#feeling overlooked & unwanted & angry

[gaffney]

KWON JAESUNG & ROBBY KEENE in COBRA KAI SEASON 6 PART 1

[verstappenverse]

Revved Up

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max grows jealous after your Instagram post attracts unwanted attention, including from an ex.

Authors Note: Do I actually believe Max posts on his own instagram these days... let alone would post with a 'scandalous' caption...no? but this is fiction so it's all good 😂

1.4k words / Masterlist

Max was sitting on the plush leather couch in your shared Monaco apartment, flipping through TV channels with all the enthusiasm of a man waiting for a commercial break. He glanced at the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the stunning Mediterranean view, but even that wasn’t enough to distract him. It wasn’t the usual race strategy or upcoming practice sessions that had him restless—it was something far more personal.

You.

More specifically the photo you had posted on Instagram earlier that day, a simple mirror selfie, a little scandalous but nothing crazy. You looked radiant, sure, but that was normal for you. You were always beautiful to him. What had caught his eye was the flood of comments, the notifications popping up every few seconds as he scrolled through your post.

He kept scrolling eyes narrowing as the likes kept ticking upwards. Then he saw it.

Your ex.

The guy who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that you were Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, because clearly he didn't see an issue with leaving a flirty comment that set Max’s nerves on edge.

'Looking gorgeous as always' it read, with an obnoxious little winking emoji at the end.

Max’s fingers tightened around the remote as the thought of some guy—especially your ex—thinking he had any right to compliment you in that way made his blood boil. You were his. The world knew it, but apparently some people needed reminding.

He didn’t say anything when you had walked into the living room earlier, cheerfully oblivious to his growing annoyance. Instead he had kept quiet, but now it was simmering just under the surface. Jealousy wasn’t a feeling Max was used to; on the track he was calm, confident, but when it came to you, his cool, collected exterior faltered. Especially when some idiot tried to act like he still had a chance.

You entered the room now wearing a loose sweatshirt and leggings, a casual look that contrasted with the glamorous image you had posted earlier. Max glanced at you his jaw tightening, you could sense something was off.

“Max, is everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head as you grabbed your phone from the counter. You didn’t even have to unlock it before he spoke.

“That picture,” he said abruptly, his Dutch accent thicker than usual, which tended to only happen when his emotions were running high. His fingers tapped on the arm of the couch in an impatient rhythm.

You furrowed your brow. “What about it?”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and you could see the tension in his posture. “Your ex commented on it.”

“Oh,” you said, blinking in surprise. You hadn’t noticed.“I didn’t even see that.”

Max didn’t like the idea of you looking at that idiot’s comment again, but you opened the app and scrolled down anyway finding the offending message almost immediately.

You rolled your eyes and let out a light laugh. “Seriously? He’s such a loser. I haven’t talked to him in forever.”

Max didn’t seem to find it as amusing as you did. His frown deepened. “Yeah, well, he still thinks he can leave comments like that. Like I’m not here.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his grumpy tone. “What, are you jealous?”

His reaction was immediate. “Jealous? Me? No...” He paused. “I mean... you know how many people liked that picture?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by how serious he looked. “Max, it’s just Instagram, I think the point is to like pictures," you laughed, but his expression didn't change,"Max come on it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly, though he still sounded more irritated than actually angry. “Everyone’s drooling over you in the comments. And then there’s him.”

You couldn't help chuckling again and slid onto the couch next to him, pressing your hand against his knee. “Are you worried someone’s going to steal me away?”

He gave you a look, his lips twitching upwards at the edges, betraying the smallest hint of a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re being ridiculous.” You leaned closer, brushing your lips against his cheek.

Max sighed dramatically throwing his head back against the cushions. “Maybe I should just post a picture with you, remind people who you belong to.”

“Oh, who I belong to?” you teased, poking him playfully in the ribs. “That sounds a little possessive.”

There was a teasing glint in his eye now, but you could still feel the underlying jealousy. “Can you blame me?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, enjoying how worked up he was getting over something so trivial. Seeing him this riled up over some stupid comment was kind of… adorable. You kind of loved when he got all possessive, even if he wouldn’t admit it outright.

“No, I guess I can’t blame you,” you sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But you know I don’t care about those comments, right? Especially not from my ex. I didn’t even notice it.”

“Maybe you should block him,” Max muttered back to sounding grumpy.

You laughed again, unable to stop yourself. “Max, it’s fine, if it’ll make you feel better of course I’ll block him. But I need you to know I never think about him.”

He softened a little at that, his arm instinctively wrapping around your shoulders. “You better not.”

You smiled, nuzzling into him the warmth of his body calming. “Besides, none of those guys commenting are Max Verstappen now are they?”

“Exactly,” Max said, and there was that cocky smile you loved so much. The mood lightened as his fingers brushed through your hair. “None of them stand a chance.”

You grinned up at him. “And neither does my ex, so you can relax.”

He seemed to settle after that, his hand lazily stroking your arm as the tension eased out of his shoulders. “Good. But still…”

“Still what?”

“I think I should post a picture with you. Just to make sure everyone knows.”

You snorted. “You just want an excuse to show off.”

“Can you blame me?” he repeated, his eyes glinting with mischief as he reached for his phone. “Come on, one picture. Let me remind everyone you’re mine.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Fine. Just one.”

Max scrolled through his phone finding the perfect shot of you two together arms wrapped around each other, he quickly typed out a caption and hit ‘post.’ Not long after, your phone buzzed with notifications. His fans were quick, already liking and commenting on the post.

You glanced at it over his shoulder, chuckling at the caption: Just a reminder—she’s mine.

“Oh my God Max,” you groaned playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? It’s true.”

You laughed and shook your head, leaning into him once more. “You really are something.”

“I know,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And don’t you forget it.”

The rest of the evening passed in a much lighter mood. The TV hummed in the background, but neither of you paid much attention to it. Instead, you spent the time teasing Max about his jealous streak, much to his dismay.

“You know, I never thought I’d see the day when Max Verstappen got jealous over a social media comment,” you teased, curling up beside him on the couch.

He rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m not jealous. I’m just… protective.”

“Sure, that’s what we’ll call it.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little jealous,” he admitted, pulling you closer. “You’re kind of amazing.”

You beamed up at him, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. “Well, good thing I’m all yours, huh?”

“Good thing,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss you, slow and sweet. When he pulled away, he added kiddingly “What about, no more selfies without me in them.”

You laughed and nudged him playfully. “We’ll see about that.”

But deep down, you didn’t mind the way Max was with you. The way he got protective, a little possessive, and sometimes even a little jealous. Max was known as a fierce competitor on the track, but when it came to you, his heart felt just as fierce. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[stupidocupido]

house of balloons

aegon ii targaryen x fem!reader | based on this hotd upper east side au

Like the conqueror he was named after, Aegon finds his treasures just to destroy them. Leaving them emotionally unsatisfied, drained of their self-respect, and covered in his cum. He sees it as a challenge, to make even the toughest woman beg for him. And eventually, they all do, because, in the end, all women are the same.

modern au; porn without plot; dom!reader, sub!aegon, blowjob, actual sex, hitting, degrading language; one shot; minors dni

I rewrote an old pwp I posted around 2020 for another character. Enjoy ;)).

All the lights in the office are off. Some eco-bullshit rules the MT came up with to save energy. The only thing that illuminates the place is the mixture of white and red city lights coming in through the windows. Ground to ceiling, the windows don’t open at the top floor, but they give a spectacular view over Kings Landing. From behind the desk, his father has a splendid view over the city, their ancestors worked hard for it after all.

Not a view Aegon currently can enjoy. His mouth is opened, and his tongue is being held between her fingers. It is drying up and when he tries to pull his tongue back, her nails dig into it. He tries to close his mouth, but she refuses to let him go. Instead, she grabs his jaw, pulling his mouth further open.

“You tell so many lies with this pretty tongue of yours—so much wasted energy. There are better things you can waste your energy and tongue on, oh Aegon. Didn’t I teach you that the last time?”

Aegon can only nod and it makes her finally let go. Her fingers are wet with his spit, which she swipes clean on his pants. Her hand stays there, her long nails dark and moving to the inside of his thighs.

“You’re a slow learner, I think you need to redo that particular class.” She sounds more annoyed than angry. He can feel his skin colour red, as he shamefully nods a bit too willingly. It is pathetic how her annoyed tone and scowl get him aroused.

Aegon never saw himself as the submissive type. He knows he is handsome and that it doesn’t take him a lot to talk women into his bed. It probably is a mixture of his arrogance, money, name and looks.

Like the conqueror he was named after, Aegon finds his treasures just to destroy them. Leaving them emotionally unsatisfied, drained of their self-respect, and covered in his cum. He sees it as a challenge, to make even the toughest woman beg for him. And eventually, they all do, because, in the end, all women are the same.

They all long to be dominated, to be domesticated. Women only need to be strong and independent when they open their legs to give birth to a child. They’re only good for three things: to be fucked, to make him a sandwich after and to be fucked again.

At least, that is how Aegon likes to profile himself to the world. The wild Targaryen son, the boy who is overlooked in favour of his older sister. With a father who probably gave him the token Targaryen name so he wouldn’t forget his unwanted son’s name. A mother who probably regrets not using a condom and siblings who are much more interesting and deserving of the Targaryen name than him.

And all those insecurities he masks by drinking, sniffing and fucking his monthly allowance away. Pretending he is the alpha male that boys who long for female attention talk about in their podcasts. Aegon knows, because sometimes they use him as an example in their boring click-bait conversations they post on TikTok.

“You’re so pathetic.” She says as she moves her hand off his thighs again. She pushes her index and middle finger against his lips. “So, like a dumb, mindless, uninspiring child, you need to be taught this one simple lesson again.”

Aegon knows what to do, he opens his mouth to lick her fingers. She pushes them in his mouth immediately. He sucks her fingers off like it’s her cunt. His tongue swirls around her fingers. His pleading eyes look up to her barely illuminated face. Then she pushes her fingers deeper into his mouth, her long nail scraping over the back of his tongue. It makes Aegon gag, his body moves with recoil.

Her laugh is cold and cruel. “Pathetic boy, you want to hit the back of my throat with your dick, but you can’t even take two of my fingers.”

She brings her wet fingers to her mouth, licking Aegon’s spit off her digits. She makes sure to look him straight in the eye as she does so. Aegon had been a very bad boy, telling everyone at the party she had been his latest conquest. When the both of them know the only one who gets pillaged here is the one with the growing erection.

As an intern at the publishing company the Targaryen’s own, her reputation is at risk. She is a serious girl, a hard-working girl. she is everything Aegon is not. Perhaps that is why he keeps on coming back.

“Can you repeat rule number one to me?” Her hand strokes his right thigh. She leans in closer to his face, wanting to make sure she doesn’t miss his words.

“No one will ever know about what happens behind closed doors,” Aegon mutters, looking away from her piercing eyes.

Her stroking stops, and she pushes her nails into his pants. “And which rule did you break, my stupid little boy?”

Her lips are almost touching his when she speaks the words. Aegon swallows the pain that comes with her nails into his skin away. “Rule number one.”

She backs away from him again, her lips curved into a smile that does not reach her eyes.

“Do you know what they do with boys who break rules?”

Both her hands are on his belt, loosening it. Aegon does not dare to look away from her face. They barely did a thing (they didn’t even kiss, for fucks sake!) but he is so turned on already. He shakes his head, pretending he does not know what happens when he breaks her rules.

“No? Well, let me tell you then.” She unzips his pants, her hand immediately sliding into his opened trousers. With her palm she rubs over his erection, scraping the fabric of his black boxers over the sensitive skin.

“They are punished.”

Aegon his head falls back because of her torturous movements. “Yes, please punish me.” He is shocked by the words that so easily fall off his lips. He is shocked by the desperate tone, he is shocked by the want he feels in his body.

He wants to feel her skin against his, but at the same time, he enjoys this building up a little bit too much. Her degrading words made him angry and ashamed at the same time. He is ashamed, that he, the famous Aegon Targaryen, so easily gets walked over. Walked over by a woman even! He is ashamed for liking it so much and feels ashamed he wants to please her. He does not do the pleasing, he is the one who usually is pleased.

Her hand slowly wanders into his underwear, her fingers stroke his pubes. Aegon mentally scolds himself for not shaving. But all his worrisome thoughts disappear when her hand slowly strokes his shaft.

“Such a good boy you are, at least you remembered rule number two.” Her thumb finds his head, circling around it, making her and his skin coated with pre cum. “Manners are what keeps the world spinning after all.” Aegon wants to argue and tell her that strong and rich men keep the world spinning. But for once he is smart and keeps his mouth shut. He knows she’s not happy with him, and he does not like it when she becomes cruel.

“How shall I punish you tonight? Will I make you come so many times you’ll remember who the real conqueror is? Or will I give you nothing at all?” Her hand curls around his cock, her nails pressed harshly into the flesh. Aegon lets out a pained yelp, tears well up in his purple eyes.

“Please don’t, I’ll be good.”

“If only you had thought about being ‘good’ sooner.” She does not loosen her grip, on the contrary, she presses her nails deeper into his sensitive flesh. Aegon his cry is filled with agony, he is afraid she will draw blood.

“I am sorry, I promise I will never do it again.” His voice comes out desperate, he hates himself for being this weak. The humiliation of it colouring his cheeks a rosy tint. She lets go of him and movies off him. Aegon resist the urge to touch where it hurts, instead he watches how she lowers herself. Her bare knees hit the carpet. She pulls his pants down to his ankles, his legs forced apart by her hands.

“No, you will indeed never do it again. Or this will be the last time you’ll be in my mouth.”

She kisses his upper thigh first. Her lips hit the spot where she had been hurting him before.

Her left elbow leans upon his knee, her cleavage pushed against his legs, as she leans forward to touch him again.

Aegon watches how her hand moves down from the tip to the base. His skin is still a bit sore, but Aegon forgets about the pain when her lips are wrapped around his head.

Aegon brings his hands to her head. His neck snaps back, and his eyes close, as he revells in the feeling her warm, wet mouth brings him. But the feeling doesn’t remain there for too long, because only seconds later she releases him from her mouth again.

“Don’t move, or it will be over.” She warns

She takes him slowly, her eyes locked with his. His cock is shiny with spit, her low moans vibrating against his skin.

Aegon really hates it when people are loud chewers. Hates the sound of people eating apples in the office, and despises the sounds girls make when they ‘seductively’ try to suck their iced coffees through a straw. He dislikes it so much it gives him goosebumps and makes him want to snap out to the ones making the disgusting eating sounds.

But the sounds that are produced as she sucks him off, are sounds that no matter how nasty they are, will never annoy him.

He feels like a true king, the way how her head moves up and down between his legs. He will never be able to sit in front of his father’s desk again without remembering what is happening right now. And it feels so good, the way she takes him deeper and deeper. Her tongue slid against the sensitive skin where her nails were before.

His hips buck up, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth. He can feel it hit the back of her throat. The gagging sound she makes, makes him moan.

She presses her nails harshly into his thigh, changing his moan into a yelp of pain. For a moment, Aegon almost forgot who the real power had. Her teeth scrape against his cock as a final warning.

She only sucks the tip now, her tongue swirling around it, to let it pop out of her mouth only a second later. She looks up to his face, brows furrowed. “I told you not to move, Aegon.” The way she says his name makes him feel like a small child and he hates it.

He almost wants to cry when she stands up, ignoring his cock completely. He was so close to coming, painfully close. The tip of his cock is red and leaking with precum. “Not fair.” Aegon groans. “I was so close to making your mouth into a daycare.”

She ignores his disgusting joke. “Why did you break the rule, Aeg?” Her hands move beneath her dress, pulling her panties down in one motion.

Truth be told, he did not like how the other men were talking about her. He was not sure if it was him being possessive, or his ego that needed stroking. There is nothing better than letting dull people know you’re having (or fucking) what they want.

“I guess I didn’t like the way they talked about you.” Her eyes grow larger after his sentence, she clearly did not expect this answer. She climbs on his lap, her hands hold his face, her thumbs stroke over his burning cheeks. Her fingers move into his hair, to the back of his head. This moment feels strangely intimate, and it makes him more uncomfortable than her degrading words do.

“What were they saying?”

Aegon swallows.

“Filthy things only I am allowed to say.”

She kisses him for the first time this night and Aegon is grateful for it. He tastes himself in her mouth, her lips still wet with spit and him. He is fully aware of the fact she’s not wearing panties. Now her dress had ridden up her legs, he can finally feel her warm and wet core against him. Oh, how he wants to be inside her, to feel her cunt clench around his cock when he takes some of his control back. His painful erection hits her leg, as she moves up to deepen the kiss.

“Let me make it up to you.” He is almost willing to beg for it at this point, his hands stroking her back in an attempt to convince her he deserves it. “Please, I want to make you feel good.” She laughs hard at this. “The only thing you want is to fuck me. To spill inside me and to go back to your ‘dominant’ self after.”

She of course is right, but Aegon is too desperate and horny to fight her. “Please, I think I learned my lesson. I want you so bad, please, I would do anything.” She grabs his shoulder, leaning a bit back. The hand that is not holding onto his shoulders moves between her legs.

She’s touching herself, Aegon can’t see what exactly she’s doing beneath her dress, but he knows he wants to be the one to do it. “Anything you say?” Her head tilted to the right, her eyes finding his purple ones.

“Anything.”

She loosens up his tie, pulling the green silk fabric from his neck. His mother had made him wear it, said it belongs to his father.

“Hold your hands together.” Aegon raises his brow. “What?” She slaps his tie against his chest. “Do you want to fuck me or not Aegon?” There, she does it again. Saying his name like he is a piece of trash she needs to clean up. He does what he is told, pushing his wrists against each other.

She ties his hands together with the green silk. Making sure he cannot touch her and control what is about to happen.

She sinks down on him, her skin slapping against his. Aegon’s groans are filling up the office, as she sets the pace. Finally, he is inside her, but he can’t move, he can’t do anything. He is completely at her mercy. He hates that he loves it, to be commanded and tied up by her. She takes him so well, every inch of him filling her as if she was made to do so.

Her right hand is around his throat, pushing his head back. He is so stimulated, so embarrassingly close to his release already.

“You feel so good, baby.” His voice is low, and his eyes are closed.

“You better don’t come before I do.” She says then, but it is too late. Her words make him give in to his release.

In a way it is to punish her, Aegon hates that he likes what she does to him. Hates she is the one who can dominate him. So he climaxes, curses falling from his mouth. Her eyes narrowed, as his hips thrust upwards in the last moments of his aftershock.

He expects her to pull him out, to slap him maybe. Instead, she keeps on moving, in a frantic, rough manner.

It hurts so much, his soft flesh being ridden like this. Her moans are loud, drowning out his moans of pain. “The fuck you thought, coming before I came?” She slaps him.

“Shut up, I hate it when you act all silly and hurt when you get what you deserve.” Aegon his head falls back, feeling a bit foolish for liking the pain.

And when she finally comes, Aegon is panting as loud as she is. She kisses him on the mouth when she finally allows him to slip out of her. “I think you learned your lesson now.”

He can’t help but smile, for the game is over. They can go back to who they are now.

“Keep fucking me like that and I’ll tell father to hire you,” Aegon says. “And when I take over, you can be my assistant.”

He wants to fuck her on every surface in this office. Fuck her against the window while they watch the cars drive by. Fuck her on the plush couch his father always makes him wait on. Make her suck him off while he has online meetings, and let her ride his face while she makes important calls.

“Assitant?” She says in a mocking tone, destroying his fantasies. “I am made to lead, Aegon. Never to serve.”

She loosens up the tie, freeing his hands. She puts her panties back on and straightens her dress. “Clean up your face, it’s covered in my lipstick.” She advises him before leaving him alone.

Aegon grins as he watches her leave, oh, this is just the beginning.

--

@laedeviour @aegonswife

[0-amateur-writer-0]

Still can’t get over this:

No matter how angry, or upset he was at Ford. No matter how bad the fight between them, or how broken their relationship is. And even when Ford basically called him worthless; Stan just…never once called Ford a ‘freak’ to get back at him.

Stan must’ve known very well that this is something that would hurt Ford the most. But despite that, he just never uses that word against Ford. He refuses to use the word that bullies often do, to make Ford feel unwanted, and unloved.

It’s such a small, and often overlooked thing. But this, to me at least, shows a surprising amount of mindfulness, self-control, and class on Stan’s part.

[highladyofterrasen7]

Gonna give my unwanted opinion on this book:

I really love feysand but I didn’t like how they were portrayed in this book. Especially the out of character things Rhys did. However I do not hate him for it. More like an annoyance. Amren pissed me off more than Rhys did. Nesta had a personal vendetta against him. And he was a dick because of how she’d treated his mate, otherwise they could’ve probably been friends.

It doesn’t not effect my opinion of either feyre or Rhys because I can see reasoning and I won’t let four books of development and adventure be destroyed because of a biased perspective. (Rhys was painted differently even between nesta and cassian)

Something that made the secret of nyx’s wings worse was probably that we did not see reasoning and perspective from either feyre or rhys. I would’ve liked a chapter from either with the aftermath of the secret coming out, Rhys grovelling, feyre being angry, etc, and then getting over it because they’re both strong.

And the switch over from 1st person to 3rd person was one I didn’t really like.

Nesta was more of a problem then people like to let on. Her “Badass” behaviour was a result of her treating feyre (the person who provided for her, was the reason she didn’t die, gave her a home, welcomed her into her court and stopped her from wasting away) like shit. She also treated the rest of the inner circle, including cassian, like shit. And it wasn’t all “trauma” because she was a bitch even before it.

However towards the end of the book I liked her more as she got over it.

A sad truth is that without intervention nesta probably would’ve died of alcohol poisoning or similar.

My opinion on acosf is very variable. Having your favourite characters villanised and almost killed for one person’s character arc is not a good feeling. I fell more in love with cassian and am excited to see what becomes of the valkyries and the dread trove.

I like the story, but it is not enough for me to overlook the plot holes and I hope the next one is better and displays the ic better.

Gwyn and az I’m counting on you

Sorry it’s really long but I don’t have many chances to give my opinion on insta and I feel like tumblr would be a better place to do it.

[quiteegregiouslychuffed]

Feeling a bit down from a busy workweek that has left little in the way of satisfaction or enjoyment, and in turn my mind has lingered on things that made such feelings worse. I'm tired, sad, angry, a mixed helping of negativity. A more specific cause being the thought of how few people would want to be like me. I don't mean in a jealousy or self pity way, but rather that I'm not something to be associated with, avoided. people aren't going to see me or know me and think "I want to be more like or be closer to them" in the way I often feel about others. One could say that is because an internal view makes the things about me feel normal or negative, but a lot of the things I mean are ones I know and hear to be mocked and stigmatized. Appearance, speech, interests, feelings, I feel I detract with my mere presence at times. I'll likely never be the cool alt person complimented on style, the sweet couple who people smile and chat with, an artist/writer with a following to speak of, someone people talk fondly of when not around. Not to say the inverse is the case currently, and I'll take being overlooked by malice, but enough of it has come from those knowing or not that I find little comfort in the long stretches of quiet, empty time. Is it selfish to want while being unwanted? Is it wrong to wish for worth to others?

[emmafallsinlove]

I keep thinking about how, especially compared to Logan, Jess almost never plays the "poor me" card. He never tries to excuse his bad behavior by blaming his bad circumstances, and the thing that really gets me is that he COULD HAVE! Like he had a horrible, unstable childhood in the slums and was rejected by both of his parents, didn't have anyone to teach him how healthy relationships work, etc. etc... And his FANS (and occasionally Rory in S2) make defenses on his behalf because of those things, but Jess himself never does. And, I mean, to be honest it might have actually been HELPFUL sometimes if he'd been more open to explaining things! But I do appreciate the way he takes ownership of his mistakes (which then translates into how he tries to fix them). And this sheds even more light on Rory and Logan's fight in "Balalaikas" because... Rory KNOWS how hard Jess's life has been (and I think she suspects that the full truth is even worse than what he's told her). And then here's Logan, her extremely wealthy boyfriend, going on about he should get to do whatever he wants because he's unhappy. "Oh yes, your horrible life! Let's hear about it!" and Logan's response is, "Got a week?" 😐

i agree with all of it but also, i have been thinking about it because i don’t think jess thinks he deserve to play the “poor me” card. i don’t think he wants people to feel sorry for him; this is life. this is all he knows. so i don’t think he even understands how fucked up everything that he’s been trough is.

i think their struggles are different. just because jess had a troubled life and suffers from long years of abusive parenthood doesn’t mean logan suffering & feelings isn’t valid because their struggles are different and we need to acknowledge it.

to me, logan suffering is overlooked because of how wealthy he is, but comparing between the two of them just seems unfair to me.

jess struggling with relationships and learns from his mistakes and want to be better, while logan feels like he is being pushed to unwanted future he cannot escape from.

did logan played the poor me card in that scene? definitely. does it makes me angry in a way that he think he can do it while we comparing jess suffering to his? also yes, but they are different people from different backgrounds and different life openings. and while jess achieved everything on his own, and this is very impressive and he should get the credit he deserves while not being looked out on by guy like logan - i’m being bothered that people compare them to each other.

same with “who’s the better boyfriend” and “jess was a shitty boyfriend to rory” but see, their dynamics are different. jess is a 17 years old abused kid who’s learning to navigate trough his first ever relationship that lasted 6 months.

logan, on the other hand, is a 23 years old boy that everyone wants to be with. he is rich, and by the time he meets rory, he is a full grown up adult, and while he acts like a child at times and being irresponsible (going and losing thousands of dollars in vegas, going to that life and death brigade thing that almost got him killed) both of them change and learn from their mistakes, the only difference in my eyes is that logan changes for rory, but jess changed for himself.

jess better himself for himself, not for luke or for rory, because he wanted to be better, and so eventually at s6 he became the man rory’s deserved.

when logan start to take responsibility in s7 it is important but does he ever change for himself or for her? and the answer is for her.

so it’s a long answer and i think i have lost my point in the middle of it but please let’s stop comparing a 23 years old man who’s having a few relationship in the past and had a 3 years of relationship with his girlfriend to a 17 years old kid who learns how to handle healthy relationships and to open up for the first time, tries to be better for himself and becomes a bookprint and realize that their struggles are different and just because someone had it “less harder” than you in regards to bad things happing to you doesn’t make that person suffering less valid.

[dreadful-home]

Can you make a sketch of Fuchsia!Karkat? I wonder how you imagine him x)

Aaaaaw, I'll draw Karkat as many times and as differently as you request it anytime! ❤️ Thank you, friend! Now on the subject...

I GOT TO THINKING ABOUT THIS, AND FUSCHIA KARKAT IS SO INTERESTING.

He'd be an Heir that *hates himself.* He's still a biological mystery that shouldn't exist. All the past fuschia bloods have been female, and yet, here he is! Even without anyone else's influence, he already feels wrong and like he has to 'prove himself' as a leader... He keeps failing to live up to these expectations. Smoll, angry, and strong, he tries overcompensating so much.

He'd probably have a pitch relationship with Terezi (who loves to tease a royal) and Sollux (just blatant black pitch), still hates Vriska, and I kinda want to make Eridan his little hypeman/henchman moiral.

Eridan respects the blood caste, it doesn't matter that Karkat is a 'mutant.' He'd probably make it out to be even better, in fact, because he's *rare*, always trying to reassure Karkat that he's a good ruler even when he's *not.* Just like with Feferi in canon, Eridan is very protective of Karkat here (and might still have lingering Redrom feelings that are overlooked because Karkat is dealing with a lot).

Karkat isn't very good at keeping everyone's support. Although he makes good decisions most of the time as team leader, when he acts all-mighty around the lowbloods, they're able to put him back in his place. With Sollux especially.

The gold-blood is the most aggressively honest person Karkat can talk to, and despite him never admiting it to anyone, Karkat likes it. He stops Eridan from fighting him whenever conflict arises with the excuse that 'His time will come.'

But it never will.

Now, in reverse, Feferi is the mutant-blood. Feferi as an outcast is fascinating too! She revels in her outsider status, embracing herself as already a martyr to her cause of unifying all trolls and destroying the caste. She has big plans, and this is a huge threat towards the already insecure Heir, Karkat! What's he going to do if all the lowerbloods unite against him?

He's scared!

Eridan suggests a culling to teach them a lesson but Karkat doesn't... want to kill them... The longer Karkat talks to the lowerbloods the more he's feeling that this is wrong. That this is all wrong. And... he's already under a lot of pressure to succeed for himself, as a mutant fuschia. He feels like he's between a sword and a hard place.

How is he going to rule?

...does he even WANT to rule...?

..... his role is so stupid and unwanted.

His self hatred consumes him as he believes himself to be insufficient. This is the biggest trial in his arc to overcome, as he finally comes to the depressing conclusion that some things are better off without his meddling, and he passes off leadership.

Despite him *having* successes with leadership, he never felt good enough, and now he's a believer in Feferi's cause, which just... makes him even more clueless on how he can have any role at all in her future plans.

But, to end on a happy note...

Hooray for an arc with cranky Karkat getting out of his depressive rut through force as his friends have to provoke him back into action, to take back leadership and prove that he can handle it not because he's a *fuschia blood*, but because *he cares.*

[universeofmuses]

//emotionally today has been such a shitty day. I’ve just wanted to cry all day and of course my dad talking down to me in front of family didn’t help though it just made me mad. But just like today I’ve just felt so ignored and unwanted and overlooked and just like I don’t even matter to anyone really 😢. Though idk I feel like I’m going between that and just being angry at the world for various reasons/things. Ugh idk what’s going on with me, at the moment I just want to cry myself to sleep and just sleep forever on end, because while I’m sleeping I’m not suffering. Sometimes while I sleep I see old faces come and gone and missed, relive good days come and long gone.. at worst case I don’t dream and I just don’t feel anything at all which I think is preferable to feeling the way I’ve felt today 😢 I’m just not sure what to do or think anymore 😢 I’m still struggling with myself, with my life..

[yoongsisbae]

Bon Voyage: Into the Sea - Member Imagines

How I picture each member of BV: Into the Sea, but you can picture them anyway you like, we’re both right!

Shape Shifters: Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook

Namjoon is the leader of the pack. He's a big softy, but there's a reason why he's top dog. When he transforms his fur is different shades of brown and his teeth can tear you to pieces, so it would be wise not to upset him. When he is angry he unleashes a fury that is unmatched, thankfully he is usually very calm and level headed, earning himself the title of fierce pack leader. When he is in human form he has long brown hair, and the cutest smile hiding the fiercest bite.

Hoseok shifts into a wolf with reddish brown fur. Where Namjoon is big and strong, there is Hoseok, quick and agile. He prefers to be in his wolf form. Human Hoseok has curly brown hair. He is guarded, years of distrust in the world changed him. Hopefully he can find his way back and embrace both his human and wolf side.

Jungkook is a big fluff ball. He loves pets, maybe a little too much, he is very demanding about it and drives his brother’s crazy. He’s the baby of the pack and it shows. He has wild dark brown hair and transforms into a black wolf. His wild demeanor shows in both forms, he will lunge at the enemy with little thought, and he’ll do anything to protect who he loves.

Vampires: Jimin & Jin

Jimin is a relatively newborn vampire, compared to Jin at least. He has pale skin due to years living in the shadows and hair so white it's almost silver, a token of the trauma that was inflicted upon him. Jimin is emotional, possessive, irrational. His bloodthirst made him crazed, always seeking out more, more affection, more validation, trying to fill the holes his newfound unlife created. Is it all an act? Or is the man who succumbed to his monstrous desires gone for good?

Jin turned Jimin, he feels responsible for what Jimin has become. He’s lived a long time, a long long time. His striking features and unique light hair earned him many conquests in his homeland, he took the role of leader in his small clan. He used to enjoy it, but now he wants peace, tired of fighting, it was bad enough when they had to fight for their place in the modern world, now they fight amongst themselves hidden away. He is reluctant to live up to his villainous role, but he knows deep down there's no turning back now.

Siren: Yoongi

Yoongi doesn’t care. He doesn’t care his actions have lasting consequences as long as he keeps getting payment. He has an arrangement with the Jin and Jimin: he finds them meals and they get him treasures. He's long stopped caring about the morality of the situation when humans have done nothing but destroy his home with pollution and overfishing. He has sharp features that easily mesmerize his potential victims, jet black hair, dark eyes, skin so bright it shines in the moonlight, scales that look like a kaleidoscope of the sea's beauty, he doesn't have to try, he doesn't have to care. Yoongi isn’t that powerful above ground, he doesn’t like using human legs and after the divide he hasn't had a need to. He doesn’t travel far away from the island, not anymore. Even though Yoongi has a disadvantage on dry land, he still has a few tricks up his sleeve, and if you are pulled into a body of water, you’re pretty much a goner.

???: Taehyung

Taehyung was born poor, an outcast, overlooked and unwanted, all he ever yearned for was…power. So he found powerful friends, a family, and an opportunity to take it for himself. What is a monster? A beast who lives his only known truth or a man who chooses to lie in the darkness where beasts roam ((more to come as story unfolds))

[rubysunnday]

Favourite brother - Part 2

A/N: well, part one went down surprisingly well! 

“So, Daphne is now a duchess...”

Y/N raised her eyebrows expectantly at her brother, waiting for him to finish his comment. She looked back down at her embroidery and poked the needle through the fabric. “And?”

Colin leant forward in his chair. “Perhaps, now, the ton will be watching you.”

Y/N let out a unladylike snort. “Oh, please. As long as Miss Thompson is around and as long as Daphne and Simon are in their ‘newlywed’ bliss, I will always be the wallflower of the family.”

Colin eyed his sister with a sad gaze. He didn’t miss the way she stabbed her needle through the fabric a little harder than necessary nor the way she practically glowered at Anthony (probably hoping he would spontaneously combust). 

“Colin, I can feel you staring at me,” Y/N said, looking up from her embroidery to give her brother a level stare. “What is it?” “You truly don’t believe you are worth anything, do you?”

Y/N paused, needle halfway through the fabric. She slowly pushed it through, trying to ignore the burning in her eyes.

Colin was right. She didn’t see herself as worthy of anything. Compared to Daphne who’d captured the eye of the ton and then a duke and a prince, she’d had nothing. Her three older brothers had always been swarmed with suitors and Y/N had truly believed that, maybe, one day, it would’ve been like that for her.

But apart from an almost marriage to Nigel Berbrooke that was out of spite to her brother and sister and was unwanted by her, she had had no proposals and no suitors.

A fact she wanted to blame Anthony for but that Y/N knew was down to nothing more than bad luck. 

If she’d made her debut a year later it would’ve been the same story. Everyone would’ve been captivated by Eloise and she would’ve been forgotten. Or everyone would’ve been terrified of Eloise and been forced to look at Y/N.

Either or.

When you were a twin of someone who excelled in everything you didn’t, it was easy to be overlooked and forgotten - especially in a family of nine. 

But up until she and Daphne came of age, she hadn’t felt overlooked. She’d felt loved and seen as an equal to her brothers. Anthony hadn’t been so protective (He'd always been protective of them all. But compared to how Benedict was when someone upset or threatened his family, Anthony was a saint.). 

Everyone fawned over Daphne when she began courting Simon - and rightfully so. But Y/N’s prospects and potential suitors had become nothing more than polite conversation between her and her ladies maid. 

“Y/N?”

Y/N inhaled sharply and jumped slightly at Colin’s voice. She looked over at him and gave him a somewhat unconvincing smile. “I’m fine. I just feel somewhat underwhelming compared to my sister,” she replied, turning her eyes back to her embroidery. 

Which was beginning to look less and less like a violet and more like an oddly shaped duck. 

Colin, sensing his sister wasn’t in the mood to be proved wrong, left the conversation there. He also didn’t want to end up with a sewing needle in his eye - the chances of which were becoming increasingly likely the more he poked and prodded. 

It was a beautiful ballroom.

There were candles in every window and garlands of flowers draped across the walls with petals dashed across the floor. 

The garden was a lit with numerous furnaces and torches that blazed in the summer night and the fountain set in the centre of the sprawling, immaculate hedges and flowers trickled away.

None of the beauty, however, was making Y/N feel any better about being left out of yet another ball.

She’d been standing on the sidelines watching ever since she’d arrived. Benedict had offered to dance with her but Y/N hadn’t wanted to be mentioned in Lady Whistledown for dancing with no one but her own brothers so had declined the invitation.

Instead she chose to stand and watch the beautiful couples dance around the room as she sulked and drank yet another glass of lemonade. 

“Why are you skulking back here?” Anthony asked, approaching his sister with a confused, concerned and curious expression.

Y/N swallowed the rather large gulp of lemonade she’d taken and tried not to give her brother a glare. “No one’s asked me to dance.”

“I’m sure Colin -”

“That is not the point, Anthony!” Y/N exclaimed, cutting him off. “I’ve had no one to dance with apart from my brother’s and Simon, who is now my brother too!” She almost growled but remembered that half the ton were around and forced herself to calm down. “Daphne has been the centre of everyone’s attention and had the suitors falling at het feet. I thought that now she’s married, they’d look to me - but apparently no one settles for second best.” 

Anthony stared at his sister. “Y/N, you’re not second best to anyone.”

Y/N scoffed. She set her empty lemonade glass down, slightly worried she was going to through it at her brother’s head. “Then why haven’t you looked at me twice all season, Anthony? You walked off at my very first ball, leaving me to flounder. You never escorted me - not even tonight! You have, so far, not cared about who comes calling for me - which was no one, by the way - and you don’t care that I have had no suitors, no callers and no proposals!”

She was breathing fast and could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She was angry. She was so angry and even though most of the anger was at the ton for being so vain, she couldn’t very well direct it at a ballroom full of people.

Instead she directed it at her older brother, the one who should’ve looked out for her and guided her through her first season in society but didn’t.

Anthony, for once, had the decency to look hurt by his sister’s accusations. He had a broken look on his face as he realised she was right and that he’d ignored  her. He was stunned into silence.

But Y/N hadn’t want pitiful silence, she’d wanted an argument - for Anthony to get angry at her and prove her wrong but also right.

“Say something!” Y/N snapped, glaring at Anthony. 

 Benedict and Colin had noticed the, somewhat heated argument, and were trying to weave their way through the crowd to intervene before one of them snapped and punched the other.

Anthony opened his mouth and closed it again. He was speechless - a rare feat, indeed.

Y/N scoffed and shook her head. “Fine.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared through the crowd, heading towards the door to the garden. 

Benedict and Colin made it to Anthony’s side and frowned.

“What was that all about?” Benedict asked, looking at Anthony expectantly. 

Anthony swallowed and forced himself to look at his brother. “She hates me.”

Colin, who had sensed the argument was coming, put a hand on Anthony’s arm. “No, she doesn’t. She’s angry at the world and the expectations society place on her shoulders. All she really wants, Anthony, is you.”

“I’ve ignored her almost this entire season,” Anthony said, staring at Colin. “How...”

“There’s still a few weeks left of the season, though,” Colin reminded him. He gestured to the door that Y/N had fled through. “Go on.”

Anthony didn’t need anymore encouragement, he brushed past his brother’s and all but marched through the crowd towards the door. 

Y/N had disappeared out onto the fire lit terrace of the house and was leaning on the stone bannister, trying to calm down. 

She loved her brother. Truly, she did. She also knew that he would never do anything to ruin her prospects intentionally.

That didn’t, however, stop her from wanting to throttle him. 

“Y/N?”

Y/N closed her eyes and inhaled. She could feel Anthony watching her and heard his footsteps approaching closer as he walked up to her. 

“Are you alright?” 

There was concern - genuine concern - in his voice. Y/N was usually good at keeping her emotions together and not breaking down until she was either with her mother or on her own.

But all it took was Anthony’s concerned question and a gentle hand on her shoulder for her to lose any control she’d had.

Y/N felt the tears drip down her face and turned to Anthony, practically throwing her arms around him and clinging on to him as if he was the only thing keeping her afloat. 

Slightly surprised by her sudden change in emotion, it took Anthony a moment to catch-up with the fact his sister was sobbing in to his arms and needed, not Lord Bridgerton, but her big brother. 

Anthony wrapped his arms around her and held her as she sobbed, waiting for her to speak.

Y/N eventually managed to get control of her emotions again and she stepped away from Anthony, wiping her eyes as delicately as she could to avoid ruining her make-up.

“Sorry.”

“Never apologise for being human,” Anthony said softly, sitting next to her on a bench. 

Y/N sighed. “I’m just... compared to Daphne I am nothing. No one has even looked twice at me this entire season. I’m her sister and nothing more.”

Anthony put a hand on her knee. “Do you truly believe that?” He asked, looking her in the eye.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. All I wish is for someone, anyone, to look at me and call on me because they like me. Not because they wanted an easy way to my sister or to you or to Eloise or to anyone who isn’t me!” 

“Y/N, you are a wonderful young lady and if those men can’t see it -”

“Then they’re not worth my time, I know,” she said, shooting Anthony an amused smile. “You sound like Benedict.”

“I believe you meant that Benedict sounds like me, he did come second after all,” Anthony quipped.

Y/N smacked her brother on the arm. She shook her head with a smiles she tried not to laugh. 

“Come on,” Anthony said, standing up and holding a hand out to her. “Will you do me the honour of a dance, Miss Bridgerton?”

Y/N took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “Of course, Lord Bridgerton.” 

“Excuse me, Miss Bridgerton?” Y/N turned around. A young man, Lord Durrell if she remembered correctly, was standing in front of her looking slightly anxious.

“Yes, Lord Durrell?” Anthony asked, raising his eyebrows in his trademark brooding, older brother way.

“I was wondering if you would do me the honour of a dance this evening?” Durrell asked, looking directly at Y/N.

Y/N smiled and held out the arm that her dance card was on. “Of course, Lord Durrell. After I’ve dance with my brother, of course.”

Lord Durrell smiled and wrote his name on her card. “I look forward to it,” he said, bowing down.

Y/N curtsied slightly in response and watched as he left. She waited a few seconds and then squealed and jumped up and down. 

Anthony chuckled, stepping back to avoid being hit by a flailing limb. “See, I told you.”

“No, you didn't, actually,” Y/N said, taking her brother’s arm. “You just repeated what Benedict said and gave me a hug.”

“Which is just as important.”

“Naturally.”

Anthony led Y/N to the dance floor and the two took up their positions. 

“I don’t say this often enough,” Y/N said as they danced around the room, “but I’m so glad you’re my brother, Anthony.”

Anthony managed to concel his surprise by twirling Y/N around and using the brief moment she wasn’t looking to show his surprise before hiding it again. 

“I’m incredibly lucky to have you in my life,” she continued, oblivious. “I just wanted you to know that.”

Anthony nodded and smiled, twirling her around again. 

Later on, however, when he was in his own lodgings away from prying eyes, Anthony looked back on the moment and had to hide his tears in a bottle of whiskey and the mountain of paperwork he had to fulfil. 

[starksbabie]

Hello! Most of my works are sfw unless otherwise noted but because I’m an adult mdni 18+ only! Below the cut you will find my masterlist for Marvel, Stranger Things, & Fargo. I’m open for requests or just general asks 🥰 thank you for visiting my blog!

Bucky Barnes

In the Rain - 40s!Bucky x Reader 4 + 1 - 4 times you enjoy the rain and the 1 time it ruins you. (750 Words)

Steve Rogers

Here for You - Steve Rogers x Reader - Hurt/ComfortAfter weeks away on a long mission Steve comes home to find you feeling the big sad and does his best to let you know how much he cares. (400 Words) Warnings: Depression, Depression Messes

Natasha Romanoff

Chronically in Love with You - Natasha x ChronicallyIll!Reader - Natasha comforts her chronically ill partner. (550 Words)

What You Deserve - Follow up to Chronically in Love with You - Reader tries to leave, feeling that Natasha deserves better than her. (1,300 Words)

Loki Laufeyson

Love is a Dagger - Loki x Reader - Smut - Loki confronts the reader after a misunderstanding on the training field, angry sex ensues with a bit of knife kink. (815 Words)

Warnings: Smut, Knife Kink.

Sam Wilson

You Are Not Alone - Sam x Reader - Hurt/Comfort Drabble - Sam comforts the reader after a bad day. (350 Words)

Promise? Promise - Sam x Reader - Sam comforts Reader who's having a panic attack. (650 Words)

Eddie Munson

Sanctuary - Eddie Munson x Reader - Angst - Eddie helps Reader let out some pent-up feelings, but good things don't always last. (700 Words)

Marshmellow - Eddie Munson x Reader - Fluff - After meeting at Scoops Ahoy, Eddie takes you to see a horror movie. You're not scared, right? (1,100 Words)

Scared of the Dark - Eddie Munson x Marshmallow!Reader - Smut - Reader is scared of the dark so Eddie invites her to spend the night with him so she doesn’t have to spend the night home alone after the power goes out and one thing leads to another. (1,400 Words)

Warnings: light smut (dry humping, groping), weed mention

You Belong With Me - Eddie Munson x Reader - Hurt/Comfort - Eddie’s got what he always dreamed of, he is passing his classes, Hellfire is going great, Corroded Coffin is sounding better than ever, Chrissy Cunningham is his girlfriend, and his best friend Y/N is right by his side. Inspired by Taylor Swift’s You Belong With Me where Eddie overlooks his best friend who is completely in love with him... or does he? (1,400 Words)

Gator Tillman

The Ink That Binds Us - Alpha!Gator Tillman x Omega!Reader - Omega reader moves to Stark County, ND after her grandmother dies and she inherits her house. She gets a job at a local diner where she meets charismatic asshole alpha, Deputy Gator Tillman. Will his rough around-the-edge ways push her away before she even knows that he’s her perfect match? (5,400 Words) [running total]

Warnings: Soulmates AU, A/B/O, eventual smut, 18+ mdni, mentioned unwanted touching, soulmates have matching tattoos, Gator Tillman (he’s his own warning)

Ch 1, Ch 2

aww, avengers - kid fic collection

Writing event with @comfortcap 6 blurbs featuring your favorite Avengers as parents.

[itsclydebitches]

Hi! I was just watching good omens and I came up with some questions, but I didn't know whom to ask, so I was digging around for go analysis blogs and found you. *takes a breath* So, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on why Heaven's camera angles are the way they are. I noticed that, in heaven, the camera tends to focus on the characters' heads specifically, so they fill most of the screen. Either it's a meta reason or a reference to something (like Newt with the Office) that I'm not getting. That's the main thing, but I've also wondered why exactly Aziraphale uses the verb "fraternize" in the 19th century. It seemed an odd pivot from caring about Crowley's safety to Heaven's rules. Thanks so much!

Hello! Omg yes, let's talk Good Omens cinematography.

First, the obligatory Analysis Disclaimer: I doubt there's a specific interpretation that you're just not getting, some singular, "correct" reading of the scene(s). Two years past release, I'm positive the fandom as a whole has come up with plenty of ideas (I mostly hang on the periphery. I'm far from up to date with GO meta), but any and all of it will, by nature, be subjective. Thus, all I can offer is my own, personal interpretation.

So for me? It's about intimacy.

Not intimacy in the sense of friendship, but rather the broad idea of closeness. Confidentiality. Emotion. Knowledge. Understanding by means of literally getting into the thick of these conversations. I love the camerawork in Heaven (and elsewhere) because the camera itself acts like a person — an additional party to these interactions. And, since we're the ones watching this show via the camera, it makes it feel as if we're peeking into scenes that are otherwise private. Obviously all cinematography does this to a certain extent, the camera is always watching someone or something without acknowledging that we're doing the watching (outside of documentary-esque filmmaking), but GO uses angles and closeups to mimic another person observing these scenes, someone other than the characters involved.

The easiest example I can give here is when Michael makes their call to Ligur. Here, the camera is positioned up on the next landing of the staircase, as if we're sneaking a look down at this otherwise secret call. There's even a moment when the camera pans to the right to look at them through the gap in the railing, briefly obscuring Michael from our view.

Here, a standard expectation of any scene — keep your character in focus — is done away with to instead mimic the movements of someone actually hiding in the stairwell, listening in on the conversation. It creates that feeling of intimacy, as if we're really there with Michael, not just watching Michael through a screen. The camerawork acts like a person overhearing an illicit conversation prior to falling back on mid/closeup shots. We're spying on them.

To give a non-Heaven example, the camera helps us connect with Aziraphale during Gabriel's jogging scene. It's hard to show through screenshots, but if you re-watch you'll see that the camera initially keeps them both in the frame with full body shots, allowing us to compare things like Gabriel's unadorned gray workout clothes with Aziraphale's more stylish outfit; one's good jogging form and the other's awkward shuffle. However, this distance also creates the sense that we're jogging with them, we're keeping pace.

That is, until Aziraphale begins to lag. Then the camera lags too, giving them both the chance to catch up, so to speak.

Until, finally, Aziraphale has to stop completely and the camera, of course, stops with him. We're emotionally attuned to Aziraphale, not Gabriel, and the camerawork reflects that. Even more-so when we cut to a low shot of Gabriel's annoyed huff at having to stop at all, making him appear larger and more imposing. Because to Aziraphale, he is.

This work carries over into Heaven's other scenes. The closeups are pretty much a given since, whether it's Gabriel realizing Aziraphale has been "fraternizing" with Crowley (more on that below!), or Aziraphale choosing to go back to Earth, the scenes in Heaven are incredibly important to the narrative. Closeups allow the viewer to get a good read on each character's emotional state — focusing on minute facial changes as opposed to overall body language — and that fly-on-the-wall feeling is increased as we literally get an up close and personal look at these pivotal moments.

Compare a shot like this one of Gabriel to the line of angels ready for battle. We don't get closeups on any of their faces because their emotions aren't important. Yes, that's in part because they're background characters, not main characters, but a lack of emotion — their willingness to enter this war without question — is also the point of their presence in this scene. So they remain a semi-identical, nearly faceless mass that runs off into infinity down that hallway, not any individual whose inner life we get a peek at via a closeup.

I particularly like Aziraphale's conversation with the angel... general? Idk what to call this guy. He's just gonna be Mustache Angel. But, getting back on track, his scene has a lot of over the shoulder shots which, admittedly, are pretty common. From a practical perspective they're used to help the audience situate both characters in the scene — you're here, you're there, this is how you're spaced during this conversation — but it can also help emphasize that closeness between them. Keeping both characters in the shot connects them and though Aziraphale and Mustache Angel definitely aren't on the same page here, those shots help cue us in to the unwanted intimacy of this moment. They're both angels... even though Aziraphale no longer aligns himself with them. They're both soldiers in a war... but Aziraphale will not fight. This angel has a list of Aziraphale's secrets, including that he once had a flaming sword and lost it... but Aziraphale doesn't want to admit those circumstances to him. This angel wouldn't understand, even if he did. Intimacy here, connection and closeness, is something discomforting because Aziraphale can no longer embrace those similarities. They put him (and us) out of sorts, so when we get them both in frame, that connection creates tension, not relief.

And many of those over the shoulder shots are given sharp angels, or the camera is placed too close to the "off screen" party. Compare a shot like Luke and Rey to Aziraphale and Mustache Angel. Here, Luke is a clean, solid line on the left side of the screen, just enough there to cue us in to where he is in relationship to Ray, In contrast, Mustache Angel's mustache is Too Close and proves rather distracting. Rey and Luke are connecting here over being Jedi with responsibilities to uphold (or at least, Luke will acknowledge that connection later lol); Mustache Angel is forcing a connection with Aziraphale that makes everyone uncomfortable.

We are too close to him here. He feels too close to Aziraphale too. This whole conversation is upsetting and discomforting, pushing Aziraphale to finally choose which side he's on (his own with Crowley). The shots aren't meant to subtly keep the audience from getting lost and then otherwise be unobtrusive, we're supposed to be Very Aware of this angel's body and how close he's getting to the character we've come to identify with — both literally (he's leaning in) and in terms of forcing Aziraphale to finally make his choice.

When Mustache Angel marches forward and gets all up in Aziraphale's face, the camera positions itself behind Aziraphale in a way that makes it feel like we're hiding behind him, with Aziraphale taking up far more of the screen than Luke does. Like the scene with Michael or running with Gabriel, the camera often likes to mimic a "realistic" response to these events. This angry, shouty angel is getting closer, best take a step back and stay out of sight behind Aziraphale, holding his ground.

These closeups also serve as a nice contrast to the wide and longshots we get of Heaven. It's an imposing place with skyscrapers in the distance, lots of steel, immaculate floors, and endless white. It's overwhelming and it's cold. But then we cut to those mid-shots of Gabriel and Michael, telling us that they're in control of it all.

Aziraphale? Aziraphale is not in control. Not now, anyway. When he appears in Heaven we get a longshot to show off this endless void and he's just another, tiny speck in it. If he weren't flailing around — an acting move that likewise helps sell how out of his depth he is — it's unlikely you'd even notice him. Aziraphale's clothing and hair blends in perfectly with the background. He's forgettable. Easily overlooked. Someone to underestimate. And when he moves, he has to come to the camera. We don't cut to Aziraphale to establish control like we do with Gabriel. He's left to awkwardly shuffle up to Mustache Angel until he's finally come into view.

Yet when Aziraphale makes his decision, he aligns himself with the brightest, most colorful, most interesting thing in the room: Earth. Earth, with all its messy individuality, is the antithesis to Heaven's controlled uniformity and a bright blue orb hanging in the midst of all this white helps remind us of that. Aziraphale rejects becoming one of the identical soldiers and instead literally reaches out for the one thing in Heaven that doesn't fit in.

When he leaves, we get an extreme closeup for the first time. Mustache Angel is pissed and as such we not only get a good look at his face in the aftermath of Aziraphale's choice, but that extreme closeup on his mouth as he's shouting too. It's like he's shouting directly at us, the viewer who is currently cheering on Aziraphale's decision. There's a war, dammit... but we don't care. Not in the way he cares, anyway.

So there's a lot! And I could probably go on, but apparently I'm only allowed to add 10 images per post now (tumblr what the actual fuck if anyone knows a way around this please share!) and I've already had to merge a bunch of images like an animal. So let's awkwardly finish up with the duck pond scene.

...without a GIF because they apparently count as images too 🙃

Simply put, I don't think Aziraphale bringing up fraternizing is a pivot from one to the other — from caring about Crowley to caring about Heaven's rules. I mean yes, Aziraphale is lagging behind Crowley in terms of rebellion and a part of him is, at this point, absolutely concerned with how he'll come across to the higherups, but that worry doesn't stem solely from a (now very shaky) desire to obey for the sake of obeying. The thing is, Aziraphale's disobedience is, by default, also Crowley's disobedience. If they're friends and they're ever found out, they'll both get in trouble. Which, we know from the end of Season One, basically means being wiped from existence. That's horrifying! And it's a horror that threatens them both. I don't think Aziraphale cares about rules for the sake of rules; after all, he started off by giving away his sword, lying to God, is currently meeting with Crowley anyway... this angel has always ignored/bent the rules — established and implied — that don't suit him. Rather, he cares about the rules if he thinks they have a chance of being enforced. If there will be consequences for breaking and bending them. This is still about caring for Crowley (as well as saving his own, angelic skin). If they're found out, Crowley dies. And, as we the viewer learn, Heaven was indeed observing them that whole time. There was always legitimate risk attached to this relationship. Aziraphale's fear, hesitance, and at times forceful pleas to stop this stem as much from Aziraphale worrying about Crowley's safety as they do a learned instinct to obey the rules without question. He pushes to end the relationship because the relationship threatens the only thing Aziraphale cares about more than that: Crowley himself.

As for the term "fraternizing," that's a loaded one! I won't go into a whole history lesson here, but suffice to say it has military roots: to sympathize as brothers with an opponent. That is literally what Crowley and Aziraphale are doing. They are an angel and a demon, supposedly innate enemies, supposedly poised for an inevitable war... yet they've formed an incredibly strong kinship. They've both learned to love their enemy, the thing every army fears because, well, then your army won't fight (just as Aziraphale won't). However, beyond the enemy implications, "to fraternize" eventually took on a sexual meaning: to not merely love as a brother, but to lay with the enemy too, usually women from enemy countries (because, you know, heteronormativity). Nowadays, "to fraternize" often implies a sexual component. I've been rewatching The Good Wife lately and in one subplot, the State's Attorney cracks down on fraternization in his office. He doesn't mean his employees are forming bonds with assumed enemies, he means his employees are having sex on his office couch. So Aziraphale's phrasing here carries a LOT of weight. He's both reminding Crowley of their stations in the world — you are a demon, I am an angel, us meeting like this can have formal, irrevocable consequences for us both — as well as, given the fact that this is a love story, drawing attention to the depth of this relationship. They love one another, as more than just friends. Though whether Crowley's scathing "Fraternizing?" is a response to Aziraphale falling back on the technicalities of their positions, or acknowledging a love he's yet to overtly admit and commit to — or both! — is definitely up for debate.

[baddcop]

new android!gavin lore just dropped !

after some discussion, android gavin is now a department android working solely in paperwork. he is unable to act directly within cases, and the reason he begins deviating is because he can’t help but assist. the cases catch his attention and he begins getting ideas, he wants to know how investigations and interrogations are going. usually, listening in on the status is easy but knowing he could have done more had he just been able to is what pushes him to act out.

unlike mainverse gavin, GV600 is amicable. he was programmed to be a friendly face for workers & suspects to interact with as necessary. after his deviation however, he’s faced with the trauma of being treated as less than and completely rejects what he is. he runs from it, removing his LED and trying to smother ever hint and clue that could lead other’s to figure out he’s an android.

he wants to be a detective though, he knows he can help and he knows he’s good at it. it’s the spark that drove him this far, but he can’t help but feel so out of place in the department. as though he isn’t meant to be there, unwanted and underestimated.

his rage as a result of his justifiable anger is just the forefront of it. his deviation has left him without a lot of his warm amicable and “easy” behavior from before, although it’s not all gone. he doesn’t want to be easy, he doesn’t want to be overlooked and looked down on. as ugly a part of him it is, he thinks if androids want to survive and be taken seriously, they can’t be themselves. That they have to hide, because if they don’t ... if they don’t then what does that mean for him? For all he’s sacrificed in favor of just being seen as a person. He’s afraid to find out what’s left of himself, he’s confused and unsure. He’s hurt and angry and fearing the worst, for once this is a problem he can’t fight and it’s killing him.

Literally the living embodiment of “Easy for you to say. When you change, you change for the better. When I change, I change for the worse.”

[wondernimbus]

play pretend — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

prompt: in which two people are forced into marriage; reader falls in love. draco doesn’t. 

a/n: hi listen to the song dusk til dawn if you wanna get into ur feelings while reading this .. anyways enjoy!!! 

No matter how much Draco tried to deny it, part of her had always known that unwanted feelings lingered. Feelings from the past that should have been left there but weren’t—feelings that shone through during the most intimate moments; underneath bed covers, when Astoria’s name would slip past his lips instead of hers, or afternoons spent out by the garden when she would catch his eye and find him looking at her in a way that made it so painfully obvious that he was trying to find something in her that he could love.

The first time his and [Y/N]’s families had ever met, Narcissa Malfoy had pulled her away from the dining table to tell her in a voice of caution about a girl named Astoria Greengrass; the very same one Draco had fallen in love with during his time at Hogwarts. The girl came from a wealthy family, but one that was not wealthy enough—her blood was pure but her name not as well-respected as that of the Malfoys’ (word had leaked of an early ancestor having married a Muggle). Simply put, she was, though close to it, not good enough for Draco. The history of her family line and her insufficient wealth just couldn’t make the cut; Astoria Greengrass wasn’t good enough to wed into the Malfoy family—regardless of how much Draco claimed to have felt for her.

And so Astoria and Draco’s story ended with tragedy; with separation and arranged marriages to anyone but each other. Astoria wedded a man of her status; someone who could afford to marry her, and Draco to [Y/N], who had never known love until she met him—the very person who couldn't feel the same for her.

She'd wedded Draco fully aware that mutual feelings of affection were the last of any of their families' concerns. As long as no Muggle blood besmirched each others' family trees and the purity of blood was carried on further into newer generations, petty things like love hardly mattered.

Except somewhere along their forced time together in a lonely manor by the countryside—a dowry from her family to the Malfoys—[Y/N] began to look at Draco as less of the man who had been forced into marriage with her and more of a man she could learn to love. And so she did; she learned and loved and found a comfort in him that she had never been expecting to. It took time, yes, but once she took that courageous step and the floor gave out underneath her feet and she fell for Draco faster than she could even blink, she couldn't stop.

Because once you start to love someone, you are done for. You won't be able to pull yourself back out.

Maybe that's why Draco can't forget that one Astoria Greengrass. Maybe that's why he can't quite look at [Y/N] the way she wants him to. Maybe it's why, when [Y/N] foolishly tells him "I love you" in hopes that maybe this time he'll say it back, he doesn't.

[Y/N] wants to be angry. She wants to be able to grasp Draco’s shoulders, shake him to his senses and scream at him to forget Astoria, you can never have each other but you have me and I love you and I want you to be able to say the same for me so please just let go of her. But to set her pride aside and ask something like that of him takes plenty of courage—courage that [Y/N] isn���t entirely sure she has.

So she sits and pretends like everything is fine. Tells herself that the man she loves loves her back when she knows he doesn’t. And he knows it too.

Playing pretend—she’s gotten quite good at it over time.

—

When Draco holds her at midnight and presses himself close to her, it's like he's trying to imprint himself onto her very skin, trying to ingrain part of himself onto every inch of her body he can reach. And in a way, he does, in patches of faint red and purple and dark blues that mark her skin wherever his lips go.

They almost never talk at night. They're much too busy wrapped up in each other's arms and legs to bother with words. [Y/N] threads her fingers through his hair and pulls him in and Draco kisses her so hard it's like he's trying to make up for everything that he can't give her; kisses with passion that isn't quite driven by love but rather desperation for something—someone—he can't quite have.

And it hurts because [Y/N] knows that when Draco groans into her mouth and tightens his grip on her waist and glides his lips down her skin, it's not her face in his head. And it's not her name that leaves his lips, either, when the night progresses and they are drunk in one another's touch.

But [Y/N] is okay with it—or so she tells herself.

She has Draco. She's happy. She loves him, even though he doesn't. She is happy.

She has to be.

—

Jealousy.

That's what [Y/N] feels.

[Y/N] has never met Astoria Greengrass but she is pathetically jealous of her. She is jealous of everything about Astoria that Draco fell in love with, whatever that might be. And it's ridiculous because she doesn't even know what she looks like or how she is; all that [Y/N] knows about her is that she must truly be something else to have captured Draco Malfoy's heart and to still have it in her hands after all of this time.

An arranged marriage and a year forced apart—you'd think that that would be enough for Draco to move on.

They've been together for a while. Draco still looks at her like he's not really seeing her. He doesn't love her, and [Y/N] isn't exactly sure he ever will. Every day she wakes and hopes that by some miracle he has opened his eyes and has begun to finally see past the future she knows he still fantasizes about with Astoria, but that is yet to happen. For now [Y/N] is helplessly in love with a man who has his heart set on someone else.

And at some point she has become angry, but not at Draco nor the woman he loves—no, she is angry at herself. She catches sight of herself in the mirror and hates what is staring back at her. She goes up to her reflection and frowns and contemplates what it is she's missing. If the sight of her own face is revolting to herself, then it is no doubt that others feel the same way—including Draco—and is that why he can't love her? Because of how ugly she is? Or is it how she acts? How she speaks, how she laughs, how she smiles, how she is?

Whenever Draco disappears to "clear his head" and [Y/N] is left alone, she finds that the manor is too small to hold the vast amount of nothingness spilling out of her at the seams, so she goes out into the highest balcony that overlooks the sea and breathes in as much of the salty breeze as she can until the feeling in her chest doesn't quite feel as suffocating anymore.

It's not the marriage she'd been hoping for all of those years ago when she was a naive child who believed in fairy tales and happy endings. But at the very least, she loves. And she is grateful to Draco for allowing her to know what that feels like, even when he can't quite give it back to her.

—

But hearts are made of soft things, tissue and blood and muscle. Things that break and wound easy. Things that tend to scar instead of heal. There is only so much you can do until a human reaches breaking point and their heart gives away, and [Y/N] finds herself one Thursday evening with blood dripping down her knuckles and shards of glass scattered on the floor.

"What happened?" Draco's voice is soft, imploring, almost loving but not quite. It's always almost. Almost what [Y/N] wants. Almost how a husband should love his wife. Almost.

"Tripped," [Y/N] winces. Draco kneels down in front of her from where she's sitting on the toilet, hands gently caressing her own to inspect her blood-smattered knuckles. It's a terrible excuse; how do you trip and punch a mirror?

But Draco doesn't question it, and [Y/N] doesn't have to tell him that she'd looked into the mirror and despised what she saw so much that she'd been overcome by an irrational anger and began to beat her fists against her own reflection until the glass splintered and the skin of her wrists did so along with it.

Draco tells her to wait, so she does, sitting in the cold bathroom by herself with blood dripping down her knuckles onto the floor until Draco comes back with a cloth in one hand and a pouch of healing ointments in the other. Once he's cleaned up the mess on the floor, he kneels in front of her again and, quietly, gently, he begins to wipe the blood from her hands.

"Does it hurt?" Draco murmurs. His brows are drawn in the middle in a slight frown as he tries his hardest not to press too hard. He pauses and looks up at her, and his eyes are gentle, almost loving. Almost.

[Y/N] forces out a painful laugh. "Nothing I can't handle."

A smile tugs on the edges of Draco's lips. "As expected."

Then he quietly resumes nursing her wounds, and [Y/N] doesn't realize that she has started crying until she tastes the tears on her lips. Draco notices but doesn't say anything.

And because she is pathetically in love and she wants him to feel the same, when the cuts on her wrist have been bandaged and Draco is tucking away all of the tubes of ointment in his pouch, saying something about being more careful the next time (even though the both of them know fully well that her tripping was an excuse), [Y/N] tries again and says, "I love you."

Draco freezes for nothing more than a split-second, but [Y/N] notices—her gaze is fixed on him intently, helplessly trying to gauge a reaction that part of her knows won't come. But she wishes it would.

Her wishes are unheard. Draco nods, turns his head just a fraction of an inch to look at her out of the corner of his eye, and offers her a sad smile.

Almost.

—

"No, listen to me, Draco—I am TIRED!"

"And you don't think I am?"

"I know you love her—Merlin, of course I know, I see it every time you look at me—but I'm asking you to try to love m—"

"You say it like it's easy."

There is a sob rattling in the back of her throat. [Y/N] swallows it back down and turns away from Draco like he hasn't already seen the absolute mess of tears on her cheeks.

Draco stares out of the window, jaw taut and his fists clenched so tight at his sides his knuckles have gone a ghostly white.

"I knew we were getting married but I never expected much beyond a sealed contract and an agreement between our families—I never expected to fall in love with you but I did so here I am now asking you to do the same for me."

A beat of silence. "You're not her."

Another swallowed sob. A brand new fissure in her heart that joins the thousands of others. "I'm sorry."

More silence. Then: "I am too."

And then Draco leaves first, because he always does.

—

Their fights don't last long. Days follow and Draco and [Y/N] go about as they always do, pretending like the gaping void between them isn't there. Whenever night comes, Draco will roll over and press a quiet kiss to the back of [Y/N]'s shoulders, snake one hand around her waist, and whisper I'm sorry, and [Y/N] will turn and drag her lips against his until Draco captures them in his own and they are stuck in that endless loop of want again.

Draco kisses the breath out of her and she kisses him back. Kisses him enough to make up for those few terrible minutes of anger she'd accidentally let loose days ago. Kisses him with love, with passion—with everything Draco doesn't have.

When she gasps for air and Draco pulls away and trails his lips down her neck, leaving a trail of what feels like pure flame behind in his wake, she digs her nails into his shoulders and holds him in place. In a strained voice she says: "Look at me."

He doesn't. Draco kisses her throat and against her will she sucks in a desperate, shuddering breath, and the air sounds like Draco's name. "Look at me, Draco," she repeats, fingers pressing into his skin more insistently.

This time he stops and pries his lips away from her skin and hovers over her, eyes searching hers.

"When you're with me," she begins, eyes dark, breath coming quick, "I want to be the only one inside your head. I want you to look into my eyes and see only me."

His grip on her waist tightens; her hands twist unsteadily in his hair, gaze clearing just a tiny bit as she says, "Please."

And then he is dipping down to kiss her again, lips parted, breath rough. Somewhere in between their almost frantic kisses he whispers a response, and [Y/N] is much too lost in the feeling of his skin on hers but she thinks that Draco might be breathing words into her skin. They sound like apologies—sound like I'm sorry, sound like Astoria.

[Y/N] throws her head back as Draco brushes his lips over the curve of her collarbones and whispers something audible this time, and this time it sounds like I'll try. Feels like hope. Feels like a door opening to something.

Feels, for the first time, something more than almost.

[cassianwithamessybun]

This is sad, well not really but also yes. It’s another Lucien and Elain one shot, but it’s sad. It’s basically what is going on in Lucien’s mind during solstice. Anyway hope you like❤️

——————————————————————————

“Too much of my life Elain, I have spent waiting,” he gritted out.

“Waiting to be accepted by my family! Waiting for the mating bond between me and Jesminda to snap in place! Waiting to be free of my father! Waiting for Amrenthana’s reign to end! waiting for the war to end! Waiting for a safe home! Waiting for any form of love! Waiting for you,” he breathed.

The rain continued streaming down his face faster than his tears.

“And I’m tired,” he sobbed, “I’m so fucking tired.”

And he was. He would not beg her for affection. Never again would he beg for love. All he wanted now was oblivion. The freedom that was nothing, an abyss of nothing.

He didn’t want to feel anymore. Too often his emotions clouded his judgment. Too often he overlooked how he felt and what he wanted.

So he stopped feeling, stopped wanting, stopped everything.

He turned, Walking away from her even though the mating bond screamed at him to turn back.

He tried to breathe as wet leaves crunched under his boots.

“Lucien Vanserra! Get back here right now!” He heard her stomping through the forest after him.

He turned around and was met with Elain. Still soaking wet. Still devastatingly beautiful.

That fueled his anger. Why was she so pretty? He cursed the mating bond as she continued walking towards him. Her face, like his, looked twisted in anger.

And she… she was crying?

“You,” she pointed at him, “you,” she repeated rage laced in every letter.

“Are you blind? Can you truly not see? I know you only have one eye Lucien but surely you can pick up on fucking context clues.”

She was so angry, it was as if he could feel her rage in his bones warming him, his heart.

“What are you talking about,” he sighed, ready to collapse. He no longer cared about himself, it’s not like anyone else did.

“All of this Lucien. I am out here in the freezing rain chasing after you,” she sobbed but continued her advance towards him.

He took a breath but it went nowhere.

“You say you have been waiting for me…” she paused “but I am right here, Lucien. Right here,” she pointed to herself and something inside him broke seeing her like this.

“My whole life I have been unseen, unimportant, unwanted, unworthy, and finally,” a sob escaped her, “I thought you saw me. I thought you knew Lucien.”

Every time she said his name he felt the mating bond flicker.

But right now, the thread that tied them together was being pulled taut.

Then she breathed three words that ruined him completely.

“I love you.”

His heart was beating so fast. Like it was trying to leap out of his chest to get to her.

He could hear her heart beating too, but it was as if it had been fractured. Though both their hearts were beating he could still feel the cracks.

They were just two broken souls with broken hearts. Forever destined to be in pain.

“You don’t have to keep waiting Lucien, I’m right here and I love you. I am in love with you!” She cried.

Lucien shook his head, “no, you—-no,” he stuttered, “please,” he took the final step towards her and took her cheeks in his hands, “please don’t lie to me—-

“I’m not,” she said fiercely, “I accept the mating bond between us, Lucien Vanserra. I accept you, and I will not make you wait a moment more.”

Before he could say anything back she was kissing him. Her lips… they were perfect.

More perfect than he had ever imagined because she was kissing him like He was oxygen and she was dying to breathe.

It was the kind of kiss that inspired the sun to rise every day even though it knows it will fall in the end.

He pulled away to study her face.

He brushed away her wet golden brown locks and she looked up at him through wet eyelashes.

Cauldron, those eyes. Her brown eyes flecked with gold. Like dying embers that never went out, never succumbed to oblivion.

He let those embers warm his heart. Let her strengthen and save him from getting lost in oblivion.

He kissed her again, as if she was his only source of life… of love.

She was.

“I love you,” Lucien didn’t remember who said it. He only remembered how it felt.

He committed it to memory.

What does love feel like?

Her, was his only answer

———————————-

“Lucien, how is the spring court faring?” Feyre asked from across the room.

All eyes were on him as he answered. All eyes except…

Elain had not spared him a glance this whole night.

“As well as you would expect,” he said, not revealing anything specific.

“Good,” she said looking at him like she knew exactly what he had been thinking about.

Lucien excused himself and walked outside for a breath of fresh air.

It didn’t help the hole in his chest. If anything it made him feel more hollow. Like wind whipping through an empty forest.

But maybe hollow was good. It was better than sadness or pain.

He sighed and ran his hands down his face.

Maybe next year she would talk to him, or smile, or even acknowledge his presence.

No, he didn’t deserve that. Not after all he had done.

He didn’t deserve love… didn’t deserve anything.

He blinked back the well of tears and made his way back inside.

Only two more hours, he told himself. Then he would leave. Surely that’s what she wanted anyway.