unholy. It is every dirty thought nestled in his mind.

Soon he has you bare, your skin practically glowing under daylight. You are perfect, and you are his.

"Take me," you say, practically begging. "I want you to fill me with your cock. Fill me with your seed, my dragon prince. Please."

"My sweetness," Aemond reveals himself to you, undoing his breeches and slipping out of his tunic. How could he resist?

"Do you want me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you, my prince," you affirm, squirming under him, you hips bucking up with desire, hopelessly attempting to rub your cunny against his skin.

"My Aemond," he corrects you. "Say it."

"I want you," you say, "my Aemond."

Aemond rubs his cock faster and faster, the thick green veins in his hand and arms straining angrily under his skin. He feels you, he sees you in his mind so clear. You are his, and he is your Aemond.

He plunges his cock inside you, and you are left mewling and writhing as he quickens his assault.

He groans loudly. The lewd squelching of his cock turning sloppy, hasty, mindless. A few more strokes and he comes all over himself, hot white streaks decorating his torso. His silver hair in disarray on the pillows, like a broken halo. Beads of sweat falling from his temple. His mouth parted as he whispers your name.

He gives himself a few more tugs, emptying out. You would do him so much better. Touch him so well.

In his mind, he still sees it. Fragments of his memory bleeding through his fantasies. He does not know anymore what is real and what is not.

He cleans himself up with warm cloth afterward, feeling shame at his actions.

This is enough. Now he has released you from his being. The desire he holds so closely to his chest must have dissipated along with the lewd act he just committed.

"My Aemond," you whisper from behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

Enough. No more of such useless musings.

"I love you, Aemond."

I love you too.

🌸🌸🌸

* In III, reality is fully italicized, and his memories + fantasies are typed as normal.

this was meant to have more sections ( IV to VII )... maybe I'll come around to it eventually.

Let me know what you think of this sort of writing from Aemond's perspective!

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

[crustyfloor]

Till's point of view on his and Ivan's relationship - An (personal) analysis of Till's side of things leading up to Round 7.

As kids, IvanTill's relationship was tulmotious, to say the least.

Ivan would do things to rile Till up as a means of getting closer to Till when they were just starting out, and Till would fall for it.

Ivan would steal Till's things and turn around and give it back like some evil Christmas gift as a means of trying to get closer to Till, and Till would fall for that too, for some time.

But we all know Till isn't stupid. Till must've noticed after some time that the constant disappearance of his stuff only to be coincidentally found by Ivan every time wasn't actually a coincidence. And Till, being handled roughly his whole life by aliens naturally wouldn't have been so fond of the way Ivan would constantly instigate fights with him. All of these things that Ivan did, they did irritate Till. In any normal case they would've given all the more reason to avoid Ivan. So why did Till let him linger?

Well, I think Till actually considered Ivan at least a good friend, At least at the start. Ivan was strange, mean, and annoying but he was one of the only people who actually made an effort to stay and get close to Till. To have someone in a world like this would mean a lot to a kid like Till, even though Till and Ivan had their moments he was still the closest person to Till.

Other than that, Till is a high-spirited, compassionate, and emotional character. it's shown in a comic where Ivan and Till spot a crushed flower and Till tells it to cheer up out of sympathy, it's shown in the way Till cares about others around him even if he holds a cold exterior that keeps him from showing his heart often.

This isn't to say Till regarded Ivan because he felt bad for him, he didn't know the first thing about what went on in Ivan's mind. Till allowed Ivan around him because he cared about him enough to look past those aspects, Till is observant enough, so he was able to see that Ivan was just a kid trying. Till indulged Ivan, allowed him to stay because he cared.

And then we have the meteor shower scene. (pain&suffering.exe)

Ivan, motivated by his strong love tries to get Till to escape with him at the perfect moment. Keyword tries. Because they couldn't get far before Till stopped in his tracks and went right back to Anakt Garden, why? fear of the unknown? Of course. But it's because Till wouldn't have been able to live with himself knowing he left behind a person he loved so very dearly, Mizi. He couldn't possibly leave her there, aware of these deep feelings he had for her. He cared too much to leave.

Till probably felt guilty, going back to Anakt garden because it was all in wrong timing, probably felt guilty knowing he disappointed Ivan back there. But imagine just how much guiltier he felt seeing Ivan the next day. He followed Till back knowing there was no way he'd get the chance to escape again. And so this was the first thread of their relationship that was frayed.

After this point, Ivan was under the full assumption that he had been wrong about how he thought Till saw him so he gradually started to distance himself too, Ivan's antics seemed to have mellowed out, as they grew more distant but he still messed with Till, remained in his life in the shadows, and cared about him, becoming gentle when Till was unaware because even then he couldn’t force himself to leave Till’s world even if Till wanted to leave him in favor of a more bright, beautiful paint that permeated Till's dull canvas, that was so much different from his own bland, dark existence.

Till noticed their distance, and Till thought Ivan hated him for leaving him behind, so as a last effort to bring Ivan back to him and fix his relationship with his friend, to let Ivan know he wanted him near, he left him a message on graduation.

"You were the one who stole my pencil at that time right?"

That was in response to Ivan's "I hope you'll remember me" message.

Till's response sounds pretty straightforward, by design. but I read it as an indirect pointing to a direct message; "I know it was you, of course, I'll remember you. I'm not even mad at you for all of it...So come back?" unfortunately for Till, Ivan didn't read it like this because Ivan isn't a simple person, he needed more than Till could give him. So most likely instead Ivan ended up reading the message as Till still not caring this only motivated him to distance them more until they weren't even talking anymore.

And so after everything, round 6 comes. Till has to compete and win against Ivan.

Till went into round 6 with the full intent to kill himself on that stage and let Ivan win. He couldn't continue to live in a world he hated, in a world where he was tormented, was used, and had nothing else to live for. he couldn't continue to live in a world knowing Mizi, his only shining light and goddess was gone, most likely dead.

It's eerie just how close he was to succeeding, but his plan was thrown off as Ivan realized what Till was doing when he stopped singing and interfered before it was too late.

Ivan kisses Till, selfishly furious with emotions, and sentiments that haven't been addressed for years, but gentle in the message Ivan was trying to get across. Ivan chokes Till for the final blow. Till doesn't understand any of it, it's all too fast and it confuses him. it's hard to say what exactly Till was feeling in that moment, but Till doesn't fight back properly because he doesn't want to, he can't bring himself to show that spirit he had anymore, not the one Ivan saw in him when they were kids, that's been drained out of him because of years of the trauma, the torture, the pain, everything. He's tired. He's lost Mizi, and he's lost everything. If he's just meant to be lamb to the slaughter then why should he delay the inevitable fighting for a life he didn't want? So if Ivan was going to kill him in that moment, so be it. He was going to let him.

Only that's not how it goes, as soon as Ivan's hands leave him Till is disoriented. and then he is shocked, confused, worried? because he didn't expect, nor want this either, he didn't ask for this, he didn't ask for Ivan to take away that one thing he wanted. That expression on Ivan's face, he doesn't get it. But it hits him, that this was all a plan.

And at the end of the day, Ivan is dead, and Till is left staring at his peaceful corpse on the ground, with his blood staining his shoes like Ivan's actions are staining, permeating his perspective, giving him more questions and less answers. All while knowing that he is truly alone in this world now. He has been abandoned.

(I go over pencil.exe a little more in another post of mine if anyone is interested in reading keke)

[pretzel-box]

STREAMER AU MASTERLIST HERE

CHAPTER 6: I AM RIGHT AND I HAVE WON

tags: I don't know how to tag this? Painter exposes Allison?

words: 4k

authors note: I am not happy with how I wrote it, I blame the lack of a laptop.

In the span of three weeks, moved five individual people in five individual places.

Sebastian was the first,

After Allison had exposed his roommate a week ago, he was confused, angry and somewhat surprised. The man found himself glancing at everything that was connected to you, the bedroom door, the empty work desk, the chinese takeout shop and most importantly the second helmet for his bike.

This particular helmet wasn't really yours but you wore it so much in the past that it was basically owned by you.

Those little things conflicted him dearly, since he was sure, even with your weird love-hate friendship, did you both co-existed pretty well.

Yet, even as those small reminders tugged at him, Allison's words kept looping in his mind.

They set you up, you know that, right? she had said, her voice laced with feigned concern. All this time, they’ve been playing you—just so they could stay close to Solace. You're just a pawn.

Sebastian couldn't shake it off. The idea that you, the person who had shared his space and a fragile, weird friendship with him, might have been using him gnawed at him. He hated how much it made sense. Allison had laid it out perfectly—too perfectly, in hindsight—but in the chaos of everything, it sounded believable.

The constant replay of that accusation left him uneasy, and now every memory was tainted with doubt. The late-night laughs, the casual banter, even the tension that always bubbled beneath the surface. Was all of that staged? Was your connection to him just a ploy? He didn’t want to believe it, but Allison’s words had already planted the seed.

And then there was the part that unsettled him the most.

According to Allison, you loved him, in a way that bordered on obsession. She had claimed that every time you looked at him, it was with a deeper attachment than he’d realized—something beyond friendship, beyond even the regular crush. It was an unhealthy fixation. He was the center of your world, and it had all been hidden behind the mask of your chaotic yet comfortable interactions.

Sebastian felt conflicted. He hadn't noticed anything like that before. Sure, you had your quirks, but it never crossed his mind that it went that deep. Maybe he missed it because he'd never seen you in that light.

But that’s where the real problem lay—what he didn’t know was that Allison’s words were a lie, carefully crafted to make him doubt everything. You didn’t love him in that unhealthy way, and you’d never set him up. But the damage was done. The seed of doubt had been planted, and Sebastian was starting to wonder if everything between you had been a game all along.

Sebastian only found comfort in a single person right now, his best friend.

He swung his leg over his bike, secured his helmet, and drove off to visit his friend once more.

The second was Mama Solace.

Sebastian’s mother had finally found the time and money for a much-needed vacation, and it just so happened to be close to her son. A coincidence? Perhaps not. She loved Sebastian fiercely, more than life itself, and it was time once again to remind him of that with one of her unexpected, affectionate visits.

The last time she had dropped by was when you first moved in, becoming Sebastian’s roommate.

Oh, how she adored you from the moment she laid eyes on you. You had all the qualities she dreamed of in a partner for her son—sweet, caring, and just the right amount of fierce. She saw the connection between you two right away, even if Sebastian refused to acknowledge it. In her mind, you were already the perfect match for her precious boy. You had no idea just how often she'd drop hints, trying to nudge Sebastian toward you, much to his exasperation.

But that was Mama Solace—she loved to meddle in the most loving way possible. This visit would be no different.

She sat in the comfort of the plane, ready to depart from her home country to meet you two again.

The third person was Allison.

She darted around a local clothing store, her father’s credit card clutched in her manicured fingers like it was a divine gift. Her gel nails clicked against the plastic as she browsed the racks, the shopping spree a temporary balm for the simmering rage she felt toward you. Her irritation with you had long passed the point of tolerable, and only the thrill of buying something new could calm her nerves.

How dare you disrupt her carefully laid plans? All you had to do was stay in your lane, accept your role, and everything would have gone smoothly. But no—you had to get in the way, threatening the perfect web of control she thought she had spun. The plan had been flawless, but now, with every step you took, you were messing it all up.

Sebastian, thankfully, was still in the dark about everything. He was too distracted, too wrapped up in his own confusion to see the truth right in front of him. But that was fine with her. Allison believed she held all the cards. She had you, Sebastian, and the whole situation under her control—or so she thought.

She smiled to herself, picking up a striking red dress—perfect for her next date with Sebastian. The fabric would hug her in all the right places, showing off her figure. In her mind, it was only a matter of time before he saw her the way she pretended to see him, and this dress would be another step toward that.

As she stepped up to the cash register, her confidence faltered when the cashier swiped her card and it declined. Her father was still furious with her, apparently. She gritted her teeth in frustration, but quickly smoothed over her expression. She wasn't about to let this minor inconvenience ruin her day.

Without missing a beat, Allison pulled out her phone, her fingers dancing across the screen like it was second nature. She knew exactly how to handle this.

"Hey, handsome," she texted, her words dripping with flirtation. "Mind helping your favorite girl out?~"

It was easy—too easy, in fact. She had gotten used to manipulating situations to her advantage, and she was confident Sebastian would give her money. He always did.

Then there was Painter.

While Allison paid with Sebastian’s help and strolled out of the shop, Painter quietly entered his own—at the other end of the city center. Today, the usual sleek black suit made from expensive cotton was left in the closet. Instead, he wore a casual outfit: thrifted brown pants, a simple white shirt, and a green checkered vest that his mother had picked out for him years ago. He never liked it at first, but eventually, he came to admit—green was definitely his color.

Dressed like this, Painter looked like any other trendy, laid-back guy. You'd never guess he was the heir to Urbanshade, one of the most powerful companies around. His father had been grooming him for years to take over, especially after Painter managed to graduate from Yale with top honors. He was the pride of the family—a model Ivy League student, exactly as his parents had always hoped for.

But unlike his friend Sebastian, who lived by his own chaotic set of rules, Painter was always one of those people who excelled in everything, effortlessly. To the outside world, he was the golden child, the genius destined for greatness.

Yet for Painter, it was all a curse. His intelligence, his success—it only weighed him down, shackling him to a future he didn’t want. His heart was never in the world of business, but his family couldn't see that. To them, he was the prodigy who would continue the legacy. To him, it was a prison. The more success he achieved, the more trapped he felt.

It was why he enjoyed days like this—disappearing into the city, blending into the crowd where nobody knew or expected anything from him. Just for a little while, he could pretend to be someone else, a simple tech shop owner that tries to raise his own money to open up a small art studio instead.

While he worked, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the keys of his laptop, his thoughts inevitably drifted to you. He had seen you a few times with Sebastian in the city, always from a distance. Yet, despite never formally meeting you, he knew more about you than you could have imagined. Sebastian had talked about you often, and though Painter stayed in the shadows of your life, observing from afar, something stirred in his chest whenever he thought of you.

It was ironic, really. He was so familiar with the details of your existence, while you didn’t even know he existed. You were unaware of the person quietly watching your story unfold, aching from the sidelines. There was something about you that captivated him—perhaps it was the way you seemed to bring a kind of life to those around you, or maybe it was simply how you existed in Sebastian’s orbit.

But there was one thing that bothered him more than anything: Allison.

It pained him to know how she had manipulated your life, how she had sunk her claws into Sebastian’s world and, by extension, yours. Painter had known for some time what Allison was up to, and unlike Sebastian, he could see right through her facade.

Just like Allison, Painter had developed his own plan.

But his wasn't born out of selfishness or jealousy. It was something else—something more complex. While he hated to admit it, he wanted to find a way to cross paths with you, to help you in a way that would loosen the hold Allison had over you. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get closer to you in the process.

Though Painter’s mind was sharp, his heart was tangled in emotions he didn’t yet fully understand.

The last person who could understand Painter’s feelings was you.

You were navigating the city streets, your hands busily typing on your phone, trying to figure out where exactly you needed to go. With your streaming account temporarily banned, you had decided to get your laptop fixed—the keys were loose, and the screen was slightly cracked. The device had been with you for years, but it was clearly on its last legs. Maybe it was time for a new one, but for now, fixing it seemed like the easier option.

Eventually, you spotted it: a neat little shop with good reviews online. It seemed like the right place, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

Immediately, the smell of coffee greeted you. The shop had a warm, comfortable atmosphere, far cozier than you’d expected for a tech repair spot. There were shelves lined with new devices, a small selection of popular games, and a table for waiting customers. Despite the welcoming vibe, the place seemed empty—except for a young man at the counter.

He caught your eye right away, dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit that seemed effortless. His name tag drew your attention next, and you noticed something curious: an elegant name had been crossed out with a dry black marker, replaced with a word scribbled hastily over it—"Painter."

You weren’t sure what to make of him, but something about him seemed different. And without knowing it, the moment you stepped into the shop, you had walked into his world.

"Uhm, hi?" you greeted, your voice breaking the silence.

The young man behind the counter stared at you, caught off guard as if you had walked in at the worst possible moment. His eyes lingered on you for just a second too long, making the situation feel a bit awkward. There was something about the way he looked at you—almost like you had thrown him off balance. The way his gaze fixed on you, wide and a little too intense, made you wonder if you’d interrupted something.

"Oh, h-hello! Welcome, greetings. How can I help you today?" he stammered, clearly flustered. His response was a mix of polite and awkward, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to walk in. Maybe he wasn’t used to customers, or perhaps he was just an intern still getting the hang of things. Either way, he seemed utterly unprepared.

You smiled politely, deciding not to dwell on his awkwardness. "I’m here to get my laptop fixed," you explained, pulling the device from your bag and setting it on the counter. "It's been acting up—some of the keys are loose, and the screen's a bit cracked."

He nodded, though you noticed his hands were a bit shaky as he reached for the laptop. "Right, of course. I’ll take a look."

As he started inspecting the device, you took a moment to glance around the shop again, feeling oddly comfortable despite the rocky start to the conversation. There was something about him, though—his nervous energy, the way he seemed to be trying so hard to maintain a professional front. It was endearing in its own way.

What you didn’t know was that Painter wasn’t usually like this. Normally, he was calm and collected, able to handle even the most difficult situations. But the moment you walked in, something shifted. He had seen you before, from a distance, but never this close, and he wasn’t prepared for the rush of feelings he hadn’t even realized were there.

A small, unspoken crush had quietly crept up on him. He didn’t know why, but there was something about you that drew him in. And now, standing there with your laptop in his hands, he was doing his best to keep it together.

"I can take a look at it later. I’d say you can pick it back up… in like a week?" Painter offered, casting a polite smile your way. His expression was calm and professional, but beneath that exterior, his heart was racing.

You nodded, accepting his answer. After settling some details, you left your beloved laptop in his care, trusting him with the task. It felt strange to part with it, but the shop seemed reliable enough, and Painter—despite his awkwardness—seemed competent.

As you exited the store, you had no idea what you’d just set in motion.

For Painter, this wasn’t just a simple repair job. When you left your laptop with him, you unknowingly handed him exactly what he needed—the tools to execute the plan he’d been carefully crafting. Allison had been manipulating both you and Sebastian for far too long, and now Painter had the opportunity to expose her for what she truly was.

Your laptop would be the key to unraveling her schemes, and he was determined to set everything right, even if it meant crossing a few lines along the way.

Five people had already been moved. Now, it was Painter's turn to move them again, or at least some of them.

He had you exactly where he wanted. You left the shop, your laptop in his possession. That was step one. Now, he had to breach your digital privacy. He’d never done anything like this before, and the thought of doing what Allison had once done left a heavy weight in his gut. Yet, as soon as you left, he got to work. The laptop was old, practically ancient, but logging into your profile was easy—there wasn’t even a password. Your naivety was almost charming.

Everything was there—passwords, emails, data, and every digital memory. It was essentially Jelly’s—no, your—entire identity, captured in one place. He could call Sebastian, expose the laptop, and reveal his nasty girlfriend’s secrets. But no, Painter was above that. He preferred to play god.

His personality was usually against it but he will gladly bend the rules for his best friend…and his own potential crush.

Step two was breaching the streaming website to reclaim your account. A task simple enough for a Yale student with the right tools. Allison thought she'd been 'Jellycatfished,' but now it was Painter in control.

The account was exactly as you and Allison had left it. He couldn’t resist clicking on one of the stream recaps, your voice filling the room through the laptop speakers. There it was—undeniably yours.

He snatched his phone off the counter and dialed a number.

“‘Delia, bring the camera and the good microphone. We’re shooting something at the shop.” Cordelia, another worker in the store and a small-time content streamer, was known for her quirky charm. He knew she was the perfect partner for what he had in mind.

“Painter? For what?” she asked.

“We’re about to make someone a star.”

Cordelia didn’t hesitate. She was on her way, gathering the equipment for a hidden camera setup along with a quality microphone."

Next, it was Painter's turn to text Allison. He still remembered her number from when he’d seen it on Sebastian’s phone. A plan began to form in his mind, one that required precision and just the right touch of manipulation.

'Hey, Allison, right? Sebastian left a gift for you here. Here’s the address.'

He included the shop’s address, carefully typing it out before hitting send. He imagined the moment her phone would buzz, her eyes narrowing at the unexpected message. Would she hesitate, wondering if it was real? Or would her curiosity get the best of her?

Painter smiled to himself. Everything was falling into place. He wasn’t just setting a trap—he was weaving a performance, a story in which Allison would play a crucial role. Now, all he had to do was wait for the show to begin.

It was evening, and the store had long since closed, lights were out, though Painter had left the door unlocked. Everything was meticulously arranged—candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow around the room; a bouquet of red roses sat elegantly on the counter. But the centerpiece was Painter himself, dressed in an expensive, perfectly tailored cotton suit. He had spent hours preparing, adjusting his tie, combing his hair, making sure every detail was flawless. As he caught his reflection in the window, he almost didn’t recognize himself. He had never looked better.

Then, the door creaked open, and Allison stepped in. She wore a tight red dress that clung to her in all the right places, her hair perfectly styled. She carried herself with an air of confidence, as if she expected something grand—but her eyes betrayed her surprise as they scanned the room. The soft candlelight, the roses, and finally, they settled on Painter.

For a moment, there was silence as their gazes met.

"Let me introduce myself," Painter began, his voice calm and formal, though inside, the sweetness of his own tone made him sick. He forced a charming smile, the kind that was too perfect, too practiced. "I’m Painter—it’s a nickname," he added with a soft chuckle, as if trying to break the ice. "And I’m the heir to Urbanshade Corp."

He let the weight of his words linger, watching her reaction. He could see the curiosity in her eyes, the slight confusion.

"You’re probably wondering why you’re here," he continued, his voice smooth and rehearsed, like this was a well-orchestrated play.

This wasn’t just a conversation—it was a performance, and she had walked right into his scene.

"Painter? What’s going on? Where’s Sebastian?" Allison asked, her voice laced with surprise, though Painter could see she was already caught in his web.

"He’s not here. Sorry, I lied," Painter admitted, his tone smooth, but with a playful hint. He took a slow step toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. "Can you really blame me for wanting to be alone with someone so beautiful?"

He took another step, closing the distance between them.

"So... funny."

He was closer now, almost brushing against her.

"And intelligent?" His voice dropped to a whisper as he stood chest to chest with her, his breath warm against her ear.

Allison's eyes flickered with realization. The heir to Urbanshade Corp, standing so close, so eager—was he asking her out? Maybe it wasn’t so crazy to consider. A man of his status, his wealth... she could have a little fun on the side. A side fling wouldn’t hurt, right?

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the crisp fabric of his suit under her fingers, catching the scent of his expensive aftershave. "You’re quite charming yourself," she said, her voice laced with a fake giggle designed to make men fall at her feet. But Painter played along, his smile widening.

"Oh?" he murmured, his voice dripping with charm. "Maybe you’d like to show me just how much?"

Allison leaned in, rising onto her toes to meet his height, her lips brushing close to his own, not touching yet. The tension between them was thick, charged with unspoken possibilities. For a brief moment, Painter thought he had her, that she was playing into his hands.

But then she stopped.

His lips hovered just shy of her skin as he whispered, "How much... you’re lying."

The playful edge in his tone had vanished, replaced by cold calculation. He would love to slap her, simply for cheating on his best friend. But now was hardly the time, not like this.

“You are not supposed to be his girlfriend. You are not Jelly and you don't deserve him.” His words caught her in surprise before she seemed to laugh.

“What do you know? They stole my identity! Ask Sebastian! I am the victim!” It was a poor try to defend herself.

“A victim? Another brilliant lie, congratulations. You officially make me sick.” The words were enough to set off her rage and she raised a hand to hit him, a hand that he caught in the middle of the action. “Don't you dare.”

“You know what? Fine, to hell with you. I am NOT them but it doesn't matter because everyone believes me anyways. I HAVE PLAYED YOU ALL. I GOT THE ACCOUNT BANNED. FUCK YOU, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU STUPID IDIOTS. SEBASTIAN IS MINE AND I WON. I AM RIGHT AND I HAVE WON. I STOLE THEIR IDENTITY AND BECAME JELLYCATFISHED.”

Suddenly, the ceiling lights blazed to life, flooding the store in harsh white light. Allison blinked, momentarily blinded, as Cordelia stepped out from behind the shadows, a sly grin on her face.

"And that’s a wrap!" Cordelia announced, her voice dripping with amusement. "Great work, everyone. So authentic, Painter." She shot her boss a playful wink.

Allison’s eyes darted from Cordelia to Painter, confusion overtaking her. A second ago, she had been in control—or so she thought. But now, the anger and seduction drained from her face, replaced by a wide-eyed, flabbergasted look. She felt like a deer caught in headlights, utterly lost.

"You see," Painter began, his voice smooth but laced with triumph, "43 thousand people just witnessed your grand confession. Live and in full HD." He let the weight of his words sink in, a twisted smile forming as he saw the realization dawn in her eyes. "You’re a star now, Allison. Just like you always wanted to be."

Cordelia had filmed it all—the near-cheating, the manipulation, the confession—and streamed it live on Jellycatfished, the very platform that had become Allison’s downfall.

Painter took a step back, admiring his work. His plan had come together beautifully, every detail falling into place like a carefully painted masterpiece. He couldn’t help but applaud himself mentally for the sheer brilliance of it all. Soon enough, the lawsuit would hit Allison—public shame was only the beginning.

Outside the store, Sebastian stood frozen, just out of sight but close enough to hear everything. His phone was clenched tightly in his hand, his knuckles white with the pressure. He had seen the signs but ignored them, convinced he knew the truth. But now, as the reality of what had unfolded hit him, it was clear.

He had been wrong. And he had lost.

[bailadeluna]

there’s something so brilliant in cooper howard’s costume design - it’s so much more than just a simple blue and gold cowboy fit.

at the beginning of the show, before the bombs dropped, cooper howard was a good person - always kind to others despite the circumstances or how he was feeling in the moment.

you could say… he was exemplifying the golden rule.

this is evident in his costuming - cooper is decked out in gold even when the bombs dropped. the golden rule is still so close to his heart - i mean come on - look at how tight that bandana is around his neck.

even in certain lighting, his hat looks gold.

cooper howard being a good person and living by the golden rule is what barb probably fell in love with (she has her own interesting character analysis and thought process which i would love to discuss later). because this trait is so admired by her and those around cooper, she probably saw him as who she would hope future generations would become as they grow up in the vaults. people like him are the better future she envisions - so it’s no coincidence that the vault suit is in his colors.

what does the blue symbolize?

well, to me, i think it’s the corporate presence in the world. there’s more blue in the suit than there is gold - hinting at vaultech’s corporate greed, capitalism, and evil machinations. (there was also blue in his old cowboy costume - i.e. the presence of the studio and how they use cooper to push a mccarthyism narrative. kinda in the same way vaultech will use him)

the blue in the suit - symbolizing vaultech’s overwhelming presence and the reason for such a bleak and cruel world - does not swallow up the gold - the small semblance of humanity’s capacity to do and be good. it’s the small hint at barb’s intentions (analogous to the road to hell being paved with good intentions).

yet the man who was an inspiration for vaultech’s workers - the man who they all wished they could be like, the man who symbolized all the “do good” ideas they pass down to their children but in the end have no intention of following them (wink wink, looking at you, hank) - was in the end stripped of all his humanity by the world vaultech created (wow, would you look at that? another analogy for capitalism!)

this man, once rich in morals now robbed of them all, wanders the wasteland a ghoul. everything has been taken from him - symbolized being devoid of layers of skin.

now, he’s nothing but the ghost of the man he once was - haunted by what has been done. everything he wears as the ghoul is frayed, tattered, and dark - symbolizing that cooper howard, that kind and caring man before the bombs is dead.

but wait - is that…

you don’t see it? Ok, i’ll zoom in some more

GOLD? (perhaps even the same shirt he was wearing during the bomb drop??)

perhaps the golden rule, those values that he once held so dearly, are still there just dormant - waiting to be awaken again.

maybe cooper howard can come back… that just maybe there’s still hope for the good in humanity…

[floydira]

I saw your request rules and I was wondering if you could do yandere Velvet? If not that's perfectly fine, take as much time as you need!

₊˚﹒✶﹒trolls headcanons .ᐟ

yandere velvet headcanon.

warning ; yandere behavior, mention of killing, obsessive behavior, all that jazz

her obsession with you started when she first met you. you are close with the two superstar siblings, velvet and veneer.

you had something that other people didn't have. that is, you could be straightforward and blunt with her without sugarcoating anything.

sure, she absolutely HATES criticism but coming from you, you just have something that makes it easier to tolerate for her.

after finishing her performance, she always comes to you to ask for your thoughts.

"how was it? I was amazing, wasn't I?" velvet would come to you with her smug tone.

if you give her praises and compliments, best believe she's going to be remembering that shit for life until she dies. hearing a compliment from you makes her kick her feet and giggle like a fangirl despite her being the superstar.

of course since you're close with the siblings, you talk to veneer a lot too. she loathed that. it's visible on her face too.

as much as she liked her brother(not much...), she'd rather he disappear just so she could hoard all your attention to herself.

she'll threaten veneer to stay away from you. knowing him, he'll definitely back off.

noticing veneer's distance from you, you wanted to come up to ask him why he's distancing himself from you or what's wrong, but velvet stopped you before you could.

"why are you going to him? don't you want to hangout with me?"

she'll give you her biggest puppy eyes.

she'll do all kinds of manipulative tactics to keep you by her side at all times.

she'd gaslight you into thinking you only need her.

"I have all the fame, money and love that you need, darling. can't you see that I'm the only one who cares for you? I take care of you, I keep you safe and love you dearly. who else would do that for you?"

once her manipulative tactics work, she'll grin evilly in front of the mirror.

"oh how I love being me!"

she has eyes on you, always. If you're going out with someone, talking to someone or just doing something in general, she'll know.

she'll pay professional paparazzis to secretly take photos of you. she'll threaten them if they ever try to tell anyone about her doing.

sometimes she'll pop out of nowhere and come up to you, especially if you're hanging out with someone else, as if she ended up meeting you by coincidence.

"oh! how nice to see you here, sweetie! who's...that imbecile little speck of dust?" she'll cheerily greet you before glaring at the person with you and looking them up and down with disgust on her face.

"why didn't you invite me along? don't tell me...is it because you're starting to hate me?!" she'll act like she's hurt and upset dramatically to guilt trip you.

spoils you a LOT. anything you want, she'll give it to you. "anything for you, dearie." she'll say with a lovesick look in her eyes.

if you come to watch her performances, she'll stare at you so obviously through the crowd. her eyes are all on you. as if her reason to perform is you, yourself. as if the performance itself is made for you.

she sees you as like a treasure, she needs you. she'll do anything to get you wrapped around her finger.

she's touchy, super touchy. she'll subtly put her hand around your waist, sit on your lap, lay her head on you, whatever she can to have a sense of your touch with hers.

she'll plan her way of asking you out, extravagantly. once she does, you're going to be swept off your feet. there is no way you're able to say no.

once you're official, she's all up on you. way more than she used to be. quite literally trapping you in her arms.

she has punishments for you if you do something she doesn't like.

"how unfortunate of you, sweetie...it's too bad you got too close with them. I'll have to punish you."

her punishments include some sharp carvings on your skin, mostly her name carved onto your skin.

overall, she's deathly obsessed with you and will kill you and herself included, if you ever try to leave her.

"I love you, I love you, oh I love you so much! you won't ever leave me right? don't ever leave me."

[harrysdaydream-tpwk]

“I’m just an arrogant son of a bitch- H.S”

summary: Harry and you argue after his show at Wembley and he gets jealous and pissy. Angst ensues

warnings: arguments, swearing, angst with a happy ending

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The door slammed shut behind him, his footsteps heavy, even on the carpeted floor. You sighed, tired and weary. It had been a long night and by the looks of it, it was about to get even longer.

Harry huffed, taking off his shoes with more force than necessary, throwing them in the general direction of his open suitcase. He wasn’t wearing the colourful outfit anymore, looking much more like yours in the black nike shorts and worn-out t-shirt you’ve seen far too many times on him. You stood in the doorway between the ensuite bathroom and the bedroom, watching him quietly as he ran his fingers through his brown hair repeatedly-noting it had get even longer since the last time you saw him.

He looked up at you finally, his eyes stormy and half-lidded. He was mad, furious even and you weren’t totally sure why. You hadn’t seen him for three weeks, the tour taking a toll on your relationship and you had hoped this night would’ve at least be a change to your boring office life, a moment with the man you loved so dearly.

“What is your problem?”, you said demanding, sounding harsher than intended. Your arms were crossed in front of your chest, you yourself still dressed in the outfit you had chosen for tonight’s show. A pink, puffy dress, matching cowboy boots and hat. Hell, you had even put on a boa, going all out.

“My-“, he breathed out, before getting louder, “My problem? What the hell is your problem? We haven’t seen each other in almost a month and you already go around flirting with other guys? At my own damn show nonetheless?” He stood up from where he was sat on the king sized bed, taking a step closer to you.

“What?”, you sputtered unbelievingly. “What the fuck are you even talking about? All I did was talk to your mum and your sister, I haven’t seen either of them since Christmas and you just accuse me of things that didn’t even happen? Fuck you.” Tears gathered in your eyes and he noticed, faltering slightly.

“I saw you”, he started, pointing his finger at you,” Talking to him. I don’t know who he was, I don’t even care. I just know you were laughing pretty hard at his jokes or whatever he was telling you. A little too much to just be friendly.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Ryan-“

He interrupted you before you could even finish. “Oh, Ryan”, he mocked, “Is that his name? Gotta be careful you don’t start moaning his name the next time we fuck.”

He was getting really worked up now, the vain on his forehead popping and you were getting angrier by the minute too. He had always been jealous, even a little possessive, and it was getting on your nerves.

“Ryan is an old friend from school, you asshole. You know him, I invited him to my birthday party two years ago. He’s gay, Harry, so he’s not interested in me and I’m not interested in him. It’s just a coincidence, he told me you were really nice to him when he met you and that he wanted to support you. Although, I don’t expect him to think so highly of you if he knew what you’re throwing at me right now.” You took a deep breath in, the tears finally breaching free. You couldn’t keep them in any longer.

You were exhausted, travelling from home to see him at Wembley, his concert of two hours and then this argument on top of it. The weak and selfish part of you just wanted him to hold you, while the bigger part just wanted to yell at him some more. You missed him and he was treating you so unfairly.

“I missed you”, you whispered, “I just wanted to spend the night with you peacefully, you’re my home, Harry. Why don’t you ever make me feel like I’m yours too?” You let out a sob, slapping your hand over your mouth defeated.

“Oh. Oh, Y/N.” His eyes were soft now, staring at you unnervingly. “Here, sit down, my love. You look like you’ll fall over any minute.” He guided you to a chair nearby, pushing you down gently.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered, kneeling before you. His face was illuminated by the lights of London outside the big hotel window. “This tour has taken a toll on me, I missed you so much more, Y/N, you have to believe me. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I just got so upset over the thought of you with someone else. I’m so selfish, I wish I could have you by my side everyday, you know? I love you and I never want to hurt you, not like this. Not over something I have so obviously perceived wrongly.”

You laughed wetly, your make-up probably smudged, making you look like a hot mess. “You know, I’m starting to think that you were right when you sang that you were just an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t admit that he’s sorry.” He chuckled quietly, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“I forgive you”, you said, kissing his palm, which was still holding your face gently, “But never say something like this to me again. I’d never cheat on you, not in a million chances. You’re my everything.”

“And you’re mine. We’ve got to figure out a way to see each other more, even when I’m touring and you’re working. I can’t go a day without you, without missing your beautiful face.”

You smiled softly, leaning down and he took the invitation to press a gentle, closed- mouthed kiss to your lips, a promise you understood, you accepted.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

lmk what you think<3 haven’t written in a while so i’m a bit rusty! i’m also working on a larger project that should hopefully be up in a few weeks. until then i’ll try my luck with smaller blurbs and one shots. enjoy!<3

[mxlktxa]

ʜᴇᴀᴅʟɪɴᴇꜱ

ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ!ᴀᴜ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴄᴇʟᴇʙ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ; ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ*, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡᴇʀꜱ

ᴄᴡ; ɪɴᴠᴀꜱɪᴠᴇ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ-ᴏɴ ᴜꜱᴇ (ʀ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ/ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ/ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ

ᴡᴄ; 1.1ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ, 6.0ᴋ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ

‘Famous singer/songwriter and artist, Ellie Williams seen with famous actress and singer/songwriter Y/N’

‘Songwriter Ellie Williams, leaving the studio with Y/N? Is this the internet's new favorite couple?’

“So, as you know, we’ve seen some things about you and Y/N. Is there anything you’d like to share about the two of you with your fans?”

“I wish there was something to share. We’re just good friends. I’m just trying to see if I actually want to get into the acting industry. She’s my—, like… I don’t know, she’s my decoy. My practice, if you wanna put it like that.”

“Look, we know this isn’t a very appropriate question and it’s been asked a lot. Y’all are fuckin’?”

“Who?”

“C’mon, Ellie! You and Y/N, of course! We gotta know. Give us the scoop, man.”

“Jesus, no. I’ve got my eyes set on somebody else anyways, she’s just a good friend.”

“You two, Y/N and you, have been spotted together a whole bunch lately. Is there any reason or coincidence to it?”

“I mean, no. Other than just she brings me with her to check out what the acting industry is really like. It’s… It’s crazy, honestly. Props to her for having the courage for that, she’s a fucking… She’s super fucking strong.”

Blah, blah, fucking-blah. I hated all these stupid fucking articles and interviews with the same dumbass questions. Why did people have to know my relationship status with someone else? Why did they care so much? Why is it a problem for people who don’t know either of us? Just let us live our fucking lives, good-fucking-god. Can I just live my life the way that I want to without being harassed about my love life?

Y/N and I had met at an award ceremony, both fairly new to the respective careers we had gotten ourselves into. We were both assigned to open the show and also seated next to each other. She's such a lovely girl, super chill and respectful. She also minds her business when she's supposed to and never bothers anyone. But her fanbase? I don't know how or why she deals with any of the men she's attracted, but good on her.

I couldn't even be mad at the people asking such invasive questions because here I was, in a hotel room with her, burying my strap deep into her, face contorting into such a wonderful face that I needed to be engraved into my mind. She was so sweet and delicate, a wonderful view to just gaze upon. She sat on my lap as I used my hands to guide her hips down and push my hips up into her. The drool slipping from her lips, hanging from the corner let me know just how much she was really enjoying our time together.

"Fuck, Ellie, I can't do this anymore, I can't take it," a rich whimper came from the gorgeous figure above me, hands gripping onto my shoulders like crazy. A smirk grazed my face as her teary eyes came to meet mine, begging for us to come to an end. I couldn't help but lift her ever-so-slightly so she would offer me yet another cry from those beautiful lips of hers.

I couldn't respond to her. No way, no how. I tilted my head to glance down at the mess she was making on my lap, chuckling at how crazy it was. One hand slid up to her slightly parted lips, thumb slipping in to press down on her tongue. Those lovely moans were now muffled, hips grinding on mine to create that friction she had loved so dearly, starting to now shake at the euphoric sensation she had been receiving for the past hour and a half.

"Oh, but you're taking me so well, princess. How many times have you finished, hm? It's a fucking disaster down there, y'know."

As much as she wanted to respond to me, we both knew she couldn't. She was sucking on my thumb at this point, those delicious sobs still detectable. Chuckling at her attempts, my arms wrapped around her waist as I shoved my face into her chest to lick from her sternum to just below her neck while my thumb had left her oral cavity.

"You're so cruel, Els."

"I'm cruel? You really think so?"

"Mhm. I can't take this. It's too much, I'm so shaky."

She was not kidding about that. She was shaking like a little chihuahua, holding onto me for dear life. I hummed at her situation, peeling away so sluggishly.

"My sweet girl," I whispered, "I'll let you lay down next time. I promise."

"You said that last time and had me against a wall for a full forty-five minutes."

"You looked so angelic. What was I supposed to do? Give you what you want?"

"Yes!" She pouted, though there was a slight smile in that pout she gave me. I shook my head at her, helping her up from my lap as she tried not to fall over and eat shit. I should really give her a break but... She's all good. I know she is.

“I wish we didn’t have to hide this shit anymore,” her face rose up only to hide in the crook of my neck, sighing softly as she ran her hands up and down my arm, “if only people could mind their own fucking business.”

“We could always just say fuck it and go public. I don’t care anymore, they already know.”

Y/N’s eyes popped up, all wide and happy, a lovely smile taking over the pout I knew she had set up just seconds ago. I nodded to her, sitting her in the chair I was in, grabbing her a damp rag and her clothes that had been dumped on the bed.

“But that’s only if you’re willing to answer some questions people ask.”

“I don’t care. As long as you’re okay with it then I am too.”

Shrugging, I cleaned her up, taking my time when I came to run the rag over her still hardened nipples and her cunt which still was glistening in the dim lights. Her chuckle brought me back to looking at her, speeding up the process before kissing her forehead.

“So,” I chuckled, “that song we recorded is getting released at midnight and you are going on tour with me. You think that’s enough confirmation from the both of us?”

“Oh definitely. If they need more, sucks to be them.”

“Okay, fair enough.”

“What are we gonna do? Put out a sex tape?”

“I mean…” I smirked softly, glancing at our phones on the bed, “we—,”

“Shut up, Ellie,” a giggle cut me off while her hand beckoned me over, “you get an hour and a half. Go crazy,” her legs spread open, the heaven’s calling my name as I stared down at her glistening core.

“You know me so well.”

[mayasaurusss]

pls pls pls more warewolf lottie i beg🙏

Slice of life: werewolf Lottie headcanons

Warnings: fluff, crack fic treated seriously, one sexy hint, not very long and not proofread (did this pretty quickly) and probably bad grammar sometimes.

At first, she hides from you, too preoccupied with looking like a monster, but as time passes and you show her compassion and understanding, she starts to open up to you more.

Lottie gets angry whenever you try to hang out with her during full moon, but she makes it up to you by taking you out as soon as she can.

Not all the times that there's a full moon Lottie becomes a werewolf: the transformation seems to occur only when she's in immense distress and under the influence of the moon. Most times she remains her normal self but she becomes grumpy. God forbid if the full moon coincides with her period...

One night, as you were hanging out togheter in the forest -one of the last few places Lottie feels comfortable in- you spot a beautiful purple flower growing on the side of the path. Lottie grews interested as soon as you point her to it. When you get closer and Lottie reaches to the flower, a red hue starts to spread on her fingertips. From then on, Lottie was always very careful around wolfsbane.

Music bothers her now: something that she loved very dearly once has become annoying. If you hum a song it's fine but the problems come around whenever you play loud music, or, even worse, when your noisy neighbors party through the night.

Once, Lottie and you were having a sleepover. The neighbors had decided to loudly interrupt your dreams with their awful music, waking both you and Lottie up. It lasted for 20 minutes before Lottie furiously stomped down the hallway. After 2 minutes, you heard the music and voices stop. Lottie walked back in your appartment with their smashed stereo in her hands.

Music does bother her, but loud noises don't stop her from trying to howl with the dogs at night. Whenever she's in her wolf form, be it at her house, yours or at the forest, if she hears dogs howl, she'll join them. She wouldn't dare to tell you, but she feels the need to howl even when she hears them in her human form. But she wouldn't ever do something like that, her pride is too precious to her. If you ever saw her do something like that, you would be a tease, and she knows it.

Lottie is smart, and she knows for a fact that she can use her newfound wolf form to get away with all she wants. Killed a rabbit? It's not her fault, she's not in control! Ate one too much leftovers? It's not her fault, she's just too hungry! Made a 'nest' with your clothes and now they're covered in fur? She was just so cold, and your clothes are so comfy!

Lottie has a hard time coming to college now. It's not that the sun hurts her in any way, she just feels too uncomfortable to be walking down the hallways. It almost feels like she doesn't belong here anymore. So, she continues to follow the lessons, but she's not as present on campus as she was once. She mostly hangs out at night, gazing at the moon. Sometimes sadness overcames her when she remebers that she won't be able to look at the full moon in her human form, ever again.

When she does feel like begin alone though, she volountarily steps out in the night and allows her emotions to take hold of her, to make her a monster once again. She will run to the forest and gaze at the moon in it's full form with longing.

Lottie has never been too fond of chocolate, but she does enjoy it from time to time. One night, as she was eating some chocolate, there was a full moon. As it reached it's peak, Lottie started to feel very, very uncomfortable. Her stomach gurgled and before she could understand what was happening, she threw up all she had eaten. As she came to know in the hours after, dogs really shouldn't eat chocolate...

As the years go by, Lottie's werewolf form gets slightly skinnier and the fur looses it's colours; but remains fulffier as ever.

The pull of the hunt beckons her, so sometimes, you won't find Lottie in the bed with you. She will disappears fror days and return at night, her mouth caked with blood.

She grew more calm as time went on. Now, during full moon, the symptoms of lycantropy have lessened, thankfully; but has gained an almost scary libido...

She will spend hours researching ancient lycantropy studies to better understand how it works and if there's somebody like her somewhere.

Her favorite activities are gazing at the nightsky and watching horror movies with you, which, are usually about werewolves. She has remained a tease, and often insists on watching those kinds of movies; almost as if she wants to see how you'd react near her. Whenever the werewolf kills somebody though, her eyes would get watery and she'd take and kiss your hand, whispering "You know I'd never do that... right?".

Something you have noticed ever since the first transformation, is that Lottie's body has become stronger. There's almost not one trace of fat in her muscles, despite the amout of meat she'd eat during full moons.

When you see her laying on your shared bed, reading with those -nerdy- glasses of her on, you almost want to jump her right there, but foreplay is important.

Life with Lottie ever since the change has been interesting to say the least.

You smile contentendly as you lie in the arms of your lover, with the moon's rays glowing dimly on you.

[moirindeclermont]

Daily thread about BridgertonS3: I'm in a "mood" today so... Let's do carriage scene vs mirror scene, what do you think?

To be clear this is not about putting one against the other. I love them both dearly. This is just a fun game (and an excuse to go and rewatch them both, let's be honest)

First of all, the parallels. I've seen a post of both scene side by side and so many actions and details are the same... Too much to think it's a coincidence, maybe they were both choreographed in a similar way? It's like those scenes are mirroring (aha!) each other.

Secondly, the carriage scene is all about urgent and desires that come to life. Everything is a rush, and you notice because Pen is not as shy and reserved like in the mirror scene. It's all about the moment and they'd definitely would go all the way in if the carriage didn't stop.

The mirror scene is all about intimacy, a reaffirm of their connection. It's slower and, of course, there is the additional level of being naked in front of each other and taking the next steps in that journey. Being less urgent, nerves and shyness crept in but they are handled in the best way possible.

Things that make me go insane each time in both scenes: the explicit consent (I'll do a thread about this tomorrow I think), their giggle at the end, their facial expressions, the sounds (yeah, I know I'm basically saying everything... Bear with me)

I love the progressione of all scenes (including the last one) as a tool to also understand their dynamic in the relationship. While Pen never is without agency, by the end she is the one guiding their intimacy. It's a discover of self through intimacy and love and it's so beautiful to see.

Lastly, it's endearing and gorgeous the way they are "Both connected to the moment of each other. To love. And as I have suggested before in this class, art is love made public." (Sense8, S2e01)

Gif: @polinsated

[adorenaisha]

angst, g. satoru

you stood there looking through the telescope of the now destroyed astronomy tower filled with dead bodies, ignoring the awful smell of blood while observing the bright stars in the sky. it would be such a lie if you were to say that the stars weren't beautiful. but there was always one star that stood out the most.

he stood still behind you, breathing heavily. his white hair now had splatters of blood over it, so does his outfit, blood of the innocent people that you killed.

he should kill you. he needs to kill you. but why hasn't he? was it perhaps that he cannot bear the loss of another loved one in his life? he has lost suguru after all, and now he has to loose you.

"hey y/n, what's the answer to number 4?" gojo whispers not very quietly, seeking to find the answer from you. "gojo didn't i tell you to study?" you sigh out.

he lets out an awkward smile, you knew that face. "i was busy!" he responded back to you while you just roll your eyes at him. "you know, the results of these astrology quizzes are gonna be like..50% of our grade?"

his eyes suddenly widen a little. "oh fuck. are you serious?–"

"do i look like i'm joking right now?" you deadpan.

"are there going to be remedials? oh gosh." he asks you in a hurry. "i don't know." you said blankly, focusing back on your paper. "y/n, help a friend out maybe??"

you groan quietly. "okay, look. i can help you study later at the library for the next upcoming quizzes?" his lips curl up in his signature smile as he thanks you.

is it a coincidence how you both got so close because of you offering to tutor him about astrology? he isn't sure. but when he blinks out of his thought you were still searching for the one star.

why were you taking so long? he asked himself. although, you have never told him what your favorite star was. ever.

suddenly when he was spacing out again he saw you turn around, your figure now facing his. "how long are you gonna wait?" you ask him, your voice echoing through the tower. "as long as you want me to."

his voice sounded tired while his face was covered up in bruises, from your doings. "did you find your favorite star?" he says softly while his gaze was focused at you, admiring you for the last time. a small smile slowly lifting from your lips as he got his cursed technique ready.

"i did."

a single tear ran down through your cheeks before you got obliterated, your blood raining down everywhere.

gojo stood there with a blank expression as he got drenched in more blood, your blood. the blood of someone whom he loved so dearly, who he cherished, who he never got to say goodbye to.

if only he knew that it was him.

he's the one who shines the most amongst other stars. the one who shined the light into your life.

gojo satoru was truly your favorite star.

[bokutosmochi]

SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! or embarrassing moments with jjk men

what's it? crack with a sprinkle of fluff

allergen warning/s? gn!reader, kind of spoilers for gojo's past arc in nanami's (not exactly canon, but you'll see teehee), smoke alarms (no actual fire though)

sugar level? 1.1k

names for the order? gojo satoru, geto suguru, fushiguro toji, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen

regulars? @tahonet​, @tokyometronetwork​

bon appetit!

GOJO SATORU:

"are you a piece of candy? cause you're a tootsie, and you're on a roll." you couldn't help the way your eyebrows quirked at gojo's statement and failed pick up line. "what does you're a tootsie even mean?" and to that, he simply shrugged. "dunno, but it's a cute nickname and it always works on cute little buttercups just like you." he leaned down to boop your nose that is now scrunched up as a result. "satoru," you sighed. "you know i love you dearly, but i doubt that has ever worked on anyone. you need better pick up lines." at your brutally honest words, gojo stomps his foot, reminiscent of a child and pouts. his arms are crossed across his chest and he looks like a perfect blend of intimidating and non-intimidating. he turns his head to the side and sticks up his nose. "my methods of flirting have worked with plenty of people. maybe you're just different and quirky." you spat out your drink "that's how you flirt?" because you know just how many people threw themselves at the feet of your boyfriend before you got together and this is how he got laid? you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed for the nth time. "pretty privilege does crazy things. baby, you cannot flirt."

GETO SUGURU

"geto suguru, oh. my. god" the words that came from you were almost squealed. it was nearing midnight and geto has had a very long day; meeting with his fellow curse users who share his vision, tending to the pathetic, helpless monkeys who called for his aid in getting rid of equally weak curses, and of course, walking around kyoto, tending to mimiko and nanako's every need and want. in fact, he was so busy he didn't even hear neither the front door or bedroom door open and close. "sugu baby, you look so cute!" now that was most definitely a squeal. the man in question had a toothbrush in his foamy mouth, and his hair was held back by a soft brown headband with bear ears and various glittery butterfly hairclips. he went back to the bathroom to spit the toothpaste out and gargle before greeting you properly with a hug and a minty fresh kiss on the lips. "the girls got a hold of me." he chuckled lightly, pulling the cutesy headband away. "if you arrived any earlier, you would've seen me with makeup on." you shook his head at him, the worst curse user. "you would do anything for those girls, wouldn't you?"

NANAMI KENTO:

"kento, you never told me you had piercings." you murmured softly, running your thumb over the space below his bottom lip where there were two tiny holes on either side, assumingly from piercings. he caught your hand and kissed your warm palm, eyes closed. "did gojo tell you about those, angel?" at the mention of his troublesome former upperclassman's name, his nose scrunched up - after all, it seemed like ever since learning about your relationship, the snow haired sorcerer would not stop telling you stories from when they were students. nanami knew that gojo picking the embarrassing ones were not some sort of a coincidence either - making you laugh as you shook your head. "no, i just noticed the piercing holes on your lip. are there more?" you did not wait for his answer though. instead, your eyes were already looking all over his face. you spotted more on his nose and several ones on his ears. "you never told me you had a punk rock phase, kento." you told him, poking his cheek with a giggle making him grumble out something you could not decipher as his face heated up with something akin to embarrassment. "the opportunity never came up."

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

"heya baby boy!" you greeted toji with a quick kiss on the scar on the side of his lip before plopping down on the opposite side of the loveseat. you were certain there was nothing out of the ordinary, but your boyfriend's head immediately snapped towards your figure for a reason you did not know. "you okay, big guy?" you chuckled nervously, scratching the back of your head. his mouth was slightly agape and his face was flushed red. he swallowed thickly, adam's apple bobbing and cleared his throat, "what'd ya call me?" you blinked at his words, the gears in your head turning. "baby boy?" his cheeks got a shade of red darker. but this time, the nickname he was not used to no longer flustered him. "do i look like baby boy?" he snickered at you. "'n if i remember correctly, last night, 'y were callin' me a much different name." he trailed off, a smirk gracing his lips. you shook your head at him, crawling towards him on your hands and knees and cupping the side of his cheek, gazing into his eyes tenderly, hoping to caress any sort of weakness from him, break down his cockiness from last night's activities. "oh toji," stroking the skin of his cheek with your thumb, your lips were pouted and head tilted. "you're always gonna be my baby boy."

SUKUNA RYOMEN:

"ring! ring! ring! ring!" that was the sound that woke you up on your birthday. not your alarm clock, not the familiar weight of sukuna's arms on you, or his rough voice commanding you to get up and not sleep in. no, this one is unfamiliar, because it's the smoke alarm. you quickly pushed the duvet off of you, taking a mental note of the curse's absence from beside you, and rose up, running to the kitchen to see what has transpired within its four walls. there sukuna was, standing on his tippy toes to reach the fire alarm. he sighed in relief when he finally turned it off, but he still rolled his eyes. "stupid twenty first century gadgets.". he was sure he'd never get used to them. it was only when he turned around did he see you. his eyes were narrowed into slits before looking back up. "the unnecessary thing woke you up, didn't it?" he nearly growled out. you just hummed out a response. "it's not unnecessary, 'kuna. house fires from not paying attention to what you're cooking is a real danger." you murmured, walking to where he is by the stove and wrapping your arms around his waist. "for example, burnt," whatever this was on the pan. "pancakes." he mumbled out, answering your unasked question. "was supposed to surprise you for your birthday."

i get: reblog

you get: a jjk boy of your choice

[sgiandubh]

Belfast: not your average working-class drama

So, yes: as promised, I watched Belfast last night, until the wee hours of the next morning. And I have to immediately add I do not feel the need for a re-watch. As usually, I shall not insist more than necessary on the storyline and focus instead on the raw impressions I am taking home with me.

It was a strange experience, given all the huffing and puffing and hype and backstage context, inevitably involving C. And I defy any OL fan to watch and process it otherwise: the circus was what it was, at its time, Vanity Fair major PR blunder included. Whether you are a hardcore Balfe Nation stan or a shipper, that bias is there, looming over your screen as you try and get into the magic of it. An ambitious and, at least for me, unfulfilled goal.

The storyline is personal, in a cinematic niche that screams for political statements, peppered with psychological heaviness and guerilla brutality. The Guardian's Peter Bradshaw spoke in his chronicle about an 'euphoric eulogy' (https://www.theguardian.com/film/2021/oct/12/belfast-review-kenneth-branagh-jamie-dornan-judi-dench), where the NYT's Jeannette Catsoulis saw ' grit and glamour stroll hand-in-hand' (https://www.nytimes.com/2021/11/11/movies/belfast-review.html), with a marked, delighted nod to C's performance as Ma. So yes, we inevitably deal with 'rose-tinted glasses' and 'softened edges', in this nostalgic, elegantly shot coming of age plot. The aesthetic is there, with a black& white sleek filming choice that makes everything so dense at times, you simply have to hit pause and let it sink in. It is, I suspect, Branagh's nod to Truffaut and his Antoine Doinel five movie cycle, starting with Les Quatre Cents Coups (The 400 Blows, but this is an inept translation of an idiom that means 'to break havoc'), another coming-of-age working class story set in Paris during the Fifties and also shot in black and white. A clever choice that allows the audience to focus on the dialogues, without any other distraction. And ultimately, a statement that also heavily drags you by your coat's button: "hey, there, I am an independent, intellectual movie featuring beautiful people amid hardship: wanna be friends?"

Being totally impervious to the Fifty Shades of Grey charm allowed me to focus on C's performance and I have to immediately say I found it elegant, clever and endearing. And also immediately add that I still have no clue about how the hell she managed to drag all her Claire Fraser mannerisms, all the way from Inverness to Belfast and 1743 to 1969 (another important year for OL, as we all know, and that coincidence made me grin). I loved (loved-loved-loved) the broken plates' scene, but in all fairness, was it that different from the moment she slaps Laoghaire in Castle Leoch's kitchen? But I truly resonated with the tiny moments when we see her really struggling to make sense out of the Inland Revenue string of letters and find a solution to a very clear family conundrum, with the result that we all know, I suppose, by now. So yes, Mrs. Balfe: portraying strong, honest, salt of the Earth women absolutely suits you and I'd love to see more of it in the future, if only perhaps with a different, more realistic angle.

So the real question I bet you're all waiting for me to answer is this: was it an Oscar-worthy performance? Sadly, my answer is no (no matter how deep I would like it to be otherwise - and I swear I did and I do). And it's #silly and very unfair to her, I know, since it has to deal, in my humble opinion with the script's own limitations and the complete failure to find a balance between the child's gaze and the mother's presence. As the script and storyline go, Belfast is Jude Hill's movie and it is to him I would have given the Oscar. Not Judi Dench, whom I love dearly and whose voice is the most beautiful, rich, intelligent movie voice ever to have graced this Earth. She didn't need just another trinket of Hollywood affection for what is a correct, but over all forgettable performance, unlike Ciaran Hinds'. Who was simply extraordinary and that's all I can say: I am in love, and when I fall in love, I shut up - not babble on blogs.

Would I recommend it? I don't know. I mean, it's Branagh, and to be honest, I don't hold the man in great esteem. I think his reputation as the neo-Laurence Olivier is way OTT and I am also deeply amused by his pretense to be an intellectual luminary among the glitterati, when he obviously is not. But, as always, this is just me and my very clear-cut opinions. You don't have to follow them or even believe me and as always, it's just better to go see for yourself. With this caveat: don't expect too much out of it and you should probably be fine and satisfied.

I sure was very pleased to watch this nugget, my favorite scene in all the movie, to be honest. It's got perfect sarcasm and all the poetry one can find looking at Cartier-Bresson's delicate photographs of schoolchildren waiting for the lesson to end and life to truly start anew:

[britcision]

Alright I’m on a Dead On Main kick but I’m also permanently in house “Danny Should Adopt Connor For Proper Clone Parenting”

So let’s combine those for crack purposes!

Timelines are fake and so are trees

Jason and Danny are both technically younger than Connor’s supposed to be, and both actually older than Connor is

There’s some fight in Gotham big enough to justify both Superman and Superboy showing up, Red Hood’s willingly working with the bats, mass hysteria

Jason Todd knows more than enough about forcing a working relationship with shitty parents enough to have Suspicions about how Man and Boy are interacting

He knew them before he died and knew it was a bad relationship then, it’s clearly no better

But it’s shooty shooty guns time so we’ll get to that later

Eventually he has to call in the bf because the JL are getting their asses kicked and Danny shows up and joins the fight

Even he can spot the tension and he and Jason exchange Big Gay Looks

But as the fight goes on, Connor’s pinned

In Big Danger, going down, Superman’s closest and doesn’t even glance twice

Just turns away

In comes Danny with the steel chair and if some flying fragments of goon nearly hit Supes, well, pure coincidence

Danny helps Connor to his feet and they get back into it, Connor gets to be in on the big plan which is Get Danny To The Middle

One ghostly wail later, that’s it that’s the fight

Everyone’s wondering what happened, how all the baddies disappeared, Danny gives Connor a pat on the shoulder

“I’m retired kid, and couldn’t have done it without you, so do me a favour and you take this win”

Danny’s gone, Connor’s confused, Jason INSTANTLY backs him up

If Bats is wondering who the unknown fighting alongside them was, well, Superman’s making his biggest constipated faces about congratulating his clone

Jason promises to explain everything if Connor comes by for coffee, Connor has no social life so post debrief they go and pick up enough for 3

Connor’s a little surprised cuz yeah, Jason’s different from when he was Robin, but way less angry and violent than Dick’s led him to believe

Jason explains it’s because of his new bf Danny, the explainer in this case

They get back to Danny in his human form, he’s all gushy and happy to meet Connor cuz whether he went to space or not Connor is technically an alien

Connor gets very quiet about his dna donors

Danny gets Instantly Suspicious and remembers that moment in the fight

Jason rats out the incidents he knows about where Superman’s been a shit

Connor insists we are Not Talking About This It’s Fine

Danny stares him in the face

“Hey wanna meet my clone? Her name’s Danielle, her creator made her try to murder me to replace me. She’s my sister and best friend and I love her dearly and You’re My Clone Now Too.”

Connor, befuddled, is instantly adopted by Dani as well because Clone Sibling, who cares about genetics

Jason tells Connor they’re always like this, but yeah, if he doesn’t wanna put up with Supes’ shit he can go his own way

He doesn’t even have to go full Red Hood style, but they’ll take care of him if he wants to break off on his own

Connor doesn’t believe Supes would ever allow this and would kill Connor the second he showed any hesitance

Danny goes Full Eldritch Horror

Jason:

“Oh hey I don’t think I formally introduced you, Connor this is my boyfriend Danny, the King of the Infinite Realms, you just watched him melt a guy who was kicking Clark’s ass. What were your concerns again?”

And that’s how Connor ends up adopted by his friend’s baby brother and his eldritch boyfriend, complete with happy family jokes

Jason and Danny both call him their baby incessantly and Connor will never admit he kinda loves it, not least for the faces Dick makes

Superman does predictably kick up a stink about Connor not living on base, Batman can’t control Jason but Jason isn’t a world ending threat

Jason smiles extremely sweetly and demonstrates exactly what a world ending threat looks like by texting Danny, who shows up again in full Eldritch Horror

And then Danny texts JAZZ and the Justice League learn the true meaning of fear from a 6’9 redhead therapist who went to the Harley Quinn school of “Sit Down And Shut Up While I Read You For Filth”

Danny pinky swears not to end the world if the JL leave Jason and Connor alone, they can even still be on call for the league and MAYBE so will Danny

If they’re extremely lucky

Constantine assures them this is The Only Way Fucking Hell Superman What Did You Do

The only hiccup in the happily ever after is Dick deciding this makes him Connor’s uncle and being insufferable about it

Danny agrees and it only makes it worse