#what about llewyn

[ivystoryweaver]

Rip all the fics I would’ve written for other fandoms but I can’t pry myself out of the grip of Oscar Isaac characters

[wewontbesleeping]

guys llewyn peed on Alice I have never been so upset in my LIFE

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Play Me

Llewyn Davis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 8: Fingering

Summary: You run into Llewyn at a party.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

Warnings: kissing, fingering, swearing, terrible jokes, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 849

It wasn’t how you’d exactly planned to spend your Tuesday evening, with Llewyn pressed up against you in a cramped little room. 

Your friend had dragged you to a friend’s of a friend’s of a friend’s party in their newly moved into apartment. 

And with the amount of people there, it looked like their new place was going to need a huge clean up after the night was over. 

Your friend had only really wanted to go so she could shoot her shot with some guy she’d been making eyes at who was going too. She’d been very upfront about it and you’d agreed to go as moral support. 

You’d planned to just hang out and eat as much free food as you physically could. 

So your current situation was a little different than your previous objective. 

When you’d run into Llewyn you’d been pleasantly surprised. 

“And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” You’d teased and to your shock, he’d smiled. 

“I’m just here with Dave,” he’d motioned to the crowd behind him. “You?”

“I’m just here for the free food.” 

“Excellent idea.” He’d grinned at you, leaning against the wall. “I’ll join you.” 

Halfway through your makeshift feast you’d paused. He’d been regaling you with stories and anecdotes the whole time, beaming when you snorted and laughed. 

“How come you’re in such a good mood?” You’d asked.

“Aren’t I usually?” He’d leaned close, nudging his shoulder against yours.

“Llewyn...” 

“It’s just nice to see you.” He’d shrugged a little bashfully, “Is that okay?” 

. 

You’d followed him when he took your hand in his and pulled you into a tiny utility room, kissing him back when he pressed his lips eagerly to yours as he pushed you up against the wall. 

His mouth was warm, the faint taste of beer on his tongue as he slipped his fingers under your top and ran them along the waistband of your jeans. 

He pulled back, breathing hard. “Can I make you come?” 

Your brain had malfunctioned for a moment, your ears taking a second too long to process. 

“Please?” He asked sweetly, his voice husky and thick. 

You’d swallowed and nodded, not trusting your voice. 

He grinned, eyes sparkling as he undid your trousers and pulled them off your legs dizzyingly fast, yanking down your underwear with them. 

“Here,” he’d hooked your left leg over his hip, kissing you hard as he slowly ran his left hand down your stomach and to your folds. 

You jumped as his touch grazed your clit and he groaned into your mouth, humming in appreciation as he slipped two fingers inside. 

The sound of your slick echoes in the small space, your wetness allowing him to glide in so easily.

He moans louder, swearing as you gasp, “fuck, you feel nice.” 

You bite your lip, breathing hard as he slowly works his fingers in and out of you, circling them as he rubs your clit with his thumb in time. 

He kisses you again, licking into your mouth and pressing close. 

You grab hold of his shirt, holding onto him for dear life, rolling your hips as he moves. “Oh god…”

“That good?” 

You nod, barely able to form words as pleasure runs along your nerves.

He grins at your expression. “Knew you liked me.” He breathes.

You manage to give him a glare, about to tell him to lovingly fuck off but he strokes your walls purposefully at the exact moment you open your mouth, making you cry out. 

“Fuck yes, that’s it.” He groans, watching you intently as you squirm and shake. “You can be loud, no one’s gonna fucking hear.” He rocks against you, pressing his straining erection against your thigh to take the edge off.

“Llewyn,” you whine.

He picks up the pace, fucking you faster with his fingers and making colour dance at the edge of your vision. 

The deep stretch is maddening, the way he curls and strokes sending shivers of sensation up your spine. 

“Your fingers are so big,” you mutter in a half sob. 

“That’s not the only thing that’s big.” He groans and then chuckles, “Sorry, that’s awful.” 

 You pull him closer, licking into his mouth and yanking at his curls until he whines blissfully against your lips. 

The pressure in your stomach tightens, twists, makes you gasp and quake until finally it shatters. 

You cry out into his mouth, smothering your moans with his lips as your body convulses under the weight of the pleasure.

He works you through it, stroking and teasing and only stopping when your body starts to relax. 

When he pulls back he’s smiling softly and slowly pulls his fingers out of you as he places your leg back to the floor. Llewyn stays close, while you recover, stroking your cheek with one hand while he shoves his fingers into his mouth and groans. 

“That was fucking great sweetheart, but I didn’t get to see you finish.” He slowly drops to his knees, running his hands up your thighs. “So I gotta make you come again, yeah?”

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[eyelessfaces]

he'll be gone in the morning

llewyn davis x reader

summary: you wish he would stay. he never does.

alternatively, two times llewyn is gone when you wake up, one time he's not yet.

warnings: there's honestly more smut than plot lol this was an excuse to write llewyn smut; unprotected piv sex (this man never learns), tipsy sex where both parts consent and are aware of what's happening, creampie, oral f receiving, praise kink, both parts are desperate, plot is based on angst, fear of abandonment i guess?, self doubt from both parts, a bit of self sabotaging from llewyn because is it really an oscar isaac character if he's not self destructive

tags: friends to ??lovers I guess, f!reader, unspoken feelings, reader has hair that's long enough to brush away from her face, fluff, yearning

word count: 2.8k

I haven't been sane about llewyn for the past few days. again. it usually takes me weeks to write smut because it makes me go insane but I wrote this in like eight hours so...... yeah. not sane about this man at all.

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog @eyelessupdates

It’s the same as always; he slept there last night, on your worn out couch, too old for him not to get a sore back after a whole night on it. You remember looking back at him as he tucked a pillow behind his head, a soft smile over his lips when he looked over at you before you turned the light off and reluctantly disappeared through the hallway to go to your room, by yourself.

He’s gone now, his own blanket you had gifted him on his most recent birthday messily folded and put back where it usually rests. If it wasn’t for the unfinished cup of coffee and the ashtray gathering a few cigarette butts sitting over your coffee table, it would be like he was never there in the first place.

He almost always disappears before you can join him and tell him good morning, always escapes before you get the opportunity to ask him to stay for one more night, to get him to be sure he has a place to stay at the end of the day.

He never writes notes anymore the way he used to the first few times you let him crash at your place, like he’s now used to your kindness; you don’t mind, you’re glad he feels comfortable staying here to the point where he doesn’t have to apologize when he knocks at your door anymore.

You don’t mind, it’s the whole opposite actually; you just wished he would stay.

—

Your cheeks are hot from the booze, or maybe – no, most definitely – from Llewyn’s mouth on your neck. 

His beard is softly tickling your sensitive skin as he kisses and nips at it, forcing a – treacherous – almost silent whimper out of your mouth at the same time you sink your head into the pillows to grant him more access. It makes him laugh, it fucking makes him laugh smugly to see how he’s turning you into putty in his hands. Your hand instinctively buries in his hair to get a grasp onto something, and he gets a taste of his own little game when you softly tug on his thick curls and earn a small moan from him. Good to know.

Your body only feels warmer when his hands roam along the sides of it, slowly but surely stripping you of your layers until your top half is completely bare as he continues his assault over your neck, biting and sucking on it, making sure there will be visible proof that he went there for the guys staring at you too intensely at the bar to see. 

Then his mouth trails down, again and again. He takes his precious time kissing your collarbone, the top of each breast, from your sternum down to your stomach. You cup the back of his neck as his curls softly tickle your skin and as he brings a special attention to your lower stomach, not giving in what he knows you need, teasing as his fingers press onto your hips before they eventually curl into the hem of your underwear as he continues leaving small, warm kisses to your stomach, sliding the piece of clothing off your hips and down your legs before he tosses it away. 

When he finally moves and spreads your legs apart, it’s not to slide his warm tongue over your cunt like you would expect or hope for, it’s to gently kiss your left thigh and run his hand over your skin burning in the feverish heat of anticipation; the prickle of his beard softly teases the ticklish inside of your thigh, his warm mouth just inches away from where you truly want him, the sensations increased tenfold by the booze. Each trail of his hands and mouth leaves you more sensitive, head spinning already when he’s not even giving you what he knows you truly want from him yet. 

When his mouth shifts again, it’s to give your other thigh the same treatment; soft nibbles while his hand gently caresses your warm skin before he runs the tip of his nose from the inside of your thigh up to your knee, looking back up at you desperately waiting for him to do anything concrete. 

“Llewyn please” you whine needily, throwing your head back into the cushions of your bed as he chuckles and slowly makes his way down to the inside of your thigh again, hot breath teasingly fanning there.

“Tell me what you need, angel” he demands, murmuring close to where you want him as his thumb softly brushes your bare thigh. His eyes dart back to you, raising an eyebrow when you only whine his name as a response.

“You” you slur out, fingers wrapping around his forearm to get something to hold onto. His warm, half lidded eyes make something flutter inside your stomach, his mouth and hot breath close to your soaking slit making your breath halt. “Please”

You softly gasp as both of his hands squeeze the flesh of your ass, firmly grabbing onto it to pull your body closer towards him, no longer intent on teasing you or making you wait; he'd make you beg longer if he wasn't so damn eager to taste you. 

He dives in and presses his flattened tongue against your folds, and you feel the same way you did earlier when you got to your feet after a few drinks; your head spins, your lower stomach burns just the way it did when drinking that whiskey. 

It's a bit messy, a bit rushed and maybe even desperate but not even close to being unpleasant as his tongue laps at your slit, beard harshly rubbing against your sensitive skin. 

He hums to himself as his lips close around your clit, sucking and pulling weak moans out of you, looking up at your through half lidded eyes when his middle finger slowly and carefully pushes inside your slick channel, his free hand stroking along your thigh caging his head. 

He’d praise you more if his mouth wasn’t so damn busy, if your reactions weren’t so damn attractive as he mouthed at you pussy and wouldn't dare stopping, because you look so fucking pretty like this. Disheveled, high on pleasure for him, twitching under his tongue and clenching around the finger inside you.

His ring finger is quick to join alongside the other, stroking your tight walls until he meets the spot that makes your back arch and your breath run short.

He’s barely satisfied until he makes you come on his mouth and fingers twice, until his name and your weak moans and whines are all that can come out of your mouth, until your legs are shaking around his head, until you have to ask him to ease up.

Your chest heaves heavily, your whole body burning and seeming to melt into the mattress from the couple orgasms Llewyn just gave you. You smile dazedly when you look back down at him in between your legs, his cheek mushed against your thigh, his eyes closing contentedly when you run your fingers through his dark locks.

You feel your heart thump hard inside your chest again when he crawls back up to you, his mouth pressing against yours before it opens to let his tongue slip inside.

Your movements are hurried as you fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, impatiently blindly progressively getting it open before you’re finally able to slide it off his shoulders.

You hum a soft, reluctant groan into his mouth when you realize he’s wearing an undershirt, meaning that you’ll have to pull apart from his mouth to get it off. He takes care of the task, stripping himself off the tshirt before throwing it across the room, and quickly links your mouths again when he hovers over you, letting out a deep groan when you cup and feel him through his pants. 

You can't help but smile into the kiss when he chases your touch, all but humping your hand before you pull it away to undo his pants, his tongue desperately licking into your mouth when he hurriedly – and a bit messily – strips himself naked. You’re pulled away from his mouth as he looks down when your hand closes around him and pumps his cock, his breath halting, hips thrusting to meet your movements.

Your leg snakes behind him to pull him closer, your chest burning again with anticipation when he takes his cock in hand and aligns with your entrance. You both let out a synchronized groan as he carefully pushes inside, easily sliding in, your sensitive channel slick from your previous orgasms, but still tight around him. 

He’s gentle as he starts to thrust in, hand firmly planted besides your head, teeth sunk into his bottom lip in concentration. His vision sways from the alcohol; it was way less noticeable when he had his face in between your legs, when he didn’t have to use the rest of his body, when he didn’t have to rely on balance.

His eyes close when your hand cups his cheek, fingers softly scratching his beard while you whisper praises he’s far too gone to truly take into account, too lost in the feeling of your cunt softly contracting around him. His thrusts grow more and more desperate as he goes, less precise, the muscles of his thighs twitching as the familiar feeling quickly starts to gather inside his stomach, exhaling moans like laying in bed with you is a one time opportunity, like it’s the last time he’s ever gonna do this.

“Not gonna last long,” he mumbles dazedly between breaths before you quickly assure him that it’s okay, your hand cupping the back of his neck to pull his face close to yours again.

His tongue mingles with yours in a heated, desperate kiss before he pulls away and sinks his head against your shoulder, huffing out a loud breath when he feels himself getting close, trying not to tip over the edge before you do.

“Come on dove, come on” he begs you, his warm breath fanning over your neck when one of his hands gently holds onto your waist.

He feels like a lucky bastard that you come just seconds before he does; you let a soft cry out as your last orgasm hits you, this one softer than the two previous ones, feeling like a warmth washing through you as Llewyn stills when he reaches his end and spills inside you, eyes rolling back as a soft groan escapes his lips.

His body crumbles over yours as he lets out a loud sigh, pressing small kisses to your cheek, fingers softly running along your arm.

You want to give the affection back to him, want to kiss him until he's out of breath, but all your body does is close your eyes; Llewyn has drawn all the energy out of you, he has loved you until you became numb.

You instinctively know it's early in the morning when your mind awakes, an unpleasant heaviness clouding your head from the alcohol, and a soft ache between your thighs. You hum softly in your still half asleep state, turning around and changing positions to get more comfortable, reaching for the man you spent the night with, hoping you could snuggle to him.

Your eyes are still shut as you reach for Llewyn, your hand only passing along the ruffles and creases of the fitted sheets of your bed.

Your eyes eventually open when you know you have to come to terms with the fact that he’s gone, he’s fucking gone again.

— 

You don’t know how it has happened again when you only wanted to address the issue at first, still mad at him when he knocked and when you opened the door, still mad that he had left like you were just a meaningless one night stand the other night, someone he would never see or hear about again.

But then he seemed so exhausted, so out of it and so crushed by every responsibility resting over his shoulders that you figured it would be better to bother him with the question later instead of overburdening him now.

Then things slipped, again. So fast and so casually at once, like it was simultaneously the right and wrong thing to do. 

You don’t know why he’s in your bed again, but maybe on your part you do, because you will have to one day just admit that you love him.

You can’t help but feel like you’re missing something regarding him. Why is he in your bed again, sober, head resting over your chest and arms tightly wrapped around your waist if it was all the alcohol’s fault that you stepped further into your relationship the other night? Why is he in your bed again if he regretted it last time and felt he had to run away, again?

You swallow thickly as those questions overwhelmingly cloud your mind, trying to chase them away when you continue to absentmindedly run your fingers through his soft, long curls. It’d be a damn mood breaker to trap him into questions like while you’re still enjoying your respective post-high haze, and you would pass as too fucking ungrateful after the things you have just done, but you have to know why he acts like this, why he runs away but somehow always comes back.

“Llewyn,” his name weakly comes out of your mouth, your fingers stopping in their trail. You can hear your own breathing when you await his response, which eventually never comes. 

He's sound asleep; it'll wait, again.

—

You had almost forgotten Llewyn had been there last night when you wake up to the sound of ruffling around the bedroom.

The only source of light in your room is the full moon light seeping through your window, faint but present enough to make you aware of your surroundings.

Llewyn is standing on the other side of the room, gathering his clothes scattered around the room that you so carelessly threw aside when in a hurry last night.

“What’re you doing” you mumble sleepily as you roll over his side of the bed, arm extending as if to reach for him. He looks over at you like a deer caught in headlights, stopping as his pants are already halfway slid up his thighs.

“I uh, I have to head out” he replies in a low mutter as he resumes his action, approaching and shoving in his pocket the pack of cigarettes laying on the bedside table.

“Don’t,” his gaze darts back at you as you speak, stopping in his movements, in fear that he might have heard it wrong. “Stay” you demand, almost beg as you look up at him, almost all ready to go and leave you hanging like always. He exhales softly and sits down over the edge of the bed, hand reaching out to you to brush your hair back from your face. “Please.” you add, tiredly blinking.

“Okay.” he simply declares in a soft whisper, fingers gently tracing your face. Your eyes close as you lean into his touch, sleep still holding a tight grasp over you.

“Why do you keep leaving” you monotonically, weakly ask, your tone successfully translating the hurt you feel. “All the time” 

He halts and pulls away from you, like your reproach suddenly makes him undeserving of touching you. He takes some time before answering, and you're almost lulled back to sleep before the sound of his voice brings you back to reality and makes you open your eyes again. “I don't want you to think I'm doing all this just for a bed to sleep in” he explains, lips pinching skeptically.

You huff out softly, nuzzling against your arm. “It makes me think you're doing this just for a vagina to stick your dick in, Llewyn.”

“Shit, yeah. I'm sorry” he scoffs and sighs, looking out the window in reflection before looking back at you. “It's just– It's the whole opposite. I care about you. I don't wanna fuck this up” he declares, his hand coming to rest over your extended arm. “I didn't start right, I know. I’m sorry angel.” he pauses, softly chewing on his bottom lip. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

You exhale, somehow ironically relieved that it's only this, that you're not the main part of the problem, that he actually wants you as much as you do. Your stomach flutters at the feeling of his thumb softly rubbing your bare skin, and you weakly but softly smile when you finally look back up at him.

“I only ever wanted you to stay” you mutter, hand reaching to cover his over your arm.

He tiredly smiles back at you, at last erasing the conflicted frown over his face.

“I only ever wanted to stay.”

—

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[ominoose]

𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫'𝐬 𝐀𝐬 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

Characters: Steven Grant, Nathan Bateman, Llewyn Davis, Jake Lockley, Blue Jones Summary: Oscar Characters characters teaching subjects at school. Warnings: None WC: 1.7k

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁 - 𝗛𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆

His natural passion and accidental ability to hyper-fixate on things means he can teach all the required topics with ridiculous detail, but we all know which subject he dominates best.

The vast majority of the students adore him. Mr Grant’s lessons are always fun, he lets the class make posters (that include all nine members of the Ennead), do Kahoot quizzes, create live re-enactments of historical events. Even when he’s just talking off a power point, his voice, mannerisms and tendency to act things out has the children engrossed and giggling. 

The classroom walls are absolutely littered with posters, some bought and some done by students. There's inspiring quotes, positivity kittens and Egyptian puns.

Not only is he a good teacher, but a good mentor. Being autistic himself, he notices any neurodivergent or “othered” kids and makes it a point to find what they’re passionate about and working it into their curriculum. If someones struggling he’ll arrange one-on-one time, asking them what they’re strengths are not just to help figure out how to work with them, but to remind them they have strengths.

While most students do love him, the few troublemakers know he’s not the strictest and thus will absolutely take the piss. Feigning ignorance and struggles as an excuse to why they missed a deadline or didn’t do the homework. Steven, the optimist he is, is always happy to give second, third and fourth chances. It does take that long for him to realise they’re not genuine, and yet he’ll still try, convincing himself that he’ll be able to turn them straight with the magic of friendship.

𝗡𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗕𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗻 - 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗰𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲

It would be like finding a needle in a haystack trying to find a single student in the many years Nathan had been teaching that didn’t, at least at one point, absolutely despise him. Mr Bateman was far from the friendliest, lax teacher to his students, bordering on a bit of an asshole really. He had an absolute zero tolerance policy for time wasting, messing around and not giving 100%. All students were expected to keep up, get the work done on time and spend time studying and completing exercises at home. If you didn’t do that, you weren’t trying hard enough.

The common conception of a hard-ass wasn’t ill fitting, but it wasn’t without reason. Mr Bateman was a hard-ass because he wanted his students to grasp every opportunity at their disposal and stretch their potential. Some people were born smarter, some learned quicker from a young age but every single person could better themselves regardless of whether they started at Level 10 or Level 0. 

It also shouldn’t be said that he wanted students that simply obeyed. It was a story passed down to students about the time a student, in a fit of frustration and defiance to the teacher that always pushed them, completely disregarded the set code structure and wrote their own entirely new one that completed the aim function. While everyone would expect them to be given weeks worth of detention and a reaming, but Mr Bateman simply smiled, said well done and moved on with the lesson. Apparently the kid managed to get a full paid scholarship into top university, but that was just hearsay. Rumour has it his middle name is Hamlet too, snickering students will whisper.

Besides his rigid teaching style, not much is known about him. The classroom is minimalist, only a coffee flask and a pot of three black ballpoints sit on his desk. The walls are sparse beyond a handful of posters about common coding knowledge.

𝗟𝗹𝗲𝘄𝘆𝗻 𝗗𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘀 - ��𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰

The beginning of every new school year followed the same routine. Kids would hear their music teacher was a published artist, get insanely excited, go to class then realise published was not synonymous with success and wither with disappointment. Mr Davis gave up caring years ago, at least he finally had a steady gig, albeit at the cost of his soul.

Classes were average. Sometimes students were treated to his natural singing voice, something that always sparked smiles and attention from the kids, but usually lessons were Llewyn bearing through kids bashing piano keys and drum pads as he wandered around and did his best to tutor them through it.

To kids that were required to take the class, it was alright. Mr Davis wasn’t a hard ass, although it did drain his soul to see kids blind to the brilliance and potential of music. His homework mostly consisted of practicing at home or listening to different genres. To kids that genuinely enjoyed music, it was bliss. Mr Davis was no dream mentor for sure, he was quite stubborn about what he thought “good music” sounded like, but when he sat with someone he could share the passion with, the kid would feel like an equal. 

The classroom was always open to kids that wanted time to practice, he knew what an escape music could be, and would never hesitate to sit and work out a song or even add his guitar to whatever a student was playing.

The room was a riot on a good day. All sorts of instruments littered and surrounded the desks, posters of musicians and notes and the different types of brass instruments lined the walls and there was always something playing in the background. A basket of fruit and cereal bars was always sat fully stocked next to the door, with a “Help Yourself” sign stuck to it. No one knew why, and no one ever thought to question it.

𝗝𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗹𝗲𝘆 - 𝗦𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵

Spanish was always a full class, no matter what year or whether the students actually cared about Spanish. Students either swooned over him or wanted to be his friend. Mr Lockley knew, although had no clue why, but who cares as long as he was able to spread some Spanish around. The point is, Mr Lockley had no enemies at school.

Like a typical Spanish teacher, the register was taken in Spanish, if you wanted to ask to go to the toilet it had to be Spanish and if you wanted to pass notes in class they had better be in Spanish. He wasn’t the most forgiving, the man expected homework to be in on time and god help you if it was google translate. Mr Lockley would call you out, make you re-do it in his class at lunch or give detention to repeat offenders.

If students had been doing reasonably well he’d bring in some traditional Latin American foods for students to try, turn on a Spanish movie or even treat them to a little story about his past. Remember the Chef in Ratatouille that killed a guy with one thumb? That's the type of nonsense he talked about, albeit a bit more kid friendly. Most of the stories were embellished tales of him saving a grannies purse from being stolen, but some students always wondered about that hardened, broody looking teacher.

Mr Lockley prefers to keep his help to class time, long past learning his lesson about the very obvious students that came to him giggling and blushing behind their hands. On a rare occasion however, he will accept a student that comes knocking, overly apologetic and pleading for just a little help on their assignment, especially if the student is a quiet one. His lunch is set aside and he gestures for the student to take a seat before going over it with them, helping them with pronunciation, never shaming them or getting annoyed if they make a basic mistake. At the end he’ll even teach them how to say shit in Spanish, if they can keep it a little secret.

The classroom has posters of different Latin American countries, verbs and nouns, the different gendered terms. His desk was a little cluttered, a ‘Mejor Profesor’ mug, papers half marked and some drawings done by students hung nearby.

𝗕𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗝𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀 - 𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘆

No one's favourite teacher but everyone knew him and had something to say. If a student had him later in the day they’d need to pray the morning classes were well behaved or pray they knew someone in said classes that could give a heads up on his moods. It didn’t matter either way, you could walk in one him sucking on his lower lip and glaring the entire class down and walk away with him smiling and patting backs. It was every student for themselves in that class. The only consistency was the white lab coat he wore. 

There were obvious favourites, usually people who found a good balance of kissing his ass but not too overtly, asking for help while still expressing basic knowledge. If you asked too many questions, he would openly sigh or ignore you for someone else. If you gave an answer he thought was stupid, he wouldn’t hide the hands raking over his face in annoyance. If you were quiet and kept to yourself, you’d skirt by okay until one day in the middle of a lesson he calls your name with a faux chirp, predatory smile and ask a question. Answer correctly and you can rest assured he'll (probably) leave you alone for the next few lessons, answer wrong and enjoy doing exam questions as practice.

Detention for even a hint of a Breaking Bad reference. Openly hated a student named Jessie. Weirdly, students notice it's not the chemistry part that annoys him, it's the inaccurate portrayal of drug transactions and the costs. No one has dared ask why he knows so much about that.

Mr Jones’ door is usually locked at lunch and after class, he'll blatantly ignore any student that knocks and continue eating. On the stray chance a rare student manages to find him outside the class and has the balls to stop him, with his trademark sigh he'll begrudgingly set up a day and time to help them. It'll be a one-on-one session filled with eyerolls and being talked down to, but you'll get lots of extra knowledge and he'll even throw some of his old textbooks at you for free. Weirdly, he won't bother you in class anymore, just giving you a little smile out the corner of his eye.

The classroom has old periodic table posters from the teacher that retired years before him, and classroom rules about remembering to wear goggles or you'll go blind. The only thing on his desk besides several piles of paper is teacher mugs with variations of chemistry puns he pretends to hate.

[winniethewife]

Oscar Isaac Characters as angsty Quotes/Lyrics

Steven Grant: I am not a violent dog, I don't know why I bite

Marc Spector: I am not your pet, I never liked you, I don't care about you, I won't wait for you. I bite.

Jake Lockley: I suppose if it worked, we'd be dead already

Llewyn Davis: I Know I could have Loved you (But you would not let me) 

Kane: I'm well beyond you now, and travelling very fast

Leto Atreides: No good deed goes unpunished

Blue Jones: It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.

Nathan Bateman: Genius must ever be imperfect.

Santiago Garcia: A hero of war, Is that what they see? Just medals and scars, So damn proud of me.

Abel Morales: I can pardon everybody’s mistakes except my own.

William Tell: I lost a game you couldn't even lose in.

Poe Dameron: When heroes fall from the sky, many more will learn to fly.

Rydal Keener: If you're not having me nor I you that doesn't mean I will stop loving you 

Peter Roiter: I love you in every universe

Mikael Boghosion: I got soul, but I'm not a soldier

Miguel O'hara: Listen, don't meet your heroes. If you meet your heroes, you're always going to be disappointed.

Jonathan Levy: Maybe then you could've loved me like you don't know how to

Outcome 3: I could disappear forever and it wouldn’t make a difference.

Orestes: If I'm a pagan of the good times, My lover's the sunlight

~

Masterlist

Taglist: @silvernight-m @queerponcho @boredzillenial

[faretheeoscar]

L💟

I did a little self insert with Llewyn yesterday...

Llewyn is my comfort character; he is the character that introduced me to Oscar 10 years ago when I went to the movies alongside with my college friends (that were cinema nerds),and that dragged me to watch "the new Coen Brothers film" when i had no money (Llewyn coded) not knowing what to expect about it.

I remember I ended up crying, devastated and with so many questions after the movie (and also with a huge ass crush on the protagonist who I later found about was from the same nationality I am, like we are both half Guatemalan and I think that connected me even more to him) that even my friends that studied cinema at the time wouldn't know how to answer to me.

I've done a deep dive on this movie so many times, i could give a Ted Talk about it hehehe

It's not only Oscar that lures me to Llewyn, i like to think that Llewyn lured me to Oscar (and then of course ex machina, star wars and all the major things came and I wasn't able to look back lol).

His story about the struggle to find a place in the world, to his personal story with grief that I can relate to more than I would like to and finally the struggle of taking the path of the artist has touched me in different ways throughout the years. From college when I felt that my majors was not what I really wanted to do in my life and I felt truly lost, to nowadays when I finally decided to follow the career my heart desired and literally crossed an ocean to be able to do it and I still feel lost but in a much happier and better way.

Anyway why am I giving this long explanation for my self insert drawing? I don't know, i just love Llewyn so much and i can't shut up about him anytime I get to watch the movie again, specially when it hits a nerve in my life, and rn I'm passing through a rough patch so, yeah it spoke to me last night when I rewatched it with some friends.

Stay safe fellow artists, and hug your Llewyn.

[blue-sadie]

The Musician

Llewyn Davis x Friend Reader

Series Masterlist

Prt 6 of the Different Versions Series

Summary: waking up at 00:31 in the morning and not being able to fall asleep maybe water will help right or something... else

Warning: couch sex

Yn/3rd person pov

I moaned out as I stretched out my arms pushing my head back into the pillow, the glow of the digital clock illuminating a little bit of the room, it read 00:31 I groaned turning over to cuddle into the duvet.

But I just couldn't fall back asleep I turned onto my back huffing before sitting up, I stayed there intil I felt ready to stand up, I flicked the duvet off of me groaning as the cold hit my warmed skin, my teeth chattering slightly as I moved out the room.

My arms clasped around my sides to keep the remaining warmth I had as i got to the kitchen I looked puzzled at the lights flicking each one on intil I got it right, my eyes squinted at the sudden light but slowly adjusted as I made my way to the cupboards looking for the glasses.

I filled the glass up with water taking a few sips of it before sighing how much more of this is there going to be, will I ever get back home or will it be an endless cycle? Would I ever see my old life again see my lovers again.

I took in a deep breath placing the now empty glass into the sink and leaned onto the counter some of my hair falling into my face I was deep in thought when a buzzing filled the apartment, my heart lept a few beats as I straightened up walking over to where the noise was coming from.

I came to what looks to be the entryway with a call box by the door that's where the noise was coming from "hello" I asked pressing down the button on the small box "hey yn its llewyn, long time no see" the person murmured letting out an awkward chuckle before speaking again "I'm sorry I know it's late but I need a place to stay".

The man sounded like marc "yea of course" I said pressing another button to open up the man door the call ended as he made his way up, I waited by the door shifting on my feet tiredly a huge yawn left my lips as I heard him knock.

"Hi" I mumbled opening the door and I was right it was another marc and like the one before he had a beard just a bit more tame and less gray hairs "hey yn" he smiled nervously as I looked down at his belongings, in one hand he held a guitar case and in the other a fluffy ginger cat.

"Come in come in" I beckoned stepping aside for him to walk inside he hummed happily walking past me into the lounge placing his stuff down before turning to me "thank you really yn thank you" he smiled, the cat purring as it lay on the blanket "no problem" I smiled "do you want anything water, food" I offered intertwining my fingers together as I stared at him.

He shook his head "no thank you I had some stuff after my gig" he murmured gesturing to his guitar I nodded staring at it, the case looked somewhat damaged but still in good shape "how was it" I blurted at making him frown his brows a little bit "how was the gig" his mouth twitched upwards "better then usual someone asked if they can book me for a party" his smile brightened up the room as he spoke about it.

He seemed so interested in it like when steven speaks about different things as he takes me around the museum, I giggled slightly and urged him onto the couch and I took a spot beside him "that's really good llewyn" I smiled placing a hand on his knee making him pause for a brief second his eyes looking between my hand and me.

"Sorry" I said retracting my hand but he caught it mid way "no no" he muttered holding my hand in his "I just.. I" he trailed off staring into my eyes as his thumb grazed up and down my hand "there's always been some I wanted to tell you" he whispered slowly shifting in his seat.

"I wish to be something more" he said making my breath hitch.

"I want to be with you" this was the same why marc asked me out almost the same exact words "what I'm trying to sa-" I crushed my lips against his interrupting his words, he gasped against my lips his hands moved to grasp my hips holding them tightly "yn" he groaned moving his lips to my neck leaving little love bites and hickies as he goes.

My hands went into to his hair tugging his roots as I felt his teeth against my skin "I just got to have you" he muttered his hands slowly moving down to the ends of my nightie "then you can have me" I whispered making him groan as he pulled it up to expose my black lace panties "of fuck" he muttered breathlessly as he ran his finger tips along the hem that was around my waist.

I teasingly rolled my hips against his whining out as I felt him stiffen underneath me "l-llewyn" I murmured moving against him making us both moan out his hands slightly dug into my skin as I moved against him "please" I whined, his breathing deepened as his hands wrapped around my thighs before flipping us over so I was pressed into the cushions and he was on top.

"I'm going to fuck you so good all the neighbour's will know my name, my muse" he breathed out, the name he called me made a shiver run up my spine, his hands moved to the front side of my thighs slowly pulling down my underwear and threw it onto the floor, his eyes stared down at my body with hunger.

His hands working their way back up to my thighs massaging my skin intil he reached mid thigh his eyes flickering to meet mine as they slowly make their way to my core two of his fingers ran up and down my slit making me shiver while the other used his thumb to slowly rub my clit in circles "f-fuck" I moaned pushing my head further into the cushions.

His smile turned into a sly smirk as he worked his two fingers inside me, curling and moving them inside of my entrance, my legs shaking slightly "llewyn please" I begged wrapping my legs around him he grinned devilishly pulling his hands away from my core to take out his cock from his pants.

He pumped his cock a few times as he stared down at me "are you ready for me my muse" he asked teasingly as he leaned down to me, I nodded eagerly my eyes becoming half lidded as my legs tightened around him, he slowly moved his cock to my entrance teasingly my cores lips before pushing in "fuck your so tight" he groaned.

My thighs clenched slightly as he started to move, he leaned down whispering things into my ear as he thrusted in and out "shit llewyn" I moaned he chuckled and pressed his lips to mine as he increased his strokes, the power of his thrusts sending me further into the couch cushions.

My moans were wavering as I moved my hands to his shoulders clenching them tightly "y-yn" he groaned as I tightened around him "getting c-close" I whined feeling myself getting closer to cumming "me to" he growled his nails digging into my skin as his thrusts wavered.

He growled out but smiled as I screamed out as I cam around him, he did a few more thrusts before yelling out himself before filling me up with his seed "fuck" he muttered breathlessly moving one of his hands to run through his hair before slowly pulling out of me.

"Your my everything, the reason I still try, my beautiful muse"

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Oh, there is some discourse about Oscar Isaac playing the mk system because he is not jewish. I have no say in the matter as I am not jewish, so I thought I'd ask

Oh! Okay! I'm willing to bed you are the same anon that sent this ask? Or maybe not and just someone with similar questions.

Well, Moon Knight came out over two years ago now. So most of the discourse over it is pretty old news at this point. If it is starting up again, it's just beating a dead horse. Or maybe there are new fans that are just blazing their own trail and not checking out that neat trail that's already been blazed.

Either way, I'm not upset about it. Learning is learning and I'm here for questions.

SO! Let's get into it!

Now, this may surprise a few of you… But I'm not Oscar Isaac. I know… I know… A real let down. This means that I can't speak on his behalf and everything I say is what I have picked up, and could be wrong.

As far as I am aware, he is not a practicing Jew. Meaning, he probably doesn't go to Shul or keep the Sabbath. He might! I don't know. I also don't know if he's Catholic or Christian or how he was raised or what his current belief system is… If it is on Wiki somewhere, I still can't say I know because how do you Wiki someone's personal religious beliefs?

What I DO know… He has Jewish Ancestry!

These quotes are taken from two interviews that are easily looked up on Google:

When asked how he felt about playing an Orthodox Jewish man for "Inside Llewyn Davis" (not his first or last Jewish role), here was his responce:

“We could play that game: How Jewish are you?” he said to interviewer Alexis Soloski, who is Jewish. “It is part of my family, part of my life. I feel the responsibility to not feel like a phony. That’s the responsibility, to feel like I can say these things, do these things and feel like I’m doing it honestly and truthfully."

Isaac referenced the fact that he has some Jewish heritage on his father’s side.

Of his roots, Oscar said, “My grandfather was French in Guatemala and my father is Cuban but he grew up in the States as well. I came to the States when I was five months old and I grew up my entire life mostly in Miami, between Miami and New York.” He is the third Oscar in the family. “My father and my grandfather were both named Oscar,” he revealed. “I am the third Oscar. It’s from the Academy Awards. Isaac is Jewish from my father side. I am definitely a big mix of many things.”

Now, I COULD get into semantics. His Jewish ancestry comes from his father's side and there is discourse in the Jewish system on Patrilineal vs. Matrilineal and what makes a Jew a Jew. I'm not going to get into that because it has WAY more involved than I'm willing to get into and that is probably why Oscar asked the "How Jewish are you?" question (He's known to be cheeky and that could be taken as a very cheeky question).

In MY books, If you have Jewish ancestry and you acknowledge it and consider it a part of you, then you are worthy of playing all the Jewish people you want in movies/shows/plays. ....As long as you are respectful and do your best to do it right.

And that is what I love about Oscar. He WANTS to get it right. He wants to honor the parts he plays and he understands when he has an important part that needs to be done right and with care.

Now, Oscar doesn't have DID (as far as I am aware), but he did the research and connected with people that Do have DID to make sure he offered a fare and honest and respectful tribute to it. Is it going to fit everyone with DID's shoes? No. But it is a very multi(LOL) colored disorder that presents in many different ways and because it is a Show meant to be visual to an audience that doesn't understand how it works, of course he's going to have to play it up a bit and the editors and directors are going to have to add flourishes that don't always agree with everyone so that we, a visual and auditory audience, can see a representation of this disorder that we can understand.

You know what's fun about being Jewish? You don't have to see it or hear it to demonstrate someone is Jewish. I can watch almost any movie or show and go "That guy's Jewish." How do I know? I don't. But in my head, he's now a Jewish character and I'm connecting to him that way.

You know what they DID do in Moon Knight? Oscar wore a Star of David necklace. There was a mezuzah on Steven's door. Steven had a Shabbat table set up. Steven is a Vegan to avoid having to risk not eating Kosher.

(I see Shabbat candle, decorative Menorah, and a Kiddish cup. I really hope he moves those (should be two but we only see one, Maybe it's behind the other) candles before he lights them. His fire hazard apartment gives me anxiety. Let's just hope his Havdalah candle doesn't set the place ablaze).

They could have done more to show his casual Jewish life, but you don't need to. This is Steven Grant pretty much living a Jewish life. I'm not sure what people were expecting him to do? Dance the Horah and have Peyot? This is more than what Comics Moon Knight has done to show his Jewish side for a LONG time (minus some good runs in the OG run and Recent MacKay run).

Anyways, I'm not sure who did decide to toss in those little details, but I deeply appreciate them and love them for it. And I love that Oscar is aware of and acknowledges his heritage. Not only that, but that he strives to represent it in a truthful and honest way.

Anyways, I hope that answers your question... There's a lot I could get into, but others have honestly done it better ages ago.

Is Oscar a Jewish man? I don't know. Probably not? BUT... If he suddenly said "I'm Jewish" I'd welcome him to the tribe with open arms. I think he's earned a little Challah. He's certainly a Mensch in my book.

[ivystoryweaver]

Fairytale of New York

Summary: A tired, pathetic puppy wanders into your diner on Christmas Eve. Things...escalate.

Pairing: Llewyn Davis from Inside Llewyn Davis x f!reader who wants what she wants

Word Count: 2.2k

Content: nsfw, mdni, language, mentions of past mistreatment, talk of contraception, gun but no violence, oral -f and m rec., not beta'd

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

Bone-weary.

Your grandmother used to say it.

The man in front of you looked deep-in-his-bones, forlornly, kicked-puppy exhausted.

Which was a feat in and of itself, seeing how you were surrounded this evening by hungry, homeless people, and he was definitely the most handsome one by far.

Chocolate curls tumbled effortlessly across his forehead. His dark beard was kempt - not the fuzzy, matted mess of the men around him.

At first glance, you wondered if he was here to order a regular meal or volunteer. He almost looked put-together enough.

But he sighed - a bone-weary, defeated, groaning sigh.

"Cold night," you commented, noticing how he struggled to create even the tiniest spark of warmth from his corduroy blazer and wool scarf. He seemed to try and make himself smaller, as if willing the too-thin layers of fabric to truly envelop him.

"No shit," he fired back, clenching his fingerless glove around the handle of his guitar case. Noticing your look of slight amusement, he sighed, tiredly. "Sorry. Long night. Wondering if I could get some coffee?"

"Sure thing," you nodded past him to an empty two-top, offering him a warm smile.

Your boss Sal was a hard ass with a heart of gold. On Christmas Eve, anyone could eat free from ten to midnight at this fine dining establishment where you earned your measly paycheck.

You were living the dream - serving diner tables. But Sal was good to you and the other guys and gals you called coworkers - granting holiday bonuses and sometimes, you could swear he beefed up your tips at the end of the night. Just a couple dollars here or there, but it helped.

You returned to the pathetic puppy of a man with a fresh, hot cup of coffee. "Want something to eat? Everything's on the house tonight."

One eyebrow shot up curiously. "Free? You're serious."

"It's Christmas Eve," you said mysteriously, wiggling your fingers as if casting a spell. "Sal's got a soft spot for people who need a hot meal and got nowhere to go."

Kicked Puppy nodded, his eyes momentarily flickering up and down your body.

"So, what'll it be, handsome? You want something to warm you up besides that coffee? Or do you have a pressing holiday engagement?"

Narrowing his tired, dark eyes, he looked like he was trying to come up with a clever reply, but ultimately let out a defeated, bitter-ish chuckle. "Got friends, but...every one of them's pissed at me. On my own tonight."

He shrugged helplessly. "I guess I'm kind of an asshole sometimes."

Wagging your finger, you went along with him, playfully. "I could tell that about you, right when you walked in. I took one look and thought, 'that guy is definitely an asshole. Probably shouldn't serve him.'"

He almost chuckled, but it was a weak laugh at best.

"Bowl of chili sound good? Or...I have chicken noodle, or a hamburger. Not much left in the kitchen," you offered.

A few minutes later, Mr. Handsome Kicked Puppy sipped his bowl of chili while you finished up with your other customers. A few of the homeless guys liked to flirt with you, but they were pretty harmless.

Everyone knew not to cross Sal and his employees anyway.

You noticed Kicked Puppy's gaze fixed on you, so you made your way back over and checked to see if he needed a refill.

"I'm good," he waved you off, but something made you linger. Probably the fact that he was kind of beautiful.

"You a singer?" You prodded, nodding to his guitar case.

He made a face - seemed to be a sore spot for him, but concurred. "Sang across the street tonight. You ever been?"

Peering out the window, you read the club's neon sign. "No, but I always wanted to. What kind of music?"

"The only kind," he shrugged.

You motioned to the spot across from him. "Mind if I sit a minute? Feet are killing me. Promise I won't ask you to sing."

He leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, eyeing you curiously. "Oh, you won't?"

"'Course not," you smiled, waving your hand dismissively. "Everyone knows musicians hate that. It's like...your living. You can't just sing for free."

His eyebrows shot up as he leaned in. "You're mocking me..."

"No," you laughed. "I'm serious. It would be like someone asking me to serve drinks at a party without paying me." You motioned around you. "Not much of a career but I should still get paid for it."

"Thank you." He gestured animatedly. "My...friends - some of the people who usually let me crash - always try to parade me out at dinner parties, like an attraction. Fucking annoying."

He paused for a moment. "Almost feel like I owe them sometimes, you know... Can't do it, though."

"You have your pride," you sympathetically reasoned. "That's fair enough."

You stood, reaching to collect his dirty dishes. "So, who's couch is it tonight if everyone's pissed at you?"

Running a gloved hand over his beard, he shook his head and shrugged. "What time do you close?"

"Midnight."

He slowly nodded.

"What's your name, singer?"

"Llewyn."

You smiled softly and introduced yourself. "You don't have anywhere to go after midnight, do you?"

He shook his head as his gaze dropped.

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

12:24 A.M. - Christmas

"Can't believe you're letting a strange man sleep in your apartment," the handsome bone-weary puppy voiced as you turned the key in your deadbolt.

"You're not a stranger anymore, Llewyn," you replied, trying to find just the right way to wiggle your key... "Got it! Damn thing sticks all the time."

Shouldering your way inside, you tossed your bag on the tiniest kitchen bar in existence, motioning for him to come on in.

"Like I told you - it's not much. You might be warmer sleeping in a car, but the love seat will keep you off this frigid, hard floor. And the water's warm, since we're over the diner. Sal's my landlord too. He keeps everything running nice enough. Cheap ass on heat though."

"No, I really appreciate it," he gratefully returned, “especially on Christmas. You sure I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No..." You let out a wistful sigh. "No, I don't have anyone." You smirked at him playfully. "But I do own a revolver if you're having any weird ideas."

"Holy shit," he whistled. "Glad you take care of yourself, I guess."

Llewyn reveled in your attention and care over the next half hour. You made a batch of hot cocoa while he took the warmest shower he'd had in weeks. You turned on a Christmas record and found a couple of thick blankets for him to sleep (or attempt to sleep) cramped up on the love seat.

"Thank you for this," he quietly voiced, sipping his cocoa, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. "Don't deserve it. If you knew me, you'd push me right back out that door."

"Maybe," you shrugged, sipping your own warm beverage as you curled up in the only chair in the place. "But it's Christmas. Even assholes and loners need a break sometimes."

He regarded you with interest, his eyes raking over your form for the millionth time. "That what you are? A loner?"

You hid behind the ceramic of your mug for a moment of reprieve. "Have to be. What else is there for a woman who doesn't want a marriage and kids?"

You shuddered, remembering how many times your ex had sabotaged your efforts at contraception...and how violent he'd become when he found out you were actively trying to not get pregnant.

Hence the waitress job, freezing apartment...and the revolver.

"You don't want kids?" He asked, clearing his throat. Maybe you were somehow...perfect.

"I really don't. You’d think women would have a few more options now that it’s the ‘60s. So I got my revolver to make sure my ex stays away. He’s a bigger asshole than the two of us," you answered, transparently. Noticing how his dark eyes widened at your candor, you laughed.

"Scared yet?"

"No," he chuckled. "But I guess that answers the question of whether or not we're gonna fuck."

Smirking, you took one more sip of cocoa before pushing off your chair to kneel down in front of him. Your eyes met his challengingly as you spread your palms over his thighs, pushing them up to his hips.

"That why you're an asshole?" You challenged, reaching for the zipper of his trousers. "Can't be bothered to wear a condom?"

"Can't afford that shit," he fired back, enjoying the view down your t-shirt.

"Definitely an asshole," you shake your head, dragging his zipper down and tracing your fingertips over the outline of his hardening length.

"My pussy's off limits unless you want my revolver shoved up your ass," you inform, leaning over to suck on his leaking tip through the fabric of his underwear. "But fuck it. It's Christmas. You can come in my mouth."

"Fucking hell," he groaned at your forwardness, shifting his hips to give you easier access to pull his cock free.

"Oh shit, you're big," you marveled, running the tip of your tongue over your lips in anticipation. Wrapping your hands around him, you turned your eyes up to his. "Merry Christmas. Don't say I never gave you anything."

You licked a stripe up the underside of his shaft before placing him on your flat tongue. Your eyes flickered back up to his tauntingly as you slowly wrapped your lips around him and swirled your tongue.

"Jes....oh fuck," he moaned, gripping the arm of the tiny couch.

Bobbing your head up and down a few times, you pushed yourself past the point of comfort and swallowed his tip. Your mouth stretched to take him, and the challenge of it made you instantly wet.

“Holy f-fuck,” he responded eagerly, “just like that.” You let him fuck your mouth, free hand gripping your jaw as his hips found a rhythm thrusting and gagging you.

Something about how pathetic this man was - how eager and responsive to your touch - it was doing it for you. You hadn’t done anything this spontaneous in a long time, but it felt good. And you certainly didn’t mind a heavy, hot cock in your mouth.

A few heavy thrusts and gags later and he coated your throat with his spend, letting out a near embarrassing whine as he came.

You let him soften before pulling off him and licking your lips clean. “Bet you’ll sleep well now.” You winked.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, shaking his head as you stood and started to shed your clothes. Remembering you were pretty clear about not fucking without a condom, he slowly stood, stuffing his soft cock back into his pants. “What are you…”

“I have a twin bed, but you’ll fit better than on that thing.” You nodded to the love seat, now standing in front of him completely nude. “But to sleep with me, you’re gonna need to return the favor. I’m fucking soaked.”

Minutes later, this rather beautiful, bearded man knelt between your legs in bed, his prominent nose nudging tauntingly at your puffy clit. His plush mouth sampled your pussy lips, as if he was making out with your cunt.

“F-fuck yes,” you groaned as he fucked his tongue into your hole, sucking and slurping at your juices.

Your hands slid into the softest curls, twisting them around your fingers as you rocked your pelvis up to meet his soft beard.

The he started humming. And not just a humming sound but a fucking tune. After several delicious, deep thrusts of his tongue, he pulled out, making you whine at the loss of stimulation.

His hum gently morphed into a few lyrics as his eyes gazed up at you, equal parts cocky and pussy drunk - your slick coating his beard and lips.

‘Hang me, oh hang me…I’ll be dead and gone…’

He slid two fingers into your slick, warm hole, curling them with the dexterity of an instrumentalist. Then lowered his smirking mouth back down to trace circles around your clit with his tongue. Kept right on humming.

Laying his tongue flat, he laved your sensitive bundle of nerves with a few rough licks before wrapping those sexy lips around it and sucking.

He added a third finger - you were plenty wet enough for it and the slight stretch made your back arch off your twin bed. Fingers curling, lips sucking, and that insistent hum sent you right over the edge into earth-shattering bliss. Your body seized in mind-altering pleasure and then went completely white as you rode out the best orgasm you’d had in years.

He worked you through it before blatantly licking you clean and climbing his way up your body to cage you in. The look on his face told you he was definitely satisfied with himself, but the hot flesh of his cock prodding at your thigh meant he didn’t want this to be over.

"Is that my revolver or are you ready for more?" You teased, reaching to wrap you fingers around his cock. "Don't think I have any condoms big enough for all this."

He groaned, hips shifting into your grip. "Maybe we could just - "

"I'll will shoot you. Go the fuck to sleep, Llewyn."

And that's how an exhausted, pathetic puppy of a man, with soulful brown eyes, and the voice of an angel, ended up in your twin bed on Christmas Eve.

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[wewontbesleeping]

$630 on vet bills this time <3

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Service Fee

Llewyn Davis X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 3: Exhibitionism

Summary: Jerry offers Llewyn money to watch him and you fuck.

A/N: Llewyn and reader are in a realtionship. So Llewyn kinda realises he's into someone watching him. (martymachlia). Also $500 in 1961 is about $5134.21 today. This was so much more difficult that I thought it would be.

Warnings: martymachlia, exhinitionism , p in v sex, cream pie, hand on throat, cum eating, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, being 'paid' for sex, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3035

This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, this was a fucking bad idea.

Llewyn hadn’t been drunk when the idea, business deal, had been proposed. But he had been a little tipsy, pleasantly buzzed. Enough to make him think, ‘fuck it, sure $500 for thirty minutes and an orgasm?’ He’d be an idiot not to, right? 

Jerry, some friend of a friend of a work colleague of Marty’s, had bought him the drinks. Presumably to butter him up to what he was about to ask. 

It seemed that Jerry got off to watching other people go at it. In the flesh. Like a horny theatre performance. 

He had brought up the subject of porn during their conversation in such a subtle way that LLewyn hadn’t really noticed until they were well into the discussion. 

“I mean, everyone enjoys a bit of x-rated content from time to time, wouldn’t you say?” Jerry spoke with a deep voice that was like a snake charmer, easing Llewyn into agreement without a second thought. 

“I like watching, I need it right there in front of me. Like a sports game, always better seeing it live right?” He had laughed. “Used to just watch people get off on their own, but I tell you, there’s something about seeing  a couple really go to town on each other.” 

What really could you say to that? “Sure,” Llewyn answered, two too many shots down. 

“I used to pay hookers you know, for a show? But it’s just not the same. No offence to the professionals, but I need at least one of them to not be... overly performing if you get my drift.” 

Llewyn nodded.

“I still pay, of course, gotta pay people for their time.” 

“Of course.” Llewyn took another shot. 

“$500 a time, for a couple. $400 for two strangers. Couples are just better.” He shrugged. 

Llewyn’s ears perked up.“$500?”

“Hmm.” Jerry smiled, sickeningly sweet and took a slip of his hardly touched beer. “Cash.” 

Now, in the cold light of day, or more accurately, the cold dark of three hours later, with his pleasant buzz gone, Llewyn knew he had been gently coaxed into asking the question.  

He had practically stumbled over his words in his rush to explain to you. “$500, for like thirty minutes. $500!”

You had stared at him uncertainly. “Llewyn-”

“No, no, I checked. It’s in this club, The Deep, private room, it has like a viewing mirror thing so he can see us, we can’t see him. Only us fucking, nothing we don’t normally do.”

You chewed your bottom lip, it wasn’t like the money would be unwelcome. “He knows Marty?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“This isn’t... illegal is it?” 

“No, no, the club it’s like, people go there to do all kinds of stuff, we wouldn’t be getting paid to have sex... just Jerry would give us a gift... after. A thank you.” 

“Does he... want anything particular?” 

“Just for me to cum in you.” Llewyn shrugged, still a little too tipsy to not feel inebriated. “Like we normally do.” He nuzzled into your shoulder and you paused, looking over the slight flush on his skin. 

“How much did you have to drink?” 

.

Jerry had met you outside the club, paying your fees to get in. The bouncers greeted him by name. 

“What the fuck are we doing here?” Llewyn whispered into your ear as you both entered.

You glared at him. “Llewyn, this was your fucking idea.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered as you followed Jerry. Llewyn kept his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

“You’re not getting stage fright, are you?” You teased, trying to downplay your own anxieties. 

He gave you a look. 

The room was surprisingly nice. Clean and well kept. 

Llewyn sat gingerly on the bed.

“Well, I’ll let you two get started.” Jerry smiled, somehow the expression didn’t come off as creepy. “When the green light comes on,” he pointed to a small bulb above the massive wall mirror next to the bed. “Feel free to start.” He moved to the door. 

“Wait, erm,” you paused. “Can you hear as well?” 

Jerry’s smile widened and he nodded. “Of course.” He closed the door behind him. 

Okay, that smile was a little creepy.

You bite your lip nervously as you look at the door.

“We don’t have to do this, you know?” Llewyn made you jump lightly as he wrapped his arms around you, pressing his chest into your back. 

You lean against him, “I know,” and sigh. “$500 though...”

He chuckles as he kisses your neck, his beard scraping softly at your skin. “$500.” He echoes. 

You nod and turn to face him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “$500.” You repeat again. “Let’s get it over with.”

“Never have more romantic words been said.” He teases and you swat at him playfully. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I don’t know... gotta woo me first.”

“I have to woo you?”

“Hmm.” He smiles broadly, running his hands down to your waist and swaying ever so slightly with you. His half hard cock brushes against your thigh.

“You know what?” 

“What?” 

“I think you might be into this Llewyn Davis.” 

“What?” He chuckles. 

“Being watched,” you tease, your voice low. “I think part of you likes it.” 

“And why is that?” He leans closer kissing along your jaw. 

“Why do you think?” 

“I always get like this around you.” He murmurs.

“Hmm.” You don’t sound very convinced. 

“It’s true,” he continues kissing down your neck only to stop and suck on your pulse point. “You could say ‘get hard’ and I would.” 

Your giggle turns into a moan as he bites lightly at your skin and walks you backwards to the bed. Gently pressing you down when the mattress hits the back of your thighs and moving his hips between your legs. 

He kisses you languidly, almost soothingly sweet in the way he caresses your lips with his. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, shying away ever so slightly every time you try to as he grinds his rapidly hardening length against your centre.

“Llewyn,” you groan in frustration as his lips dance away from you again, grabbing hold of the back of his curls and forcing his mouth against yours. 

He chuckles darkly but licks into your mouth. Finally indulging you.

His hands run down your ribs, stopping at your waist to just inch under your shirt. There’s a hunger in his movements, the force that he grinds against you, how his teeth lightly nip and bite at your bottom lip that’s different. Not unwelcome, just unusual. Slightly out of character for Llewyn’s normal style. 

He kisses down to your jaw, his beard tickling your skin as he sucks a love bite into your neck and starts to hurriedly unbutton your shirt. His breathing quick and urgent.

The way he grinds against you, the outline of his hard cock rubbing against your core, sends sparks of pleasure up your spine. 

He fumbles with the last two buttons on your top as he scrapes his teeth over your jaw and in annoyance he simply pulls the material, ripping the offending things off and sending them flying across the room. 

“Llewyn,” you begin to chastise, but his lips are on yours again as he whines into your mouth. 

“Sorry, sorry, just need you so bad.” He hooks his hands under your knees, spreading you wider as he kisses the tops of your breasts.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice the green light has come on. 

Yeah, okay. He was really into this. 

“Need you so fucking bad, baby.” He mutters under his breath and you’re not sure if he even realises he’s talking anymore. 

You squirm against him as he pinches your left nipple through the fabric of your bra and bites at the other, sucking and licking at it like he’s never seen them before. His salvia sinks into the lace, spreads across the material as he moans and ruts against you. 

There’s a tight heat building in your belly, fire that is being stoked higher and higher with every grind of Llewyn’s hips and drag of his cock. The zip on his fly presses firmly against your clit and you gasp, sinking your fingers into soft curls as you press up against him. 

He growls, momentarily rocking against you harder before he pulls you into sitting up by your arms. 

You open your mouth to speak, but he’s all over you again, kissing your lips and neck and pulling you out of your top and unclasping your bra. 

“Llewyn-”

“You’re wearing too many fucking clothes.” He snarls and bites hard at your neck, groaning when you cry out and wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

As he sucks another messy love bite into your skin and his nimble fingers undo your trousers, pulling his mouth away from you for just a second so that he can pull them down. 

You lean back, helping him to undress you as best you can. There’s an unfamiliar spark of excitement in your chest. Seeing him like this, so close to losing his usual calm control makes heat rise to your face and wetness soak into your panties. 

He didn’t think he’d be quite so into this. Llewyn kisses you hard, sliding his tongue into your mouth for a moment before he pulls your underwear down and throws it to the side. In fact, just a few minutes ago he was pretty sure he was going to have a problem performing. But now, god, if he didn’t hear you moan his name in the next minute he was going to burst a blood vessel. 

There was something about it, something about knowing that Jerry could see you but couldn’t touch you. That you were all his, his his. Just brought him close to insanity. 

He grabs you around the back of your neck a little harshly as he kneels between your open legs and pulls you back towards him. He kisses you deeply again, hungrily swallowing down your every breath as if it was his only source of oxygen. 

Without giving you any warning he plunges two fingers into your folds and presses against your walls. 

You gasp, breaking the kiss and Llewyn pumps his hand quickly, using his thumb to circle your clit as you cry out and grasp at his shoulders. Pleasure burning along your veins.

His name falls from your lips in a high-pitched rush of breath and he moans, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and using his other hand to press against your upper back to keep you as close as physically possible. 

“Llewyn, shit,” you moan, your words catching in your throat as he adds a third finger and fucks you hard. Pumping in and out of you, the sound of your slick echoing obscenely as he groans. 

All you can do is cling on for dear life as he plunges deeper, stroking your walls and clit in a perfect unison. 

“Want you to cum so hard you gush all over the sheets baby,” he growls in your ear. “Want you to fucking soak my hand with it.”

You clenched down on him at his words, your eyes screwed shut as you gasped. He was never normally this vocal, never spoke to you like this and, god, if it didn’t make your head spin. 

“Fuck, need to taste you.” He pushes you down flat on your back forcefully and dives between your legs, flicking his tongue over your clit and moaning against you. 

You cry out, grabbing hold of the bedsheets and then whining as he pulls his fingers out, shoving them into his mouth. You look up quick enough to just see his eyes rolling back into his head, how he rocks his hips against the mattress. 

Then his mouth is back on you, his hands pressing against the inner of both your thighs to stretch you impossibly wide as he curls his tongue between your folds. 

You cry out his name in gasped pleasure. The burn of his beard scraps against your clit as he rolls his tongue and chin up through your folds to your bundle of nerves and then back down again, repeating the action twice before he firmly dives in and presses the bridge of his nose against you. 

Heat coils tightly in your lower belly, beating out from your centre as he groans loudly with every lick and thrust of his tongue. His salvia and your slick mixing and coating his skin. 

It’s too much, the onslaught of sensation suddenly overwhelming as he pushes your right to the edge in a rush. 

“Gonna cum,” you manage to sob out, pulling at his curls to warn him, but he just growls against you and fucks you harder with his tongue. 

Lights explode behind your eyes as your orgasm overtakes you, spills out of you in a wave as pleasure sings across every part of you. 

LLewyn flicks his tongue against your clit, pressing hot and wet against it to stretch out your bliss for longer as you sob and writhe under him. 

Your slick soaks into him, creamy and sweet as you cum. 

He laps at you thrice before sitting up hurriedly, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans just enough to pull out his aching cock. He pumps himself twice in a rush, his eyes glazed over and dark as he looks at you naked and blissed out under him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grabs hold of your thigh harshly and pulls you wider. “You made such a mess, fuck.” He pushes forward, notching the tip of his fat needy cock at your entrance and thrusting in without a second thought. 

You gasp in surprise at the sudden intrusion, despite your orgasm and how thoroughly he fucked you with his fingers the stretch of him is still a shock. 

You grab hold of his arms as he bottoms out, snapped out of your post-orgasmic haze. He kisses you roughly, pushing his tongue into your open mouth and demanding your submission as he bends his body over yours. He snaps his hips forward, drinking down your cry as he bottoms out. The burn of him is delicious, hitting so deep, deeper than he ever has before and your back arches up from the bed as you cling onto him. 

You swear between kisses, sob out his name as he starts to thrust harshly into you, pulling pleasure from every nerve with each snap of his hips. 

“That’s it, baby, fuck, that’s it.” He leans up, rutting so hard that he’s sliding you back with every buck. 

“Llewyn, oh my god, please!” You can’t get any other words out, all thoughts dissolving into an incoherent mess as he keeps hitting so deep, as he fucks you into the mattress. 

He bites his lip, his hips moving of their own accord as he chases his high, needing to cum so deeply within you that you’ll be feeling it for weeks. Quickly he sits further up, pressing firmly on your clit with his thumb as he pushes you closer to your second orgasm, demanding you cum and milk his cock for everything he’s going to give you. 

His other hand snakes down to your chin, holding your jaw and neck possessively for a moment before he pushes his thumb against your lips. 

Your eyes widen in surprise at first as his palm presses against your windpipe, not enough to cut off your air, just a dominating hold. But you moan as you open your mouth and flick your tongue against the pad of this thumb. 

Llewyn growls and pushes it in deeper, groaning as you suck on it. Revelling in the way your eyebrows pinch together, how your eyes soften and gaze over as you give into him completely. 

The control makes his head spin and dick swell. He swears under his breath and pinches lightly at your clit as his balls draw up. You squirm and cry out around his thumb, your legs shaking and tensing on either side of his. The thick denim of his jeans rubbing your inner thighs red. 

You cum suddenly, the force of it creeping up on you as it blooms throughout your core, practically forces your back off the bed as you scream silently. 

LLewyn pulls his thumb from your mouth and ruts into you harder, punching the air out of your lungs with the force of his hips as he groans and pumps thick, hot cum inside of you. His orgasm is so strong that he nearly blacks out for a second. 

He catches himself, his hand by your head as he breathes and recovers. It’s only then he notices the tears in your eyes. And a sharp pang of guilt cuts through his chest. 

“Baby-”

You grab hold of him and pull him down against you, kissing him hard and moaning softly as aftershocks of your orgasm flow across your veins. 

“Fuck,” you nuzzle against him, whispering against his ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard.” 

He leans up to look at you, a small smile on his lips. “You okay?” He keeps his voice low and you nod. 

“More than okay.” 

The smile grows. 

“Can’t believe you kept your clothes on,” you grin, “you’re all sweaty.” 

LLewyn snorts and kisses you softly. “I didn’t have time.” 

He helps you get dressed, your legs feeling boneless in the aftermath of your orgasm. He uses your brief weakness to his advantage and pins you back against the bed, cleaning the mess he made between your legs with his tongue until you’re a shaking begging heap. Your third orgasm is weaker than the previous two, but sweet nonetheless. 

Jerry meets you both outside the room, a flush to his face. He gives you an envelope containing the $500, plus a $50 tip for ‘such a good show’, as well as his card, ‘if ever you’d both be interested in a repeat performance.’ 

LLewyn’s face betrays nothing, but he squeezes your hip eagerly at the suggestion. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading! I'm not doing my normal tag list for kinktober as to not overwhelm anyone, please let me know if you'd like to be added/taken off.

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moon

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[eyelessfaces]

keys

llewyn davis x reader

tiny short fic for my wet cat boyfriend llewyn<3

summary: you ask llewyn to officially move in with you.

warnings: tiniest bit of angst, mentions of being broke. it's barely there

tags: gn!reader, established relationship, uhh it's just sweet idk what to tell you

word count: 0.8k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog @eyelessupdates

Llewyn is standing, leaning against the kitchen counter, almost sitting on it, his hands gripping the edge of it. He sighs and rolls his eyes as you walk up to him handing him a small box, and he feels a bit guilty that you seem so excited about it when he is not really. 

“What for,” he exhales as he takes the box from your hands and shakes his head. “You didn't have to.” he declares sternly, an almost scolding look over his face. Where some people say this just to be polite, Llewyn means it. You didn't have to.

“Open it!” you urge him, raising your eyebrows, biting down onto your bottom lip in apprehension and excitation. He sighs once again as he looks down at the tiny box in his hand.

“Come on, you know I don't like gifts, now I feel like I owe you something” he frowns, looking back up at you. 

It's your turn to sigh in impatience as you put your hands on either side of his neck, pulling him closer to you so you can press your lips against his and get him to stop complaining; it’s one efficient way to stop him from talking back. He hums against your mouth, his free hand instinctively shifting to rest against your hip. 

“Shut your mouth and open the damn box” you order him in a scolding whisper as you pull away, leaving him chuckling softly.

He licks his lips as he finally lifts the lid of the box, discovering a key inside.

“What is that” he frowns, looking up at you.

“It's a key, dumbass.” you scoff, shrugging. 

“I know what it is.” 

A heavy silence settles in the room, and it makes you confused. Llewyn takes the key out of the box, his expression unreadable as his gaze shifts from the small object to you. “Why”

“I want you to move in with me. Like, officially. No more couchsurfing” you declare. Even though you were a couple and Llewyn was spending most of his time at your place, he sometimes felt like he owed you and needed to give you space, crashing at the Gorfeins or at Jim and Jean’s from time to time. 

“This doesn't change much, you're already basically living here anyways. But now it's official, and you have a key, so you won't have to get in through the fire escape when I'm not home” you add tentatively, trying to read over his face whatever he feels at the moment. 

His silence is starting to make you anxious, starting to make you regret your decision. Maybe he’s not ready, maybe he doesn’t want this yet, maybe he doesn’t want this at all. You have never really talked about this, about anything regarding your future together.

“Yeah I figured but,” he finally starts, staring at the key in his hand. “It’s just… I can’t pay rent, angel.” he sighs, looking back at you with a miserable expression over his face.

“I know,” you huff out, relieved that it seems to be his only issue. “I’m not asking you to. You’ll help whenever you can” you nod. “I just want to lift this weight off your shoulders” you explain, your hand sliding to link with his.

“Like I said, it’s barely changing anything” you mutter under your breath.

He nods back at you, looking back at the key in his hand before putting it on the counter. 

“Okay.”

Your eyebrows raise slightly. “Okay what? Okay you’ll live with me?”

“Yeah.” he smiles, his hands setting at your waist. “I’ll live with you.” he nods, pulling you closer as his arm wraps around your shoulders, peppering small kisses over your temple and forehead. 

“Good” you say, leaning into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad you’re okay with it”

He scoffs, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been couchsurfing for years. It’s just a damn key but it means a lot.” he huffs out. “Don’t go thinking I’m sad about the thought of not sneaking in through the fire escape anymore.”

You laugh, “Your back will thank me” you smile looking up at him. 

“Jean will thank you.” he corrects, earning a scoff from you before you cup his face and press a kiss against his cheek.

He grins sweetly as his lips brush against yours, before full on pressing them against your mouth. 

“I'm glad you haven't grown tired of me yet. I love you” he says as he pulls away, his lips curling in a small, grateful smile.

“I don't think I could ever grow tired of you, Davis. I love you too.”

“It’s only a matter of time I’m afraid” he scoffs.

“Mh, we’ll see, then you’ll have to give back your key and beg me to even sleep on the couch” you declare, looking at him with pity.

“You’ll give me the couch treatment?” he gasps, falsely appalled.

“Oh that'll be if I'm kind enough to let you in,” you tease.

“Alright I think I liked you better when you said you couldn't ever grow tired of me”

—

SUPPORT YOUR FANFICS WRITERS, REBLOG, LEAVE A COMMENT, IT IS WHAT KEEPS US GOING<3

inside llewyn davis taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift @campingwiththecharmings @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @spxctorsslxt @dowbastan

[atopvisenyashill]

A timeline of the ruling princes and princesses of Dorne from Meria Martell’s death to the formal union of Dorne and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms in 187 AC.

Anything marked with a * means it’s a canon date. The rest are speculation and a lot of math on my part. I also made up the names for a few characters as well! Also rip the quality on this but when you click it, it looks better.

More explanation under the cut.

Where I ran into most trouble in trying to figure out this timeline when we have not nearly as much information as we do about literally every other major Great House of Westeros, is the line from Morion the Mad to Qoren Martell. There’s several quick changes in princes during that time and we don’t even know what their relation is to one another in several instances. So I tried working out the timeline in a few different ways - I tried it with Mara Martell, Morion’s heir, as his very young daughter, as a twin sister, as a younger sister, and I finally settled on her being his much older aunt as making the most sense.

I think it makes the most sense because Morion is considered young and yet his father was Prince for a very long time; it doesn’t make sense that a ruling prince would wait so long to have an heir unless in a parallel to Jaehaerys’ later issue, several of his heirs die and leave the line of succession a bit uncertain. So I concluded that Morion’s father, who I named Voren, had several older children that died, likely during the Vulture King’s first war (we know it’s suspected Deria was funding him) so when Voren died, the throne went to his reckless, dumb ass youngest son, Morion. With Morion dying without any children, the throne passes next to Deria’s second child, Mara, and the Nymeros Martell line descends from them. This also makes sense because in canon, Morion was angry that his father didn’t send soldiers to kick the Iron Throne out of the Dornish Marches during Lord Rogar’s War; if Voren had children that had died in a previous conflict, it would make sense that he’d hesitate to get involved again.

Qoren was also a bit tricky. He had to be old enough to fight in the Stepstones War against Daemon, but young enough to not be married yet and be considered a potential match for Rhaenyra two years later. After a lot of wondering how in the hell I make that work, I finally figured - again, similar to Cregan Stark and Jaeherys, that there was a surplus of heirs at this time. Mara would have come into her throne already old with children and grandchildren, and her heir would come into the throne also already old, same as Meria/Nymor/Deria. Makes sense that the prince before Qoren was therefore a grandfather or great-grandfather, and that Qoren’s father never took the Sunspear Throne.

I stopped at the unification of the Seven Kingdoms simply because we get absolutely no information on what was going on in Dorne until Doran’s mother. Apparently, Dorne was real quiet during the Blackfyre Rebellions, hah.

And as for names...

Voren - we have several instances of Dornishmen with names that end in the -en sound. Doran, Oberyn, Llewyn, Yoren, etc. It seems like a common naming quirk, similar to the Northerners being really fond of -on and -ard endings. I thought Voren sounded the most like a real name.

Ellario - We have Elia and Ellaria so I figured there should be a male version of the name. I didn’t want to use Elio, so Ellario was born.

[h4untedsp3ctor]

These are me and @mrs-lockley headcanons on what kind of boba tea the Oscar boys like just for shits and giggles

Marc - He likes the Thai tea/brown sugar boba

Steven - He likes matcha/honeydew melon boba (basically the milk tea being green 😭)

Jake - he'd like it more on the spicy side like black sesame or chai or even coffee flavored

Santiago - we can't explain it but he might like taro

Poe - he likes more sweeter boba tea like strawberry or lychee (and prefers the popping boba to avoid the risk of accidentally swallowing the regular boba without chewing it)

Miguel - similar to Jake, he'd like something on the more spicier side

Nathan - HATES boba tea because he thinks the whole idea of having the tapioca pearls floating around in the drink is unnecessary

Blue - would hate it out of just being picky

Llewyn - wouldn't ever want to drink it again after swallowing the boba pearls without chewing and accidentally choking on them because he's a goofy goober

(We decided to lump these 3 together) Abel, Leto, Johnathan - they're neutral about it. They wouldn't ask for it but would take it if it was given to them

[bornforastorm]

do u have any fave holiday / ny / wintery / decembery movies 👀

Boy do I!!

I bet you've seen plenty of these, but here are the first ones that immediately leapt to my mind, in chronological order:

REMEMBER THE NIGHT (1939) - thee wintery holiday movie for me. unsung masterpiece, extremely sexy.

MEET JOHN DOE (1941) - holidays but make it miserable and moral. sometimes the holiday season is about being glum! Also I love to see young Gary Cooper's big sad eyes in the snow.

(^^both of those are currently streaming on the criterion channel!!)

NEVER SAY GOODBYE (1946) - I think Errol Flynn should be on any winter/holiday list. He's pure cozy to me, and especially in his comedic mode. This is a Christmas comedy of remarriage! A big marine picks him up under the arms and carries him around!!

BELL BOOK AND CANDLE (1958) - wintery and whimsical! And features gay witch Jack Lemmon so what more could you want (there should also always be one Jack Lemmon movie on every holiday list and while The Apartment is the obvious one, it's never been quite what I want in winter)

DOCTOR ZHIVAGO (1965) - a pure Snow movie. ideal to put on while you decorate and then spend ten minutes here and there getting lost in Omar Sharif's eyes.

METROPOLITAN (1990) - Whit Stilman is New York and Metropolitan is his New York Winter Holiday movie. Charming, witty, delightful.

THE MUPPET CHRISTMAS CAROL (1992) - an obvious one but the best. Career best Michael Caine, career best Muppets. I wonder-- too much Gonzo for your taste??

INSIDE LLEWYN DAVIS (2013) - one of my favorite movies of all time, so sad so cold, maybe more of an early February movie than a December movie, but good winter, good new york, good music.

CRIMSON PEAK (2015) - it's giving winter 🤌 it's giving blood on the snow 🤌 it's giving ghosts 🤌 it's giving Gothic 🤌

THE GOLDFINCH (2019) - I am the sicko who really likes the movie of The Goldfinch. But here's the deal...... it's wintery. It's cozy. the vibes are immaculate (to me). Ends on Christmas in Amsterdam and that feels great!!