#but i thought the movie was fine! even good at moments! i thought grande was the better actor and erivo was the better vocalist

[blessyouhawkeye]

the fact that real journalists and film critics are pushing wicked for best picture/best director nominations at anywhere other than the kids choice awards is so shocking to me. it's not that i didn't like the film - i had fun! it was a totally fine blockbuster film made by a director who's made a bunch of other decent blockbusters. but variety optioning chu for a best director nom over both villaneuve and guadagnino is kind of beyond belief

[doumadono]

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

♡ Dabi ♡

Dabi, maintaining his usual nonchalant demeanor, brushes off Valentine's Day as insignificant. "It's just another day," he grumbles when you inquire about plans, his gaze fixed on something distant.

Despite his indifference towards the holidays of any kind, Dabi ensures that you feel loved every day. He might not express it verbally, but through his actions, like a gentle touch or a shared glance, he conveys his affection.

Dabi, surprisingly in touch with emotions, recognizes that you might have different expectations for Valentine's Day. "I get it, you want some romantic crap. Fine," he reluctantly admits, acknowledging the importance it holds for you.

Instead of traditional gifts, Dabi puts thought into finding something unique that resonates with you. It could be a rare book, a piece of artwork, or an item related to your hobbies. "I figured you'd like this better than some cliché crap, doll," he remarks.

During the day, Dabi might express his affection in subtle ways. A brush of his fingers against yours, a lingering glance, a warm hug, a rare smile or a shared cigarette.

Dabi, not one for grand gestures, suggests spending quality time together. "We can do whatever you want."

Dabi prefers low-key activities, so he suggests a casual day out rather than an extravagant date. It could be a stroll through a less crowded part of town or a visit to a place that holds personal significance.

Dabi values private moments over public displays of affection. He might pull you aside for a quiet conversation or a shared moment away from prying eyes, kissing you passionatelly in an alley after picking the order from your favourite restaurant.

In the evening, Dabi might create a quiet, intimate atmosphere. He pulls you close, whispering, "I'm not good with words, but you know what you mean to me, right?" His actions speak louder than any declaration.

The evening is peaceful, just the two of you, enjoying each other's company without the need for excessive words.

♡ Shigaraki ♡

Shigaraki openly expresses his disdain for Valentine's Day, dismissing it as a celebration that glorifies something horrific. "It's just a stupid, commercialized excuse to sell crap. I don't get the hype," he grumbles.

Despite his aversion, when he notices your excitement for the occasion, Shigaraki chooses to bite his tongue.

In a rare show of consideration, Shigaraki instructs Kurogiri to order a bouquet of your favorite flowers from the local florist. This act of embracing the holiday, even reluctantly, is his way of showing that he cares about your happiness.

"I don't get why people like this crap, but if it makes you happy, I'm willing to change my mind."

Shigaraki, true to his personality, prefers a minimalist celebration. Instead of grand gestures, he might suggest a quiet evening or a simple dinner, keeping the focus on the two of you without succumbing to excessive sentimentality.

He ensures that all the League of Villains members are assigned unexpected additional missions, even though they may express their discontent. Shigaraki wants to spend this day with you only.

As the day progresses, Shigaraki might quietly observe your joy. "You better appreciate this. I don't do this for just anyone," he remarks, a hint of satisfaction in his tone, showing that your happiness matters to him.

For the evening, Shigaraki proposes an anti-romantic movie night, selecting films that defy typical romantic clichés. "None of that sappy stuff. Let's watch something that doesn't make my teeth hurt," he suggests.

As you drift into slumber nestled in his embrace, he delicately traces patterns on your back with his pinky cautiously elevated to prevent any accidental decay. "I love you, little Y/N," he whispers, even though he's well aware that you're already lost in the realm of dreams.

♡ Bakugo ♡

Valentine's Day, according to Bakugo, is a bothersome and superficial affair, hiding behind a facade of fake sentimentality. Ranting about the superficiality of the day, Katsuki loudly declares, "I don't need some capitalist crap to tell me when to appreciate someone, tsk!"

"It's a dumb day. Why should I care?" Initially dismissing the idea of celebrating, he flaunted his lack of interest until the sight of your disappointment shattered his nonchalant façade.

Experiencing a pang in his chest, he noticed your lower lip trembling as you tried to assure him that you didn't need to participate. Even though he often expressed his emotions through actions, he couldn't shake the feeling that this time might be different.

With a resigned sigh, he swallows his pride, extending a genuine apology. He confesses to a change of heart, "Look, I changed my damn mind. No harm in spending time together or making this stupid day special, I guess. You're important or whatever."

Bakugo, true to himself, plans unconventional celebration. "If we're gonna do this, we'll do it my goddamn way. Tsk, I heard there's a place with those damn fluffy dogs. Don't get any ideas, I just thought it might be amusing or something," he grumbles, leading you to a Shiba cafe.

Bakugo finds himself in a rare, awkward position as one of the dogs playfully jumps on him. "Stupid mutt, get off!" he protests, but you catch a fleeting, embarrassed smile as he secretly enjoys the canine attention.

As you both sip coffee surrounded by Shiba Inu companions, Bakugo, unaccustomed to public displays of affection, reaches for your hand under the table and rubs its top with his thumb while drinking his espresso.

The sheer joy on Bakugo's face as a Shiba snuggles against him is a sight to behold. He attempts to hide it with a dismissive comment, "They're just damn dogs, but whatever, they're kinda cute, I guess."

Upon arriving home, Bakugo could catch you off guard by presenting a dessert skillfully shaped like a heart. "It's stupid, but fine. You better eat it," he grumbles, a touch of pride in his eyes surfacing as you commend his cooking prowess.

As the day draws to a close, Bakugo may catch you off guard with an unforeseen tender moment – enfolding you in his sturdy arms, drawing you snugly against his robust chest. He gently massages your shoulders and plants affectionate kisses on your face. "I love you, Y/N. Make sure you never forget that," he declares, his words carrying a sincerity that transcends his usual gruff demeanor.

♡ Shoto ♡

While Shoto may come across as indifferent to Valentine's Day, the truth is, he's like a child eagerly anticipating a visit to a candy store, envisioning a day filled with profound love shared with you.

Shoto brims with an unusual level of excitement, eager to shower you with pampering and spoils. While he typically engages in such gestures, this time, he has elaborate plans under wraps – surprises that would catch you off guard and leave you pleasantly astonished.

On Valentine's morning, you wake up to the irresistible aroma of a homemade breakfast. Shoto, armed with a chef's apron, presents a heart-shaped feast, each dish crafted with precision and love. As you enter the kitchen, he greets you with a warm smile, "Happy Valentine's Day. This is just the beginning."

Throughout the day, you discover tiny love notes strategically placed in unexpected corners. Each note holds sweet affirmations, showcasing Shoto's meticulous effort to sprinkle your day with joy.

In a quiet moment, Shoto presents you with a carefully crafted, handmade gift. It could be a piece of art, a personalized item, or something that holds sentimental value. He shyly admits, "I wanted to make something special for you. I hope you like it."

Unbeknownst to you, Shoto unveils a surprise date that surpasses all expectations. "I thought we could spend the day doing things you enjoy. It's all about making you happy." From a tranquil picnic in the park to a spontaneous dance under the stars, every moment is curated to create lasting memories.

Upon returning home, as evening approaches, Shoto unveils a cozy haven, complete with blankets and your favorite snacks. The ambiance exudes warmth, inviting you to unwind and revel in the tranquility of your shared love.

The day concludes with a handwritten love poem, penned by Shoto himself. Each line is an eloquent expression of his feelings, capturing the nuances of your connection in words as sweet as the love that binds you.

Before you retire for the night, Shoto pulls you into a gentle embrace. "Thank you for being with me. Happy Valentine's Day," he whispers, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

♡ Hawks ♡

Upon waking up on Valentine's Day, you're greeted with a pile of gifts neatly arranged beside the bed. Hawks, unable to contain his excitement, watches for your reaction with a grin. "Happy Valentine's Day, babe. Open them up!"

Hawks takes Valentine's Day as the ultimate opportunity to showcase his love. From breakfast in bed to surprise outings, he plans an entire day filled with over-the-top affectionate gestures. "Get ready for a day all about you, songbird."

Hawks, with his love language being gift-giving, meticulously selects each present. "I thought of everything you might like. You're worth it," he mentions as you uncover thoughtful and personalized gifts.

The day unfolds with whimsical adventures – perhaps a surprise trip to an amusement park or an impromptu picnic. Hawks is determined to make the day unforgettable.

Throughout the day, Hawks showers you with unexpected compliments. "You know, you're the best thing that ever happened to me," he confesses.

As the day progresses, Hawks concludes with a romantic dinner, whether it's a home-cooked meal or a reservation at a fancy restaurant. "To us and many more Valentine's Days to come," he toasts, a warmth in his golden eyes.

As the day comes to a close, Hawks proposes the idea of late-night stargazing. Draped in blankets, both of you settle on the spacious balcony of his apartment. Hawks, pointing out constellations, weaves stories of the night sky. "Just us and the stars. Can't beat a moment like this, huh?"

As the day winds down, Hawks might surprise you with a midnight snack. "Can't end the day on an empty stomach. Here, your favorite, babybird," he says, presenting a thoughtful treat.

As you both drift into a peaceful slumber wrapped in each other's arms, Keigo can't help but revel in the profound happiness that washes over him. Having found the love of his life, he's determined to cherish this precious connection on a daily basis, not just during Valentine's Day.

[matchpointfaist]

tis the damn season ; art donaldson

cw; drinking, smut!!, art and reader are really kinda pathetic <3

if i wanted to know who you were hanging with

while i was gone i would have asked you

it's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass

but i felt it when i passed you 

there’s an ache in you put there by the ache in me 

but if it’s all the same to you, it’s the same to me

five years ago

“hey, stranger,” you can practically hear art’s smile through the phone, “how was your day?” you roll onto your back, phone clutched in your hand like a vice, “it was alright. just cramming for finals,” you sigh softly, “hows stanford?” “god, it’s incredible,” he laughs, “i wish you were here. you’d love it, baby. it’s like a movie,” you hum in response, ignoring the ache in your chest that had made its home there the day he flew out, “how’s training going? do you have any matches soon?” “oh, it’s great!” there’s that smile again, “i’ve got a match tomorrow, actually, so i should probably go soon. it’s at 7 am,” 

“that’s good,” you smile to yourself, “do you feel good about it?” “yeah, i think so. coach says i’m gearing up to do really well this season,” he says proudly, and your chest aches again at the thought of missing it. “i’m sure you will,” you try to keep your voice even, “well i’ll let you get some sleep, i love you,” “love you more,” he murmurs, “goodnight, baby,” 

art texts you the next morning to inform you he ‘killed’ his match, attaching a poorly taken photo of him grinning ear to ear, gold metal ribbon around his neck. it’s little crumbs like this that keep you sane, keep you feeling close to him, ever since he left. ‘knew you’d win! you’re so cute. call later?’ you reply, your cheeks pink as if you’re texting a crush rather than your boyfriend of two years. ‘course i will’ he replies, and you’re already counting down the minutes until the nighttime routine you’d grown accustomed to. 

at nine oclock, you lay across your dorm bed, eyes practically glued to your phone screen as you wait on art’s nightly call. by nine thirty, you’re mildly annoyed, and by ten, you’re worried. you pick up the phone, pressing call on his contact, biting the inside of your cheek as you listen to the phone ring. he picks up after a moment, the music in the background nearly drowning out his voice, “hello?” 

“hey,” you try your hardest not to let your irritation bleed into your tone, “did you forget to call?” “fuck, baby. i’m so sorry,” you hear shuffling, and the music gets slightly quieter, “patrick invited me to this party since we won this morning, it totally slipped my mind,” “it’s fine,” you tell him slightly too quickly, “just have fun, kay? i’ll talk to you tomorrow,” “wait- are you sure?” he sounds confused, and you wonder if its the alcohol or the change in your tone that’s thrown him off. 

“yeah, of course,” you hope your voice sounds as light as you intend it to, “we can talk tomorrow night, it’s okay. have fun,” “okay, i guess,” he sounds so hesitant you start to think he might just leave the party, “well goodnight then. i love you,” “night. love you too,” you hang up before you can talk yourself into begging him to stay on the phone. the next night, he calls at six oclock sharp, and you can tell the entire phone call that he’s eager not to upset you. 

he’d always been that way. he’d do something, just one tiny mistake, and spend days apologizing or being extra sweet to fix it. you’d lost count over the years of just how many grand gestures he’d made, of how many times he’d professed his love for you for no reason other than to get back in your good graces; not that he’d ever left. 

you and art were cheesily in love, so high school in the way that you couldn’t keep your hands off of eachother, couldn’t go a day without speaking. you were practically sewn at the hip from sophomore to senior year, even applying to colleges together. when he got his offer from the stanford athletics department, you didn’t think much of it. he seemed flattered, of course, but you never thought he’d actually go. 

he loved boston, he loved his family, he loved you, so it made no sense when he came over one afternoon, admission letter in hand, and a wide smile on his lips. “i accepted their offer!” he’d told you, ever so proud, “they gave me basically a full ride, as long as i stay on the team and keep my grades up. can you believe that?” 

you could believe it, of course. everyone knew how wildly talented art was, from such a young age. he’d started playing tennis at his parents country club when he was just a kid, and eventually worked his way up to attending a tennis academy not far from your high school. he had promise, drive, ambition, and a naivety just subtle enough to make him an excellent candidate to be pushed too far by coaches. 

you’d known, then, that things would change between you. everyone told you nothing would happen, you two were meant to be, but you could feel it. he’d be across the country, practicing incessantly, playing matches, attending parties thrown by teammates you’d never meet. and you’d be home, working for a degree that might help you make a name for yourself. 

over the course of a few months after that party, the calls grew less and less frequent. by summer, you were lucky to hear from art more than once a week. you knew he was busy, of course, and tried to ignore the way bitterness coated your tongue with every word you said to him on your brief calls. you tried to ignore the way he talked about all the friends he’d made, friends that you didn’t know at all, and tried to ignore the way he barely sent you photos anymore.

the one thing getting you through was the promise of summer break with art. two short months together, to pretend everything was back to normal, that you weren’t living completely separate lives. you woke up at six am sharp the day of his flight home, eagerness keeping you from sleep, and picked up your phone to call and see when he’d be landing. he answered after four rings, his voice raspy from sleep, “hello?” 

“good morning!” you replied cheerily, “when’s your flight?” “oh, hey baby,” you heard some shuffling before he returned to the phone, “uhm, i actually was just gonna call you about that,” “is everything okay?” your cheery tone slipped, dread festering in your stomach before you could even place why. “yeah, of course. i just meant to tell you, coach wants me to do some training over the summer. he thought it would be best if i stayed here, just for this first year, for some extra drills and stuff,” 

you sat silently, tears pricking your eyes, as you listened to his excuse. “so what, then? you’ll be home for a month shorter, or?” “i won’t be able to make it home at all this year, honey. i’m so sorry, but you can come stay with me, yeah? i’ll buy your ticket, it’ll be just like we planned,” your heart broke even further at how optimistic he sounded, as if he hadn’t just shattered your expectations of the summer, of your reunion. “i have work, art,” you said quietly, “you know that. i have to make up for being off through the school year,” 

“you don’t need that job, baby. come on, come see me,” “no, art!” you argued, your brows pinched in frustration, “i do need this job, actually. some of us don’t have trust funds, believe it or not. jesus,” your words came out sharper than you intended, all the hurt and anger from the last several months finally revealing itself. “i’m sorry,” he said after a moment, “this is really important to me. this is my shot, yknow? i can’t mess this up,”

“yeah,” your voice was bitter, but you truly did understand, “i get it. stay there, it’s for the best,” “i’ll come home next summer, okay? it won’t be like this every year,” he sounded like he was pleading with you, and it took all your control not to snap at the irony of it. “art, i think it’s best we don’t keep trying to make this work. you need to focus on your tennis and school and i need to focus on mine, and let’s just call it even, okay? we had a really good run,” 

“a good run?” he repeated incredulously, “are you trying to break up with me?” “i am, yeah,” you hoped you sounded confident in your answer, “i just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to draw this out any longer than we need to,” “what the fuck? where is this coming from? is this about the summer?” he sounded so genuinely confused, so lost, and it only angered you further. “it’s just not working, art. everyone warned us long distance wasn’t a good idea,” 

“baby, please,” he was practically begging, a slight whine in his voice that you knew all too well. “no, i’m sorry, okay? but it’s done,” “you can’t just-” “bye, art,” you hung up before you could talk yourself out of it, letting yourself cry as hard as you’d wanted to for months now. you curled up in bed, sobs wracking your body, and mourned the relationship with a boy you’d once thought you’d marry. 

you thought he’d text or call, tried to prepare yourself to reject him again, but the contact never came. he listened, for once. art donaldson had completely slipped out of your life, without a trace.

three years later, you graduated top of your class, landed your dream job in journalism, and moved to an apartment in the city. you tried your best not to keep up with art’s achievements, but it was difficult when he won nearly ever tournament he stepped foot into. he made all the sports headlines, and you turned your head at each of them, hoping to convince yourself you never even knew him. 

i parked my car right between the methodist 

and the school that used to be ours

the holidays linger like a bad perfume 

you can run, but only so far

i escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave

but if that’s okay with you, it’s okay with me

current

you returned home for the holidays, driving down from the inner city to your parents home on the outskirts of boston. about three miles out, you’re lost in thought, music playing through your speakers and snow dusting your windshield. you’re jolted when you hit a deep pothole, cursing under your breath when your tire pressure light kicks on. 

you pull over into the closest parking lot, grabbing your coat and stepping out of the car to survey the damage. “fuck me,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration when you see the tire’s gone flat. you’re in the middle of trying to pry your spare out of the trunk when headlights illuminate the area around you, and you hear a car crunching over the snow. 

“you alright, miss?” a man calls, his voice sharp in your ears against the quiet of the evening. “just got a flat, i’m taking care of it,” you reply, not bothering to look back over your shoulder as you yank your spare free finally. “it isn’t safe to drive on a spare in this weather,” he tells you, and the slight crack of his tone raises the hair on your arms, the familiarity seeping through you deeper than the cold breeze. 

you turn, finally facing the stranger, your breath in your throat. there he stands, his blonde hair peeking out underneath the hood of his puffer coat, his cheeks tinged pink from the wind. “art?” you exhale, your heart suddenly racing in your chest, “what are you doing here?”

“oh,” he looks as startled as you feel, his blue eyes widening ever so slightly, “i was just passing by on my way to my parent’s, i saw a car and thought you’d need help,” “i’ve got it,” you say too quickly, “i’ll call my dad to pick me up, don’t worry about it. thanks, though,” 

“i can take you,” he offers, gesturing to his car parked just feet away, still running, “it’s on the way, anyway. i don’t mind,” “i think i’ll just call my dad,” you argue, “you can go, okay? i got this-” “please just let me take you home,” his tone sounds like you’d be doing him a favor, not the other way around, “come on, i’ll help you get your stuff, i’ll fix your tire tomorrow,”

you never could say no to his puppy dog eyes, even after all these years. so there you sit, shivering in art’s too nice car, trying not to look at him as he drives you home like he had so many times before. “it’s good to see you,” he says finally, breaking the silence, and you hum in response, unable to muster up any real conversation. 

“i moved back,” he says after a few more minutes as he turns the corner to a main road, “i don’t live here, but it’s not far. i live in the city near the university,” “congratulations,” you mumble, trying to keep your tone dismissive, anything to lessen the nostalgia you’re surely both feeling. 

“hey,” he sounds as if he’s pleading, and you allow yourself one glance to his side of the car, taking in the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek, the sadness in his eyes. “yes?” “i just wanted to say it’s good to see you,” he says softly, “i mean, what’re the odds, yknow? we’re both back home and i just happened to see you. it’s like fate,” 

“yeah,” you agree quietly, “fate, sure,”

so we could call it even

you could call me babe for the weekend

'tis the damn season, write this down

i'm stayin' at my parents' house

and the road not taken looks real good now

and it always leads to you in my hometown

he pulls into your parent’s drive, keeping the car running but leaning back in his seat to look over at you. “you look good,” he says after a moment, “not that you looked bad before, obviously, it’s just, you’re beautiful-” “shut up, art,” you cut off his rambling, “it was sweet of you to drive me, but thats all this was, okay? this isn’t fate. it’s just a coincidence,” 

“even if it is just a coincidence, i’m still happy to see you,” he says quietly, “is that not okay? i missed you,” “shut up,” you repeat, “you didn’t miss me, that’s- this whole thing is ridiculous, okay? enjoy your holiday, art,” “wait! can’t we just talk? i mean, even if its not tonight, we could catch up,” he pleads, eyes wide and borderline frantic. you shake your head, opening your door and pausing to glance back at him, “merry christmas, art. please don’t call,” you go inside trying your best to pretend nothing happened, dodging questions about the car in the driveway and greeting your family. the look on art’s face as you closed the car door keeps you from any real christmas spirit. 

you wake the next morning to a text from an unsaved number, your brows furrowed as you open the notification. ‘i know you said you don’t wanna hear from me, but i just wanted to say i’m sorry and it was really nice to see you. wanted to give you a fair warning, your parents invited my family to their christmas party tonight.’

you groan, tossing your phone on the bed and getting in the shower, ignoring the butterflies nerves, in your stomach at the idea of seeing art that night. by six that evening, you’re slightly tipsy off of spiked eggnog, trying your best to ignore him from across the room. he’s there, blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes and a stupid christmas sweater that reminds you far too much of the first holiday you spent together. 

you hate the way he mingles with your family so easily, like nothing ever happened. the way he laughs at your dads jokes, the way he’s sipping wine with class he must’ve learned at stanford. the way he keeps looking your way, smiling tenderly, the way he eventually approaches you with all the hesitation of a high school crush. 

“you look beautiful,” is the first thing he says to you, sounding almost pained by it. “thank you,” you hope you sound cordial, hope he doesn’t pick up on the way your hands shake around your glass, the way your cheeks are already pink. you tell yourself it’s the alcohol and not the scent of the cologne he’d been wearing all those years ago, the last time you’d seen him. 

he looks around, gesturing to the decorations, “good party,” “we don’t have to do this small talk shit,” you say after a moment, “it’s in the past, alright? let’s just get through the party and we’ll all go back to normal,” “don’t you see i don’t just want to get through the party? i’m trying to talk to you here, okay? i missed you, i just wanna catch up,” the pleading is back in his tone, accompanied by his trademark puppy dog eyes, and you find yourself following him onto your parent’s balcony with no hint of the hesitation you’d been full of earlier in the night. 

“i saw you on tv,” he tells you after a few minutes of small talk, sipping his drink and glancing at you, the wind rustling his too perfect hair. “yeah?” you smile ever so slightly, “what for?” “it was a news station, i saw it at the airport. you were reporting on the protests in new york,” he smiles back, and your chest aches at the sight. “i’m not usually on tv, i just write the stories, but it was cool. glad to know it’s getting good airport coverage,” you joke, “i’ve seen you on tv a few times myself. wimbledon and all,” 

“yeah?” his smile widens, “and what’d you think?” you pause, and you’re not sure if its the eggnog, the nostalgia, or his vulnerable expression, but you find yourself being honest. “i thought you were incredible,” you say softly, “the way you play is just amazing, art. always has been,” “thank you,” you choose to ignore the crack in his voice, “you have no idea how much that means, to hear you say that. that you still even think that,” 

“congratulations,” you smile around the rim of your glass, “you’ve won every competition i’ve even heard of. that’s a big deal,” “none of that matters,” he waves a dismissive hand, “i don’t wanna talk about tennis. i wanna hear about you,” “my life is pretty boring,” you shrug, “i write columns and go home and think about work. that’s really all,” “you’re not- are you seeing someone? i figured you’d be married or something,” 

“no,” you laugh like its ridiculous, because truthfully, it is. you’d loved him so much that it made the idea of trying to love someone else seem pointless. in the back of your mind, you’d always thought you needed to let it go, to move on, but you never found the time or the willpower. forgetting him and learning someone else was a move you were never prepared to make. “me neither,” his voice snaps you from your thoughts, “not since-”

“i’m sorry i broke up with you,” you blurt out, “it was shitty of me to do it over the phone like that, and i’m sorry,” “oh,” he blinks, looking slightly caught off guard, “no, i mean, it was my fault. i get it, looking back. i’m sorry i didn’t fight harder,” “you were a really good boyfriend,” you say quietly, blinking away hot tears, “like, the perfect boyfriend. it was just too much, being away from you, and i felt like it was just a matter of time before it ended anyway,”

“i never planned on leaving you,” he says softly, “i hope you know that. i loved you more than anything in the world, and i know we were just kids, but i really, really fucking loved you. more than tennis, more than stanford, more than any of that shit. i didn’t care about my future if you weren’t in it, but then you removed yourself from it and i figured i could at least just keep going,” 

“i know,” you nod, because you genuinely do know. you know he loved you, how much he cared about your relationship. a moment passes, and you can feel his eyes on you, your heart picking up and a fresh flush prickling your skin. “you are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and before you can think better of your decision, you’ve set your drink down and turned to him, all your logic gone out the window. 

“this is a bad idea,” you tell him, but you’ve already taken a step closer, “and i’m only in town for a bit,” another step, “but i missed you so fucking much, art,” “come show me how much you missed me,” he smiles, his eyes almost as dark as the sky around you, “let’s make up for lost time, yeah?”

you kiss him in an instant, and everything else seems to fall away as you feel his lips on yours for the first time in years. he tastes like sparkling wine and chapstick and everything you love about the holidays, about home. he kisses you with the same desperation he’d always had back then, his hands digging into your hips and pulling you flush against him. 

the reality of the evening starts to sink back in as hands progress lower, and you pull away, panting softly against his lips, “cant fuck you in my parents house,” “aw, come on, it’ll be just like old times,” he murmurs teasingly, trailing his lips down your neck. “art,” you whine, “we can’t,” “they’re all busy with the party,” he murmurs as he nips below your ear gently, “do you want me to stop?” “no,” you answer easily, “let’s just- can we go to my room? someone’s gonna see us out here,”

you end up in your old bedroom, sprawled out on the comforter kissing art with a feverish desperation. “missed you so fucking much,” he groans as you unbutton his pants, slipping your hand into his boxers, “god, thought about you all the time,” “yeah?” you smile against his lips, “thought about me all the way in california?” “fuck- yeah, i did,” he bucks his hips into your hand, his cheeks pink, “everyday, every night,”

you hum, satisfied, trailing your kisses down his chest and sliding down the bed, “where you going?” he asks, his brows furrowed. “you don’t want my mouth?” you ask, gazing up at him as you push his boxers down, “no,” he smiles hazily, “no, baby. missed you too much for that, just c’mere. let me fuck you,”

you nearly cry at that, the warmth flooding your chest at his words despite the overall nature of what the two of you are doing. you kiss him again, leaned over him, and he pulls you up into his lap, scooting up to prop himself up against the headboard. 

“come here,” he mumbles between kisses, positioning your legs to straddle him, “do you wanna do this?” “‘course i wanna do this,” you nod, and he pushes the skirt over your dress up around your hips, running his thumb over the skin, “you’re so beautiful,”

“stop lookin at me like that,” you mumble, feeling entirely too entranced by the expression on his face, “kiss me,” he’s nothing if not obedient, his lips on yours immediately, kissing you with fervor. you reach between the two of you, sitting up briefly to toss your underwear somewhere, wrapping your hand around him once more to line him up. “god,” he groans softly, tipping his head back as you slide down on his cock, your eyes closed in bliss, “fuck, you’re so wet, god,”

you bury your face in his neck, trying your best to be quiet as you adjust to his size, rocking your hips slowly, “art,” you moan breathlessly, and before you know it he’s cradling your head, pulling you in closer and fucking up into you. you bite down on his shoulder gently, hoping to suppress the noises leaving you, “god, not gonna last,” he all but whimpers, “you feel so fucking good,”

you just moan in response as he hits all the right spots, your thighs shaking slightly as he fucks you, “fuck, baby- oh my fucking god,” he groans, pulling you off of him gently, “didn’t wanna finish inside you,” he pants, eyes closed as he steadies his breathing, “let me,” you say softly, taking him in your mouth, moaning around him at the taste of yourself on his skin. 

“oh, fuck me,” he moans, hands tightening in your hair and bucking his hips slightly. he’s filling your mouth soon after, your name falling from his lips like a curse as he cums down your throat, panting and whining hoarsely. you wipe your mouth, sitting up to kiss him again, surprised when he pulls you up closer. “sit on my face,” he mumbles against your lips, “let me make you cum, please,” 

“i’m okay,” you start to argue, but he’s shaking his head, looking at you with the sweetest expression, “just let me make you feel good,” you let him lead you, as he lays back on the bed and pulls you up onto him, your thighs on either side of his head. 

he laps at you desperately, and you have to clutch the headboard to keep from collapsing against him as you rock your hips, borderline grinding against his mouth. “art,” you moan, one hand on the headboard and one in his hair, “fuck, you’re so good,”

this only encourages him, and he slides a hand under you, pushing gently on your hips to make you rock against his face once more. you whimper at that, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as you feel yourself getting closer. “art,” you gasp, “gonna-“ 

your vision is spotty as you come undone, his needy mouth never slowing as he works you through it, sucking at your clit until your legs nearly give out. “too much,” you whine, pulling at his hair to deter him. he hums against you, licking one last, slow stripe against you before helping you down, looking up at you with dilated pupils and a spit-slick mouth. 

you wipe his face gently with your duvet, smiling slightly down at him, “that was-“ “you were so good,” he praises, “can’t believe how much i missed that,” he pulls the blanket over your legs, and your chest aches at the tenderness of the action. “you shouldn’t stay,” you say softly, hoping it doesn’t come across as hurtful, “i don’t want my parents to see, yknow,” 

“yeah,” he nods, but he looks slightly hurt, like he’s taken aback, “yeah, good point. i’ll call you?” “yes, please,” you nod, watching as he pulls his clothes back on, “i’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?” “yeah,” he nods, fastening his belt, “uh, goodnight, then,” “night, art,” you smile sleepily, and he lets himself out without returning a smile of his own.

time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires

now i’m missing your smile, hear me out

we could just ride around 

and the road not taken looks really good now

and it always leads to you in my hometown

the next day, you send him a quick text, slightly worried he’d thought you’d just dismissed him. ‘wanna get coffee today? i leave tomorrow’ 

‘sure’ he replies, and you’re sure then that he’s hurt, but you hope to rectify it, ‘great! starbucks on third at eleven?’ ‘okay. see you there’ he sends back, and you pull on a sweater and leggings, going to spend some time with your parents before heading out to the coffee shop. 

he’s sitting in a window seat when you arrive, much more casual than he had been the night before. he’s in a stanford hoodie and joggers, and you think of him away at college, how at home he’d probably been there. you shake the thought away, walking over to his table, “hey,” you smile, sliding into the booth across him. “hey,” he smiles slightly, “so you leave tomorrow?”

“oh, yeah,” you nod, “gotta get back to work. how long are you in town for?” “told you i moved back,” he says, looking slightly irritated, and you feel a pang of guilt, “yeah, sorry, it completely slipped my mind. so you’re just-“ “what is this, exactly?” he cuts you off, brows furrowed, “i mean, im glad last night happened, but is that just it? you’re gonna shoo me away and go home like nothing happened?” 

“what?” you falter, caught off guard, “art, no, i just have to go back home, it’s not like i’m discarding you,” “you sure are acting like it,” he grumbles, “what, then? are we gonna try and make this work?” “make this work?” you repeat, “what, exactly? i figured it was just because we’re both back home, i don’t-“ “what? so what, then, just a one time thing? that’s kinda fucked up to not tell someone,” he snaps, and you hate yourself in the moment, all the memories of the way you’d been so short when you’d broken up with him resurfacing. 

“maybe it’s better if it’s just for the weekend,” you say quietly, “i mean, we’re both busy, and this was just by chance,” “bullshit,” he shakes his head, “if you don’t wanna be with me, that’s fine. alright? genuinely, no hard feelings. but don’t give me that ‘we’re both busy shit. what’s the real reason you won’t try again?” 

“we both are busy,” you say defensively, “i just don’t- i’d hate for either of us to get hurt again, that’s all,” “i get it, i do, but we’ll never know if we don’t try,” he says softly, “i never wanted to hurt you before, okay? i’ve pictured so many routes for my life and you were always in them,” “we’re different people now, art,” you say carefully, trying to keep your tone even, “you don’t know if we’re still even compatible, and we never know what could happen,” “will you stop doing that? you don’t have to be so calculated about everything. it’s not gonna kill us to try, right? we’ve changed, sure, and we’re at different places in life, but we’re the same people. we’re still the people we were when we were in love,” 

“that was a long time ago,” you say quietly, tears pricking your eyes, “i just don’t wanna make a mistake and get us both hurt,” “i’m fine with being hurt by you. don’t you see that? i have loved you since we were sixteen years old. we can get to know each other again, we can take it slow, i’m not asking you to marry me here. just give it a chance, please?” the sincerity in his tone breaks you, and you’re nodding before you can talk yourself out of it. “yeah,” you sniffle, “yeah, i’d like that so much. i’m sorry, i’m just scared, and i didn’t think we’d ever get another chance,” you ramble. “i know you’re scared,” he says softly, taking your hand in his over the table, “we’re gonna take it slow, alright? we’ll be alright,” “yeah,” you nod, tracing his knuckles with your thumb, “we’ll be alright,” 

[koolades-world]

The moment the om cast realized they fell in love with you (part three)

requested by a few people! here it is :)

Diavolo

He had been looking forward to the end of the week for what felt like hundreds of years now. He always wished it was the weekend, so that wasn't it. Although the thought of making every day Saturday was very tempting, Lucifer and Barbatos would not forgive him. What he really was looking forward to was his first one-on-one sleepover with Mc. Every time in the past they had happened to have a sleepover, everyone else was there. The brothers loved hogging Mc's attention. Not that he could blame them, though. He adored spending time with Mc. Just the fact that they agreed to come to the palace to spend time with him without the brothers present made him giddy. He wasn't sure if it was getting to have casual time with Mc and getting to learn human sleepover traditions.

When he initially suggested having a sleepover to Mc, it was because they mentioned having lots of fond memories when they were younger of sleepovers. It was only after the fact that he realized what he had just done. It didn't make him any less excited, but he felt more antsy about it. He had even worked extra hard and gotten more work done than he usually would to get Barbatos off his back for a night. Lucifer had even promised to keep his brothers away from them for the night so they could enjoy time together.

Mc had sworn to show him everything that humans younglings do at sleepovers, including doing each others nails and hair, throwing mini fashion shows, reading popular magazines, raiding the fright for midnight snacks, binge watching movies, and of course, playing games. He was looking forward to learning more about humans, but he found himself looking forward to spending time with Mc. He was always so busy, so this would be a rare opportunity.

The moment he heard Mc had finally arrived at the castle, he was scrambling to meet them at the door. Unfortunately Barbatos was too attentive for him, so he had to settle for meeting them in the grand hall. They were carrying a pink duffle bag that could barely close, something they borrowed from Asmo thanks to his name being embroidered across the side. They were dressed in pajamas, already prepared for the night. Mammon stood by their side, looking like he was ready to go out.

"Have fun, Mc. Let me know if ya wanna go home at any time. I'll come getcha even if it's three in the mornin'." He wrapped an arm around Mc's shoulders and side hugged them for a moment before letting go.

"I will. See you tomorrow. Stay safe, get home at a good time. Don't stay out too late." Mc patted Mammon's arm, and he reluctantly left after glancing at Barbatos, Diavolo, and Mc. Diavolo felt smug, but he wasn't sure why. There was no reason to be. He quickly let go of that feeling in favor of finally getting to spend time with Mc. "Hi Dia. Hi Barbatos." Mc waved to the prince and his butler.

"Please let me know if you need anything, My Lord. I'll be attending matters else where. Dinner will be done shortly." Barbatos excused himself.

"So, where are we sleeping?" Mc shifted the bag on their shoulder. Diavolo reached over and took it from them since it looked heavy.

"Well, would you be fine staying in my room? Of course, if you're uncomfortable, I can arrange something else-" Diavolo began to regret his earlier decision and grew anxious that Mc might not like it.

"I don't mind. That's part of a sleepover anyways!" Diavolo let out a mental sigh of relief. He should have known Mc would have been fine with it. They happily followed him through the castle, waving to Little Ds as they passed by. They arrived at his room eventually. He nervously opened the door. He had made sure it was extra clean before hand.

"Earlier today I went out shopping and bought loads of things I think you'll love! It wasn't easy to find some of this." They unzipped the duffle bag once they were in his room. Underneath the clothes and toiletries were an assortment of items. nail polish, various human board games, a Devil Switch that he recognized as Levithan's, and some magazines.

"Woah! You got all of this just for me?" Diavolo excitedly picked up a game box and shook it, listening to the pieces inside.

"I would say let's not start too much right now since Barbatos said dinner is almost done, but, I have another idea. A core part of a sleepover is ordering takeout! My favorite is Chinese and Thai, but pizza is more typical. Actually, do you even have that down here? I'm still not sure." Mc began removing the things they needed from their bag.

"Are you suggesting we... skip dinner?" Diavolo looked at Mc.

"Well, not exactly. We can still eat some, but just leave room for takeout later. I can't deny, Barbatos' cooking will be better." Mc nodded, with mischievous grin. Diavolo felt his heart skip at that smile; the smile they gave to everyone in the room. But, this time, it was all for him. It actually reminded him of the smile of an angel. He basked in their glory.

"Alright! You don't think he'll figure out, will he?" Dia questioned. Mc turned away from him, and when they turned back, he felt blasted by their smile again.

"Oh, there's no way he won't know. I don't think he'll stop us though as long as he eat a little. We can't waste his hard work, after all." Mc stacked the boxed games in a pile, placing the magazines on top of that. They pulled a laptop out of the bag and placed it with Devil Switch. He suddenly felt very stupid. He should have known that Barbatos would know, and probably knows right now.

He could blame the pounding in his chest for this forgetfulness. He always felt this way around Mc. He always managed to find a way to act afool around them. Before their arrival, he was always more put together and serious. Things were more chaotic now, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. He finally had someone to be less princely with, someone who would indulge his shenanigans. He would trade the fun with consequences for the boring days of paperwork any day.

Diavolo suddenly received a text from Barbatos telling him dinner was ready, and to bring Mc. "Barbatos says dinner is done and we should go down to eat." Mc looked up from their things.

"Alright. Let's go then." They began giggling as they left, leaving Diavolo to follow. They pretty knew their way around the castle from how often they were there. They excitedly told him everything they had planned for the rest of the night. He chimed in with all the questions he had, to which Mc answered diligently. Once they reached the grand dining room where Barbatos had set out their plates. Tonight was brushetta, dinner rolls, and a fancy looking pasta dish.

"Thank you Barbatos!" Mc thanked the demon. Despite saying they would not eat very much, they finished their entire plate. The entire meal, both Diavolo and Mc were chortling together to which Barbatos looked at them knowingly. As soon as the meal was over, they both thanked Barbatos again and scurried off quickly.

"First, we have to order the pizza, because we need to eat that before we do our nails, otherwise we might mess them up." Mc turned on their D.D.D. and placed the order online with Dia's opinion. As soon as the order was placed, Mc moved onto the next thing. Dia found it a little hard to keep up, but was excited. Time flew when he was with Mc.

First, the played a few human board games. They played Scrabble, Operation, and Life. Mc had brought more but they decided to stop early since they thought they might run out of time if they kept going. Their food arrived in the middle of the second game, so they ate as they played. After that, Mc insisted they do their nails and skincare. All the products they had were curtesy of Asmo. After using the products he knew he needed to get them for himself. After that, they played games on the Devil Switch that Levi had lent them. However, time seemed to slow when Mc brought out the magazines.

It wasn't the magazines themselves. Mc had brought a few choices, just in case Diavolo wasn't in the mood to read one of them. Mc recommended one fashion magazine to him, but he found himself lost in several places, so Mc suggested they read it together. What he wasn't expecting was for them to climb into his lap. They began flipping through the magazine in his hands, pointing at things on the pages, but all he could focus on was Mc on his lap. No other real thoughts went through his head. Luckily for him, Mc didn't notice and eventually, he was able to pay attention to what they were saying.

He felt warm with all the feelings buzzing inside him. At one point, he thought they might leave him, but they just leant far enough to grab their laptop. They pulled up Deviltube to put on a movie. Again, the entire time, the only thing he could focus on was Mc. Mc was so trusting and kind to him. They had been nothing but the best to him. He just couldn't place what he was feeling for them. It felt oddly familiar. As Mc leant back into his chest, he suddenly realized what that feeling was. He sat on it for a while as the movie played in the background.

"Mc?" Diavolo whispered after the movie was over. Mc didn't respond. He tilted his head and realized they were asleep. He smiled and tucked a blanked over the both of them. Now he was just left with his love for Mc and where he might go from there.

Barbatos

Barbatos carefully set up the tea table for two. He was expecting Mc over at the castle that evening, just after dinner. He would have preferred before dinner in order to steal them away from the brothers for longer, but this still worked. He has to make sure everything was just perfect, for them.

He made sure the tea he made was the kind the liked and all the little snacks were their favorite. He has grown to have them as his favorite too, since it reminded him of them. He thought the little set up for two was quite cute after looking back at his work.

“Barbatos! Mc is here!” A little D called out to him. He quickly stopped rearranging the table cloth. Was it really that time already? He grew slightly embarrassed at losing track of time and not being there in person to greet them.

“Thank you. You are most appreciated.” He made sure he was put together before heading to the door.

“Barb! So happy to see you!” Mc smiled at him as soon as he opened the door and practically tackled him into a hug. He chuckled and patted their back.

“Hell, Mc. It’s a delight to see you as well.” Mc took a step back to look him in the eyes.

“I have something for you!” They rocked on the heels as they presented him with a little gift bag that had a cute little label that said “for Barbatos.” He felt his heart begin to race at how giddy they looked.

“How thoughtful of you.” He accepted the gift and met Mc’s expecting eyes.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Open it! I’m excited to see what you think.” They giggled. He carefully pushed aside the tissue paper to reach what was underneath. Inside, was a few small bags of tea was labels he didn’t recognize. “It’s tea from the human world! I figured you must have tried pretty much all of them by now, but when I went to the human world the other day, I couldn’t help but wander into that shop and think of you.” They clasp their hands together, swinging them around.

“Thank you very much. It smells lovely. You always know exactly what to give as gifts.” He found himself lost in their happy grin.

“If you like them, we can go to the human world together. I remember the name of the shop. I think you would like it in there.” They flipped over one of the small bags to reveal the name of the shop hand written on the back.

“That sounds wonderful. We must do that.” Despite how collected he looked, on the inside he was scrambled. Mc invited him to the cute little tea shop. As… a date? Was he thinking too far into this? They both enjoyed tea, that’s all. Surely that wasn’t their intention.

“Let me know what you think. I tried the green tea, and that one in particular reminded me of you.” They showed him a different bag of a green, almost silvery colored tea with various little pearls of some kind mixed in.

“You really are the most endearing human I have ever met.” He held the bag up to the light, watching as the light eddied and danced around it.

“I’m glad you like it.” Mc smiled nervously. He felt himself begin to melt at their precious smile.

“Let me go drop this off in kitchen, then we will be off to our tea. Please excuse me for a moment.” Barbatos bowed and turned to leave the room. As he left. He heads Mc saying goodbye. He wasn’t sure what they would do while he was gone, but he needed a moment to regather himself.

He placed the tea with the rest, leaving the little gift bag on the counter for later. He glanced in a nearby mirror for a moment. He looked as he usually did. Nothing was amiss with his appearance. It was always perfect. Despite this, he still fixed his hair and shirt. He took a deep breath and made his way back to where he left Mc.

When he reentered the room, he couldn’t find Mc at first. He grew nervous. Had they left him? Was it something he said? However, the situation had no time to escalate. He heard Mc just down a nearby hall, conversing with a Little D.

“Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with Mammon. Maybe Lucifer will let us do a trade! You’re both yellow.” Mc laughed. He has heard that laughter about a million times now, but he never grew tired of it, and how gorgeous is sounded. When he pushed open the door a little more, he saw Mc on the ground. Barbatos rushed over to check on them, just in case something might be wrong.

“Hi! Sorry I wandered off a little. Just helping #2.” Barbatos looked at what was in their hands. They were holding a dust pan flat against the ground. Little D #2 was holding the matching brush and pushing some debris into the pan.

“You are a guest here. Please do not feel obligated to help out around here.” Barbatos knelt beside them to take the dust pan.

“I wanted to! I love #2. I just happened to see them here, and lent a hand since this is what they were doing. You know me. I hate standing around while those I love are hard at work.” Mc placed a hand on his shoulder. At first, he was unsure about how to feel about what they said. Then, he felt a little jealous that Mc had admitted they loved Little D #2. It was stupid of him to be, and he knew it was more of a parental love (even though #2 was much older than Mc). But he couldn’t help it.

Barbatos got back up and watched as Mc finished cleaning with #2, musing over his thoughts. He replayed their words in his head over and over again. Maybe he was looking too deep into it, but he still grew hopeful. Maybe Mc loved him too. Mc always found a way to interrupt his cleaning duties and take them over. He still found it odd that even though they were just a human and were limited on everything that he wasn’t, such as energy and time, they still went out of their way to reduce his work load.

He waved these thoughts away. He was most definitely looking into it too much. “If that’s what you so wish, I will not stop you. If you’re done here, may we proceed to our tea?” Barbatos offered his arm to them once they stood up. He hoped they would take it.

“We may! You’re such a gentleman.” They giggled and accepted his offer. They leant close to him, placing their head on his shoulder. “Bye #2! Nice seeing you!” As Mc waved to the Little D, Barbatos led them to the tea table he set up. He was so giddy at how close they were to him. It felt nice to have them all to himself. It felt good to not have to compete with the brothers or His Majesty.

While he would never admit it, he was always unsettled of sorts that Mc might choose someone else and never return to him. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling despite living for as long as he had. He recognized the underlying reason behind all of his bubbling emotions when he was around Mc. It has been so long since he felt like he loved someone they way he did Mc. But he wasn’t willing to admit it, not yet, at least.

The whole way to tea, Mc talked his ear off. Barbatos enjoyed listening to their chatter. He felt like he could listen to it forever. He chimed in at their request, as when they asked questions and such. When they finally reached the cute tea table he had set up, he proudly presented it to them.

"Barb! You shouldn't have! You're so sweet! This is adorable. You remembered my favorites too!" Mc squealed and did a couple little happy hops. They pulled Barbatos into another tight hug. Before they pulled away, however, they gave him a peck on the cheek. He felt himself seize up, his arms frozen around them. Mc didn't notice, as they continued shaking him around joyfully.

If he had felt this before, he surely would have remembered it. He had felt love before, but it hadn't been nearly this strong. The love he had for Mc had him in a tight chokehold. Despite him working hard everyday, nobody appreciated him as much as Mc did. Every little thing he did for Mc did not go unnoticed and they always tried to take some of the work off his back. They always said thank you, which even Lord Diavolo and Lucifer couldn't even match. Once they let him go, he tucked them into their seat and let them pour about how amazing his work was to him.

"Awwww, you even iced my name on the little treats! Next time, you should come to the House of Lamentation, so I can do the same for you! It won't be this but I want to do the same for you." Those words are what finally sealed the coffin. He was most definitely in love with the person across from him. Nobody ever did anything for him. He found himself sad once their time together was over. He insisted on walking them home, so he could keep them safe and enjoy a little more time with them. He had always taken time for granted despite being the one to understand it to the fullest. Now, he treasured every second.

"Thank you Barb. I really had so much fun. I hope you enjoy the tea." Mc leant in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was like the one from before, but this one was more deliberate, and lingered.

"It was my pleasure. Please feel free to stop by the castle anytime. We will have to arrange another gathering shortly." He felt himself avoiding eye contact. Mc was the only person with the ability to make him nervous.

"We should! See you tomorrow." They waved to him. Before they shut the door, he saw Lucifer greeting them. He turned to walk away, but before he was out of view from the window, he glaced back. He saw Mc enthusatically waving him goodbye. He waved back with a warm smile.

Once he got back to the castle, he stared down the gift bag. He admired their handwriting on the tag. He found himself almost reluctant to return to his work. He took the little bag to his room and tucked it away in a drawer. He touched his cheek, and sighed. He couldn't wait for tomorrow.

@mona-aiko sorry I took so long!

will do the next part for sol, thirteen, mephisto and simeon!

[victoriadallonfan]

Having re-watched Alien (1979) and Aliens (1985), I think I've realized what went wrong with the further expanded film universe on a thematic level (this is not accounting for AVP films, which seem to exist within their own continuity atm).

The main issue is that these films made 2 intertwining mistakes:

Making the Xenomorph too animalistic

Removing the mystery of space

For the first part, Alien and Aliens are quite vague about the Xenomorph mind. Alien treats it almost like a serial killer at times, including a particularly interesting moment where it disregards Jones the Cat entirely, despite making a very easy target, and how it will sometimes meander up to the crew as if it knows it's inflicting terror upon them. This Xenomorph even seems to only flee when Parker goes to kill it with a knife and hides within the evac shuttle when it realizes that Ripley was going there as well.

Aliens forgoes this in favor of showing how terrifying their numbers are even in the face of superior (if greatly mislead) fire power, but then pulls the rug under our protagonists by (seemingly) cutting the power and testing the endurance of the auto-turrets. While the drones are not individually as intelligent as the original xenomorph from the first film, this is instead given to the Queen, who understands not only the danger Ripley poses to her Hive but hostage negotiations of the most blunt variety. And, of course, incredible spite and vengeance when Ripley burns her eggs.

Basically, the two films do a good job of making you wonder... how sapient and sentient are the Xenomorphs? Do we take Ash's word and think of them as simply Hostile Weapons or do we see them for the adaptable and complex - if instinct guided - parasites just trying to protect their hive? This is further food for thought when we learn that one of the cut endings would have had the Xenomorph kill Ripley, tentatively use the shuttles control panel, and speak into the intercom with Dallas voice (ala Predator).

Imo, that goes too far into making them human, but we'll circle back to that later. The point is that the Xenomorph is never clearly one thing or another, but rather, something that constantly foils our attempts to understand them completely.

Aliens 3, Alien: Resurrection, Prometheus, and Alien: Covenant fail in that regard, because they take the firm stance that the Xenomorph is... an animal. A very, very, dangerous and hostile animal but an animal nonetheless. It's not some vague horror that we struggle to comprehend and reason with, because all the facts (as they are for now) are laid out: the Xenomorphs are weaponized animals that just kill, reproduce, and kill etc etc.

Nothing is entirely new about the Xenomorphs in these movies (beyond the forms and one part of Covenant, but we'll circle back to that as well), but rather trying to recapture the formula of Alien and Aliens. And even when the film isn't necessarily about the Xenomorphs like Prometheus, it still goes out of its way to copy the play by play of Alien to an almost hilarious degree (except, somehow, having a cast entirely of stupid scientists).

The Xenomorph is used as a toll for the films to talk more about the human threats who would use them, which is fine, except the same message of "Weyland-Yutani wants Xenomorphs, They Failed" over and over again (except I guess for Alien: Resurrection, but that had Walmart as a plot point so...) gets tedious. It's not longer about the folley of mankind, but rather this one company led by a man (or Android?) who keeps fucking up.

Ditto goes for the second part: removing the mystery from space. Alien and Aliens treat the Space Jockey and other (non-Xenomorph) alien life at an arms distance. They are large, grand, ominous, and vaguely defined. We don't know much about WY in either movie, nor how much is them knowing versus independent people within the company (Burke mentions cutting out his own bosses for profit for example, and Bishop the company Android is heroic and horrified at the situation they are all in, a big difference to Ash). The Xenomorphs having a Queen was a huge reveal, because we literally had no idea until then if those were actual eggs or simply pods artificially created.

Aliens 3 tries to add some mystery with the prison colony, but it's also hamfisted and given a lot of exposition to explain the situation they are in, but I will give it kudos for making Weyland (???) look like Bishop as a twist. Aliens: Resurrection... yeah, no.

Prometheus and Alien Covenant gave us a plethora of seeming mysteries, but also gives us really super simple answers. Basically, Space Jockeys are just super humans seeding life across the planets and they wanted to bomb Earth into oblivion because we killed Jesus Christ (who was a Space Jockey). And one of our androids then - possibly - goes to their home planet and bombs them to oblivion thus wiping out the human race. And they made Xenomorphs yadda yadda.

Prometheus in particular seems to despise the idea of space being a mystery, with the conversation David has with a scientist being plainly spelled out as the theme of the film: "Sometimes, humans/space jockeys just build shit, and it goes wrong I guess. No gods or mysteries here, just hubris."

Which, if handled well, is still a fascinating idea (I think it's a pretty interesting 'take-that' against the stupidity of Ancient Alien Conspiracy Theorists)... but it's not handled well. At all. And certainly doesn't work well when trying to write Xeno-Horror.

So, what COULD work?

Well, I think we need to look at how Alien and Aliens made the Xenomorphs, Space Jockey's, and Space itself all work.

For the xenomorphs, I think back to one scene I actually thought was interesting in Alien: Covenant; as a chestburster is born from a hapless scientist, it lays its eyes (???) on David and replicates his movements, mimicking the first living thing it witnesses. Nothing is ever done with this (of course), but think about the potential that could be used! Plenty of animals like crows, ravens, dolphins, octopi, killer whales etc etc can use mimicry in voices and actions, and that includes things like tool-use! And of course, the fact that they take on new forms from hosts helps with that.

For the Space Jockey's: scrap them. They had their time, the mystery is basically solved. Show us new and different alien civilizations long past. Were they also victims of the Xenomorphs? From some other threat entirely? Surely, there are extraterrestrial predators out there that don't follow the Xenomorph formula. Why not have them share the splotlight, with just as little explanation?

For space itself: stop with trying to recapture Alien and Aliens. Alien: Isolation is the only successor specifically because of the format of the medium. Alien and Aliens rely heavily on the shock factor of sudden reveals. Remove that, and you are given "bug hunt" games and movies ala discount Starship Trooper. Focus more on making human space feel almost alien and beyond our understanding as well, but just enough that we can recognize the purpose that we would have them for our society.

How I would write an Alien Story:

(This would all be backstory and setup for the actual story)

I would set it within a colony satellite with an explicit task: a skyscraper ecological time-capsule for deep space experimentation of wildlife.

It would have levels, with humans situated at the second uppermost and an AI as the manager at the top level of the satellite, with all the other animals in different levels fit for their habitats (including some non-earth, non-xenomorph aliens). It's a religious sponsored and run organization, offshoots of [Insert Church Here] that is trying to get good press with cutting edge AI and biological research.

The prize is an alien lifeform that looks like a cross between a crocodile and a panther. Usually docile when fed, it has been growing more and more agitated, harming several workers on the job. Most assume it may be some late-stage degenerative disease within it's brain.

Not all things are as it seems, as at the bottom of the station, a location no one but a select few faithful engineers are sent to maintain, a pod is damaged. A young attendant watches in shock and horror as a bloody and maimed chest burster crawls out of the pod, possibly having injured itself to burn through the lock. The creature is mewling in pain, but the young attendant makes a choice: leaving food, water, and blanket for the creature. Watching as the creature watches them, before going to feast. All under the gaze of a camera.

The xenomorph grows and grows, eating more, getting bolder and allowing its "caretaker" to feel more comfortable. Soon it begins to recognize certain sounds as they pray when he feasts, and association occurs. One day, its hiss sounds suspiciously like "Lord".

This is when the young attendant reaches out to higher, but trusted, priests to share this miraculous revelation. The first one is shocked, terrified, but intrigued as the creature mimics words like "Lord" and "Mighty". Barely audible, some would say hallucinatory, but they believe they can here this humanoid creature speak their language.

The second is equally shocked, terrified, but listens and becomes a believer.

The third one does not believe. Rightfully horrified and full of questions. Their arguments in front of the beast escalate into violence and when the young attendant shoves the priest to the ground, it is the Xenomorph that pounces. Blood is shed. the creature rises in front of it's faithful, and the Xenomorph uses the same sounds it heard over the fight. Lord. Mighty. Here-tik.

They can't be delusional or driven by guilt! This is a sign... right? This creature is speaking to them!

The faith grows. Never large. Can't risk word getting out or people noticing too many missing priests. The satellite is just barely large enough that people can excuse going missing for a few days between objectives.

But key individuals are brought in. The creature is worshiped. Animal offerings are delivered. It's changing, slowly. Growing larger (not a Xenomorph Queen, it's too maimed, but adapting to a steady diet).

Things might have escalated, had one of the priests killed not had an estranged sibling/spouse/loved one who had the pull to make a formal investigatory complaint.

The investigator arrives with his repertoire, this supposed garden of eden in deep space, none the wiser to what he would uncover. (Again, this would be the backstory, not revealed except through character investigations and evidence found during that. Defeats the purpose if it's spelled out like this).

It would play with the idea of how sapient/sentient the Xenomorphs are (do they care? do they understand? if not, why act like this? if yes, what does this mean for their continued slaughter), how much one puts into faith versus delusions, and leaves lingering questions: who put the xenomorph on the ship, why is the AI so complicit with the deaths and disappearances, and why is the one non-xenomorph alien acting so dangerously agitated despite being far away from the xenomorph's quarters?

[whousestypewriters]

you again?? - jameson x reader

pairing: jameson hawthorne x fem!reader

warnings: swearing

a/n: part two is here!! hope you like it! its also like 11pm when is started writing this so sorry if its crap - i need to sleep guys

part one: i don't even know your name

its officially been one week since the night you met jameson.

jameson hawthorne to be exact.

one quick google search of his name - okayyy you were curious about the guy and searched his name up, but you weren't expecting him to be fucking famous - and you now had enough information that you could practically be his mother.

so yes its been one week since you were kissed by the devastatingly handsome boy and then you left him on the stairs running into the night.

your thoughts have been plagued by him. you even made a playlist for him.

cause you know what? you're only human.

try having the most handsome, charming, flirty person you've ever met kiss you and not think about it. its physically impossible.

so for seven whole days you've had to fight off the thoughts of jameson.

you were majorly unsuccessful.

like right now, as you sit on the bus driving towards your new job. clearly the whole stealing a car didn't work out. but you choose to positively ignore it, the same way you try ignore any thoughts of jameson - delusion is real.

pulling up at the nearest bus stop you get off the bus in your new clothes that you spent nearly every every penny you own on.

you trek the five miles uphill and in the heat to get to the gate of the house you were working in. nearly dying from the exercise you're about to press the ringer to call up to the house when a black unmarked veichle pulls up beside you.

the window winds down and alisa's - the woman who interviewed you - head sticks out looking down at you in question.

feeling its better to lie you simply say "car broke down this morning, had to catch them bus then walk."

at alisa exasperated look its clearly just the answer she was hoping for. "hop in the car."

pulling yourself inside you make eye contact with alisa and smile hoping it will be returned. it wasn't.

"okay, so y/n... was it?"

you nod. "yes."

"okay, good. y/n, when we arrive up at the house shortly, i'll give you your company computer, keycard - which will get you inside the property and our office in town - and files. you can also have the keys to this car - until you can get your own sorted - how long do you think it'll be out of action for?"

"at least a few months," you lie effortlessly. "they have to order the parts in from overseas."

alisa eyes you for a moment and you tense up wondering if you'd been caught out. "thats fine, just let me know when its out."

you revert back to silence and look out the window to the house - well actually house is an understatement. its a fucking mansion. like seriously its huge and gorgeous like straight out of an 1800's movie.

the sweeping structure looks like it has at least four floors. alisa noticing your wonder at the house starts off into a spiel about the house - it has a bowling alley?? - woah this is a huge place.

when you pull up in front of the house the driver gets out and opens your door handing you the car keys and walking off. alisa appears by you side and opens the huge - and i mean huge - front door.

she struts inside, seriously she's like a supermodel, formidable and determined as she walks into the house - mansion - and over to a table inside the grandest foyer ever.

holy shit these people are loaded.

it has grand archways on either side of the room and a intricately carved ceiling. you could honestly house at least ten families of five in here and still have room for more.

alisa turns back to you and hands you a key card, computer and two books that you have to read through as soon as possible.

"read that sooner rather than later, the hawthornes have quite a bit of information you have to learn about before you're officially allowed to be here without me."

you smile up at alisa. "thanks."

wait...

hawthornes?

alisa smiles back at you, before her looks returns to its usual stoney face. "that look of wonder in your eyes will disappear after you read this," she says patting the folders in your arms. " a word of warning though, don't lose your heart to a hawthorne, its not worth it." her words are sharp, a warning.

you're about to ask why, when a voice appears from the bottom of the stairs. "and who is this?" you turn to see a darker skinned boy with a charming grin walking towards you.

"xander, this is y/n my new assistant, she'll be around more often," alisa explains.

the boy - xander - raises an eyebrow and takes your hand, kissing it with a grin. "enchantè, y/n. i have a feeling we're going to be best friends."

you can't help the grin that takes over your own face. "really?"

"mhm. besties."

you're about to respond to him with a cheeky remark when another voice appears at the bottom of the stairs. "who's the new girl?"

you tense up and try to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. that voice. its the same flirty voice that has filled your dreams for the past few nights.

turning around you past on a smile and look to the approaching jameson hawthorne.

he falters slightly his eyes creasing in recognition before he continues on his path towards alisa. pretending he doesn't know you.

"and you are?"

"y/n," you answer, in the same fashion. "who are you?"

"jameson hawthorne at your service."

"lovely to meet you y/n," he winks. "for the very first time." he turns to xander in expliantion. "we've absolutely never met before, never before. and we most certainly haven't done anything illegal."

you can't decide if you want to slap him or kiss him.

the second is certainly more appealing.

a/n pt2: i hope you liked it!! sorry there wasn't too much jamie in this one <33

taglist: @lxvebelle, @reminiscentreader, @ravenclawdirectioner, @mrs-jameson-hawthorne, @tornqdowarnings

@zenikswaffleshop

[technicolorfamiliar]

The Spy in Black Dir. Michael Powell 1939

I was going to combine this and Dark Journey in one post, but I ended up writing way more about The Spy in Black than I thought I would. I'm so, so glad I came back to this film. Rereading my initial thoughts after my first viewing, I realize clearly missed a lot because I was too hyperfocused on Connie being the way he is. But I did rewatch Dark Journey recently, and ended up liking that movie a whole lot less the second time around, so I'm not really in any hurry to post about it.

...

The Spy in Black feels worlds away from the grand, technicolor masterpieces of Powell and Pressburger. Despite the whole final act taking place at sea with the U-boats and battleships firing at one another, the film doesn't come close to the opulence of what are perhaps The Archers' most well-known and beloved films. The Spy in Black is minimalist by comparison, and yet it doesn’t feel out of place when considered among their other works.

Set mostly in the Orkney Islands, a damp and cold feeling permeates the film. That's something The Archers are exceptionally good at as filmmakers -- creating a multisensory experience for the viewer just through their visuals and sound design. Whether it's their wind battered Himalayan monastery in Black Narcissus, or the ever present rain and closeness of the sea to the little schoolhouse in The Spy in Black, Powell and Pressburger films are undeniably immersive. Atmosphere and a sense of place are key defining factors in their films even in this, their earliest work together.

The filmmakers also of course were aware of Conrad Veidt's prestige and wanted to make sure the look of the film paid homage to Connie's past work. There are scenes with deep, angular shadows for Hardt to disappear into and creep out of like in Caligari or Orlac. The title of the film has been bugging me, but now I think it's not so much about what Hardt wears as it is about him lurking in the shadows. (There's also a cute story about Michael Powell and Connie's first meeting where Powell was more than a little star struck; I believe he went on and on about Connie's deep blue eyes and his purring voice, which is understandable.)

The writing suits their actors so perfectly. Compared to Dark Journey where everyone is so painfully British when they aren't supposed to be, there's something in the writing and direction that differentiates the nationalities in The Spy in Black. So even Marius Goring, who is British as can be, when playing a German naval officer isn't quite AS British as Sebastian Shaw and Valerie Hobson, if that makes any sense. It's a subtle difference, but there's something about the performances in this film compared to Dark Journey that allow for a greater suspension of disbelief.

And it's funny! Maybe not as obviously funny as Contraband, but The Spy in Black has some really finely crafted comedic moments that don't feel out of step with the rest of the film. It's not a comedy by any means; it's a drama with room for humor, kind of like real life… just with better looking people. When Hardt is wrestling his motorbike up a hill and is startled by a bunch of sheep, he baas back at them! It's a little moment that feels random at the same time it feels relatable. And it humanize Hardt, who doesn't really need the help -- he's already at this point in the movie completely endeared to the audience (or should be if you have a heart and eyes to see him). Most of the humor in the movie comes from Hardt being put in Situations.

The whole butter thing is so delightfully stupid. They establish Hardt early on as a foodie and a glutton, if only because he's been deprived of good food for great lengths of time. So when he arrives at the schoolhouse rendezvous and is checking each room to make sure it's safe, when the camera catches him in closeup staring with extreme intensity at something off screen. We're to think he suddenly sees something dangerous. The camera cuts to Miss Burnett/Fräulein Thiel/Mrs Blacklock looking confused and concerned. The music builds dramatically as they cut back to Hardt who is creeping towards the table. He reaches down, grabs something, the music crescendos, he lifts the thing to his face -- it's a giant block of butter.

It's delightful, it speaks to anyone who loves food, or at least just to me. Hardt then proceeds to eat most of the butter and, like, half a ham before collapsing but not without first lighting what are clearly supposed to be post-coitalesque cigarettes for himself and Thiel. Even though they spend most of the middle of the film flirting like goddamn pros, sharing a decadent meal is the closest they get to anything explicitly sexual.

Production began towards the end of 1938 and the film was released in the spring of 1939. While England didn't officially enter the war until the following fall, one would have to imagine the threat of conflict was making the general population anxious. The Spy in Black is a WWI film, set in 1917, but unlike other cinematic narratives of the 1930s centered around past wars, this film doesn’t really go out of its way to glorify the military or present a particularly nationalistic story. All the characters are heroic, all the characters are flawed, none more so than the man at the center of the film, Captain Ernst Hardt, a German U-boat captain. The balls they had to make a film with this kind of protagonist at this time. Yet the film doesn't claim to make any kind of sweeping judgement, positive or negative, about Germans. It seems more likely that with the war looming, Hardt is less of a statement about Germans in general and more like Dark Journey's Von Marwitz: both characters seem to be informing the British audience that this outsider, Conrad Veidt, this man you mainly know as a screen villain, is a good man. He's one of us, it seems to suggest.

This film, perhaps uniquely for its time, focuses on the individuals rather than the nations they represent. It seems more focused on how each of the main characters are personally affected by their actions. While the acts of espionage are played out with slick intrigue, by the end of the movie Hardt and Mrs Blacklock are both full of regret. Everything they've done has done little more than lead to the deaths of people who had lives, families, people who loved them. No amount of honor and devotion to one's country in wartime can wash the blood from their hands. In Mrs Blacklock's case, I don't believe her heart was really in it. She breaks down on the captured ferry and says, "You’re in the hands of a man who cares nothing for his life or yours. And it's all my fault. I forgot we were at war, forgot that war means that it kills every fine, decent human feeling." And Hardt himself, for all his good intentions and humanity extended to his prisoners on the ferry, loses every one of his crew, men who may have been the only people he truly cared about in the entire world. And having lost them, having not been able to protect them from the fatal depth charge that struck their U-boat, he has nothing left to live for. The machine of war, or more accurately the psychology of war, claims Hardt as yet another victim. The real villain of The Spy in Black is not the German naval captain nor his men, but rather the war itself. The Spy in Black is at its heart, under all the sexually suggestive dialogue and clever cinematography, an anti-war movie masquerading as a standard espionage thriller.

Valerie Hobson apparently was hired to replace Vivien Leigh and, honestly, thank god. A hundred thousand Vivien Leigh fans would swarm my house with torches and pitchforks if they ever read this, but Valerie Hobson is a better actor and more charismatic, SORRY. She has more range and better comedic timing than Leigh (who went on to do Gone With The Wind anyway, so good for her I guess). Val is maybe more fun in Contraband, but I love that she and Connie got on so well, on screen and off, with each other and with Powell and Pressburger that they all got back together to make a second film. Watching The Spy in Black again, Contraband definitely feels like the more self-indulgent film, but I don't care. And here we get to see the beginning of that collaboration, see the sparks fly as Val and Connie expertly handle the dialogue and direction. I love their dynamic on screen; Hardt deferring to this woman that he thinks is his superior, the way she corrects his English (which was something Val did to Connie in real life that adorably carried over into the film), the way she barks at him to pick up his motorbike and go to bed, the way she looks at him at the end of the film with heartbreak in her eyes but can't bring herself to apologize or say anything at all. UGH. UUUUUGGHHHH. She and Connie have so many great moments together in this film, it's impossible to pick a favorite.

(Powell and Pressburger dared to put Connie and Val nose to nose and have him say to her, "It is evening and I am grown up, " knowing full well what this would do to unsuspecting audiences, only to -- just one year later -- go "hold my beer" and make give him even worse lines in Contraband. GOATed.)

Connie genuinely seems like he's having 10x more fun on this film than Dark Journey. For one thing, he's welcomed back to England after a couple flops and a stopover in France with a more interesting, more fully realized character, one where he's allowed to bring in more of his own opinions and creative choices. Captain Hardt feels more like a real guy, he's less perfect than Von Marwitz. On this rewatch, I realized I'd forgotten how gruff and grumpy Hardt is (which, like Andersen in Contraband, I chalk up to him being hangry). As captain, he's no-bullshit but endures lighthearted teasing from his shipmates. He's allowed to have a friend! Schuster and Hardt clearly have history, they aren't new to one another, they speak (comedically) in unison, after all. I mean, Hardt brings Schuster a block of butter later in the film! That's real friendship.

Hardt makes it known that he loves food, even simple things like bread and butter. This may have more to do with the military rations being beyond bad than a pre-existing character trait of Hardt's, but it gives him color and humanity. And Hardt is just as smooth as the Von Marwitz; when the fiancé of the real Miss Burnett shows up and sees the medal ribbon on his uniform, Hardt slyly and proudly states that it's the "Iron Cross, second class." And when Miss Burnett's fiancé assumes Hardt must be a prisoner of war, the Captain replies, slowly drawling his pistol, "No… you are." And all with the most perfect, calm confidence. He's a Bad MF, no lie.

So many interesting little things get revealed about Hardt pretty early on in the film. There are multiple exchanges about cigarettes being unavailable and someone offering him a pipe to which he says, "I never smoke a pipe." (As far as I see it, and I'm not complaining, but one of the only character differences between Hardt and Captain Andersen in Contraband is that Andersen does smoke a pipe lol) There are a handful of possibly queer coded things they throw in too: Schuster finds it humorous that Hardt would be reciting poetry in the dark to the lady spy he's to meet, to which Hardt says, "You think it's so funny, you know what you can do with it!" And earlier, when someone is looking for the captain, they're told, perhaps with an implied wink, that he might be found at the Turkish baths. Then there's the whole thing with Hardt literally pulling the cigar away from Schuster's mouth. I'm not saying definitively that Hardt is bi… but isn't he, though??

He is ultimately a reluctant spy; when he receives his orders to meet the German agent in Scotland, he's more annoyed than excited. He grumpily accepts his orders, but as a decorated military officer, doing spy stuff is beneath him. He insists on wearing his uniform even at the schoolhouse when he's supposed to be in hiding, because if he should die in service of his duties, he'd rather meet his end as Captain Hardt, not as an assumed identity.

Hardt is so wrapped up in his identity as a military officer that it ends up killing him. His end is tragic, nearly Shakespearean. He is not without honor, in fact he's positively full of it. He seems born and bred to follow orders, to whatever end they may have. And yet he is not a bad man. He commands authority but does not wield it with cruelty. He tells his crew to shoot any of the prisoners on the captured ferry who make noise, "with one exception" for a crying infant, and he allows the prisoners to escape on the lifeboats when the ship is sinking. Hardt cannot stop his own men from firing on the ferry, what they think is an enemy ship -- they have no way of knowing Hardt's taken over command of the ferry. Even his desperate and helpless cries and signals can't carry over the water to reach them in time. As the ship slowly sinks and everyone, including the ferry's original captain and crew, disembarks, Hardt elects to stay behind -- as his U-boat's commanding officer and with his entire crew lost and his captured ship sunk, Hardt makes the decision, in his mind the only decision, to die a captain's death at sea. The last time we see Hardt in closeup, he has tears in his eyes. We don’t see him drown, but we watch as an abandoned lifejacket floats across the frame. It's heartbreakingly tragic; we've gotten to know him, maybe even love him, over the course of the film.

I know I'm going on and on about this one, and I'm almost done, but I have a few more things to say.

People loved to get on Connie's case for his English pronunciation and his supposedly heavy German accent, but he sounds amazing in this film. He plays up some German pronunciation of certain words for comedic effect (Exhibit A: "Bütter"), but his natural accent is so inoffensive here (not that it's ever that bad, even in Rome Express or FP1 imo), and it sounds like he even tried to play it down even more than usual. And if I've said it once I've said it a hundred times, he's such a fucking master of vocal delivery. Hardt's voice sits almost in the same pocket that Von Marwitz's does but Hardt is allowed to be more expressive in his range. I feel like I have a whole separate post in me strictly about Connie's use of his voice. He's a master technician vocally, and yet for as studied as his film speaking voice in English may have been, it never sounds to my ears anything other than effortless and natural.

To wrap things up: Powell, Pressburger, Connie and Val Hobson really are the dream team. The Spy in Black is yet another movie I immediately wanted to watch again the second it was over. It's a 10.

[peppymintdreams]

Midnight Conversations

Andrew Marston x Darling

The rain tapped softly against the window of Andrew’s dimly lit apartment. The room was a cozy mess—a half-finished book on the coffee table, a mug of forgotten tea growing cold beside it, and Darling curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over their legs.

Andrew sat in the armchair across from them, his glasses perched on his nose as he pretended to read. But his eyes kept drifting to Darling, who was absentmindedly flipping through channels, never staying on one long enough for him to catch what was playing.

“You know,” Andrew began, his voice breaking the quiet, “you could just pick something. The world won’t end if you settle on a channel.”

Darling smirked, not looking away from the screen. “I’m browsing. It’s an art form.”

He snorted, setting his book aside. “An art form in patience, maybe. I think you’ve passed over the same cooking show three times now.”

“Maybe I’m testing you. Seeing if you’ll break first.”

Andrew leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. “Oh, I’m broken, Darling. Watching you cycle through options is agony.”

They finally turned to him, mock-offended. “Well, excuse me for trying to find something we’ll both enjoy.”

“Let’s be honest,” he said, his tone teasing, “you’re just going to fall asleep halfway through, and I’ll be stuck finishing whatever monstrosity you pick.”

Darling stuck out their tongue, then tossed the remote in his direction. “Fine. Your turn, genius.”

Andrew caught the remote effortlessly, leaning back into his chair with an air of triumph. He flipped through a few channels, stopping on an old black-and-white movie. “There. Something with class.”

“Boring,” they quipped, but they didn’t change the channel. Instead, they adjusted the blanket around them and sank deeper into the couch.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence, the movie’s soft dialogue filling the space. Darling glanced at Andrew, who seemed genuinely engrossed, though his fingers absently tapped the armrest in thought.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” they asked softly.

He turned to them, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a small, lopsided smile, he said, “I’m thinking about how nice this is.”

Darling tilted their head. “What, the movie?”

“No,” he murmured, his voice warm. “You. This. Just... having you here.”

Their chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t one for grand declarations, but moments like this reminded them of just how deeply he felt.

“Good,” they replied, trying to keep their own voice steady. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Andrew’s smile widened, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the movie forgotten. The rain continued to patter against the window, a quiet witness to their midnight conversation.

P.S. Hey… hey, you! 🫵🏾 Do you want more Sakuverse gay shit? Hit that follow button and send in a request! You’ll get notifications whenever I post new fics or incorrect quotes or head canons and maybe even a chance to have your OC featured in a story.

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Blue Moon

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (movies) Ship/Pairing: Eomer x Reader (one mention of reader wearing a dress) Trope: Noble x Humble worker Note: IT’S SOTWK’s FAULT. We talked about Eomer’s hands and here we are. The title « Blue Moon » is a reference to the song « Blue Moon », my favourite rendition being sung by Ella Fitzgerald. Warnings: Horses? Word count: 1 595 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

There was something hypnotising about his hands.

The way his palm moved along the planes of the horse’s back. They were delicate. Deliberate in their care for the animal. Several times today, you had caught your gaze lingering a little too long on his slender fingers and their dexterity. Several times you had wondered what they’d feel like against your skin, in your hair weaving braids during a quiet evening. Those were fairy tales. You did not dwell on them, even when it kept you up at night; heat clinging to your skin, the chilly wind doing nothing to help your wandering mind.

It seemed to appease his uneasy nature to come here. He would go in the early hours of the day, only to come back in the middle of the morning. To the outside world, he was a leader. Someone they could trust and follow into depths unknown. Here, he was only Eomer. You considered yourself lucky to have witnessed both.

Others were concerned by his willingness to spend so much more time with you instead of them. You had dismissed them easily enough, but the thought had lingered. Why was he only asking you to help him? A bucket, water, hay, a brush for the horse’s mane. You were not willing to fathom an answer, especially if it was the wrong one. Seeing him like this it made you happy enough. You were content with this, whatever this was.

From time to time, he would ask about your day and you would always answer the same things. Fine and good. Excellent, perfect or grand. Never would you have said what you wanted to say. That it was him who made those days fine, and good and excellent and perfect and grand. Until meeting him, working with horses had been your life’s dream, and you were fulfilled by it. When he was there, you weren’t so sure anymore. It felt as if all of him was completing what you had and did not know you were missing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Barely above a whisper, his question lingered in the air between the two of you, almost as if he had not meant to ask it aloud. He was still working his fingers through the hair, looking beyond the horse’s back, away from you. If he had looked at you, you could have traced a lingering hint of a pinkish hue on his cheeks.

A chilly breeze rose, and you had to tighten the cloth around your shoulder, crossing your arms close to your chest.

“Nothing important, Sire.”

A laugh echoed through the wooden box around you.

“Then why are you boring a hole in my skull with your staring?”

Your cheek felt warmer than they had been moments ago.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sire. If you need me to go, I… — No. Stay.”

Eomer had not meant for his voice to grow this loud. Nor to turn around so abruptly. The nerves in him, electrified by your eyes, led him to act so.

It had grown almost suddenly, this affection he had for you. First, you were something to behold. Once he discovered your face, your features, the way you moved and talked, he only ever wanted you to be near him when the mask fell off. When he could be himself and not who he was supposed to be. Second, you never pressured him into talking, going silent for hours on end, just being there with him and Lia. She was not his usual horse. He preferred not to overexert Firefoot, especially after the events he had seen on the battlefields. You were the one to care for her when he could not, even before he started mounting her. The mare had a gentler temper, dark robe and larger body. She adored you and if instincts served him right, animals were always the true tellers of someone’s nature. Thirdly, and lastly, your presence calmed him like no one else could. Except when you were threatening to leave. Or when you were looking at him, behind his back. He never wanted you to stop looking at him like that. When your eyes were observing and kind on him, his weary body and his weary mind, he felt that he could take on another thousand wars just to find you here again, safe and sound, watching him. He only hoped you could say the same about him.

“As you wish, Sire.”

The goosebumps on your arms and the way you protected yourself from the cold struck him then. With the winds of winter approaching, the weather had gone incredibly cold, and you were only wearing a thin linen above your usual dress and robes. He stepped out of the box, coming closer to you as he’d ever been. He grabbed for a cover lying around. Those were used for the horses but they’d have to do. He wrapped it around you, as tight as he could. It smelled of the stables and hay. A hint of pink shattered across his cheekbones in the morning lights. Your breaths were leaving your lips in hot clouds between you. The way he settled his palms on your shoulders, securing the cloth around you, drove a whole different kind of shiver down your spine. You could feel his fingers over the fabric, his overexerted hands catching some threads, before he took them off you, gently. You could not help the sharp inhale you took when he did.

“Would not want you freezing to death on my account.”

His smile did not reach his eyes, but you felt the warmth it procured you down to your toes. At a loss for words, you smiled in return, trying to hide your face. Your arms were still secured against your chest but your heart was not as protected as you had hoped it would be.

In a thoughtless step, Eomer leaned down and brought his lips to your cheek. He could feel the burn of them under his skin. The way you looked up at him, bewildered and hopeful, brows knitted together in confusion, only made his mouth ache for more. Still, he would not do it unless you said so. He had already overstepped and behaved un-gallantly enough. Hence his surprise when he found your hands gripping at his lapel, obviously not willing to let him go. A soft curve graced his mouth, a pleasant feeling growing in him.

“Can I…?”

Your vigorous nodding let him know exactly what he wanted. Only then did he pull you closer, his hands drawing you in, the warmth you felt from his lips and the tenderness with which his fingers nestled against your jaw below your ears, enough to make you forget about the world around. Delicately, his mouth danced with yours, eager to please and swift to do so. Soon, his wide hand drew you in, pulling you at the waist. Your fingers met his heart through cloth and flesh and bones, beating in a rhythm only known to you both.

“I…”

You bit your lip while you could see him observing you through hooded eyes, his fingertips sending shivers down your arms. He was tracing the hollow of your cheek with his knuckles, leaving you breathless once more. He looked as if he had seen the most marvellous creature in the entire world. You could not believe it was you on the other end of that fantasy.

“I… do not know what to say… I… — Then you don’t need to say anything.”

His fingers found their way down the length of your throat. He looked positively charmed, yet you pulled back, hesitant. What if this had been… just a fling? Just something he could do, just because he wanted to. No other reason. No feelings involved. What if he was playing with you?

“I will. — What?”

He chuckled at your incredulous expression.

“I will say something. — Oh.”

He brought you back to him again, kissing your cheek.

“I…” He kissed your nose. “…will never…” your other cheek. “…ever…” Your fingertips now. “…let you…” This was getting on your nerves and he knew it, smirking behind your hand. “…be seen by anyone else but me, in this state.”

The last words murmured against your cheek, to the shell of your ear, elicited a burning anticipation deep in your bones.

“My King, I would never ever let anyone but me see you in this state. — I don’t think anyone had ever really seen me before you.”

His candid answer surprised you. In a tender caress, he stroked your back through the fabrics of your clothes, not thick enough to keep his touch at bay. A thumb ventured below your breast, too close to be accidental. You inhaled sharply.

“And I will never let anyone else see me like this. If you’ll have me, of course.”

His declaration hit your heart at an arrow’s speed.

“You really mean that? I’m not just a… — You’re not just anything. You are the world and beyond. You are everything. I hope to be everything to…”

Before he could finish, you pulled him down for another kiss. This one arousing and passionate; desires trapped, finally meeting in the middle.

“I will. I absolutely will.”

A heartbeat passed in his arms, trying to keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were asking me to… — … court and eventually marry you? Yes. And you said yes, you cannot take it back now.”

Your laughter rang through him as it rang through the stables, enlightening the new day ahead.

[spacefae]

Some thoughts about Dragon Age: The Veilguard now that I have had about 24 hours to ruminate after finishing. Spoilers incoming.

I miss the Dragon Age: Origins beginning. It felt more impactful, and I was able to connect with my hero more when I played through their origin. Getting little cards about their backstory is not enough to make me feel actually connected to my home faction.

Factions were watered down. The Mourn watch was essentially a monster of the week questline. The crows were not edgy enough (i thought there was slavery in antiva?). Lords of Fortune had no personality. I wish there was more to the shadow dragons than just "venatori bad." Let me free from slaves! The veil jumpers were fine but didn't stand out. The only faction that felt correct was the Grey Wardens.

To me, it felt like none of my decisions actually mattered in the grand scheme of the story. Minrathus vs Trevisio was impactful, but from what I understand, Trevisio is not decimated like Minrathus is after the dragon. There aren't Crows getting publicly executed. Choosing between Harding or Davrin was also impactful, but otherwise I felt like I was just riding the story.

Relationships felt like they didn't matter. I romanced Emmrich. I liked the story, but I felt like it didn't impact anything other than one endgame conversation and a single line of narration in the ending screen. I wish there was more substance. And, at least I get kissed more than once in Peepaw romance? Slow burn is fine, but at least make the pay off good. I flirted with Taash, Emmrich, and Lucanis. There could have been dialogue about choosing between them. Other than late game mechanics, relationships felt like they didn't matter. Even their pivitol quest decisions I felt like didn't matter other than Emmrich's. In previous posts, I agonized over Lichdom vs. Manfred. I did not agonize over decisions for other companions.

A friend of mine described Act 3 as a marvel movie. I didn't hate Act 3. I felt rewarded for being thorough in the game and helped ensure success in the final battle. I don't necessarily have any major issues with how Act 3 went down. Other than feeling like I was just along for the ride.

I think comedy and dark fantasy can coexist. DA:O made the political implications for your choices and involvement feel impactful, while also have moments of brevity. The general tone of Veilguard made me get whiplash when something devastating happened.

The secret ending??? Was??? What????

These are all my opinions. And I won't claim to ever be right. I spent 61 hours playing the game, and I enjoyed every minute of it, but it left me craving something a little more substantial, ya know?

[evansbby]

Would omega be hesitant to make brownies for Steve bc he smacked them out of her hand when they first met??

I can imagine Steve being like: “I’m craving brownies. Omega make them”

And then she’s like: “ I thought you didn’t like them… remember….”

Enter Steve feeling like shit ☺️🫶

She does make brownies for him all the time! But she never forgets the first time 😔😔

One day, she’s sitting on his lap while he feeds them both the homemade brownies (with caramel inside them) that she made, and out of nowhere she goes, “these are the same ones I made for you the first time.”

And Steve clueless ass is like “oh yeah? Anyways baby these are really good.”

“You didn’t like them the first time. You didn’t even try them. You threw them on the floor.”

*let’s also make it so that she’s pregnant at this moment and extra emotional*

And then Steve would look shocked and guilty, “I didn’t mean to do that…”

“Why did you do it then? I worked hard on them all night.”

Steve feels even more guilty.

“After you threw them on the ground, I went home that day and cried and cried. I just couldn’t figure out how to make any friends and I guess that still hasn’t changed. It’s like every time I did something nice, I’d get smacked right back in the face.”

Steve feels his heart sinking and he feels sooo bad and omega looks so sad and he hugs her but she doesn’t even hug him back.

“I’m sorry, baby. I would never do that now. I was an ass back then.”

She sniffles and nods, “Yes, I understand, Steve. Excuse me for a second.” And then she just LEAVES bc she’s feeling emotional and she goes to her reading nook in the huge grand library of Steve’s house and sits there staring out the window and being sad about everything and she doesn’t even come to bed when Steve calls her.

Of course Steve isn’t having that and he literally carries her back to their bedroom.

“What do you need? I’ll do anything to make you feel better.”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

EXCEPT SHE ISN’T FINE.

So Steve takes the next day off work and spends the day trying to cheer her up. He brings her breakfast in bed (made by the chef, not Steve) and she cracks a small smile. Then he buys her some jewellery online. Then he massages her feet which are swollen bc she’s pregnant.

But omega just wants to be left alone. She manages to smile but she tells Steve she needs space. Now Steve doesn’t believe in “space” bc he thinks that he and omega should have no space or secrets between them, but he doesn’t argue and lets her have it.

Omega takes a long bath and reads her novel and feels slightly better. Then Steve comes in with a plate of ugly looking burnt brownies and he’s like “look I made these. They aren’t the greatest but maybe that’s for the best because you can smack them on the floor now and maybe that’ll make you feel better?”

And omega is soooo touched that he did something so cute and she hugs and kisses him and says she wasn’t mad at him, she was just feeling emotional and turns out the bigger issue is that she’s just feeling insecure bc she’s been unable to make any friends and she feels kind of lonely when Steve is at work and that was the bigger issue 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

They spend the rest of the night cuddling and watching movies until omega laughs and smiles, and Steve formulates plans in his head of how he can help her make friends (approved by him of course)

JSJDSJJS THE END

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

And now i need ...

to shout and write about this wonderful fanfic

The last Angel by @bellisima-writes

What it is about:

Crowley's been Hell's Grand Inquisitor for millennia now. Ever since the Apocalypse, he's managed to carve out a relatively cushy life for himself. Hell won the War, Angels were essentially eradicated and all human souls were Satan's. Everything was fine.

Until one day he hears a rumor that the Last Angel in the universe was finally captured. Until Beelzebub is suddenly ordering him to get information from said Angel, information that's critical for Hell's survival. Until the moment he first locks eyes with the last Angel, and everything he's ever known starts to crumble around him.

OR

An AU where we see what would have happened had Aziraphale and Crowley not been assigned to Earth.

What i liked most:

🩷 this story takes you on a ride. There might be times when you are dizzy (in a good way) and not sure if you understood the plot correctly or if you got lost along the way. Trust me, stay with the story and keep on reading. It will all play out.

🤓 there is not one armageddon and not two, there are (kind of) three. The storyline is incredibly sophisticated and thought through. Not only in itself but also often picking up on scenes in S1 or S2 and offering thoughts and points of view that show just how much care and love and brain-wax (is that even a word in english?) went into this story. I had several moments thinking "wow, this is really SO so clever!"

💪 bamf Aziraphale !!! Sorry, i am a sucker for him 😁

👌 again the actionscenes in the grand finale are like a movie in your head and really gripped my pulse.

🌶 only hints to smut inside, but tenderness and the undeniable bond between our ineffables. I was outsmutted before and was glad to have a break (Uh, i cant believe i said that. 😂)

🩷 the parting words to the readers had me crying. I have read so many fics but this one was the first to really say goodbye to me/us/the readers. Such a nice gesture!

Most beloved quote:

Aziraphale cried at the awareness that this was not a kiss that was the beginning of everything he had never let himself dare to openly want. This was a kiss that marked the end of the thing he had denied himself for his entire existence, and the one thing he desperately needed.

So if you want a long story to really dive-in to, with surprising plot-twists and lots of brains, love and action, you really should give this wonderful fic a try! 😇

Reading is not a hobby, its life-giving.

[foxilayde]

Taking a break from Thanksgiving thots to ask how you envision OTTR Leto meeting reader?? I haven’t given it much thought before this moment and now I’m desperate to hear your thoughts on the beginning of their relationship

I think about this one all the time.

You met Leto in Venice. Ocean Front Walk Venice, CA.

It gets hot in the Valley.

So hot that when you’re getting off your shift one blazing afternoon in downtown Los Angeles, the prospect of sitting in dead stop traffic on the 60 to Jurupa Valley, in your busted Honda Civic, only to go home to a stifling house with no AC…. Is anything but appealing.

So you do something unexpected. You are going to cool down, and you’re going to treat yourself while you do it. You’re going to pretend your life is ab-fab (absolutely fabulous) if only for one evening.

You take off from the parking lot of your job and instead of heading east, you go west. You stop at Neiman Marcus and you buy a dress. One that is too expensive to actually keep. So you wear it out and tuck the tags with every intention to return the next day. The dress looks amazing tho, it’ll be a shame to say farewell. It’s a classy little black cocktail thing that goes well with your plain black work shoes.

You get a little touch-up at the makeup counter to refresh your lipstick and spray on some Diptyque, and you head back to your car. You google, “open houses ocean view near me” and you take off to the coast.

You park your car a few blocks away from the listing. If the agent sees that heap, they probably won’t let you step inside. I mean this house is listed for nearly 15 million dollars. You shouldn’t even be walking down this block. You feel almost guilty for parking anywhere near this neighborhood.

There’s about 5 or six other people in the house looking around. The agent smiles at you and hands you a brochure when you enter. A glossy embossed thing listing the amenities as well as her contact information. You feel a little overdressed. The men are in tommy Bahama shirts and the women are in Lulu Lemon leggings.

You get a glass of free champagne and you help yourself to the charcuterie tray, looking around the house with appraising eyes, trying to nod your head at the bannisters and balconies like “hmm yes, maybe this will do.” Truthfully the house is beyond gorgeous. It’s ocean adjacent and has it’s own deck, pool, hot tub rooftop lounge, bedroom balcony… the kitchen is a thing of ART. The whole open concept and glass everything makes you feel so utterly out of place.

But its not like buying it was ever in the cards or the intention. the AC works, that’s all you care about, and you step outside the living room patio balcony, the ocean breeze hits your face in the most cooling fantastic sort of way. You audibly sigh and close your eyes breathing in the air. A voice from behind you startles you.

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” You nearly drop your glass, surprised by the man’s proximity.

God. He is handsome. Slick backed hair, mirrored aviators, a thousand watt smile, movie star jaw, and a dark navy suit cut, sewn, and ironed by Giorgio Armani himself. He looks like a magazine advert for Ray Bans. Now this, this is the type of man who buys a 15 million dollar home. Not you. The way he’s smiling at you now seems like… like joke or something. Like he’s laughing at you. He can smell the Honda Civic on you, can clock your shoes as Margiela knock-offs… heat creeps up your face despite the cooling breeze.

You look down at the floor and smile politely. “Excuse me” you mutter and go inside to investigate another part of the house.

You run into him again in the closet. Literally, you bump into him in the grand walk in. He’s probably going to need a closet this big for his collection of fine Italian sartorials. “Sorry” you mumble, ducking out. God he smells good.

You head back down to the kitchen to grab more cheese and crackers. Another bonus of open house crashing along with the free AC and free sparkling wine. Free food.

You’re midway through shoving another Brie covered cracker into your mouth when you see him again, in the kitchen, examining something attached to the marble countertop. His glasses are hanging from the center of his undone silk shirt. Those eyes.

You cover your cracker-full mouth and gulp. He’s so fucking cute furrowing his brow at the contraption and he spins the lever of it with one hand and smiles. He looks up at you.

“Pasta maker.” He points to it before shoving his hand back in his pocket. “You ever use one like this? It’s old school.”

You shake your head, still swallowing cracker.

“Wonder if it comes with the house…” He muses, looking up at the recessed lighting. He points up. “They all come with this now, you notice that?”

You shake your head again.

He tsks and continues, “Can’t stand it. I like something softer, y’know. These are harsh. You get up at 3 in the morning to get a glass of water and you want to kill yourself.”

You shrug and take a sip of sparkling wine. You wish you could talk to him but you can’t. You can feel yourself on the verge of saying something fucking stupid and it’s best to just not speak at all. So you look up at the recessed lighting with a curious face, trying to see the harshness, as he put it.

“Something hanging, like right over here,” he indicates over the island. “Something with yellow light. Soft, capiche?”

You smile at the word. It makes you more comfortable for some reason. “What? Like the Tiffany lampshades in the pool hall?” You offer with a smile.

He grins the most dazzling smile at you, stepping a foot closer and nodding. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but keep talking.”

“I was thinking more Venini myself.” You offer, taking another sip. He nods at you with appreciation.

“Tasteful. And soft. I’m listening.”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling at this point and you take a few steps to the living room gesturing near the sofa.

“An Arco floor lamp in the corner right here.” You submit to him, looking back over your shoulder with a wink. He chuckles.

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

“And for the foyer,” you stride over to the front entrance, “A Sputnik. Right in the middle.”

“Gold or silver?” He asks.

“Bronze of course.” You reply with an affected air.

“How silly of me, dear.” He puts his hand over his heart.

The real estate agent makes a remark on what a gorgeous couple you are and how you just “fit the house”.

You start to protest but the man puts his arm around your shoulders and thanks the agent saying, “whatever baby wants, baby gets.” Winking at the woman and KISSING the side of your head. Which makes your face turn hot instantly.

He is… good at playing along, isn’t he. Well isn’t that what you were doing already? cosplaying as someone who could afford the house, and now you’re cosplaying a couple with this man whom you don’t even know the name of? Jesus—Just go with it, you suppose. Enjoy the pretending before you have to go back to the heat of Jurupa Valley…

“Now what about the dining room?” He asks into your ear in a deep voice, arm still over your shoulder.

“Hmmm,” You’re slowly running out of lamp styles, but you can’t let on. “How do you feel about Venetian glass, darling?”

“Inspired. Really,” he squints his eyes at the recessed lighting over the dining table. “We are in Venice after all.” He laughs with a toothy smile. “You have fine taste…” he leads.

You give him your name. He repeats it before telling you his. “Leto”

“I should have known you would have fine taste by the dress you’re wearing.” He compliments, picking up a glass of sparkling wine on the marble counter and gesturing your dress up and down.

“Thank you.” You blush. It’s not even yours. It’s on loan. You’re returning it tomorrow and you feel like a fraud.

Leto bites his bottom lip in contemplation then takes a step towards you, his hand making its way towards the nape of your neck with stern concentration on his lips. Oh fuck he’s about to kiss you. You make the split second decision to let him, closing your eyes gently, puckering your lips, holding your breath, and leaning in slightly.

But he doesn’t kiss you. You feel the slide of glossy paper down the back of your neck and the settling of it under your dress. He was tucking in the price tag of the dress for you. Jesus fucking Christ. You step back, embarrassed. He pats your arm. You cover your your brow, feeling your face get hot once again. So much for searching for that cool breeze by the coast!

Leto chuckles pleasantly. “Hey, hey, don’t be embarrassed. Happens to the best of us.”

God he’s probably giving you the benefit of the doubt. Probably thinks you just have so many new designer dresses that you innocently forgot to take the tag off… but if he had, would he have tucked it back in like he did? Or would he have just plucked it off?

“You like the house?” He asks, still jovial like the most embarrassing thing in the world didn’t just happen to you 5 seconds ago.

“It’s amazing. Perfect, really. The location, the style. It’s a dream. I have always wanted to live in Venice… the energy here is unbelievable.” You look around at the pristine grandiosity. The sun is close to setting now over the ocean and you sigh wistfully at the stunning view. “Whoever gets it is a lucky duck, I’ll tell you that.” You say, cheersing the sun itself before knocking back a sip of wine.

Leto watches you watch the lapping waves. “Let me buy it for you?”

You nearly choke on your drink. “Leto?! The house??”

Leto nearly doubles over in laughter, holding up his hand in apology, “No. No. I’m sorry, I— I meant the dress.”

Your face goes hot again. He knows! He knows you’re planning on returning it. Shit, he probably saw you pull up in your Civic!

“Please let me buy it for you. It suits you perfectly and it’d be a shame for anyone else to own it.” His eyes are so soft and kind and pretty and you almost want to cry.

“I… I can’t let you do that. It’s already on my card. I promise I won’t return it though, after that compliment, how could I?”

Leto nods. “At least let me take you out to dinner? Give you an excuse to show it off?”

Your heart nearly sinks. He’s probably the type to insist on picking you up. And he’s going to, what? Drive to the IE to do that?

“I live kind of far away…” you trail off, cringing slightly.

“I can send a car for you.”

“Leto, No, I—“

“Do you live father than a car ride? I can send a plane for you if you’d prefer?”

You laugh, but the returning stare isn’t a joking one. He’s fucking serious.

“I promise I won’t try anything funny. I just… want to pick your brain for more design ideas.” He grins and scratches the back of his neck, “It doesn’t have to be a date. Could be a business dinner? You would be my consultant…”

“Oh really? Consultant?” You cringe.

“Or it can be a date. A proper one. The best meal of your life. The Barber of Seville at the LA Operahouse, dancing, desert, a starlit walk on the beach outside my brand new house.” He grins. God what a fantastic smile.

“Sound like a 5 hour date.” You assess.

“What? You want longer? Because I will have a hot tub by the time this date rolls around and that can add up to 2 hours.”

“Two hours? Ambitious.”

“Agreed. But if done properly…” he winks and hands you a business card with his number on it. “Just think about it. I’ll be around.” He takes a deep breath, surveying the house and you, “I could stay and play house with you all day but I have a sudden urge to get ahold of my broker.” He takes your hand and kisses it.

“Nice meeting you Leto… Atreides.” You read off of his card.

“The pleasure was mine, gorgeous.”

Once he leaves, you have to go out to the balcony again for a breath of fresh air.

[kiefbowl]

so as you may know GRRM had a little bit of influence on the game Elden Ring and I specifically remember someone pointing out that he had to be the one to introduce the "unreliable narrator" element to the game's story/trickles of lore and that stuck with me a lot it's not something I explicitly realized myself until it was pointed out...george is all about that stuff like something he does really well and not to boomerpost but I think...like.......modern readers(?) have a problem that they have to take everything really really literally and that's why there's "problematic media" discourse

yeah, he did contribute to Elden Ring. My BF played it twice through and is now playing the DLC, and he's also reading AGOT for the first time, and he points out stuff he reads in the books that he says is "very Elden Ring" i.e. obviously GRRM's influence in the game :) it's cute.

Yes, GRRM's whole ASOIAF series is written 100% with unreliable narrators, bc it is constantly switching from different limited third-person perspectives. GRRM also uses, rarely, an omniscient narrator, for lines that are actually meant to be factual. He uses this with great success, imo (as a fan lol). A good AGOT example is ending a Daenerys' chapter where she learns she's pregnant with "It was her fourteenth nameday" which reminds the reader of Daenerys' reality (as oppose to her perceptions) and retroactively recolors the chapter. Or at least it should.

Not to boomerpost with you, I am truly not sure what is going on with many, many, many people engaging with HOTD online. It seems absolutely detached from reality at times. It's a bizarre way to engage with a tv show, it's a bizarre way to engage with Fire & Blood, it's a bizarre way to engage with GRRM's themes and writing. I truly have seen nothing like it, and I've seen a lot of bad hot takes in my time about all sorts of books and movies and tv shows. I don't know why these people don't just stop watching it! Maybe it's a generational thing? I'm just not sure. It seems like people are actually rooting for a side...in a fantasy fictional political drama that is already pre-written. And then they get mad when anything happens that is nuanced or even wrong doing...it's like they want the show to be conflictless. They want the conflict to be the war only, and they don't want characters to have interpersonal conflict. When the only way to adapt a history book is to ground it, and invent the interpersonal drama. I just do not know what people expected, and I never knew so many people loved Fire & Blood bc I thought it was kinda...whatever. It was fine. These are my favorite books, I don't think I've reread anything more times, and I still am happy to say Fire & Blood is just kinda fun, it's a bit silly and interesting. It's like a lore dump. So they could have done almost anything with the tv show, and I'd probably been like "sure, why not," but I find the tv show good and makes several good creative choices based on the unreliable text narration (and also some dumb ones, which like I've said in a previous post, is a grand tradition for tv shows so it's fine lol).

It's also not done, I have never seen a fanbase so eager to have a tv show be just a climax at every moment, and very impatient at scenes that are clearly setting up stuff for later. Weird ass people are watching and hating this show man, idk.

[ac-schryver]

Baby Shark

Alastor frowned at the young man in front of him. He wasn’t cowed like the other men in his life by his mere existence, nor was he even impressed by Alastor. The other deer, an angel disguised as a demon, had mentioned that he wasn’t scared of a fellow podcaster, and even grinned at him.

“Louis, my good man, how did you interprut my broadcast?” Alastor asked.

Louis looked up and Alastor tried not to flinch and melt as he was met with Charlie and Lucifer’s doe eyes. Alastor did not know how to prove it but the Virtue sitting before him had to be Lucifer’s next child and that tore something inside him up. He would question the thought of Lucifer having more children upsetting him at another time. Louis, smiled and some soundtrack from a movie Alastor had never bothered with played through the air, but Alastor felt like a fish in a shark tank.

“I got it from my Daddy,” Louis grinned. “If you want I can torture the Vees. I think I’ve got just the song.”

Alastor frowned.

“Oooh, got the frowny smile,” Louis chripped. “Very well.”

With a snap, Alastor heard a very faint song coming from beyond the hotel. He walked outside to investigate and was met with the repeating “do-do-do”. Alastor’s neck cracked as he looked over at the angel coming to stand by him. Smile almost as wide as his own capped with cherry blushes, that Alastor was fighting himself on chewing on them. Charlie and Lucifer gave him the same urge, but with Lucifer it was more he wanted to rip them off and Louis’ raised eyebrow pulled him from his thoughts.

“What?!” Alastor snapped.

“Your cute aggression is showing,” Louis grinned, hands rubbing his rosey cheeks in circles. “Ooh look it’s the game show host, Rox.”

“It’s Vox, you clown” Vox hissed marching up to Alastor. “ I don’t know how you did it, but stop blasting Baby Shark in my tower!”

“Clown?” Louis frowned. “ I’m the grand marshal of the Carnival. Clown?”

Alastor was about to tell Louis not to worry about Vox when he saw Charlie’s annoyed expression flash across Louis. This would be good.

“Look here you outdated sack of bugged circuits!” Louis grouched. “ you need a new graphic’s card because you apparently can’t see for shit through that obsolete monitor you call a face!”

“Ho Ho, Louis, why don’t you go inside before you loose your cool, my hart,” Alastor spoke patting Louis, shoulder. “As for you, Vox, you’ve upset one of my guest.”

Moments of dear screams later, Lucifer was walking up to the hotel with some luggage and frowned as a man with a flat head ran off.

“ Um, what happened?” Lucifer frowned. “ Are the kids okay?”

“ The children are perfectly fine,” Alastor grinned. “ why our little Louis can override Vox! Called him outdated! I’m thinking of taking him and Our dear Charlie to the next Overlords meeting to show of the hotel and torture Cox some more!”

“You are not taking our kids to an Overlord meeting!” Lucifer huffed.

“Our kids, Mon petit Chou?!”

“Ugh! Shut up shut up shut up!”

———-

One of my head cannons is that Alastor finds Charlie and Lucifer just adorable and that he bites Lucifer like an affection aggressive cat who doesn’t know how hard he bites, and yes this is based on my own cat.

[francesminos-tt]

Do you think you can do one like the movie pride and prejudice? With Daeron being Mr. Darcy and Joff being Lizzie? I'd love you forever and ever if you could! If you want that's fine too! ABO!

I made a small summary of some things if you want something more explained, but I love your ideas so you can and should write whatever you want, the things I wrote are not a requirement.

Viserys is not king, but is considered an important Lord in Westeros society. Rhaenyra marries Harwin Strong, a man far below Nyra's social standing and this is outrageous and shameful for Alicent. Viserys dies (and you know, at that time women had no right to any inheritance) and obviously all his riches would go to Aegon (if it weren't for the fact that Aegon is running away at the exact moment he receives the news, he doesn't want to be Lord but to party and fuck as much as he can) Now all the properties are being looked after and maintained by Aemond. So as expected, Aemond urgently needs to marry some rich and well-educated noblewoman. Alicent has her favorite options - baratheon girls -, but Aemond denies. Aemond insists on leaving Kings Landing to try and find his wife and Alicent sends Daeron with him on this mission because she knows her third son has some shared thoughts with her.

Rhaenyra discovers that her brothers are in town and like the intelligent woman she is, sends her three oldest children to the grand ball that will feature all the single Omegas and Betas. Rhaenyra OBVIOUSLY doesn't regret marrying Harwin but she wants her children to have a good future, wants them to have a good life.

Jace is the oldest, most responsible and most mature. Rhaenyra considers Jace to be the ideal choice for this marriage.

Luke is sweet, smart and kind but Rhaenyra still remembers when Aemond lost his eye and looked at the boy with nothing but hatred.

Joffrey is a smart and cheeky omega and wants to have a broader life than just dedicating himself to marriage. He hates Aemond, but he hates snobbish Daeron even more.

To be honest, Joffrey is more Lydia to me than Lizzie, but I managed to adapt the plot according to their dynamics. Here is the result. I tried to write their first meeting. Daeron may seem snobbish, but in fact he���s just trying to flirt with Joff (and failed epically). I think Joff hates him more and more until Daeron goes to propose to him, which sends Joff into total shock and he refuses Daeron. You can imagine the rest🤣

“I think I should burn a hole in my dress, so that mother cannot force me to go to the ball with my boobs exposed.” Joffrey said, sprawling on the bed in his underclothes. The room was pleasantly warm, even in the early spring chill, as the lazy afternoon sun shone through the window. Joffrey would rather spend his day hiking in the sun, than preparing his outfit for the stupid ball.

“Stop using words so vulgar.” Jacaerys scolded, but only half-heartedly, “Where did you learn it from anyway?”

“The lads in the market.” Joffrey replied, flipping over to lie on his stomach and watching his brothers ironing their respective dress, a simple light green one with embroidered bodice for Jace, and a sea blue one lined with intricate lace for Luke. The dresses were not extravagant, but beautiful and well-maintained, a gift from their mother to celebrate their presentation.

“You are an omega now, Joff.” Jace said, sounding very much like their father Harwin, “You shouldn't spend too much time with them.”

“Why not?” Joffrey scoffed, blowing a strand of curls from his face, “I am still me. My omega status doesn't change anything.”

“Joff.” Jace sighed, looking up from his work, “You know what I mean. Mother will not be pleased to learn you hang out with lads from the market. You have duties to fulfill-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I need to sell myself to some rich alpha like a whore, right? Being myself only destroys my price.” Joffrey mocked, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

“Do you really think mother will sell you like a piece of meat on the marriage market?” Lucerys chimed in before Jace could scold their younger brother more, “Answer me, Joff. Do you not trust mother to want the best for us?”

Joffrey bit his lower lip. He loved his mother. Rhaenyra might not be considered a conventional good mother, running away with her lover and cutting off all the ties to her family, but she was the best mother Joffrey could ever wish for. She cared for her children. That was part of the reason why she remarried Daemon after Harwin had sadly passed away, because with her husband’s inheritance snatched away by her brother-in-law, Rhaenyra had no means to support her three sons on her own. She had suffered so much just trying to give her children a decent life. It was no surprise that she wanted to secure the best marriage deal for her three omega sons. Joffrey knew for a fact that Rhaenyra would never force him to marry. She was merely providing the brothers a chance to broaden their views so that they could make wiser choices in the future.

“Sorry, Luke,” Joffrey sagged, his thick brows turning downwards like a sad puppy, “and Jace. I shouldn't have let my frustration out on you and mother. I know you only mean good for me.”

“It’s ok, Joff.” Jace put down his dress and came to sit on the bed, “Come here.”

Joffrey placed his head on Jace’s lap as if he was still a little boy, innocent, young, and ignorant of the cruelty the world had to offer. Jace brushed Joffrey’s wild curls with his fingers, gently untangling the knots one by one. Joffrey’s hair was just like him, wild and unruly, but could be tamed with patience.

“I don't want you to change, omega or not.” Jace told him, “You are charming just as you are. If you decide to marry, your future husband should love and respect who you really are, not some obedient omega you pretend to be.”

“I don't think anyone will love an omega who says boobs all the time.” Joffrey joked, “But hey, no worries! I don't want to marry anyway. I can be an old maid and look after you and Luke’s children.”

“You never know until you meet someone.” Lucerys joined them too, squeezing himself on the bed and giving Joffrey’s butt a playful slap, “I wouldn't say no to a cute ass like that.”

“Luke!” Jace sighed heavily, “Stop encouraging him! Did you learn the words from the market lads as well?”

“I don't know.” Lucerys laughed, flipping his lush hair sassily, “Maybe it’s Joff’s bad influence.”

“God help me.” Jace murmured, but his voice was drowned out by the hysterical laughter of his two younger brothers.

The ball was boring. It was no surprise, for Joffrey never had the interest or the patience to exchange pleasantries and gossips with other omegas. Balls were boring. Boring Balls. It actually rhymed, which made Joffrey chuckle to himself as he settled down on an armchair and watched his brothers dancing. Jace and Luke looked ravishing with their respective dresses, each piece bringing out the best of their features. Jace’s long legs and slender figure, Luke’s beautiful eyes and plump body, like two shining stars among the sea of dancers.

Joffrey saw himself as undesirable compared to his brothers. He was too tall for an omega, his skin too tanned, his brows too thick, and he always made sure to hide his plump chest under the humble clothes he chose to wear. Today, he was wearing one of his mother’s old dresses, a black one with golden embroideries on the collar and waist. The dress had a low cut originally, aimed to showing off one’s cleavage, but Joffrey had it altered, putting some sheer black laces on the chest area to hide the only charm point of his body, his full breast.

A song ended, and the dancers all retired from the floor to catch their breaths and have a little drink. Lucerys glided gracefully to Joffrey, smiling at everyone who waved their hands at him but never stopping for anyone.

“Where is Jace?” Lucerys asked, taking a glass of wine from Joffrey.

“Too busy flirting with Mr. Stark.” Joffrey tilted his chin to the corner of the ball room, where Jace was having an animated chat with a man in soldier uniform almost a header taller than him.

“I danced with him for a song.” Lucerys said, looking in the direction of Joffrey’s faze, “Mr. Stark is very pleasant.”

“I doubt it.” Joffrey was skeptical about all alphas’ characters, “He’s an army man. It is a miracle that he actually knows how to dance.”

“Papa Harwin was an army man, too.” Lucerys chuckled. He knew Joffrey didn’t really mean it. His little brother was just very protective of Jace.

Joffrey shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. This was his third glass, the alcohol making his cheeks pink and his head pleasantly buzzed.

“I am sure Jace is having a good time with Mr. Stark, but I can’t say the same about you, Joff.” Lucerys changed the subject of the conversation, “You haven’t danced tonight. No one takes your fancy?”

“You know I don’t like alphas, especially the snobbish ones.” Joffrey scrunched his nose in disgust, “They think we are all gold diggers who want their fortune. I can’t stand someone treating me like some kind of a prize.”

“You are not going to find a partner if you keep drinking wine alone.” Lucerys shook his head, reaching out to wipe off a drop of sweat on Joffrey’s nose, “I am not forcing you to socialize, but sometimes you cannot judge one’s true nature only by their looks.”

Just when Joffrey was about to retort, the room went silent as two newcomers joined the crowd. Joffrey could hear some omegas, even betas, gasping at the two alphas who had just entered the room. At first look, Joffrey had to admit that those alphas were indeed eye-catching. They were both tall, clad in the finest clothes Joffrey had ever seen, the silky fabric of their clothes and the gems on their rings and belts showing off their fortune. Joffrey could tell that they must be related, because they both had silver hair and purple eyes, one of them with long, smooth hair that pulled back into a low ponytail, while the other kept his curls short and fluffy. Normally, Joffrey was a hard man to impress, but he found he couldn’t take his eyes off the newcomers now. His alcohol-infused mind had a hard time processing the fact that his two uncles from that side of the family showed up at the same ball that he and his brothers attended.

“Luke,” Joffrey turned to Lucerys abruptly, “let’s go.”

Joffrey’s first instinct was to take Lucerys as far away as possible from uncle Aemond. It was a logical reaction, for Lucerys and Aemond had a strained history, to put it lightly. Aemond had drawn the most attention from the crowd since his arrival, partly because he was rich, tall, mysterious and handsome, but another reason was undoubtedly, his eye-patch. A leather eye patch covered Aemond’s left eye, but unable to hide the twisted scar underneath completely. The eye-patch gave Aemond a somewhat dangerous vibe, but Joffrey knew the danger was real.

“Go where?” Lucerys said a bit nervously, wiping his hand on his dress, “We can’t flee, Joff.”

“Why not? Let’s get out of here before they see us.” Joffrey grabbed Lucerys’s wrist and tried to drag his brother away, but his back hit a warm body before he could take a step.

“I am afraid it’s too late, nephew.” A soft voice came from behind as a warm hand placed on Joffrey’s waist to keep the omega from stumbling, “We have already seen you, haven’t we, brother?”

Daeron smiled at his one-eyed brother, but Aemond didn’t reply, keeping his gaze on Lucerys the entire time. Lucerys swallowed, but held Aemond’s intense gaze bravely.

“Uncles, what a coincidence.” Lucerys said, his voice quivering a little.

“Nephew.” Aemond’s lips curled up dangerously, “It is a pleasure seeing you here. Will you honor me to a dance?”

Unlike Lucerys, Aemond didn’t address them both, choosing to address Lucerys alone instead. He bowed slightly and offered his hand to Lucerys. Joffrey could taste the jealousy in the air, the sweet scent of surrounding omegas turning pungent. It baffled Joffrey that why would Aemond invite the boy who had taken his eye to a dance, but to his surprise, Lucerys actually said yes.

“Of course, uncle.” Lucerys took a big inhale to steady himself before placing his hand in Aemond’s inviting palm. They headed to the floor and began to dance to the upbeat rhythm. Joffrey knew Lucerys was a good dancer, but he had never expected Aemond to be one, too. Aemond’s moves were graceful and precise. He swung Lucerys in his arms with incredible ease, not even a single strand hair out of place.

“They make a lovely couple, don’t they?” Daeron’s voice almost jolted Joffrey out of his skin. The omega had completely forgotten about his other uncle. Daeron had come so close at some point that Joffrey could feel the heat from the alpha’s body. A unique scent of incense invaded Joffrey’s personal space, causing Joffrey’s head to spin.

“They are no couple.” Joffrey bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from being carried away by Daeron’s alluring scent, “Why do you say that? Lucerys is just being polite.”

“Is he? Well, my brother certainly isn’t.” Daeron replied as he offered Joffrey a fresh glass of wine, “Wine? I see you have already finished yours.”

“No, thank you. I can get my own wine.” Joffrey said defensively.

“I just want to have a chat with you, nephew.” Daeron raised an eyebrow, his hand still reaching out, “I didn’t mean to insult you or anything. No need to be so offended.”

Joffrey knew he might have acted too defensively, so he took the glass from Daeron and murmured a quiet thank you to the alpha.

“We haven’t met for so long, nephew.” Daeron said, sipping his own drink, “Last time we met was like, almost ten years ago. I never expect you to present as an omega.”

“What do you mean, uncle?” Joffrey frowned, but he didn’t lash out, “I apologize if I am not coy enough to be an omega.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I am sure you are a very pleasant omega. I just need some time to process this wonderful surprise.” Daeron smiled, seemingly unaffected by Joffrey’s sarcastic words, “You were so…wild, as a boy. I always thought you would present as an alpha, or at least, a beta.”

Joffrey didn’t like Daeron’s attitude, at all. The way Daeron talked about his omega status made his skin prickle with frustration and anger. Daeron seemed to have no respect for omegas, as if they were somewhat inferior creatures. It was a common thought shared by most alphas, seeing omegas as weak, emotional, and had to depend on alphas to live. That was why Joffrey hated to interact with alphas. He might be an omega, but he was a person at first. He had his own thoughts and aspirations. He didn’t need an alpha to tell him what to do.

“I am satisfied with my status, uncle.” Joffrey said coldly.

“Really? Are you here today to socialize with other alphas? Have you found anyone to your liking so far?” Daeron looked around the room, “Is that Jacaerys? Who is the soldier he’s talking to? Are they engaged?”

Joffrey wanted to say none of your business, but that would be too rude. He didn’t mind to be rude, but he didn’t want Daeron to look down upon him more than the alpha already had.

“No. Mr. Stark is just a good friend.” So far, Joffrey added silently.

“Oh, I’ve known the Starks. They are from the North.” Daeron said dismissingly, “I imagine he will be blown by the social scene here in King’s Landing. I’ve heard that winters in the North are so harsh that people cannot stay outside for more than a few minutes. I presume there aren’t many social events to be held in that weather.”

“They can find a way to enjoy themselves, I am sure.” Joffrey said, taking a sip from wine Daeron had handed him before. He wasn’t planning to drink more, but Daeron’s attitude just antagonized him so much that he needed alcohol to hold himself together.

“The Starks don’t have much of a fortune. I’ve heard that their estate only provides a small income each year.” Daeron continued, “I think Jacaerys can do better.”

“If my brother gets married, he’s marrying for love and mutual respect, not yearly income.” Joffrey put the wine glass down on the small table next to him with a loud bang, “You seem to think a large fortune is the only thing that attracts omegas, but let me tell you that you are wrong.”

“Did I say something that offends you, Joff?” Daeron sounded genuinely surprised, the bastard, “If I did, I am terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

“You’ve said enough, uncle.” Joffrey said with gritted teeth, “You and your family have already taken what should belong to my mother. I suggest you find someone else who is actually interested in your stolen fortune, because I definitely am not.”

Joffrey turned to leave. He was so furious that if he didn’t leave now, he would punch Daeron in the face. He didn’t even have time to look for his brothers before he stepped into the bitter cold of the night.

Joffrey hated alphas, and he hated Daeron the most.