#he is so smart and so so stupid I love him

[blueturtle459]

my sister's cat is so dumb

his coat is very black. very cute. not orange. I thought, "aren't black cats supposed to be smart?"

no. the cat astrology failed me. he is so adorably stupid though and I love him

i know most of the "orange cats are dumb and silly!!!" comments are meant in jest and just to have fun. but also it is so important to me that you guys know cat colors are not related to their intelligence levels. i had a woman recently tell me she would never own an orange cat because of how dumb they are.

[luvashli]

MORE THEN FRIENDS

Synopsis -> Heeseung has always been your best friend—but lately, the lingering touches and stolen glances feel different. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to realize he’s meant to be more.

Pairing -> best!friend!heeseung x fem!reader

Genre -> oneshot, best friends to lovers, suggestive

Status -> complete

Wc -> 3.4k

Note -> requestet by this ask :) hope you enjoy

The first time you met Heeseung, he was the quiet new kid in your fourth-grade class, staring down at his desk while nervously tapping his pencil. You had been assigned as his seat partner, and while the rest of the class chattered around him, he stayed silent.

Ever the curious one, you nudged his arm with your elbow. “Wanna trade snacks?” you asked, holding up your peanut butter sandwich.

Heeseung hesitated, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for the first time. Then, without a word, he slid his pack of strawberry Pocky across the desk. You grinned, breaking your sandwich in half and handing it to him.

And just like that, you were inseparable.

___

Middle school was a blur of shared lunch trays, inside jokes, and whispered secrets. Heeseung wasn’t as shy anymore—not with you, at least. He still liked to keep to himself, but you were the exception to that rule.

You balanced each other out. Where you were loud and impulsive, he was calm and thoughtful. Where you rushed headfirst into things, he held back and thought things through.

When the other kids teased you for being “too much,” Heeseung was always there, rolling his eyes and telling you they were just jealous. And when Heeseung got called a nerd for acing every math test, you sat beside him at lunch and loudly declared that smart people were hot anyway.

Back then, everything was simple. Heeseung was your best friend, and you were his. No questions asked. No complicated feelings.

But then came high school. And suddenly, things weren’t so simple anymore.

___

Heeseung had always thought you were pretty. Even back in middle school, when you still had braces and a habit of tripping over your own feet, he knew there was something about you that pulled people in—pulled him in. But he never really understood what that feeling meant until sophomore year.

It happened at a school dance, of all places. You had dragged him there, even though he insisted he hated school events. You’d rolled your eyes and called him a grandpa, saying, “Come on, Hee, what’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst, apparently, was watching you slow dance with someone else.

He hadn’t realized he was gripping his soda can so tightly until Jake nudged him. “Dude, you look like you wanna kill someone.”

Heeseung forced a laugh. “What? No. I just…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on you—on the way you laughed at something your dance partner said, on the way they spun you around like you were weightless. And that’s when it hit him.

He was in love with you.

It was a terrifying realization, one that made his stomach twist into knots. Because the moment he understood his feelings, he also understood something else—you didn’t feel the same way.

After that night, Heeseung tried to ignore his feelings. He told himself it was just a phase, just a stupid crush that would go away if he stopped thinking about it.

He dated other girls. Not many, but enough to convince himself he was over you. But it never worked, because every time something good happened, you were the first person he wanted to tell. And every time something bad happened, you were the only person who could make it better.

So, he buried his feelings. He smiled when you talked about your latest crushes, pretended it didn’t sting when you called him your platonic soulmate, and kept being the best friend you needed him to be.

Because loving you was easy. It was having you that was impossible.

___

Now, standing on the edge of adulthood, you still saw Heeseung as your constant, your safe place. But Heeseung? He had spent years pretending not to love you.

And he was starting to wonder how much longer he could keep up the act.

If someone had told Heeseung years ago that he’d still be hopelessly in love with you, he would’ve laughed it off. He had convinced himself—or at least tried to—that his feelings would fade with time. That someday, he’d wake up and you’d just be his best friend again, nothing more.

But here he was, sitting across from you in your favorite café, watching as you stirred sugar into your coffee with that same absentminded concentration you always had, and he knew—he had never stopped loving you.

“You’re staring,” you teased, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Heeseung scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “No, I’m not.”

“You totally are.” You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Heeseung wanted to tell you the truth—that you had his whole heart on your face, that he couldn’t look at you without wanting to memorize every little detail. But instead, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you have ‘annoying’ written all over it.”

You gasped dramatically. “Wow. Is this how you treat your best friend? Unbelievable.”

There it was. That word. Best friend.

Heeseung swallowed down the bitter taste that always followed when you said that. He knew it wasn’t your fault—you had no idea how he felt. How could you? He had spent years making sure you didn’t.

But lately, it was getting harder to pretend. Harder to keep smiling when you told him about your latest date, harder to act normal when you rested your head on his shoulder like it was the most casual thing in the world. Because to you, it was casual. But to Heeseung, every touch, every laugh, every moment with you felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have.

And it was slowly driving him insane.

“Hello? Earth to Heeseung?” Your voice cut through his thoughts, and he realized you were waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry, what?” He blinked.

“I was saying, do you wanna come over tonight? Movie night, just like old times.” You smiled, eyes bright with excitement.

It was an innocent offer. Just another normal night in your friendship. But to Heeseung, it was another reminder of how much he wanted but could never have.

Still, he nodded, forcing a grin. “Yeah, sure. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Because no matter how much it hurt, being close to you—even as just a friend—was better than not having you at all.

___

Movie nights with Heeseung were nothing new. They had been a tradition since high school—just the two of you, a ridiculous amount of snacks, and an unspoken rule that you had to rewatch at least one childhood favorite before the night was over.

But tonight felt… different.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Maybe it was the way Heeseung seemed quieter than usual, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long when he thought you weren’t looking. Or maybe it was the way your heart kept skipping beats whenever his knee brushed against yours on the couch.

You shook the thought away, grabbing a handful of popcorn. It’s just Heeseung. Your best friend. Stop being weird.

“What do you wanna watch?” you asked, flipping through the streaming options.

Heeseung shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “You pick.”

“You always say that.”

“And yet, you always pick something terrible.” He smirked, reaching over to steal some of your popcorn.

You gasped, smacking his hand away. “Excuse you! I have excellent taste.”

He snorted. “Sure, if excellent taste means forcing me to sit through three-hour-long romance movies where nothing happens except people staring at each other.”

“You like those movies, don’t lie.”

“I like suffering through them for you—big difference,” he muttered under his breath.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spread just a little. Heeseung always did that—acted like he was just tolerating the things you loved, when in reality, he indulged you more than anyone ever had.

You ended up picking a random movie, something lighthearted, but halfway through, you barely paid attention. Your focus kept drifting to Heeseung—his stupidly perfect side profile, the way his lips parted slightly when he was concentrating, the little crease in his brow when something in the movie confused him.

It wasn’t like you had never noticed before. You had eyes, after all. But tonight, it was like your brain refused to brush it off as nothing.

You shifted slightly, only to realize just how close the two of you were sitting. At some point, Heeseung had draped his arm across the back of the couch, and without thinking, you had leaned into his side. It wasn’t unusual. You’d done this a hundred times before.

So why did it feel like your whole body was hyper-aware of him?

A scene in the movie made you laugh, and without thinking, you turned to share the moment with him—only to find him already looking at you.

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t look away.

For a second, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the muffled dialogue from the movie, but everything else faded into the background. His gaze flickered down—to your lips, just for a split second—before returning to your eyes.

And suddenly, you knew.

You knew what had been different about tonight. You knew why your heart was racing, why his touches felt electric, why the way he looked at you sent heat rushing through your veins.

Because for the first time, you were seeing Heeseung in a way you had never let yourself before.

And maybe—just maybe—you were falling for your best friend.

Your heart pounded as you stared at Heeseung, the glow of the TV flickering against his face. He wasn’t looking away.

He always looked at you—watching, waiting, as if he had something to say but never quite found the words. But tonight, for the first time, you weren’t oblivious to it. You weren’t brushing off the way his eyes lingered, the way his fingers twitched against his thigh like he wanted to reach for you but held himself back.

And maybe, for the first time, you didn’t want him to hold back.

You swallowed, trying to play it off. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Heeseung’s jaw clenched slightly, and his voice came out lower than usual. "You’re the one staring first."

You weren’t. Or maybe you were. It didn’t matter.

The tension between you felt thick, heavy, like a rubber band stretched too tight, on the verge of snapping.

And then it did.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, Heeseung’s lips were on yours, crashing into you like he had been waiting for this moment forever. Maybe he had. Maybe you had, too, without realizing it.

A small gasp left your lips, but Heeseung didn’t hesitate—his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you melted into him like you had been made to fit there.

The movie long forgotten, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between kisses, the quiet sighs you couldn’t hold back as Heeseung deepened the kiss. His hands roamed—one sliding up your back, the other gripping your thigh as he pulled you onto his lap.

You should’ve felt nervous. This was Heeseung, your best friend. The one who had always been by your side, the one you told everything to. But right now, nothing about this felt wrong. If anything, it felt like something that had been waiting to happen.

His lips trailed down, grazing the corner of your jaw, your neck—hot and unhurried, like he wanted to take his time memorizing every inch of you.

"Hee," you breathed, hands tangling in his hair.

His grip on you tightened, and a low groan rumbled from his chest, sending shivers down your spine. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured against your skin.

The confession made your stomach flip. Because if he had wanted this for a long time… why did it take you so long to see it?

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. They were darker than usual, filled with something raw, something unspoken.

"Why didn’t you ever say anything?" you whispered.

Heeseung exhaled a shaky breath, his fingers brushing against your cheek. "Because I was scared you’d never look at me the way I look at you."

Your heart clenched. How had you been so blind?

You cupped his face, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. "I’m looking at you now."

And then, you kissed him again—slow, deep, like you were making up for all the lost time.

This wasn’t just a kiss. It was years of unsaid words, years of stolen glances, years of Heeseung loving you in silence.

And finally, finally, you were listening.

Heeseung’s lips moved against yours like he had been waiting forever—slow at first, savoring every second, but growing more desperate with each passing moment. His fingers dug into your waist as if he was afraid you might slip away, but there was no chance of that happening. Not anymore.

You were completely, hopelessly lost in him.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and Heeseung let out a quiet groan against your lips. The sound sent heat rushing through you, making your whole body feel like it was on fire.

He pulled you even closer—if that was even possible—until there was no space left between you. His hands roamed, one gripping your thigh, the other sliding up your back, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

When he kissed you again, it was different—deeper, rougher, like he had finally let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

And you wanted more.

You shifted slightly in his lap, your fingers tracing down his jaw, his neck, the sharp lines of his collarbone. Heeseung sucked in a sharp breath, his hands tightening around you.

"Y/N," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost pleading.

It sent a shiver down your spine. You had never heard him sound like that before.

You leaned in, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth. "What is it?" you teased softly, barely above a whisper.

Heeseung let out a shaky laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. "You’re actually going to kill me."

You grinned, feeling a rush of confidence. "Oh? Am I?"

His hands squeezed your hips, grounding himself. "You have no idea."

The air between you was thick, charged with something neither of you had dared to acknowledge before tonight. But now that the line had been crossed, there was no going back.

You stared at him—his swollen lips, the way his chest rose and fell as he tried to steady his breathing. Heeseung had always been beautiful, but right now? Right now, he looked absolutely wrecked.

Because of you.

Something about that realization made your heart pound even harder.

Slowly, you traced your fingers over his jaw, your touch featherlight. "Then maybe you should do something about it," you murmured.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened.

And in the next second, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you with a smirk that sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

"You don’t know what you’re asking for," he murmured, his voice lower now, sending shivers down your spine.

You bit your lip, fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie. "Show me."

Heeseung groaned softly before capturing your lips again, his hands gripping your waist as he deepened the kiss.

And this time, neither of you held back.

___

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was warmth.

You were tangled in Heeseung—his arm draped over your waist, his face buried in your hair, his steady breathing fanning across your skin. The soft glow of early morning filtered through your curtains, casting everything in golden light.

And then it hit you.

Last night. The kisses, the way he touched you like he had been waiting forever, the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Your heart clenched.

What happens now?

You shifted slightly, and Heeseung groaned in protest, tightening his hold on you.

“Mm, don’t move,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped at how soft he sounded. “Heeseung, we have to get up.”

“No, we don’t.” He buried his face deeper into your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. “Five more minutes.”

You hesitated, staring at the ceiling. What were you supposed to say? Did last night change everything? Were you still just… friends? Did he regret it?

Heeseung must’ve felt the tension in your body because he finally lifted his head, his eyes barely open, but still filled with something softer when they met yours.

“You’re overthinking,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “I just… what does this mean?”

Heeseung blinked at you sleepily before a small smirk played at his lips. “You want me to confess again, don’t you?”

Your face heated. “That’s not—”

He cut you off by leaning in, brushing a slow, lazy kiss against your lips. It was barely a kiss at all, just a soft press of his mouth against yours, but it made your whole body melt.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered. “I think I always have.”

Your breath hitched.

It was one thing to realize your feelings, to feel them creeping up on you like a slow-burning flame. But hearing him say it—knowing that he had felt this way for so long—made your chest ache.

“I…” You hesitated, but only for a second. Because deep down, you already knew the answer.

You cupped his face, running your thumb along his cheek. “I love you too, Hee.”

Heeseung let out a small, relieved laugh before kissing you again—slow and sweet, like he was savoring every second.

And this time, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing.

Just you and him, exactly where you were always meant to be.

Heeseung kissed you again, slow and deliberate, as if making sure you weren’t just a dream. His hands rested gently on your waist, his thumbs tracing soft circles against your skin, grounding himself in the moment.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice still thick with sleep.

You smiled, fingers brushing through his messy hair. “Waking up late?”

“No.” He pressed another lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Waking up with you.”

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you.” His smirk was lazy, teasing, but his eyes held nothing but warmth.

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was—you liked this side of him. The Heeseung who was completely unfiltered, who didn’t hold back anymore. And maybe, deep down, you always had.

A comfortable silence settled between you as Heeseung shifted, pulling you impossibly closer until your head was resting against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and the warmth of his skin against yours made you wish you could stay here forever.

But reality was waiting.

Eventually, you sighed. “We really should get up.”

“No, we really shouldn’t.”

“Heeseung.”

“Y/N.” He mimicked your tone, grinning when you shot him a glare.

You tried to move, but he tightened his arms around you, effortlessly keeping you trapped against him. “Nope,” he said, voice muffled as he buried his face in your shoulder. “You’re staying right here.”

You huffed, but your resolve was crumbling. He was too warm. Too comfortable. And if you were being honest… you didn’t really want to move either.

“Fine,” you relented, nuzzling closer. “But only for five more minutes.”

Heeseung chuckled, his lips brushing against your temple. “You say that now.”

And, of course, five minutes turned into ten.

Then twenty.

And before you knew it, the two of you were still tangled together, lost in quiet laughter, whispered confessions, and soft, lingering touches.

Because for the first time, there was no rush. No reason to pretend.

For the first time, you weren’t just best friends anymore.

You were his. And he was yours.

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[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Young and Beautiful"

Prologue

ya'll, I cannot sleep with my arm in this stupid cast, so i started rereading "the great Gatsby" (my comfort book) and i got this idea. i know, i know, i have 3 unfinished fics buttttttt i'm injured and this is my blog and i have free will so i'm writing this. This is yandere romantic batboys and bruce x reader. BUT set in the roaring 20's. Send in asks, requests, ideas, and just what you think about this! Likes, comments, reblogs and asks are encouraged and keep me going! Love yall <333. This is written in 1st person, reader is recalling events in her journal. This is a rough draft for the prologue! Sorry if it doesnt make sense, i'm high off pain meds writing this bc i'm BORED.

The first time I saw Jason Todd, he was nothing to me Just another boy in my father’s estate, covered in dirt, hands rough from labor, his bruised knuckles proof of a fight he hadn’t won. His blue eyes were sharp, full of something wild, something untamed, something that made you bristle, the kind of fire you knew to stay away from, even at 12 years old.

The first time I spoke to Jason Todd, two years after I saw him, I thought he was filth.

He was a boy covered in dirt, his hands stained with mud and the smell of horses, his knuckles raw from a fight he clearly hadn’t won. His face was sharp, bruised, skinny and too wild for someone who worked under my father’s name. He was nothing, just another street rat lucky enough to be given work in my father’s stables, another nameless stray that old Mr. Wilkes had dragged in from the gutters of Gotham. He smelled like sweat, hay, and something sharp, something angry.

I was fourteen years old and wore pearls around my throat, a silk dress with delicate lace at the sleeves. My father’s estate stretched over rolling green fields, our mansion standing tall like something out of a dream. My mother’s hands were soft, her perfume sweet, and I had never known hunger or want. My world was a world of glittering lights and expensive champagne, of high society and grand parties, of people who smiled with their teeth but whispered behind painted fans.

Jason Todd did not belong in my world.

Yet, somehow, he slipped in like a stain on silk.

We met on the back steps of the estate, where the stable boys cut through to the gardens. I was waiting for my automobile when he nearly ran into me, boots dragging dust over my polished shoes.

Jason Todd? He was filth beneath my shoes.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

Because the first time I met him, he nearly ran into me.

He didn’t bow like other servants did, he didn’t apologize profusely and beg for forgiveness.

He barely even looked at me before muttering, “Watch it,” like I was in his way.

I had never been spoken to like that in my life.

I hated him immediately.

I took a startled step back, wrinkling my nose at the smell of sweat, hay, and horse.

The nerve.

I straightened my back like Daddy told me to when I wanted to look serious and I tilted my chin up as I stared down at him. "Excuse me?"

Jason smirked, slow and lazy, eyes glinting with amusement. "Did I stutter?"

I had never wanted to slap someone so badly.

Instead, I remember turning and walked away, forgetting my plans of going into town, heels clicking sharply against the stone, vowing to never look at him again and to hate him forever, no matter how handsome he was,.

That vow didn’t last long, especially when he took off his shirt.

Jason was everywhere.

I saw him at the stables, his shirtless back slick with sweat, muscles shifting under tanned skin as he worked. I saw him sneaking apples from the kitchen, disappearing into the trees, laughter on his lips. I saw him in the streets, fists flying, always coming back with fresh bruises, always alive in a way no one else was.

And then, you heard about him.

"That stable boy got into another fight," the maids whispered. "Damn near killed the other boy, apparently the other kid got smart about his lady."

At the time, I thought the strange burning feeling in my gut was disgust at even hearing Jason's name. Now I know, what I felt was pure jealousy, not knowing the 'lady' Jason nearly killed a boy over was me.

"He’s trouble," my mother warned when I asked about him at dinner. "Keep away from him, sweetheart."

"He won’t last long here," my mother sighed. "That kind of boy never does, no matter how much of a soft spot your father has for him."

My father pitied Jason, told me I oughta be nicer to him like I am to the other workers (he would regret that statement soon.)

He had no one. No mother, no father, no family, nothing but the clothes on his back and determination. He had what my father called "the look of a man who'd rather die than fail" and my father respected that.

But Jason did last.

I hated him.

Hated the way he smirked at me from across the gardens, like he knew something I didn’t.

I hated the way he never bowed, never apologized, never treated me like the others did.

I hated that when I was alone, when my father’s friends spoke about marrying me off to the sons of their business partners, I thought of Jason Todd instead.

The first conversation I had with Jason Todd was after I had fought with my father.

It was about marriage. About duty. About a boy I didn’t love.

I ran into the garden dramatically ignoring my father's desperate calls, pearls at my throat, tears in my eyes.

And Jason was already there.

Sprawled under an oak tree, cigarette between his lips, watching me like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life.

"You rich girls cry over the dumbest shit," he muttered.

I whipped around. "What did you just say to me?" How dare he speak to me like I was any other girl, like this wasn't my home, like he didn't work for my father.

Jason pushed himself up, boots kicking up dirt as he smirked. "You ever go to bed hungry?"

My breath caught. He had a point, you were privileged.

"Ever steal to survive?" His voice was low, teasing, sharp. "Ever wake up in the morning and wonder if you’ll still have a roof over your head by sundown?"

I didn’t answer, for the first time in years I felt something close to shame.

Jason tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with resentment. "Didn’t think so, princess."

I hated him. He made me feel childish. He humbled me. He burst my perfect bubble.

And I loved him for it.

I loved him for making you feel something real.

And that was the beginning of everything.

I loved Jason Todd.

I loved him when he me you out of the house at midnight and made me ride my horse bareback through the fields.

I loved him when he knocked the rich boy who called me a tease's teeth out.

I loved him when he threw pebbles at my window on the third floor and scaled the walls to my balcony.

I loved him when he kissed me for the first time at 14 under the summer stars, hands gripping my waist, mouth desperate against mine.

"You’re my Jason, my Jaybird," I whispered against his lips. Corny, but nothing felt better to say, especially when I saw his face.

Jason smiled like I had given him the whole damn world.

And he? He was my whole world.

When Jason was seventeen and I was fifteen, he walked into my father’s grand house, dressed in his best suit, nervous but determined and proud, his hands clean for once, his boots polished.

He asked my father for my hand in marriage. He asked my father for my hand and I thought he would say yes. Daddy always thought he was a hard worker, called him a real good sport.

He stood before my father and said, “I love her, sir. I’ll make her happy. Give me a chance. I ain't got much now, but one day I will. I'll give her what she's got and more.”

My father just laughed.

“Boy,” he said, shaking his head, “she’s not meant for men like you.”

Jason left that night, whispering a promise against my skin.

"I’ll come back for you, I'll be great. Be a man like how your daddy wants, rich and proper, he'll have to say yes."

I waited, god knows I did.

I wrote letters to the last address he gave me every single day.

For five years. Till I turned twenty. I never looked at another man, I had my Jason.

I waited for him to reply, fought off suitors and pressure from my mother. I waited for a reply, that he was coming soon, that he missed me.

I waited.

And my Jaybird never came back.

My father loved me.

He regretted turning Jason away five years later, when I still refused to marry. He never forced me to marry, not even when the years passed and my suitors grew frustrated with my refusals.

He saw my misery, my longing and admitted, “I should’ve said yes. I should’ve let you have him.”

He thought my Jason was a passing infatuation, he wondered what people would say about his daughter marrying the stable boy.

He wished he saw my love for Jason sooner.

But love wasn’t enough to keep the debt collectors away.

I knew something was wrong when my father began to look stressed, when my parents began to argue, and when I heard my mother cry herself to sleep after selling her favorite pearls.

My father was going to loose everything all at once.

The steel business wasn't what it used to be.

And then suddenly, Bruce Wayne arrived like a knight in shining armor.

He was older than me, 18 years my senior. Refined, powerful, and dangerously charming.

And most importantly, rich. He was exactly what I needed to stop my family's fall from grace.

Bruce courted me like a gentleman.

He sent roses every morning, took me to the finest restaurants, whispered in my ear about a future where I would never want for anything again.

He was patient.

He never forced me to love him.

He only asked for one thing.

"Let me take care of you."

I kept Bruce waiting for three months. All I could do was think of Jason. I knew he was not returning, that he either was dead or found some other pretty girl to make promises to.

I told myself love was not enough to fill an empty stomach and keep my parents happy like they did for me.

I told myself that Jason Todd was not coming back to save me, yet each morning I woke up waiting for a letter or pebbles thrown at my window.

After four months of courting, I decided.

And at twenty, I became Mrs. Bruce Wayne.

Jason Todd never sent me a single letter, but I still dreamed of my Jaybird even as I looked at the massive ring on my finger.

OKKKKK SO WHAT YA'LL THINK??? CONTINUE OR DELETE??? FLOP OR BOP? SEND IN ASKS!!!! I MISS YALL! THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING ROMANCE W JASON AND BRUCE. I REALLY LIKE THIS AU!!!! WHAT DO YALL THINK IS GONNA HAPPEN? SORRU IF IT SUCKS OR DOESNT MAKE SENSE, I'M SO HIGH BRO.

BE NICE PLEASE, I'M IN PAIN! THIS IS NOT EDITED OR PROOF READ.

[beneathsilverstars]

i love to explain my opinions so here's my actual drinking headcanons

siffrin - doesn't seem to get tipsy. he mostly just gets less anxious, which means he's less worried about saying the wrong thing but also less concerned with pushing himself to talk, so he's basically behaving the same way and just having different emotions about it! they appear perfectly stone-cold sober until they eventually suddenly hit drunk drunk and now they're liable to fall flat on their face and not remember it the next morning. takes a while to get there though, they may be small but they're also prone to alcoholism. (drinking to self-medicate mental illness is not a good idea, everyone.)

mirabelle - thinks beer smells nasty; wine's better, but grape juice is one of the worst fruit juices to begin with so eh. she'll have a hard cider on occasion or a fruity mixed drink, but only one and maybe not even the whole thing. she doesn't like feeling weird and she gets worried about acting weird!

isabeau - gets tipsy on half a mixed drink and then gets steadily more drunk from there. historically hasn't gone past two drinks in a row for fear of messing up his himbo persona, though he metabolizes it fast enough that if he's staying out late he can have another drink or two. being drunk turns isabeau into even more of a clown; he wants to have fun and he wants everyone else to have fun and more importantly he wants them to like him!! he'll fetch the next round, tip generously, share his food, join unwise schemes just because someone asked him to and pointing out the risks would make him seem like a square, etc.

odile - would drink vodka straight out of the bottle and get reckless as a youth. good thing cars don't exist! she no longer believes that she's too smart to make stupid decisions, but she still likes to cut loose with a couple shots, which she's very consistent about: she knows exactly how much alcohol will get her pleasantly buzzed without leading to a hangover. she's a lot more open and social when she's drunk. she's happy enough with her usual dry humor and too-old-for-this attitude, but sometimes it's nice to have an excuse to get uncharacteristically silly and dramatic for an evening instead!

pétronille: doesn't drink. she says it's because she has too many responsibilities, but she doesn't like to be around drunk people, either.

euphrasie: likes wine. she might have a glass or two to unwind after a long day, or pop open a nice vintage on a special occasion. she's willing to try other drinks, but she already knows what she likes the best and she's definitely not looking to get wasted. being too impaired makes it hard to do all the things she wants to do! she's more affectionate when she's tipsy, which is saying something because she's already quite enthusiastic and loving and touchy.

claude: prefers other substances, but isn't opposed to drinking. she's not picky about what the drink is, though she likes to try weird mixed drinks and euphrasie's wines and homemade brews. she doesn't see the point of having one or two drinks; if she's having more than a sip then she's getting blasted. she isn't a very inhibited person anyway, so she's not very different while drunk, just even louder and more distractible.

loop: can't get drunk because they can't consume anything. if they could, and weren't pulled into the party by siffrin immediately post-canon, they'd be physically dependent on alcohol within a month.

[tricksterringmaster]

Some cute adult!Snack headcanons:

• Sirius tends to talk more than Severus, but Severus is the one to go on elaborate rants when he is frustrated, and Sirius absolutely loves every one of them, because no one else comes up with such unique ways to call someone stupid like his partner (and it's nice to not be the one called stupid, while actually joining in a "we can judge all these people together" way).

• Sirius is the one with the loud barking laughter, Severus is the one with the silent laughter (his shoulders may jump and eyes get teary). It's hard to get an actual audible laughter from him, but Sirius loves every moment he manages to do it.

• When Sirius finds out Severus needs something, he loves to get it for him, but Severus is often too prideful to accept gifts all the time just like that (he thinks he can get it all himself and doesn't like to feel like he owes someone something). So, Sirius plays a game of just putting it somewhere for Severus to find and then acting like he has no idea where it came from (Severus is irritated initially, but starts playing into it with time, because, well, he needs these things, actually).

• Their usual arguments turn into banter with time, and they learn to make it less heated and vicious, although they still have a bit of a need to "outdo" each other which may be a bit too strong.

• Sirius stops smoking and mostly stops drinking for Severus, because the latter can't stand both after his traumatic chilhood. But Severus doesn't stop him from smoking or drinking on the day of Potters' death and sometimes even accompanies Sirius in a "self-punishment" kind of way (Sirius isn't a fan of the "self-punishment" idea for him, but it's useless to argue and it's kinda funny to see can-do-anything-perfectly Severus Snape coughing from smoke and wincing from alcohol's taste).

• Severus learns to be less vicious and venomous to Sirius in their arguments/banter. Apparently, it all works out better when he doesn't look for every button to push and doesn't remind Sirius of his mother;

• Severus actually likes dogs and loves Sirius' dog form. He also gets more talkative with Sirius as Padfoot, and if they go somewhere like this he turns into one of the people others mention as "I heard that owner telling this weird thing to their dog". Sometime human!Sirius gets jealous of dog!Sirius, but he also knows that dog!Sirius is the best option when he needs to beg for forgiveness.

• They have a quite eclectic music collection, and Sirius was very surprised to get a lot of niche knowledge from Severus, who had spent too many summers listening to wild muggle teens around. Sometimes Sirius drags Severus into dancing, usually to the weirdest and most unfitting song possible.

• Sirius likes to help Severus with potions, when the latter is too busy to give him attention, but Sirius still need some. Severus has to begrudgingly accept that Sirius is actually smart enough to be really useful.

[solarismoons]

SPOILERS FOR S2 EP7 OF SCHOOL SPIRITS

Mr. Martin rowing away with Janet is so ominous…

His acting is SO great. His mannerisms and the way he speaks is so perfect. “We deserve this.”

“It makes me sad.. That we couldn’t have gone to any of these places together.” NO one can tell me Maddie doesn’t like Wally as much as he likes her. That girl is in love.

I genuinely didn’t expect everyone to be right about Yuri and Charley! They recreated that pottery making scene!! I did not expect them to get freaky, but i’m NOT complaining.

IM GONNA SCREAM. The way Wally hooked his finger in her bra strap??? My heart is actually beating so fast..I know i’ve said this before, but the tongue is INSANE.

I love how the ghosts are having sex with each other while the living kids are literally crashing out.

I really wish we saw Quinn going into her scar for the first time… I really wonder what it would’ve looked like.

IM ACTUALLY CRYING. I did NOT expect to see Milo’s bare ass today, but DAMN… My jaw dropped to the FLOOR.

“It’s kind of hard not to think about everything that’s waiting for me here.” Ugh, don’t make me cry today PLEASE.

I’m a little surprised there was no talk of Maddie begin a virgin, since that seemed fairly important to her in the first season. I’m not complaining at all though, because WOW..

“Oh, god! I’m gonna need to guys to peel yourselves off each other and come down to the library stat.” The way Maddie nor Wally didn’t even TRY to cover up is killing me. They genuinely don’t GAF.

They were planning on torturing the other ghosts?? This just keeps getting worse and worse the more we learn.

“I’m glad it was you, too.” Please don’t make me like these two together…

‘Notice of suspension’??? God, i feel so awful for Simon. I never even thought of how this affected him. He’s missed so many classes countless times.. What about his future? He flunked that one college admission interview, too. If anything bad happens to Simon, i’m throwing a tantrum.

Oh my god… Poor Rhonda. I love her so much. Knowing she was alone with Janet and Mr. Martin for so long is just so horrifying.

I didn’t expect Dawn to be so involved! I love how she’s really not stupid or airheaded. She’s just a little eccentric. I’m so glad we got another scene with her.

This show is honestly a horror movie at this point… ‘Mr. Anderson’ being soaking wet, covered in mud with his head gushing blood walking around with a fireplace poker is terrifying. My heart is beating so fast.

Mr. Martins manipulating Janet is infuriating. I don’t even have the words to express how much I hate him.

Poor Quinn! I feel so bad. “I died knowing that everyone was mad at me.” My baby 😞💔💔.

“You can’t just leave me now.” STOP. I love them so much it hurts so bad.

I really didn’t expect Simon and Maddie to argue but it was bound to happen.

“Is this because of Wally?” I called it. I fucking called it. I KNEW this was going to come up. Kristian’s acting always gets me. I love Simon so much.

Patrick Gilmores acting is amazing. He somehow even sounds like Mr. Martin and it’s terrifying. Also, he’s lowkey hot and i’m not sorry for saying that.

Mr. Martin forcing Janet into the hellscape made me sick to my stomach.

This fandom is so smart it blows my mind. Everyone said Mr. South must know more about the scars than we had thought. I kind of thought he was just being melodramatic, but the more we saw the scars I changed my mind.

Everyone was right about the scar being Mr. Martin’s. This makes a whole lot more sense. The woman could’ve been his finance, considering the fact that we haven’t seen her before.

This episode was genuinely insane. I still haven’t even fully processed anything.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - N

N is for your name on Wally's lips whenever he jerks himself stupid. It's for the nonsense newly flooding his brain—no longer just what are you wearing, but how you feel and what you think and when can I see you for things other than getting his cock wet.

It's for the fact that, as of fuck-knows-when, there's little to nothing Wally won't do for you if you look at him just right and ask oh-so-pretty. Never in his life has he been so consumed by someone apart from himself. He wants to know you, inside and out, back to front, top to bottom, and who the hell is he, where's the real Wally Clark? The Wally Clark who took girls home to bolster his ego. The Wally Clark who, "until Janet", never settled for one thing when he could have everything.

He assumed it was sexual tension, then sexual satisfaction, then sexual rampage, but, Christ Almighty, he can't get enough of you. It's never enough, no matter how many times he has you under him, over him, face to cunt, cock to mouth, around him inside you, limbs so tangled it's impossible to distinguish where one ends and the other begins.

What makes him more nervous isn't how addicted he is to the sex. It's how you've fucking nestled into his heart, brain, soul as much as he nestles into your body. The notion terrifies him—that he might be falling...down, over, backward, tripping over his own feet navigating shit he promised himself he'd never need. Yet, here he is, Wally Clark, wrapped around your little finger and you don't even know it.

He's in Janet's room, arguing with her as calmly as she'll let him, telling her to back the fuck off and stop sabotaging your chances to win an award Janet has Claire's money on. It's so fucked up. Nasty for the sake of it, because Janet's nabbed almost every number one spot she can get away with. Why can't she let you have one?

And Wally knows. Has a vague idea, anyway. You're naturally sweet, friendly, smart where you want to be, and willing to put in the work where you're not. A whole person with a nuanced sense of self that Janet loathes because she lacks identity. You're competition, and jealousy is poison in the wrong hands. Janet intends to softly kill as many of your high school accomplishments as possible before you graduate just to rub in your face how much better she is than you.

"Jesus, Janet," Wally bites, "She earned it. Let it go."

"Since when do you give a shit, Clark?"

Wally doesn't respond. Locks his jaw, crosses his arms, stares her down like he means business. Defensive.

Janet smirks, "I see the way you look at her, you know. Like you care." One step, two, and Janet's in his space, forcing him to her level with her nails in his scalp, "You don't get to have her—" LOL "—not unless I say so, and that'll never happen."

"This isn't even real." Wally reminds her, nudging himself out of her grip and taking several steps back. "I can end this whenever I want. Leave you to fucking rot on your own. We break up and you lose everything."

"Is that a threat?" Janet glares, but there's a hint of fear behind her eyes.

"Let her have the award." Wally narrows his eyes. "Do that and I'll be the best fucking boyfriend you could ever dream of. Dates, appearances. I'll start driving you to school like you wanted."

Janet considers his proposal and Wally swallows. What the fuck is he doing? The arrangement was exactly how he wanted it. Exactly how he could stomach it. Distant. Shallow. Virtually nonexistent in his mind outside of school. Now? It'll take up more time, energy, effort. But he saw how excited you were to be nominated, how much it meant to you that your talent was finally recognized, so he'll bite the bullet and adjust his terms.

Eventually, "Fine," Janet submits, sits primly in at her desk and dismisses him after negotiating details.

Wally finds you at your friend's house. The Nihilistic one with the permanent frown. Rhonda Something. It's apparently game night and he doesn't leave until you're in the car with him. No fight, just urgency and frustration and, yeah, whatever, a little bit of pleading.

He parks behind the Walmart and fucks you from below, hard and vicious, to avoid going nuclear. He hates Janet. Hates what he got himself into. Hates the whole fucking world except you. Beautiful, brilliant you. "I want you to come again, baby," He pants, numbing out so he doesn't come before you blackout from pleasure. "I know you can. That's it. Let me see how good I make you feel..." Bites your nipple, nips a mark into your neck, fucks you like he owns you, and then lays with you in the back seat for a while to remind himself why he let Janet win.

There's nothing in this world, too big or too small, that Wally wouldn't do for you. And that realization scares the living shit out of him. Too bad there's absolutely fuck all he can do about it now.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

[wishfulsketching]

I am becoming so obsessed with Julian!!! I don’t know what it is about him. He just has the demeanor of a terrified prey animal all the time and its so endearing!

You don’t have to answer this if it’s too spoiler-y, but I gotta ask: Did Julian build Sapphire and the big robot fellow? If so, which did he build first? It would probably be smart of him to stop after Sapphire took his hands. Though, I find it funny that he might’ve just… NOT learned his lesson and built an even bigger and more dangerous robot protect him lmao

Anyways, love your ocs!!! They’re so neat!

Thank you for asking about poor poor Julian!!! Yea, he is a very smart man who is also doomed to do stupid things thanks to him wanting to just see what he can do.

Sapphire was build first, they were an experimentation of "can you copy a human and put them into a machine". It was a success but also, not. They had planned it that the person kinda wakes up as a blank slate but can act as a human aka no need to code, you can just copy paste human "mechanics" into a bot. Sapphire woke up pissed off and very aware.

Julian is living his worst life but he also really really wants to build things and needs resources to do so. His boss is also an egomaniac who really wants to take over the government and the world before her brother does, so Julian is stuck.

His robot friend, full AI, sees his anguish and somehow grows its own personality and life goals. It's not stupid tho, it's keeping it's sentience a secret. For a while, at least. It really wants Julian to be able to relax

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LIKING MY SILLY LITTLE OC'S AOIUSDHAIH

Julian's design has changed along the years but his character really hasn't. He's always been a nervous wreck

[biblical-chronicles]

Locked out

____________________________________________

where you lock yourself out of your hotel room and end up in Noel's.

[18+ !!!] [enemies to lovers]

____________________________________________

The job had its perks. Traveling the world, working with some of the biggest gigs, free booze—Oasis had money to burn, after all. But there was one massive, massive downside.

Noel fucking Gallagher.

It wasn’t just that he was a sarcastic, self-important, grumpy bastard (which he absolutely was). It wasn’t even that he always had some smart-arse comment locked and loaded, ready to wind you up. It was the fact that he seemed to enjoy it, like taking the piss out of you was a personal hobby.

The lads had clocked it ages ago.

"How old are you two, seriously?" Guigs had said just the other night, shaking his head as you and Noel argued over god knows what. "You’re worse than me Nan and Grandad, swear down."

"Yeah, the sexual tension’s killin’ me," Bonehead had added, smirking as he took a drag from his cigarette.

Noel had scoffed, shaking his head. "Fucking hell, mate. I’d sooner shag the local nitty than deal with this one."

You flipped him off, unfazed. "Oh, yeah? I bet the nitty would be the one having to get tested after that, dickhead."

It was constant, this back-and-forth, from the moment you woke up to the second you clocked out. Noel loved to threaten to fire you at least once a day, always with the same lazy reasoning.

"Should’ve sacked you ages ago," he’d mutter, watching you tune his guitar before a gig. "Only reason you’re still ‘ere is ‘cause I can’t be arsed teachin’ some other muppet how I like it."

"Yeah, yeah," you’d reply, never looking up. "Don’t do me any favors, Gallagher."

And so it went.

Now, though, none of that mattered. Not the bickering, not the jabs. Because right now? You were stood in the dimly lit hotel lobby, staring at a handwritten sign that might as well have been a death sentence.

"LOBBY CLOSED. OPERATING HOURS: 6 AM - 12 PM."

"Fucking great," you muttered, running a hand down your face.

It had been a long day, and all you wanted was a shower, a bed, and maybe a few hours of peace before having to deal with Noel’s bullshit all over again tomorrow. But no, instead, you had to stand here like a mug because somehow, in your exhaustion, you’d managed to lock yourself out of your room.

Just as you were debating whether you could break into your own room with sheer willpower alone, the sound of footsteps echoed through the lobby.

And just like fucking clockwork—

"Eh?"

You knew that voice.

"Did you get lost, or what?"

You shut your eyes for a brief moment, praying for strength, then turned to see Noel strolling in through the revolving door.

He was still dressed from wherever the fuck he’d been; jeans, adidas trainers, a zip-up jacket with the collar popped just enough to make him look like he was about to sell you dodgy gear in a car park.

You gritted your teeth. "Fuck off, Noel."

His smirk widened, slow and knowing. "Ohh, someone’s touchy."

You turned back to the desk, hoping he’d get bored and leave. No such luck. He sauntered up beside you, eyes flicking to the sign before back to you.

Realization dawned, and then he just laughed.

"No." He pointed at you, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his luck. "No fuckin’ way. You locked yourself out, didn’t you?"

You glared at him, crossing your arms. "No."

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

You exhaled sharply. "Okay, maybe, and no one is even here! How is a lobby not 24/7?"

"And you didn’t take your key, and you didn’t check the sign first," he said, as if reading from a list of your stupid decisions. "Jesus Christ, love. That’s incredible."

You scowled. "Piss off."

Noel, clearly enjoying himself, leaned against the counter, eyes twinkling with pure delight. "Me? Oh, nah. I think I’ll stick around, actually. This is too fuckin’ good."

You groaned. "Go to bed, Noel."

"Bed?" He feigned a yawn, stretching his arms dramatically. "Oh, yeah. That’s right. I can go to bed. Because I have access to me own fuckin’ room."

You clenched your fists. "I have a backstage pass. I’ll just sleep in the tour bus."

Noel snorted. "Yeah? Or on one of them couches over there?" He gestured vaguely to the dimly lit lobby seating area. "Might be comfy, if no one nicks your shite first."

You stilled.

He grinned. "Ohh, right. Didn’t think about that, did ya?"

You huffed. "Fuck."

Noel pressed a hand to his chest in mock sympathy. "Tragic, really." Then, after a beat, "... Guess you’re stuck here then."

You gave him a flat look. "Guess so."

He smirked, clearly waiting for you to crack.

Which is why it pained you—physically—when you exhaled and muttered, "Or… I could stay in yours. Just ‘til the desk opens."

Noel blinked. "Oh?"

You clenched your jaw. "So no one nicks me shite."

His smirk returned, slow and victorious. "Yeah, yeah. ‘Course. Wouldn’t want anyone robbin’ your precious little pass, would we?"

You resisted the urge to deck him.

"Alright then," he said, turning toward the lifts, his voice filled with pure satisfaction. "C’mon, roomie."

You glared at his back as you followed him down the corridors.

Noel shut the door behind him and turned to face you, arms crossed, an insufferable smirk plastered across his face.

"Well, well," he said, leaning back against the door. "Never thought I’d see the day you begged to stay in me room."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you dropped your bag by the chair. "Begged? Fuck off, Noel. I suggested it ‘cause I had no choice."

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Ahh, see, that’s where you’re wrong, love. You had a choice." He gestured vaguely toward the lobby. "Could’ve stayed down there, kept them couches company."

"And let some knobhead nick me pass? Yeah, right." You crossed your arms. "This is just survival, mate. Has nothing to do with you."

His smirk widened. "Yeah? Then why’re you lookin’ at me like that?"

You blinked. "Like what?"

Noel tilted his head, eyes sweeping over you, unreadable. "Like you wanna throttle me."

You huffed, exasperated. "That’s just me natural state when you’re around, Gallagher."

"Ahh." He grinned. "See, I knew you liked me."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Like you? Jesus, Noel, I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire."

His grin didn’t falter. In fact, it only grew.

"Yeah? Funny," he mused, stepping closer, voice low, lazy. "‘Cause you’re still ‘ere, ain’t ya?"

You swallowed but held your ground. "I don’t have a room, Noel."

He hummed, nodding slowly. "Right, yeah. That’s why you’re ‘ere. Not ‘cause you wanna get me alone, see what all the fuss is about."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You are so full of yourself."

He gave you a slow once-over, something dark and knowing flickering in his gaze. "Yeah?"

You inhaled sharply, blood running hot. "Fuck you."

Noel’s smirk twitched—almost like he’d been waiting for you to say that.

"Ohh, wouldn’t you like that?"

The air shifted.

You were on him before you could think, hands grabbing at his shirt, pulling him down, crashing your mouth against his.

Noel barely had a second to react before he was pushing back, hands gripping your waist, shoving you up against the nearest wall. The impact sent a lamp wobbling on the bedside table, the dull thud of your back against the wall swallowed by the sound of both your ragged breaths.

His lips were warm, rough, demanding. His fingers dug into your waist, like he needed to anchor himself.

You bit his bottom lip, hard, just to be a dickhead.

Noel groaned against your mouth, grip tightening. "Oh, you wanna play it like that, do ya?"

Before you could smirk, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them against the wall, pressing in, chest flush against yours.

You yanked a hand free, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just to make him groan—and when he did, when his breath stuttered, you felt it everywhere.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered against your lips.

You smirked. "What’s wrong, Gallagher?" you breathed, voice teasing, drunk on the power shift. "Thought you could handle me?"

Noel laughed. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, "I could ruin you."

Your stomach dropped.

You clenched your jaw. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your grip tightened in his hair again, yanking his head back just enough to make him hiss. His smirk didn’t falter, though—if anything, it widened, smug and infuriating.

"You arrogant twat," you breathed, dragging your nails down the back of his neck. "Think you’re some fuckin’ god, don’t ya?"

Noel chuckled—dark, low. "Please, love," he murmured, voice dripping with mockery. "You’ve been gaggin’ for this since the day we met. Don’t pretend otherwise."

Your teeth gritted. "You’re deluded."

"Yeah?" He stepped closer, the heat of him pressing against you, trapping you between his body and the wall. "Then why ain’t you pushin’ me away?"

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you even realized it, and that was all it took.

One second, you were glaring up at him, seething, and the next—you were airborne.

A breathless gasp tore from your throat as he threw you onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath the sudden force of your body. Before you could even scramble upright, he was on you—knees bracketing your hips, hands gripping your wrists, pressing them into the sheets.

"You bastard—"

A sharp smack landed on your thigh, jolting you, heat blooming where his palm connected.

You froze.

Noel grinned. "What was that, sweetheart?"

Your breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him. You hated the way your body betrayed you—the way your back arched, the way your thighs instinctively clenched together at the sting of his hand.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His smirk deepened. "Ohhh, that’s what you like, is it?" Another sharp slap—same spot, same deliberate pressure, just enough to make you jolt. "That why you’ve been windin’ me up all this time? Hopin’ I’d do this?"

You bit back a gasp as his teeth grazed your jaw, lips teasing over the heated skin just below your ear, fingers tightening where he held you down.

"You gonna let me go, or you just gonna sit here runnin’ your gob all night?" you shot back, arching up slightly beneath him, trying to gain some kind of control back.

Noel laughed, a little breathless. "Oh, you love this, don’t ya?" His hands shifted, releasing your wrists just to drag down your arms, over your waist, gripping your hips hard. "All that fight, all that fuckin’ attitude—"

"You love it," you shot back, daring.

Something snapped behind his eyes.

Before you could say another word, his mouth crashed against yours again.

It was all teeth, all tension, years of resentment and frustration and something else entirely spilling out between you.

You clawed at him in return, nails dragging up his back, yanking at his hair, swallowing the groan that tore from his throat.

"Still wanna tell me to fuck off, love?" Noel rasped against your lips, breath uneven.

Your fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him back down. "Shut up." you muttered, crashing your mouth against his again.

He barely hesitated before paying you back, fisting a hand into your hair and pulling your head back, exposing the curve of your throat. His mouth was on you in an instant, hot and open, biting down just enough to make you gasp.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he muttered, voice thick with something triumphant. "Knew you’d be like this—mouthy little thing until you’re under me."

"And yet again, shut it." you snapped, even as your back arched, chasing the feel of him.

He laughed, breathless and sharp, his free hand sliding down to your thigh, gripping hard. Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach, pressing you down against the mattress with the weight of him. You let out a sound somewhere between frustration and something else entirely, but any protest died in your throat when his hand slapped against your arse, the sting shooting straight through you.

"That shut you up quick, didn’t it?" he murmured, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You tried to glare at him over your shoulder, but the effect was ruined by the way your breath hitched when he did it again, the sharp slap sending heat curling low in your stomach.

"Say it," he taunted, his grip tightening on your hip. "Say you want me."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

But Noel was nothing if not persistent. His hand slid lower, teasing, just enough to make you squirm beneath him. His teeth grazed your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. "C’mon, sweetheart. We both know you do."

Your pride was a stubborn thing, but your body was a traitor.

You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze, eyes dark with something heady and reckless. "Go on, then," you breathed. "Do your worst."

His fingers dug into your hips as he dragged you back against him, his grip bruising, possessive. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before his teeth found your shoulder again, biting down just enough to make you jolt beneath him. He groaned at the way you twitched, how your body betrayed that last shred of resistance you were so desperately clinging to.

"That’s more like it," he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with amusement. "Knew you just needed someone to put you in your place."

You scoffed, even as your breath came quicker. "You think that’s you?"

He laughed. "Oh, love," he murmured, dragging his mouth up the side of your neck, "I know it is."

His hands slid lower, mapping the shape of you, fingers pressing into every curve like he wanted to commit it to memory. He moved with a slow, deliberate kind of cruelty, reveling in every shudder, every little sound you didn’t mean to make. You clenched your jaw, still stubborn, but it only made him smirk against your skin.

"Still holding out on me?" he whispered, lips brushing your ear. "Let’s see how long that lasts."

Then his hands gripped tighter, and he moved—a slow, devastating roll of his hips that had you sucking in a sharp breath. You felt the shape of him pressed firmly against you, the sheer heat of him burning through the layers between you both.

And then, just to be cruel, he stilled.

You let out an involuntary sound of frustration, which only made his grin widen. "Oh, what’s that?" he teased, rolling his hips just slightly, barely giving you anything. "Getting impatient, are we?"

You gritted your teeth, refusing to play into it.

His breath ghosted over your ear, smug and infuriating. "You wanna try that again, sweetheart?" His hand slid down, teasing at the edge of your waistband, making heat curl low in your stomach. "Or am I gonna have to make you say it?"

You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body alive, burning with the heat of him. Your pride screamed at you to hold out just a little longer, to refuse him one last time.

But then he rocked against you again, the friction sending sparks up your spine, and every ounce of stubbornness melted right out of you.

"Fuck," you muttered, barely more than a breath. "Please."

Noel chuckled, dragging his lips over your shoulder. "There she is."

The moment that single word fell from your lips, his control snapped. His fingers curled into the waistband of your clothes, yanking them down with a rough impatience that sent a shiver racing through you. His trousers quickly followed, ending up in a pile on the floor.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat as he pressed against you again, now with nothing between you. The heat of him, how hard he already was, it made your stomach twist in anticipation. But instead of giving you what you were desperate for, he dragged the moment out, hands roaming over your bare skin, taking his time.

"You feel that?" he murmured, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel the full length of him pressing against you, the slow friction making your breath catch. "That’s what you’ve been fighting, sweetheart. Tell me—was it worth it?"

You barely had time to shudder before he reached back, guiding himself against you, teasing, just barely pressing in before retreating again.

You shifted, pushing back against him, but his grip tightened immediately, holding you in place. "Ah, ah," he taunted, fingers still digging into your hips. "You finally beg for it, and now you think you’re in charge?"

You opened your mouth to snap something back—maybe something sharp, maybe something desperate, you weren’t even sure—but before you could, he thrust inside you in one smooth, deep motion.

The air left your lungs in a sharp, broken gasp.

"There you go." he muttered, his voice a little rougher now.

He barely gave you a moment to adjust before he set a brutal pace, dragging out only to slam back in, the force of it driving you further into the mattress. The sounds of skin against skin, breathless, ragged gasps, and the creak of the bed quickly were the only things filling the space between you.

You fisted the sheets, struggling to hold onto even a shred of composure, but Noel was relentless. His fingers curled around your jaw, tilting your head back slightly. "Listen to yourself" he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "Tried so hard to act like you didn’t want this. And now you’re dripping for me."

The humiliation only made the heat in your belly coil tighter.

As if sensing it, Noel let out a low chuckle. "You like that, don’t you?" He drove into you harder, just to hear the little choked noise that escaped your throat. "Fuck, you’re taking me so well."

His other hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding that sensitive spot between your legs. The second he touched you, you clenched harder around him, and Noel groaned, sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you.

"Shit," Noel rasped, his pace stuttering for half a second before he caught himself. "Filthy fuckin’ thing, aren’t you?"

His grip on your hips was bruising, each snap of his hips knocking you further into the mattress, dragging another broken sound from your throat. You couldn’t even think, couldn’t do anything but take it, your body molded to his will, wrecked under the sheer force of him.

And he knew it.

"Where’s all that attitude now, huh?" His voice was tinged with mockery, as his hand smoothed up the curve of your spine, just for a moment, just long enough to make you think he might show some mercy.

Then he fisted his hand into your hair and yanked.

A sharp gasp ripped from your lips as your head was wrenched back, the burn at your scalp sending a jolt straight through you. Your back arched instinctively, pressing you closer against him, the new angle making you whimper.

"That’s more like it," Noel murmured, his grip in your hair tightening as he used it to pull you back against him, making you feel every inch of him sinking even deeper.

His other hand slid up your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse hammer under his touch.

"You like when I handle you like this, don’t you?" he muttered, voice a low rasp against your ear.

He loosened his grip on your throat just enough for you to speak, but your words failed you. All you could do was let out a broken, pleading sound.

Noel groaned, his fingers flexing around your throat like he felt the way you clenched around him. "Fuck, you’re gonna make me come just with these sweet desperate moans love."

He wrenched your head back a bit further, forcing your spine into a deeper arch, forcing you to take him exactly how he wanted. Every thrust was rough, deliberate, his hips slamming against you hard enough to bruise. Your body had no choice but to follow, every nerve ending alight, a coil of unbearable tension winding tighter and tighter in your core.

"No more remarks? No more telling me to fuck off?" he taunted, breath hot against your cheek.

Your fingers scrambled for purchase against the sheets, your mind a haze of pleasure and frustration. You wanted to say something, wanted to bite back just to spite him, but he was wrecking you, and you could barely form a single coherent thought.

So instead, you just whimpered his name.

"Fuck, that’s it," he rasped, voice wrecked. "You gonna come for me, sweetheart? You gonna fall apart just like this, with my cock buried inside you?"

His fingers dipped lower again, rubbing against your clit in tight, unrelenting circles, the pace of his thrusts turning ragged, desperate. The coil inside you twisted tighter, pleasure crashing over you in waves until you could barely breathe.

"You close?" he taunted, yanking your head back again, making sure you felt every single inch of him. "I can feel it, sweetheart, feel you gripping me so fuckin’ tight. Just let go. Come for me."

Your body locked up, pleasure blinding, white-hot and overwhelming as it crashed over you in wave after wave. You were dimly aware of your own broken cries, of the way your walls clenched around him like a vice, but nothing existed beyond the pure bliss of it.

Noel groaned, voice strangled, as he fucked you through it, dragging out every last shudder, his pace turning frantic. His grip on your hair tightened, his hips slamming against yours one last time before he buried himself deep with a low, wrecked curse.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the sharp, uneven rhythm of your breathing.

Noel was still draped over you, his weight grounding, his skin hot where it pressed against yours. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. It was like neither of you wanted to be the first to break whatever fragile thing had settled between you.

Eventually, he exhaled, a deep, satisfied sound, before rolling onto his side, taking you with him. His arm hooked around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his chest rising and falling against your back.

"Well," he murmured, voice hoarse, teasing, but softer than before. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

You huffed a breath, still too dazed to formulate a proper response. He felt the way you relaxed against him, how you didn’t immediately shove him away.

A quiet beat passed before he spoke again, voice low but sincere.

"Didn’t think you’d actually let me touch you like that."

You hesitated, your fingers idly tracing over his forearm where it rested against your stomach. "Didn’t think I’d want you to," you admitted.

He made a sound—half amusement, half something thoughtful. "And now?"

You swallowed, feeling the weight of the question.

There was no point in denying it, not now.

"I do want you to now, but you’re still a mug." you muttered.

Noel chuckled, low and lazy, nuzzling his nose against the curve of your shoulder.

You turned slightly in his hold, just enough to meet his gaze. He was already watching you, eyes half-lidded.

"Maybe we should stop pretending we hate each other," you said, voice softer now, more thoughtful.

Noel’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Oh, love," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering at your cheek. "I never hated you."

Your heart stumbled.

He let the words settle, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw, before he smirked. "Just really, really wanted to shut you up."

You rolled your eyes, but the bite was gone, replaced by something warm. "And what do you want now?"

His expression turned serious—just for a second. Then, he tugged you closer, pressing his mouth against yours, slow and lingering.

"You," he murmured against your lips. "Think I always have."

____________________________________________

oh who doesn't love some slight enemies to lovers, thanks to whoever suggested this xx

[bunnivez]

AHHHHH FINALLY!! ok my excitement aside, imagine wonyoung fooling around with one of those omega escorts. she needs to relieve some stress after all that fighting, yk…just like her uncle said..

All the killing, the blood, the look of fear; it can get addictive, like a drug. Once you do it it’s hard to stop or difficult to go back to feeling normal. A distraction is needed; anything. Go out to eat, work on a hobby, sex.

“You’re such a pretty little thing” She smirked at the way you blushed. Oh, how she loved the way omegas blushed so easily, how sweet their scent was, how soft they felt. More specifically, however, she liked you. The way you looked up at her with those eyes, the sweet shape of your lips, your hair. She felt some form of attraction towards you, but why?: perhaps it was the sex.

You huffed and crossed your arms, “Shut up. You needed me and I’m here, what is it this time?” This wasn’t the first time she had paid for your services, most of the time it was after killing someone who hadn’t paid their debt or crossed her, and if it wasn’t obvious, the smell of blood on her gave it away.

“Don’t act stupid (Y/n), you’re a smart girl I’m sure you’ve already figured it out by now— It’s not like this is a first-time thing,” Wonyoung smirked before drinking her liquor in one go and settling the glass down. “Besides, don’t act annoyed when you and I both know how much you like spending time with me.” She added with a husky voice.

It irritated you how right she was, yet you never admitted it. Why would you want to spend time with an idiot like Wonyoung? Sure, she was every omega’s dream alpha, strong, rich, and incredibly hot. However, admitting such things would be a weakness— and no way in hell would feed her ego.

She likes it though, she likes the way you don’t submit so easily. It’s what makes you different from the rest of the omegas; it’s what makes you even more desirable to her.

“Shut up… They didn’t pay their debt?” You asked and watched the way she sighed and ran a hand through her silky dark hair, “No. That son of a bitch kept on begging for more days, how the hell is he going to pay me back when he spends all his money on drugs and alcohol? So I solved things for him and. Well, you can guess what happened. He doesn’t have to worry about debt now if you know what I mean.” She cracked a small smirk.

“I’m surprised you decided to meet up here. You stink, I’m sure everyone here can smell the blood on you,” Everyone around you two tensed, making sure to keep a distance, “Your place should’ve been a better choice.”

“Oh? And then what? Fuck? How naughty of you (Y/n).” She teased, “Seriously though, who cares about the rest? What are they gonna do besides hide in a corner or something.” She lights up a cigarette and takes a drag out of it, a puff of smoke comes out.

“You act as if fucking wasn’t your idea. This isn’t the first time you’ve paid for my company, I must be your favorite huh?” You teased which made her chuckle lowly. “Don’t get too cocky.”

There was a sudden silence between you two, but there was this sexual tension that wouldn’t leave. You didn’t even have to look at her to know that she was staring at you as you took a sip of your drink. It’s not uncommon for these things to happen yet somehow you always crave the feeling of her hands roaming around your body.

Honestly, she could just not pay for your services and you’d still come to her. You didn’t even know anymore. Is it love that you feel for her or is it simply the sex you like? Even if you have fallen in love with the alpha; it is clear she isn’t looking for commitment and you can’t risk having a broken heart.

“Let's go to the restroom.” “Huh?” You snapped back to reality, looking at her and realizing the way her eyes had slightly darkened.

“I said lets go to the restroom.” “I don’t need to use it though—” She didn’t even let you finish your sentence, instead she grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you.

Thank heavens the restroom was empty, thank heavens the music was loud enough to cover up your noises, you’d die of embarrassment if anyone found out the state you are in.

Who in their right mind would think of fucking in a public restroom? There are so many better options, Wonyoung really couldn’t wait huh?

You felt her hand cover your mouth as the other gripped the fat of your hip. Your cries of pleasure were muffled as your legs shook intensely. Your brain couldn’t process anything else other than the great pleasure she’s giving you, was she even trying to hide her noises? You could hear her constant groans and occasional growl as she picked up the pace.

“Oh fuck yes… ah.. you like how that feels don’t you, you little slut? Oh shit— look at the way you’re drooling on my hand,” She kept on saying things into your ear, things that should embarrass you but they don’t. You should be ashamed, not bending over and moaning for the tall woman behind you.

Crap, you could feel your arms weaken, they felt like noodles as you placed them against the stall’s door for support. It probably won’t be long before you fall face fir—

“Is someone here- uh…” You froze. Is someone here!? How!? You didn’t even hear the door open! Yet the person didn’t last long, they could smell the pheromones that filled the room, it was enough to let them know what was happening, “O-OH! I’M SORRY!” They quickly left.

“Fucking moron..” You heard Wonyoung grunt and bite on your exposed shoulder— at the same time, she thrusted deep inside making you almost scream against her hand. She knew where to hit, what spot makes you cry, curl, shake. You felt her so deep inside you.

Her skin hitting yours made a loud sound, the hand that was previously gripping your hip now held your thigh and lifted your leg to thrust deeper. She felt so good, her tip right against your womb, filling you so good as you squeezed around her.

So close, you’re so close. Soon you’ll feel that pleasurable knot burst- “It feels good huh? Agh~ fuck… ngh, can’t even lower your damn voice, that g-good huh, you fucking slut~”

Everything was ruined when she pulled out all of a sudden, uncovering your mouth and zipping her pants back up. What the hell is she doing? Was she planning on leaving you like this!?

“Put your clothes back on, we’ll finish at my place; I am not done with you yet, baby.” She whispered in your ear before biting your earlobe. Yeah, you officially fucking hate her.

⟢ 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐳 ᵎᵎ — do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt any of my works without my permission and or confirmation.

[biblicallyaccuratepigeons]

sorry but this is exactly what i'm talking about. sonic isn't fucking stupid; he's 16. he's been shown multiple times to be emotionally intelligent (especially with shadow) and has the bandwidth to handle battle after battle as well as multiple languages and social interactions without getting mentally exhausted, especially in the games, under "normal" circumstances. does he make mistakes? absolutely. albert fucking einstein made mistakes; but more importantly, so does shadow. and often, they're making the same mistake at the same time because they're making it together (idw comic issue #36, anyone?)

(((I kinda go on a rant from this point onwards)))

Sonic sees himself as "just a guy that loves adventure," and doesn't consider himself to be an exceptional person, morally speaking. Dr. Starline muses that his victories have much more to do with Eggman's hubris than his own capabilities. However, when judging a character, it's incredibly important to actually look at their behaviors and their belief in those actions, rather than listen to the offhand comments of people who are biased against them in the first place. Sonic is a classic example of the self-critical gifted kid who doesn't care about anything that doesn't interest him. He's very good at what he does, and when people, conversations, or circumstances bore him, he's known to move on pretty quickly, sometimes without warning (Sonic X); if you've ever known someone particularly intelligent, you'll recognize this aloofness as their norm, especially in childhood and adolescence. On the other hand, he thinks of himself in simple terms, chasing after what he holds close to his heart (freedom, adventure, his friends), and counts his flaws along with his strengths; this kind of simplicity is only achievable with the deep-seated understanding that one doesn't have to be superior or special in order to have worth, as well as through careful reflection (people who've had existential crises in their youth and have come out the other side will understand this, as well).

It's also incredibly common for intelligent people to value simplicity and what they consider normalcy in the way that Sonic does. I knew kids in high school who tested better than anyone else, could out-talk anyone else, and play the sleekest tricks on people—and all they wanted was to be normal. They could've started college as early as they wanted and thrived, or even just been good candidates for valedictorian, but they didn't do their homework and finished school at a normal rate because they hated being "the smart kid," they hated being put on a pedestal for something they couldn't control. (Additionally, no one enjoys being stupid more than a smart person. No one.) This also tracks with Sonic's humility and sense of self.

Sonic Isn't Fucking Stupid. Shadow Respects Him For A Reason. Stop Calling Sonic Stupid!! You're buying into his propaganda! He has fooled you all into knowing he's not a god!

sick as hell of people using sonic as a foil for shadow in a way that humbles sonic. no!! the fact that they're equals is what Makes them so cool!!! they're equals, they're rivals, they push each other to their best, they impress each other!!!!!!!

[desos-records]

that alternate ending version of Under the Red Hood (2010) where Talia gives Damian to Jason for some ungodly reason always makes me laugh because Jason is like. I'm going to turn Bruce's son into something horrible just to spite him and says this while holding an infant that can't be more than a month old, like. no, Jay, you're gonna get two days into surrogate fatherhood before your instincts take over and you're finding a better safe house in a better neighborhood so you can build a proper nursery and get Damian into a proper pre-K when he's older. the pit can't erase the fact you died trying to save the mother who gave you up or the fact that a mother has just given up her son to you. and by the time any of that gets through your red fiberglass skull, you'll find yourself standing in the grocery store deciding whether you should buy Dami a bat stuffie just to be funny

[solidaritygaming-fanblog]

btw do yourself a favor and never think "haha someone should make a compilation of everytime Jimmy says something self depreciating!" Because any time he says he hates himself you'll feel sick to your stomach and want to cry. Totally not speaking from experience

[blackthorn-faerie]

I am a frequent indulger in University AUs, and Aventurine is always depicted as a business student. I love to see it, but to me, he is a high school dropout who somehow managed to work his way into a recruiting position in a mega corporation (the IPC lol) and is frequently at the university for hiring fairs and things

[katerinaaqu]

Hehehe to be fair I wasn't listing the absolute totality of the sources here hahaha but it is great that you popped in with the other side of the spectrum

I believe you refer on the moment in book 2 section 115 where the passage goes: καὶ μάλα ταῦτά τοι οὐκ ἤρκεσε, ἀλλ᾽ ἀναπτερώσας αὐτὴν οἴχεαι ἔχων ἐκκλέψας. "And to make matters worse that was not enough for you but you seduced/excited her to come with you that you have stolen her" (translation by me)

That is not Herodotus opinion that was him speaking on the words spoken by Proteus to Paris. Basically Proteus says that Paris basically excited or urged Helen to follow (ἀναπτερώσας αὐτὴν) but that doesn't seem to be Herodotus' opinion but rather the assumption of Proteus when he received Paris in his palace or him trying to shift the blame a bit on Helen too in order not to have as many excuses as to kill Paris for what he did because Paris claimed shelter to Egypt. But the word is not necessarily mentioning sexual desire or anything similar. As a word it also means to excite someone to do something not necessarily in love but also in adventure or something else. Basically Proteus speaks that Paris outsmarted Helen with excitement (sexual or other) and dragged her with him. I think this passage doesn't give much agency to Helen. If anything he seems to say that Helen didn't have the maturity or the brains to counter Paris even if he had stolen her as if she cannot see the right for her or not.

The way Proteus speaks in the passage seems to me like a parent accusing their kid for "exciting" another kid to do something as if that kid was not smart enough to defend itself against an obviously bad decision (It almost reminded me of how Mufasa scolded Simba for dragging Nala along with him to that obviously stupid adventure in the Lion King). Throughout most passages Herodotus speaks on Helen's matter by giving most agency to Paris instead to Helen. Helen for most part seems to be either abducted or outsmarted by Paris.

To be fair even Homer gives her a more active role but she does seem to already have regretted her decision to the passage of the Iliad and the reason why even if your criticism is valid that she could be projecting an "excuse" that Aphrodite made her do it to redeem herself to the Achaeans I tend to believe that it is not the reason because Aphrodite confronts Helen in the Iliad so her arguing with her at that passage could not be a coincidence for me so it seems that Homer being concerned, Helen was indeed influenced by Aphrodite (although of course that as I mention above could be an allegory for her falling in love and going)

As well as there is no question as to who was more good looking (all sources speak on Paris) the real question lies if beauty was the thing to move her or love. Many times we do see ancient sources comment on how beauty is a force that can lead to people do things and how sometimes it is not (Odysseus is a prime example in the Odyssey actively rejecting a number of women that could objectively be considered more beautiful than Penelope, even Helen herself to get to his wife) so I think none of the sources doubts that Paris was undoubtedly more beautiful. The real question is how many agree on her being willing or not

In fact many tragic poets do seem to make Greeks assume she is willing for example in Euripides play "Cyclops" the Greeks even mock Helen and ask if Odysseus or any other kings "shared her" because as they say "she likes it with many people" (although that play seems to be more sarcastic so it is not fully serious to begin with). In "Orestes" Electra sees her as unapologetic as she claims "look at her how she cut her hair just for show to give it to her sister's tomb and she did it so it wouldn't ruin her looks" etc.

So in the Odyssey to conclude my point, they have already patched up and she has had 7 years in Egypt to do so. So it doesn't seem like a mere excuse. If anything in various occasions she is shown to narrowly escape with her life from her husband not because she said this excuse but because she showed him her naked breasts and Menelaus not only still loved his wife but also feared to ruin such a beauty so it doesn't seem to me that Homer points to the direction that Helen is only making up excuses there (as per her passage in Iliad too)

And as I said Aphrodite could be always the force of love in general not just a goddess that has a face that decides but rather love itself as a moving force. As for the Zeus comments well I am not 100% convinced that it is actually rooted to way too many opinions! Hahaha looks to me like someone commenting on Euripides commenters! Hahahahaha! especially knowing the story of Trojan war being linked to the general Epic Cycle and all but sure these are on the table too hehe

Also another thought that is important to make is the fact that her abduction by Paris is always commented side by side with her abduction by Theseus at other sources (which was also implied by the Iliad as well with the mention of her brothers although not fully commented on). Another interesting thought is that "abduction" could also be used as the term "elope" which is something could be taken into consideration and also the abduction theme doesn't necessarily remove the willingness of the affair but rather her unwillingness to abandon her birthplace but many sources also speak on her honeymoon with him and the way they roam at least a year after they left Sparta and all so that is also into consideration.

Also I wouldn't say "remove the gods" per se I should say that not all sources need to mention them at every stop and turn. Since the story of the Epic Cycle was already moving and revolving around the gods, the importance of the Judgement of Paris was not necessarily mentioned in every single passage that mentions Helen and Paris.

Now sources like Dares the Phrygian are interesting because is claimed to be almost as old as Homer is but of course is being rescued by much later roman times thus me not including him here. Herodotus is a little closer to the times we are discussing and he is known for his consistency of gathering local legends even if those are not so pleasant for the characters themselves which is why I did include him to this. Similarly all the commenters of the Epic Cycle like Cypria are much much later sources Proclus for example being a neoplatonic philosopher born in Constantinopole in 400s so that needs to be taken under consideration too of course though scholia such as these are valuable sources to the lost poems

Even Diodorus Siculus mentions the story of a chain that belonged to Helen and now it was worn by a woman who "sank into shameful life" so it could be an indicator too on Helen's infidelity towards Menelaus (aka correlation between the stories but that is another idea)

So yup! Definitely fascinating to compare sources!

Question: Did Helen go to Troy with Paris willingly?

It depends on the source really.

Homer gives us a more complicated situation. In it Helen apparently leaves at her own accord with Paris however it is later revealed in the Odyssey that she did so because Aphrodite influenced her judgement. She already speaks with regret on her decision in the Iliad and wonders on her family and husband but in the Odyssey where more or less they have patched things up with Menelaus she says that it was because Aphrodite had her under her spell (Now of course for some people that is also a symbolism of her falling in love since Aphrodite-> Goddess of love so Aphrodite's influence -> love's influence and so Aphrodite made her fall for Paris -> she fell for Paris, but that is up for interpretation. Quite frankly given how the gods are given in a bit more literal sense in the epics as opposed to mythology in general this scenario is not necessarily likely but it is on the table)

Now other sources such as tragic writers (for example Aeschylus and Euripides) that oftentimes write their tragedies implying that Helen truly had an affair but on the other hand for once it is important to take into account that they write from the point of view of other characters for example in Euripides's "Orestes", Electra is cussing the hell out of Helen speaking on her with the worst words which makes sense given how she thought that Helen was indeed cheating her husband as opposed to the play that has Helen as a central role in which even Euripides came up with a story that says Helen never went to Troy in the first place but an idol of hers (this version is retold by Apollodorous in Epitome as well)

Apollodorous mentions how Paris persuaded Helen to follow him in his work "Epitome" so possibly here we have one of the versions in which Helen followed willingly at first. But since Apollodorous gives us many versions and retellings at the same time (as for example Euripides's version) he also mentions the word ἁρπαγή which means "taking" or "abduction" but also seems to be indicating "rape" so Apollodorous gives us many different versions for the event. Herodotus also mentions how Helen was likely abducted. Valerius Catullus in his "Carmina" also agrees.

And so on and so forth. So the majority of sources speak about how Paris carried Helen away to Troy. Now there are versions that speak on Helen being willing but I think the most prominent version is that she was not willing at least not through and through or that she was somehow either persuaded or outsmarted by Paris or by Aphrodite's influence. In general one can choose between the sources which they can place their attention to

[mathes0n]

My partner asked me to draw evil Wheatley