#this soundtrack is pure gold!

[loki-hargreeves]

Totally not naming the first chapter after a Ratatouille song

#it's so fitting though #nothing else compares #Have you looked at the soundtrack names?? #it's pure comedy gold

[fourmoony]

Hi! I don’t know if you’re taking requests right now but your writing is so beautiful and genuinely so captivating!

I was hoping for a possible angst / fluff kinda fic! With Remus x reader

Starting off how the two met in school and how they became friends so fast + the rest of the group…going onto how the two began dating in their 3-4th year at school…onto when they left school into a proposal and marriage.

Then when the war begins again is when the angst slips in..maybe how Remus finds reader under some rocks or even them protecting Remus..for them both to be together at the end with their hands holding and it’s all angsty!

If this isn’t your cup of tea that totally okay! <33

Hi lovely!! Thank you so much for requesting!!

this is heavy on the angst, little on the fluff, hope that's okay!!

remus lupin x reader | masterlist - 1.9k words

from the vaults, since writing gives me the heebies rn

cw - death

Remus remembers the day he met you; your pristine, fresh pressed Hogwarts robes, and your swotty attitude, charging down the Express like a tyrant, wielding confidence he sorely lacked. You'd been on the hunt for whoever set off the stink bomb just outside the carriage you were in (it was James, showing off to Sirius, their friendship quickly and surely bonded together with the residual smoke of that foul little rock). Remus remembers you, often, that way. Always ready to take responsibility - or force it onto others, for their actions - and do what you believed to be right.

He knew in that exact moment, with the soundtrack of James and Sirius' hysterical laughter, the smell of pure, unbridled dung lingering in the air, that you were the bravest person he'd ever known, that when the sorting hat was sat atop your head mere hours later, there'd be no pause, no debate, you were Gryffindor through and through.

The only thing Remus hadn't accounted for, was that he, too would be placed in Gryffindor - with his nauseous stomach, shaking hands, and scars that made him feel small, rodent like, a glint of gold in the window that catches the eye long enough to peak interest, but amounts to nothing worthy of attention; rather, disgust.

Remus still sees a lot of that up-tight, bossy attitude in you, now. But more than anything, your bravery prevails. The war has taken a lot from you, from everyone he holds dearest. The first time, it was hard. Bearable, because James and Lily were alive, because Sirius wasn't locked up and losing his mind in Azkaban. There was hope, because they had Harry, and nothing was going to happen to any of them because everyone had to live to see Harry grow up.

Fools. The lot of them had been fools, he realises. This time, it's different, harder. There are no friends, no family left. It's you, and it's Remus. It breaks Remus' old, cobwebbed heart to see everything that has been taken from you both. The innocence, the joy. All that's left of you, these days, is bravery. Bravery that shines so bright, like a leading light, bravery that holds him together on the bad days, bravery that pulls sad, scared Remus out of his cocoon of dread and fear, forces him into the light. You've always been good at that - at love, at protecting the people whom you love.

It's what you do. They hadn't known it at the time - and really, how could they have? - but James and Sirius set off a stink bomb outside the carriage of a young muggle-born girl, terrified of her new school, her future, what this change would do to her. The stink bomb went off and Mary MacDonald had dissolved into hysterical tears. From the moment you came into Remus' life, you've been a protector. Your heart is your leading light, your entire being, a soul so pure it'd make angels weep.

He shouldn't be surprised. Really. The minute it the south wall of the castle blows up, Remus should know the lengths you'll go to. The things you will do to make sure the people you love are safe.

There's dust and rubble everywhere, clouding his vision, choking him until he can't breathe, and in the minute before the wall crumbles around you, your body taking ninety percent of the blast, hands fast in pushing Remus so hard he has no choice but to stumble back, away, in a daze, he sees your eyes. They're calm. So calm it's unnerving. He knows everything that people will say you never got the chance to tell him. He's known since he was sixteen everything you feel for him, the love, the gratitude, the admiration.

You've had a life together. Not all of it has been good - war and death, losses and pain so unimaginable Remus wonders how either of you ever got through it. But the quiet moments, the happy moments, not marred by battle, or grave stones, weeping, or bone crushing sorrow. The moments where all that mattered was both of you, the love, the happiness; the joy Remus felt with you is nothing he ever thought he'd get to experience, would ever deserve.

He knows. He knows you love him, he knows you're okay with the choice you've just made. But he's surprised.

In all the years you've spent together - all the funerals you've attended together, planned together - he always thought that when the time came, you'd both go together. Asleep, old and decrepit. Something peaceful, after the life you'd shared.

But the blood is still thrumming in his veins, the cogs in his brains till whirring as he stares at the pile of rubble that's fallen around you. He thinks, rather foolishly, and only for a second, that you may have survived. He thinks your sheer will and determination could still be pulsing in your heart, the bravery you wear so honestly wrapped around you like a coat of armour. But the bond that ties you to him, the mating bond, the marriage bond - Remus has never known which is which, it's all an overwhelming amount of love, to him - pulls taught. It snaps, like wisps of smoke between you, and Remus breaks with it.

He breaks so fast and so hard that the world crumbles around him and he loses track of where he is, what he's fighting for. It comes out of nowhere, a flash of light, of bright green light and Remus is grateful to be spared of the agony, because it's barely been two minutes and he had already felt like he was dying, anyway. The pain is nothing, in comparison to losing you, to live in a world without your laugh, your smile, your hard-headed attitude. He couldn't have done it, and so he feels peace as he crumples to a heap on the ground.

Maybe a silly part of him thought that you'd be waiting at the other end. In a way, you are. But, also, you're not. Because he's watching you as you charge down the Astronomy Tower stairs, the fourteen-year-old version of himself hot on your heels. He remembers this like it was yesterday. He'd kept his secret from you so well until that year, when the growth spurt started and the wolf got bigger and the scars ran deeper, in more noticeable places. The one that ran across his face.

You'd been horrified, he remembers. The look of unbridled fury as you demanded to know who on earth had done such a thing. You were never horrified of him. No. Just the mere idea that someone had hurt him, and it made Remus feel loved, protected. You made him feel loved and protected.

He watches as you reach the bottom of the steps, twirling to face him with your signature unimpressed scowl. He feels fondness like a ball of sunlight in his chest, mouthing the words 'you're a dirty liar, Remus Lupin!' along with you, the sound of your posh swotty accent ringing in his ears.

He'd went back to his dorm that night and made the decision to tell you, came up with a plan, the easiest way to break it to you. You arrived at his door two hours later, half way through his idea list, and told him you'd figured it out. He knew then that he loved you. For all you were bossy and uptight, he loved you, your impatience, your brain, your heart. Remus was in love.

You fade from his view and Remus steps forwards as though he might be able to grab you, keep you there. But the sound of your voice ringing out turns him on the spot, and you're by the black lake, picking daisies with Sirius to make daisy chains. The memories come flooding through, reliving his life through the good moments and the bad. He watches you both fight, cry, makeup. Getting together was a long, painful process, too many miscommunications, missed opportunities. You never did nail down how to express any feelings other than anger and frustration.

But the moment he had you, Remus never let go.

He watches the memories flash by, remembers every one with a heart so full it could burst. A beautiful life, is what he had. Painful, marred by coldness and death and a beast in his heart that he could never tame. But it was beautiful, and it was full of laughter and love, and joy because he had you.

There's your first kiss, heated and mid argument - because back then, Remus had to rile you up enough to snap just to get a lick of emotion from you. You were brave in many ways. Emotions were not one of them. All the milestones are there, flitting past faster than Remus would like. The end of O.W.L. exams, the party that followed, the frantic, unpracticed hands that flitted over each other's bodies in a secluded hallway that night. Summers at the Potter Estate, lounging in the meadows by the cool stream, fires and empty cans of cider, laughing until his bones hurt and his eyes shone with tears.

Your first flat, old and dingy, but you'd danced that first night in the kitchen for so long that the broken heater didn't matter. You'd made it a home.

The day Remus proposed, terrified out of his bloody mind, shaking so hard he dropped the ring box and you'd yelped as the silver banded ring went flying. He saved for years for that ring. You'd said yes, tears of joy and love and elation at spending the rest of your life with him, and spent the next hour looking for the ring in the grass with the help of Padfoot.

You walking down the aisle, a vision of pure beauty, that signature smile you reserved only for Remus, who was waiting at the end wondering what on earth he ever did to deserve you.

Snippets of a life well-spent fly past in a hurry, the blink of an eye, and Remus begins to feel melancholy. The rest of eternity as a conscious soul, reliving all of his best memories, but missing you still. He wonders if you feel the same, if you're watching the best parts of your life fly by, wishing there was more time, more words, more everything.

"We wasted so much time forgetting what life was like, then." Your voice is soft, wistful.

Remus turns and you're there, lips pressed in a thin line, looking very much like you're ready to scald him for following you this far. But Remus Lupin decided a long time ago that he'd follow you to the ends of the earth, so what is death, to that?

"I never forgot. It just got hard to get back to that, I suppose." He wants to reach out and touch you, see if you're real, or a figment of his imagination.

You hum in pensive agreement, "I was always happy with you. You know that, don't you."

How could he ever doubt it? "Down to my soul."

That smile. That mischievous, knowing, loving smile that Remus knows like the skin and bone of his body. Your hand extends to him, as real as the day he took yours in his, and promised to love you until death parted you both. Your chin jerks to the white plane ahead, Remus has no idea how far it stretches or where it goes, but he follows you, anyway, hand in yours.

"Everyone's waiting for us." You tell him.

So, Remus follows you home.

#marauders #marauders angst #marauders fic #marauders imagine #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #james potter #james potter fic #lily evans #lily evans fic #jily #sirius black #sirius black fic #peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew fic #mary macdonald #marlene mckinnon #angst #love #harry potter #harry potter imagine #fourmoonys asks

[goldustwomun]

take a chance on me (b.b.)

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x ex! mother! reader

summary: your daughter stumbles upon a photo of you and a mysterious man, immediately noticing the similarities between him and her. nothing good can come from revisiting the past, especially one you’d hoped to avoid because you’d never gotten the courage to tell him, the man from the photo, that he’s a father.

warnings: major rip-off of the mamma mia! plot but this was purely for enjoyment so xxx; angst angst angst; swearing; allusions to sex; a lot of exposition so sorry ‘bout that 

wc: 9.2k+

note: had so much fun messing around with this request (thank you by the way!!). listening to the mamma mia! soundtrack the whole time and now yearning for an island romance<3 

ps. reader’s age is slightly hinted to being over 30 but that’s only if you do the math and i left the daughter’s age ambiguous (she’s a teen, over sixteen at least); also, daughter’s name is poppy!

pps. i probably won’t be writing a second part to this because i love the ambiguous ending; let your imagination run free lovelies :))

more of my work x

The summer heat was thick and just about everywhere, like sticky honey you can’t wipe clean off your fingers after spreading it onto a piece of too-burnt toast. 

You were on the verge of giving up, trekking back home and collapsing onto the sofa with a stand-up fan aimed at your sweat-slick face. 

Maybe the dungarees hadn’t been your best idea when it came to thirty-degree weather, but the utility of them, their pockets filled to the brim with spare screws, a cylinder-shaped glue for the hot glue gun you’d lost in your storage room a week back, a few hair ties for when the one currently holding yours up snapped for the third time that day.

Practicality over comfort, as was your motto for the past over-a-decade of your life. As it had been, since you’d found yourself pregnant after a one-night-stand (turned many, many night-stand) you’d yet to shake yourself free of).

You were never one to ask for help, and when it came to raising your child, things hadn’t changed. No matter how desperate you were, working two jobs on an island you didn’t speak the language of, an infant perched on your hip, whaling in your ears whilst you simultaneously cleaned the rooms of the little bed-and-breakfast you’d landed a job at.

When you weren’t taking care of your kid or working, you were thinking about one of those two things, or both. 

And it wasn’t like you hated it entirely; she was the best thing to ever happen to you, could have arrived at a more opportune time, but she was your best friend if you’d ever had one. So saying she was a mistake or something you regretted– it was an unfathomable thought that had only crossed your mind once, sat in the doctor’s waiting room, pregnancy test wrapped in toilet paper, clutched tight in your trembling hands. 

“Ma’!” she yelled now, your little Poppy with her chocolate-brown curls, sun-kissed skin from all the time spent at the beach. Remarkably like her Father, but you’d never tell her that. 

“I’m here, I’m here!” you answered in a similar, exasperated fashion, bent over a crack in the intricately tiled mosaics that covered the floor of the plaza. 

You still worked at that bed-and-breakfast, though now it was yours and had expanded to a vast number of the buildings at the centre of the island. Everyone helped out, whether out of kindness or a small fee, and you were grateful for the community, the small army, you had behind you, catching you every time you stumbled (far too often than you’d ever admit).

“Need help?” Poppy asked, amused, hands perched over her white-tiered skirt clad hips, looking like the stubborn replica of her mother, of you. Her head just about obscured the sun from beating down on you anymore than it already was, framing her with a halo of gold that tinted the edges of her hair. 

“I’m alright, love,” you assured, heaving yourself straight with a pained groan. Poppy crowded you, arms going around your shoulders to help you up. “Why don’t you go help Esme. She’s in the storage room, looking for the hot glue gun.”

“Still haven’t found that thing?” 

“No, I– fuck. Everything disappears around here. Swear we’ve got a ghost or something, the only logical explanation.” Poppy nodded along, taking your finger-pointing at the supernatural with a deathly seriousness.

“Makes sense if you ask me, ghost with a hankering for rusty tools,” she agreed, voice solemn. “Aaaand you’re sure I can’t help you here?” she asked again, murky brown eyes baring right into your soul. You brushed her off, nudging her in the direction of the sweet old lady, Esme, with her wonky English accent and pastries to die for. 

“If you see anything you like, put it to the side!” you called after her retreating figure, shaking your head as she chucked a ‘thumbs up’ behind her back. 

Not only was she the spitting image of her Father, or rather, the man who got you pregnant as you called him in your head, but she walked and talked with that same air of breezy confidence that got him into your pants in the first place. 

You’d hoped a few more of your mannerisms (and none of your risky mistakes) would have brushed off on her as she grew up, but other than your resolute anger and little patience, she was nothing like you. 

Always headstrong, sometimes teetering on the precipice of arrogance, but she usually relented and bugged you with her incessant chatter until you forgave her. 

Would stare up at you, all watery and doe-eyed, hair curling around her chubby cheeks still splotchy from her tantrum, near ready for tears again until you were shushing her with a carrot stick coated in hummus (her favourite but you worried she’d turn into a chickpea or something close to it). 

Even if she was part-chickpea, you’d love her forever. 

Named her Poppy after the bunches of wild, scarlet-red flowers you’d seen breaking through the stones of the Acropolis when you were pregnant and needed a break from the island. Your Poppy was a lot like that; able to push past even the most inconceivable of hardships, past whatever unmovable stone that might be surrounding her, threatening to cage her in, until she was illuminating the world around her. Painting it a little brighter for everyone to enjoy.

Your very own field of flowers. 

Poppy could admit that even with having grown up on the island, she could never get used to the heat or the muggy feeling of her clothes sticking to her like a second layer of skin. But she persisted, finding Esme with a cloth tied around her head as a make-shift hat in the barn they used for storage.

It was… falling to pieces, and still, that was an understatement. 

The blue doors looked more grey than anything ocean-like, the junk crammed inside, stacks on stacks of unlabelled cardboard boxes she worried had a family of something disgusting in at least one of them. The ceiling had caved-in in places, allowing beams of sunlight to penetrate through, and acting as a door for the birds to fly in and build their nests.

So yes, the barn was falling to pieces, the entire hotel was, actually.  But what worried her the most was that her Mother seemed close to the same fate despite being so young, so she’d persist where she had to.

“Little girl, come help me with this box would you!” Esme ordered from somewhere within the labyrinth of boxes. Poppy picked her way through, using the groans Esme exerted as a homing-beacon and eventually bumping into the older woman. She was caked in dust and dirt, but didn’t seem to care all that much if the grin on her face was any hint of her mood.

Esme was rather grumpy a lot of the time, so a smile like that, one that screamed mischief, and her eyes beaming with that all-knowing look she got sometimes after visiting the psychic on the other side of the island… Well, something told her this couldn’t be good.

“What’s in this particular box, May?” Poppy questioned, huffing as she pushed it onto the ground.

“You’ll see in a moment–” Esme tssked at her impatience, patting her back so Poppy would move into the light so they could see its contents more clearly. When it was in place, Poppy looked-up at her from her crouched position on the floor expectantly, still unsure of where this was headed. 

“Don’t give me such a dumb look, little girl, open it!” she scolded, frowning so deeply Poppy worried her mouth would be stuck that way permanently. 

Sometimes she thought it already was. “Okay- Okay– Stop calling me that,” she added under her breath, pulling back the hole-ridden flaps and immediately rummaging through, wondering what all the fuss was about.

“This just looks like a bunch of old junk, May. I don’t think the glue-gun is in here.” 

“Keep looking,” she insisted, peering over her shoulder. It was only a few minutes later that her hand came down on Poppy’s shoulder, gripping tight enough that Poppy stopped shuffling things around, hand stuck on a tattered journal she’d never seen before. “That one– take that out.” 

“This?” Poppy asked inquisitively, lifting it from the box and standing up so Esme could see. 

“Yes, this,” she nodded with a relieved sigh, flipping open the first page. Inside, Poppy admired the elegant script, eyes widening at the name inscribed on the first page. 

“This was Ma’s?” 

Esme held it out to her, confirming her wild thoughts, doing little to halt the curiosity currently poking at her mind. “This was your Mother’s when I first met her. Maybe… younger than you, or the same age, I’m not sure. But she was beautiful, and hardworking, and very, very pregnant.” 

A forced laugh stumbled past her lips, disbelieving as she carefully turned to the next page. A stray photo, not stuck down like the others, flew out of the bottom. Poppy scrambled to pick it up, not wanting it to get lost amongst the piles of stuff they desperately needed to sort out.

In it was her Mother, looking radiant with her head tilted back in laughter, flowers in her hair, an arm around her waist that belonged to an unfamiliar man. “And– this guy, who’s he?” Poppy’s heart was hammering now, knowing the answer before Esme could even respond.

He had her curls, unruly and deep brown. And something about him, the fluidity in his shoulders, the ease with which he carried himself, the look on your face. It couldn’t be…

“I’m not sure. I never knew his name but he was following your Mother around that summer, like a lost puppy. Very cute,” she murmured appreciatively, gaze fixated on the photo in your hand. 

Poppy’s heart sank, hating the lack of answers, the not-knowing. She needed to know, could feel the fire stoked in the pit of her belly that would keep her up until she found out more, more, more. 

You wouldn’t say anything. You were tightlipped about the ingredients in your famous pasta sauce, so anything about Poppy’s potential Father would be a no-go, a dead end she couldn’t get herself stuck in and clue you in on her snooping.

“What happened to him– the puppy man?” Poppy did nothing to hide her curiosity, knowing deep down that Esme had lured her to this box for a reason. 

Everyone could see how you were wearing away, working yourself to the bone everyday for a dream that seemed just about unreachable. You needed someone, anyone, to help you, and Poppy wouldn’t always be there to do just that. 

She knew you didn’t need a man, bursting into your life and fixing your problems. It’d have you biting at his heels until he was running off into the sunset. But a partner– a companion, maybe, who could support you when the job was brutal and rough and you were nearing a breakdown like no other– you deserved, at the very least, that.

Poppy would make sure of it. It didn’t take long for her to do the calculations, nine months minus her birthday and she had an approximate date to look for. She thumbed through the journal, marking the pages that mentioned any indication of when you’d written in it, and shoved it into the back pocket of your denim shorts to search through later.

She’d find him if it was the last thing she’d ever do. 

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be, but she needed to see you smiling like you had in that picture. And Poppy had an inkling, a feeling, a certainty like no other, that the answer to all of your problems, maybe her’s as well, would be found with the man with the funny moustache and wicked grin. 

The internet was a powerful machine, and one, Poppy thought decidedly, she’d be forever grateful for. It didn’t take long to hunt down the mystery man from the photo. She smiled, somewhat maniacally, really, at the screen as she read through the email she received from the United States Navy. 

She’d gotten the idea after noticing the dog-tag around his neck, nestled against his bare chest. It was hard to see at first, what with the obnoxious printed shirts he wore in every photo, but Poppy was nothing if not thorough, meticulous, error-free. 

Anyway, it wasn’t like the Navy had actually responded to her far-fetched cries for help, but she did find a help-centre that was rather effective in hunting down men who had gotten someone or the other pregnant while deployed internationally. 

Poppy wondered how often this kind-of thing happened that they needed a whole department for it, suddenly trying to burn the image in her mind of a few more miniature him-with-the-moustache-s walking around the Earth. 

But it couldn’t be, not with the way he had stared at you in that photo. And you’d kept it, all these years, so it had to have meant something. 

Bradley Bradshaw. She scoffed, what a dumb name. And his callsign? Somehow worse– Rooster. She hoped eternally her maybe-Father wasn’t a proper moron now, and could still live upto the photos she had of him (of which she found many more hidden between pages in your journal). 

He was quite attractive, almost two decades earlier. And you– well, even today, you were ethereal in Poppy’s eyes. Carefree and determined. 

“Pops– hun, I’m going down to the post office, need anything mailed?” you asked from the other side of her bedroom door. 

“Yeah! One sec,” she replied, frantically shoving all of the post-it notes and pictures back into a drawer in her desk, doing one last scan of her room to make sure she hadn’t left anything lying around before snatching up the letter– to Rooster– from beside her laptop. 

Poppy opened the door to see you resting against the door frame, flipping through the letters (bills, probably) you had clutched in your hand. You held out your hand, waiting for her to drop it in your palm, but she quickly yelled out, “No!” which had you looking up from the dreaded envelopes with a raised brow. 

“No…?” you asked, confused at her unusual outburst. “So you don’t have any mail?”

“No,” she repeated, dumbly, mouth forming words that never made it out. “No– I have a letter, but I’ll come with you. Drop it off myself,” she explained eventually, nodding along as if she was trying to convince herself.

You relented, sending another curious look towards your daughter but stomping down the stairs, creaks following, to the car. “I’m leaving now so put your shoes on!” you sang. 

She sighed out of relief, shoving her feet into her trainers and barreling past you into the front seat of your Jeep. “God, Poppy– what’s gotten into you? Acting like a five-year old, I swear,” you grumbled, irritated and lethargic enough to have her wincing with guilt. 

This was a good thing, right? Sure, you’d be angry– scratch that, furious, murderous, down-right irate, when you found out, but you’d understand. She was doing this for you. 

“Sorry,” she appeased, kicking her feet onto the dashboard that earned her another withering glare from you. It did little to dissuade her as she continued talking. “Just giddy, that’s all.”

“Giddy? About a letter?” Poppy hummed in agreement, watching the ocean and mountain-side trees rush by, painting an array of abstract strokes across her vision. “Is it for a boy?” you asked, teasingly, side-eyeing her before returning to concentrating on the winding road ahead. 

“Mmm, funnily enough, yeah,” she giggled, loving how you were entirely clueless. 

“Interesting,” you murmured, then reaching across the console to squeeze your daughter’s bare knee. “Be careful, yeah?” 

Poppy’s eyes flashed, chest-clenching painfully as she worried her lip between her teeth. Her hand moved to rest across yours. You’d never opposed her love-life, of her having one, but Poppy had always wondered why your own dating history was so sparse, time spent, instead, taking care of her or, later on, the hotel. 

“Always, Ma’, you know that,” she made sure with a tight grin, praying you missed how it didn’t reach her eyes.

This was a good thing, she reminded herself. This was for you. 

Poppy was jumpier than usual, like a skittish cat, you observed silently. Slamming doors and screens shut when you walked by. You didn’t necessarily care what she was up to until she was rambling off, a mile a minute, going on about an excuse you hadn’t asked for.

You were a good mother, one that didn’t pry or push when you wanted the gossip and highlights of your kid’s life. Had built a relationship, a friendship, even, with your daughter where she voluntarily shared the information without you ever needing to bat an eyelash. 

So you tried not to worry, to let the mishaps distract you from the seemingly never-ending list of work you had tugging your attention elsewhere. 

But that was another thing about being a mother; worrying was second nature, a muscle that unknowingly worked itself sore whenever your daughter was out of your sight. 

She’d go off during the day, by the beach with her friends, at the dock helping with shipments or sailing into the late afternoon, returning only when the sun was sinking into the horizon and the sky was all shades of purple, pink, a burning orange. 

She’d give you a soft, routine kiss on your cheek as you sat on the dinner table, skin sticking to the plastic cover you’d laid on the surface to protect the wood. Spew details of her day, who said what, who kissed who– though always failing to mention the letter from a month ago, the unknown boy she was secretly buzzing about was still unknown. 

You hadn’t forgotten the letter, not recognising the address, some small town in America with little significance to you. 

Poppy sat across from you now, talking around a mouthful of the sandwich you’d made the both of you with the leftover baguette from the bakery across the street, one that hadn’t sold that day so was priced cheap.

“--and then, you’ll never guess, but Dom was changing on the boat and basically flashed everyone. Tony and Riley included. I felt so bad, almost pushed the boys overboard and she was so red for someone who, basically, never got embarrassed.”

You snorted, stopping mid-bite. “Just because someone doesn’t make their emotions obvious doesn’t mean they don’t feel them. And I hope they’ll apologise to her.” 

“Oh, of course, of course,” she agreed enthusiastically, eyes wide as if digesting every single one of your words. “And they did right after I threatened them. It wasn’t awkward for long, they’re not a bad bunch or anything. It was an accident, Dom said so herself.”

“That’s good,” was all you answered, now distracted by a letter in your hand you’d pulled from the pile as Poppy talked. She was watching you intently, burning a hole through the paper, and, being her Mother, you already knew she was dying to know who it was from.

“It’s for you,” you said eventually, putting her out of her momentary misery as she squealed and snatched it from your hand. You watched discreetly, touched by the sight of her mouthing the words as she read the letter. “Is it from that American boy of yours?” 

“American?– what– I mean, how do you– how do you know he’s American?” she stuttered messily, mouth agape and ready to argue.

You reflexively held up your hands in surrender. “Hey, love– I just saw the sender’s address, that’s all,” you assured. 

She collapsed back into her seat, mumbling an apology for getting all worked up.

It was now or never, you decided, finally sick of the anxiety coursing through your veins these past few weeks. 

“Poppy, you’re… alright, right?” you asked, struggling to find the right words and sighing, forehead resting against your palm while the other crossed the table, holding your daughter’s hand, grip light and featherlike, in comfort. 

“I mean– you’d tell me if you were in any trouble, or anything. I wouldn’t judge or–”

“Ma!” she scolded, sounding appalled by your line of questioning and roughly pulling her hand out of your grasp.

“Don’t ‘Ma’ me, Pops. You’ve been going mental for weeks now! I’m allowed to fret, I’m your Mother!” you retorted, standing up abruptly, chair screeching against the linoleum tiles as you dropped the plates into the sink. 

“It’s nothing, I swear–”

“Is it drugs?” you asked suddenly, turning around to face her. 

She looked completely aghast, arms crossed against her chest defensively and, what was likely subconsciously, pouting at you. “If it’s drugs, Pops, we can get help. I’ve got money saved up and I know a decent doctor on the mainland. I’ll get you an appointment tomorrow if you let me–”

“Ma!” she screeched again, parroting your earlier movements, walking right up to you, holding your shoulders firmly, and shaking as she spoke, or rather, yelled. “I’m not on drugs, don’t be stupid!” You scowled at her, pushing her off of you.

“Then what is it because I’ve been wracking my brain for what could possibly have my child on fucking edge and–”

“I found a journal!” she interrupted, voice loud and exasperated. You whipped around, pinning her down with a stare you’d mastered over the years. She froze on the spot, likely shocked she’d let it slip in the first place.

“You found a– a journal? Where? Who’s?” you asked succinctly, hiding your shaking hands behind your back. 

“Uh– it was– Esme, she– it’s her’s, and she wanted me to help her find the name of this guy who’d visited her when she was younger. I reached out and it’s a letter from him, that’s it. I was excited for her,” she explained, but the way her voice wavered made you certain that wasn’t the whole story. 

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?” you reasoned, still unbelieving. It was too convenient of an explanation. 

“Because she told me not to! You’re– you’re a bit harsh, sometimes, a bit cynical when it comes to love,” she said, hesitantly, mouth twitching with a smile at how you were now the one pouting. “Anyway, you’re always telling me to butt out of people’s business so I thought it’d be best to just keep it to myself.”

The two of you, mother and daughter, stood in silence for many long minutes, bathed in the nauseating yellow glow of the kitchen lights, flickering bulbs casting ugly shadows across your faces. But it was home, the one one you knew, so you never complained, at least not out loud.

Not when Poppy was around to hear you. “Okay, I believe,” you relented, returning to the dishes, though Poppy nudged you out of the way.

“Why don’t you let me do this, huh? Go sit down for a bit, I’ll finish tidying up.”

You opened your mouth to protest but Poppy was quick to give you a look– the look. Same one you’d mastered after many years of dealing with her fits, and evidently, she seemed to have learnt it as well. You acquiesced reluctantly, hands raised for the second time that night, and fell back, fainted more like, onto the sofa.  

Poppy stood, hunched over the sink, and you watched her from your position in the living room. 

Something– a nagging feeling you couldn’t quite get rid off– poked at you, at your brain in all of its aching, slimy glory– that the story she fed you was just that– a story, fictional. But you trusted her, unlike some other mother’s who’d lecture you over the cabbages in the market about how you were too lenient with Poppy, how she’ll end up just like you.

You griped internally. She’d be lucky if she turned out anything like you. Your gaze returned to her, shoulders moving as she scrubbed at the dirty dishes.

Okay. Maybe not exactly like you. 

He arrived on an assuming Tuesday, a single bag strapped to his back, all brown skin and smouldering looks hidden behind decade-old sunglasses. Poppy couldn’t believe it, not one bit, as she greeted the stranger while working at the pier.

He had her curls, unruly and deep brown. 

“Can I help you?” she asked politely, lips pulled into a frown to hide the urge of flinging herself at him with no explanation at all.

“Yeah, I’m looking for this address–” he fumbled with a piece of paper, pulling it from his back pocket. It was a letter, her letter, and he jabbed at the address, her address, on the front of the creased envelope. “--or if that’s not familiar, Poppy? She said her name was Poppy. Do you know anyone like that around these parts?”

She snorted. What were the chances? 

She’d almost bailed on her shift, persuaded by Ben and his pretty smile to sneak out to the hidden beach on a nearby island. You’d managed to coerce him into going another day, mumbling an excuse or two in between kisses as you rushed down to the dock. 

And then there he was, looking a lot like the lost puppy Esme had described to you. He still had the same odd facial hair, though it fit him a little better, having aged well. 

“Poppy? Yeah, I know her,” Poppy mused, pulling at her bottom lip in faux-thought, eyes darting between the letter and the confused man holding it.

“Right, well–” he cleared his throat, shifting his weight between his feet. “Can you direct me towards her?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you nodded vehemently, hoping he couldn’t see the grin threatening to take over your features. 

He sighed defeatedly after waiting for you to continue, and after you failed to expand on the information, he shoved the paper back into his pocket. “Okay, thanks for the help”-- sounding not the least bit thankful.

Better put him out of his misery, she thought eagerly, looping an arm around his shoulder, having to lean up on the tips of her toes to reach. “It’s actually you’re lucky day, Bradley–” you began, that same grin winning its battle. 

“How do you know–” he cut you off, then stopped himself, pausing as he turned to face you. “Oh…”

“Oh!” she mirrored, though a lot less like she’d had some sort of epiphany. more mocking and exaggerated.

“So you’re Poppy?” he asked, stupidly, bashfully, shaking his hair out of his eyes. They were slightly longer, the strands, than in the photos, but he had that same boyish charm you’d sensed. 

“The one and only,” Poppy enthused.. 

“So you’re–”

“Her daughter? Yeah, that’d be me,” she finished for him, teetering towards something more serious, more solemn, bracing yourself for the moment of realisation as the both of them walked up to the road, identical gaits and hair and noses, where Poppy’s Jeep (or the one she’d borrowed from you) was parked.

It never came. 

“And your Dad?” 

You choked on a breath that never made it down the right pipe, halting in your steps. “My Dad?” you asked, bemused.

“Yeah– is he around? Would love to meet him, your Mother as well, of course. I was really surprised by the letter but I think–”

“My Dad isn’t around. Never met him,” she explained slowly, frustrated by how he really wasn’t understanding. Had she not been obvious enough?

Shit. Would she give him a fucking heart attack if she told him now?

She looked him over, deciding he wasn’t so old that an unannounced confession would kill him. 

“I’m sorry about that, men can be real dickheads,” he stated, as if knowing from experience, not bothering to censor his language, and she liked him just a bit more for it.

He was perfect for you.

Poppy watched, unspeaking, as he settled into the passenger seat, admiring the interior of the car– probably the one thing you owned that wasn’t ripping at the seams. “So, where are we headed?” 

“The hotel Ma’ owns, it’s at the–”

“Centre of the island?” he interrupted, staring distantly out at the unwavering landscape. 

Bradley-- Rooster let out a shaky breath, one she tried not to notice, understanding that the two of  you, meeting after all these years– it wasn’t going to be easy. Not when there was a significant part of his life he didn’t even know existed, one that came in the form of her.

“You remember,” you pointed out, surprised and sounding more like a statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, I mean– I remember everything. How could I not?” There was something beneath his words, a weight to them that had her shifting uncomfortably in her seat, foot colliding with the accelerator as they hurried home. 

“So you’ll be staying here,” she announced, shoving her shoulder against the barn door and coughing at the dust that attacked her senses once she managed it open. Bradley– or Rooster, as he’d told her to call him– followed close behind, cautious with every step as he took in his  dilapidated housing.

“Here?” he questioned out loud, pushing at the bunches of hay lining the floor with the toe of his combat boots. He was sweating like it was no one’s business and Poppy giggled to herself, finding amusement in his unspoken disgust. 

“Yeah, here. The hotel’s all booked up–” a lie, she just couldn’t have you stumbling upon him before she’d planned how it’ll all go down. “So this was all we had left. I’ll find a spare mattress for you, and the bakery across the road– owned by a sweet, old lady–” another lie, it was Esme and there was nothing sweet about her. “--who can help you with showering, food, all the necessities.” 

He stared intensely as she spoke, as if not really listening to a word she was saying. 

“What is it?” she asked eventually, breaking free from his gaze as she busied herself, distracted herself, with collecting the boxes into a corner, out of the way to allow him some more room.

Rooster shook his head, convincing himself to look elsewhere, and smoothed his hair back. 

“Nothing, sorry. You just– you’re so much like your Mother. It’s crazy, really.” She beamed at him, suddenly sitting on the floor opposite, and he joined her amongst the dust and hay. 

“Really? You think so?” He nodded, laughing at her eagerness. “She said once, I don’t think she knew I was awake and I was really young, or younger,” she amended then continued. “She said I reminded her of my Dad, but I couldn’t ever tell you if it’s true or not.”

“Can’t say I knew him either–” Brilliant, it was all just brilliant. “--but you’re as… fiery, I guess would be an appropriate word, as she was.”

“And what was she like?”

He was ready to answer, not needing even a moment to think his response through, but your voice from outside the barn had Poppy’s eyes widening with fear, heart sinking low in your chest.

“Poppy! You in here?” You struggled with the door, pushing all of your weight into the crumbling wood. 

“Fuck–” she cursed. “You need to– you need to hide, like– now.” He watched, perplexed, opening his mouth to question the sudden turn in events but she held up a finger, shushing him like he was a child and not her Father-who-didn’t-know-it. 

“I’ll explain later just– please,” you begged quietly, urging him deeper in between the organised junk and out of sight. 

She inhaled, exhaled, steadying her thrumming heartbeat. “Ma’! Y-yeah, I’m here, one second.” 

Poppy pulled on the handle, hauling it open but the circular, metal ring broke-free from the door. 

“Another thing to fix, I guess,” you noted, nodding at the rusted metal in her hand. “What’re you doing in here?” you asked, as if only now aware of where the both of you were.

“Here? I’m just– glue gun, yanno. Esme still couldn’t find it so I thought I'd try again.” 

“Alright you flaky weirdo. I swear, you wouldn’t even need drugs to act all high and jittery, manage it just fine all by yourself,” you mumbled, dismissively pushing past her and heading straight towards the area Poppy had, moments earlier, shoo-ed Rooster towards. 

“You can't go there!” she burst out, holding out a hand in front of you that you glowered at. 

“Yeah, and why’s that?” you asked, voice tight and ready to pull the Mother card you never really enjoyed playing. You’d earned it, sure, but it was a little demeaning considering how old your daughter now was. 

“Because– Because–” 

Shuffling footsteps alerted your attention towards the disarray, squinting between the piles, searching for where the noise originated from. “Is there someone else here?”

“Yes! There is!” Poppy admitted, and your stare returned to her. She could see, right past your head, where Rooster was stepping into the light, assuming she was about to explain his presence, but she shook her head imperceptibly– not yet, go back, go back

You stared expectantly, waiting for a response. “It’s Ben,” she blurted, not sure, even herself, where she was headed. “And he’s– well, you see– he’s naked. Yeah, we were about to have sex and you walked in and he’s all embarassed.”

You sputtered, all but sprinting towards the door and unable to look behind you so you missed how Poppy relaxed minutely. “Oh– wow, okay. Just– that’s not what I was expecting,” you stuttered, palm shielding your eyes. “I mean, firstly– not here, gross, that sounds unbelievably unhygienic. And secondly– use protection.”

You didn’t stay any longer, escaping to the outside, and Rooster appeared beside Poppy almost immediately.

She turned, ready to barrage him with excuses and explanations she hadn’t thought of yet. “I’m so sorry, she’s–!”

“She doesn’t know, does she? That I’m here?” he asked, though he didn’t need you to respond to know the answer.

He groaned into his hands, bending at the hip and breathing raggedly. “Okay, so– I’m gonna go before she does find out. It was nice meeting you Poppy,” he said, all in one go with no room for you to interrupt.

“No you can’t– she’s just–”

“No, I really, really need to leave,” he bit out, not facing her as he strapped his bag to his back.

“If you just give her time–”

“You don’t understand!” he exploded, eyes fluttering shut as he visibly attempted to calm himself. “The last time she saw me– it wasn’t– it wasn’t good. And I left the next day, without a word of apology or justification or–” Rooster sighed as if he’d had this argument with himself countless times before. “--so no, I can’t imagine she’ll ever come around.” 

He stopped at the boundary of the door, calling behind him. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.” 

Then he left, again. 

At least he apologised this time, she thought bitterly. 

You were stepping down from the hardware store, or hole in the wall, really, when you saw him.

A flash of saturated colour, mind-numbing prints, and broad shoulders. You gasped, frantically searching around yourself as if questioning if anyone else had seen a ghost from their own past.

No. They seemed to be going about their day as usual– Johnny sweeping at the cobblestone directly in front of his store, Mia laying fresh fish on ice, ready to be sold, her six-year old daughter tugging on the bottom of her dress with tears in her eyes. 

No one was phased, except you. You looked back to where you’d seen him, but he wasn’t there anymore, only an empty street corner with nothing particularly out of the ordinary.

What the-- You rushed forward, intent on finding out the truth as your boots slapped loudly against the pavement, dodging busy workers and locals, all, now, staring at your wild movements. 

“Child– where are you in such a hurry to?” Esme yelled, head poking through her bakery window with a scowl at the abrasive noise you were making in your pursuit.

“I’ll explain later, May!” you hurtled back, not stopping despite the burning in your legs, your chest. 

Still, you carried on, making it all the way to the edge of the city centre, rushing to a stop as you stared across the abandoned gravel road. There was no one there except you, and you panted, exhausted and head-pounding, as you scolded yourself for such a stupid daydream. The heat had never gotten to you like this before. 

It felt so real, him. 

“Hey,” a voice greeted, cautiously, from behind you. Your eyes closed, hands clenched at your side, before you turned to face the tentative owner.

“Hey yourself,” you answered, surprising yourself at how civilised and steady your voice sounded to your own ears.

Bradley fucking Bradshaw. It was real after all.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hurrying towards you and letting his bag drop to the ground between the two of you, pulling out a water bottle and holding it out in front of you. A peace offering of sorts. 

You only stared at it, like it’d bite you if you got any closer. “Take it, sweetheart. It’s fucking miserable out here.”

The endearment had you flashing your eyes at him, fire or rage or something somehow hotter– the sun had nothing on you in that moment, but he stumbled back, remembering himself. 

“What are you doing here?” you demanded between gritted teeth, chin turned up at him. 

“Sightseeing,” he said simply with that reaching grin that had you melting years earlier. 

You scoffed impatiently. Poppy really had gotten her knack for lying, or royally sucking at it, from him. 

“That’s bullshit. Why are you really here?”

There must have been an edge to your voice that had him spilling the truth, because you were stunned when he explained. 

“Poppy– you met Poppy?” you asked, forcibly nonchalant, arms no longer dangling stupidly at your side but rather picking at the straps of your dungarees, loose threading growing longer as you pulled at them. 

“Yeah, she’s a good kid,” he said, nothing giving away– not in his words, his body language, the look on his face– that he knew. Knew she was his. 

He sat on the edge of the pavement, right by your feet, and patted the burning space next to him. You blew at a strand of hair tickling your nose, hating how you listened, even then, and sat right next to him, shoulders brushing the slightest bit and you were scampering to put some more distance between the two of you.

He smirked, quiet, leaning his arms on his bent knees, and his head on top, turned towards you as he watched you fight yourself. 

“So, how’ve you been?” he asked, waiting, patient, all things you could never be.

“I’m fine,” you grumbled dryly, accidentally meeting his eyes, Rooster’s smirk deepened, before darting away. “You?”

The mid-afternoon heat bared down on the both of you, colouring your shoulders darker and doing nothing to help the heavy thumping against your skull, like a jackhammer or a fucking normal hammer– whatever. It just hurt bad. 

Rooster noticed, silently offering his water to you again which you reluctantly snatched from him, gulping almost half of it down before he decided it was safe to speak.

“Still get migraines from the heat?” he asked, though it was more an observation than a question. You nodded, placing the now-empty bottle between your feet. 

“I’m fine, as well. After I left–” you visibly winced, glaring against the rays of the sun as you willed yourself to look anywhere but at him, not when the tips of your ears were burning, ringing, making you dizzy and woozy and about ready to throw up all over your worn boots. 

“--I went back to training and was then deployed overseas for a long time. Been training new recruits for the past few years now. It’s–” he stopped, glancing at you momentarily, but decided to continue. “--it’s nice. Feels like I’m moulding them to be better versions than me because I sure wasn’t picture perfect by any means.”

“No, you really weren’t–aren’t–” you agreed, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know I never said sorry, and it seems pointless now but–”

“Bradley,” you said his name and his heart stopped. He was dead and even though it was you that had killed him, right there with your voice alone, it was also only you that could bring him back to life. “I really don’t want to hear this,” you begged, and you never begged– never.

What had he done to you?

“Please, sweetheart–” Again with the nickname. You bristled beside him, standing up all of a sudden as if you were about to run in the opposite direction of his familiar ruggedness. “I need you to hear this, just a second–”

“No– you don’t,” you growled out of frustration, tugging your hair free and pressing your fingertips into your skull, anything to soothe the ache growing there. “--you don’t get to need anything, you, you– fucking prick!” 

He said nothing, baffled, shocked, certain nothing he said now would make this situation any better. It was downhill from here.

“You said you loved me– promised me the fucking world and a ring and a life together, and the next morning, you left! You fucking– you left!” You were yelling now, unafraid, unabashed, uncaring if anyone could hear. They couldn’t, and if they could, they wouldn’t clue you in that they were. 

The people of this town loved to know the darkest, most confidential secrets of its inhabitants, all without ever showing their face. This wasn’t any different. 

“I had to!” he insisted aggressively, pushing off the rubble and invading your personal space, leading you back, back, back– until you hit a wall. You held him at arm's length, hand pressed against his hard chest, holding him there. 

If he got any closer– well, if the past was anything to go by, you wouldn’t remember to stay mad long. 

“I had to!” Rooster repeated, desperately. You said nothing, so he went on. “I got a letter– they needed me back, I can’t– I can’t tell you why–” You sneered, typical. “--but, I was going to come back. I swear it.”

His breathing was loud, dense in your buzzing ears. It’s just words, nothing but words– you repeated to yourself, over and over again. Bradley stepped back, giving you space and himself, as well. But his despairing stare– it pierced something inside you, something you hadn’t thought was still there. 

“I wrote letters,” he stated.

“I know, I got them,” you retorted acridly, slumping into the wall for support.

“You never responded.” Again, stating facts.

“I was busy.” Being pregnant. 

He nodded, unable or unwilling, you weren’t sure, to argue. An emptiness stretched between you and him, the kind you don’t think any words, half-hearted i’m sorrys, or passionate confessions could ever fill. 

He bent to pick up his backpack. “Is there anything, and I mean anything, I could say to make you forgive me,” he asked, voice dejected and the rest of him following suit.

You shook your head, words failing you.

Rooster, Bradley– he turned to leave, accepting defeat, and something roared in your chest, urging, begging, pleading for you to stop him.

You don’t know why you did it, or how you thought it would ever be even a half-decent idea, but it spilled past your lips before you knew what you were saying, confessing, like a foot jamming between a door, forcing it open for someone, anyone.

Bradley.

“Poppy,” you said, loud enough for him to hear. He stopped but didn’t face you. “Poppy. She’s– she’s yours.” 

His bag– the poor thing had been rattled all day– fell off his shoulder, and he spun, in slow motion, questions discernible on his face but struggling to make it out of his mouth. “How– We didn’t– I used–”

“What’s that thing they say– ninety-nine percent effective.” You shrugged blandly. “Guess we were the one percent. 

It was strange having a man in the house, but there he was– Bradley Bradshaw, or Rooster, sat right at your kitchen table looking a lot like a man you’d once loved but hoped to forget.

There’s this story you loved to tell Poppy when she was young, dealing with the realities of bullies and snarky kids with nothing else to do but poke fun at her absent Father and questionable living circumstances. It was ironic, really, because it wasn’t like they were exactly well off, but kids were mean and you were sick of seeing your daughter upset everyday when there was nothing you could do.

So you told her the story of Pandora’s Box, or Jar, actually, as she corrected you, having read about it in the library but still entirely enchanted by your way of storytelling. It was like letting her in on a secret only grown-ups knew and Poppy was downright bewitched to be a part of the club.

It was never the whole let-out-everything-awful-and-wrong-with-the-world part of the story that was your motivation for telling it, or her love for hearing it, but rather, the ending. 

After all the evil, poverty, greed and general nasties had escaped, tainting the world and the humans that inhabited it– out came hope, fluttering on its weak wings but beautiful all the same. 

At the time, you’d believed hope to be this beacon of light, something to keep you going when nothing else could, when the bullies had you down bad.

Now, however, you saw hope as a cruel joke. 

That after all of this negativity that had made mankind wrought with sin and selfishness, hope lingers about for no reason other than to yank your chain, keep the wheel of capitalism turning, the public nothing but a lot of pigs with hope dangled in front of them like an out-of-reach carrot.

You’d admit it’s a pessimistic take on the story, but it wasn’t long after Poppy was born that you realised hope was a sweet lie fed to the ignorant. 

The proof of it sat right in front of you, looking exactly the same except for the way in which his hair tickled the tops of his ears, having grown out from his previous military-ordered buzzcut.

“Can I get you something? Tea? Water?” you asked, words maddeningly courteous as you yanked the fridge door open, searching for something to offer your guest.

He hadn’t said a word since you’d blurted it out an hour ago, instead, guiding him back into town, to your house, Poppy nowhere insight (likely hiding out until she’s certain you’ve cooled down, though unluckily for her, the very sight of her would have you revved up and raging whenever she dared make an appearance). 

Rooster stared at a single tile on the opposite end of the kitchen, fixated and motionless like a statue and nothing like the passionate, begging man from earlier. 

“Helllooo?” you asked again, waving a hand in front of his face that snapped him from whatever trance he’d been under. He blinked at you, face blank enough to unnerve you. He should’ve said something by now, right?

“Water would be good, thank you,” he answered eventually, hoarse like he hadn’t spoken in years. You nodded, pulling a glass from the cabinet and letting the sink run into it before placing it on the plastic-topped table in front of him. 

You sat down on the only other usable chair that happened to be right next to him, the other two with the unstable legs and missing backrests having only been kept to make your kitchen look a little less incomplete. 

You both sat in silence, one that seemed just about never ending and had you gnawing on your lips and nails like a mad man. He looked over at you, noting your anxious state, and pulling your hand away from your mouth. It was infuriating, the way he acted like no time had passed. 

Well it had if your daughter was any indication. A whole lifetime had come and gone, for you, at least, and he couldn’t ignore it away, not like the rest of his problems or like he’d done with you. You were about to say as much, going off like you’d been itching to since you’d set sights on him, but he beat you to it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He wasn’t looking at you, but you didn’t need to see him to hear the distress in his voice, and beneath that, a restrained sort of anger.

“I had nothing to tell,” was all you offered him, and his gaze snapped to you in the blink of an eye, his temper apparent on his features as that one vein at the top of his forehead stood proud, face going scarlet as he held himself back. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he spit out, unbelieving. “Nothing to tell?” he repeated. “I have a daughter, for Christ’s sake! One I would’ve loved to know about if you’d done me the courtesy of actually letting me in!”

Your hands clenched into tight fists, fingers twitching. “What? Like you were any better when you up and left?” 

He was shaking his head at you, unwilling to hear anything you were saying, and you were no different. “It’s not the same fucking thing, you know that. I had to leave. It’s my job, my duty, to my country and to–”

“Well what about me, huh?” you bellowed, reaching decibels you didn’t think were physically possible. Yet there you were, defying all odds. “What about your duty to me? To us? You promised–”

“I know what I promised you, but how could I give you anything– a life, a home, a family, a future– if I was broke and unemployed. Money doesn’t grow on trees, sweetheart, not here in the real world.” 

You couldn’t take it, exploding out of your chair. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, what you’d been through, what you’d fought past. But he followed close behind, grabbed you by your wrist until you had no choice but to face him. 

Rooster’s breaths escaped him in hard bursts, and you looked no better with the flush creeping up your neck and the scowl permanently etched to your face.

“That’s pure coming from you, the same man who was throwing away his life to join the army, giving up a paying job, all because his ego wouldn’t let him work for his Dad.” 

Bradley recoiled like you’d slapped him. 

“You weren’t around to see me working two, sometimes three if I could manage it, jobs– for years, Bradley, years. It was hard, so fucking hard, but I did it because I had someone dependant on me. I wasn’t alone, living like some unattached bachelor. I worked myself to the bone for her– for Poppy.” You were close to sobbing by then, the weight of it all finally registering. “Because if I didn’t, no one would.” 

He looked like he wanted to argue more but thought better of it in the end, letting go of his hold on you and moving to lean his forehead against the wall in the living room. You watched, not wanting to move lest he remember you’re still there and end up going for a second round. You couldn’t, yearning for respite of any kind. 

And his head turned from where he was, catching the chest of drawers nestled in front of the window with photos of you and Poppy adorning every inch of its surface. He walked over, wordless.

You joined him where he stood, hand brushing against his, by accident, you’d tell yourself later, but when you tried to move away, he slipped his fingers through yours, squeezing hard. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though there was no one else to hear it, no one but you. 

You nodded, accepting his apology, then realising he wasn’t looking at you, you said, “Me too. I’m sorry.” 

He reached forward, picking up a photo of Poppy at age two, hair in pigtails, chubby knees covered in sand at the beach. It was the first time she’d gone into the water and you wanted to live in that moment forever, freeze it and hold it close to your chest. It had seemed like the biggest milestone at the time, and you remember wishing he was there to treasure it as well.

“I know why you did it,” he admitted, and you faltered from where you stood. “And I’m not going to stand her and pretend like I would have dropped everything, put everything on pause, for the two of you. I can’t guarantee that, knowing who I was back then.” You inhaled shakily, eyes glassy from barely-held-back tears. 

Bradley turned to you abruptly, hand sliding out of yours to hold your face instead, close and intimate. Like nothing had changed.

You didn’t fight it, savouring the feeling of being held, of relinquishing control to someone else, if only for a second. “But that’s not who I am anymore. I don’t care about what happened and what didn’t. I’m here now, and, if you’d let me, I’d like to stay. Learn a little more about you, and about– about Poppy, as well.” 

You searched his face for any hint of a lie, that innate urge to protect your child at all cost threatening to label Bradley’s confession as pretence. It’d be easier if it was, you thought, if things weren’t so complicated and you could just say no.

But no matter how hard you looked, how long as well, you found nothing, only love and a sincerity you couldn’t possibly fault, even if you were still broken and bruised from years of delayed burn-out. 

So you did the only reasonable thing one could do. You nodded, complimenting it with a watery smile he chuckled lowly at. 

“Yeah? Gonna take a chance on me, sweetheart?” he asked, needing confirmation but unable to hide his budding rapture.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Okay, okay. I think– maybe, we can work something out.”

He grinned and fuck– was he a vision. No matter how you framed the past, it was all going to be both of yours’ fault for what happened, and how it did. His for leaving and yours for keeping the child you shared a secret. 

And it wasn’t like the road ahead was going to be at all easy, you’d accepted your fate already. But maybe, and you might have been overstepping or consumed by an unexpected wave of euphoria that impaired your judgement– but maybe a family was worth fighting for. 

After all, the best things in life, the things truly worth having and celebrating, were never meant to be easily acquired, otherwise you’d just take them for granted.

You didn’t take this for granted, and you didn’t let the hassle deter you. 

For the first time in a long time, you had hope, and there was nothing cruel or funny about it. 

Hope you enjoyed this <3 Reblogs & Comments are love love loved!

+ my masterlist

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster bradshaw angst #rooster bradshaw oneshot #bradley bradshaw oneshot #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick #miles teller #miles teller x reader #take a chance on me #my writing #mamma mia!

[ravi-deactivated]

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨

„Sweet cunt and a sharp tongue, you're a dangerous combo, love.“

featuring: edward kenway

cw: praise, vaginal sex, semi-public i guess

synopsis: owning a tavern in havana means being used to pirates in your every day life, their crude words and behaviour. but you've never met a pirate going this far in attempt to apologize for a crewmate's bad actions.

note: „fy nghariad“ is a welsh phrase meaning „my love“ or „my sweetheart“ which i thought would be nice to include, but please tell me if i used it incorrectly, that would be kinda embarassing lol

18+ content - MDNI

───────────────────

Havana is always warm, always welcoming and soft, with sunlight flooding through streets of beige and gold, full of laughter and peaceful existence.

Even at night, it feels like the warmth wraps around people like a soft coat, summer air resting between the buildings and mingling with the scent of the sea, darkness enlightened by warm lanterns and candles. The sound of joyful music, shanties and drunken laughter has become the soundtrack of your nights as bartender in the tavern and restaurant which are owned by your father, and you like to say that Havana is a place of joy, no matter the time of day.

You've done this job since your teenage years, are used to bar fights and lusting gazes resting on you, know how to handle men who try to let their hands wander, think they can whistle at you or spit out crude and naughty things.

Most of them know that it will only get them a ban from the house, or in worst case, a beating from your main visitors or an arrest by the guards, but sometimes, there still are idiots who try it, out of pure stupidity and falsely placed ego.

Citizens of Havana adore your tavern as a centre of the city, they know how to behave and have their fun in peace, but the pirates docking on the shore are a different story.

You can see it in their gazes, in the way they talk, the way they stride through the streets like they own them and the houses forming them, that they're looking for provocation, hungry for a fight.

Thankfully, most of them are more of an inconvience and not an actual threat, and you know how to handle them, know that a tavern is a pirate's favourite place, which gives you a slight advantage against them, even if it's just out of their sympathy for the rum you pour them.

It doesn't diminish your dislike for them, despite them being your costumers.

Pirates are a disease, you've always been told. And yet, you can't help but feel a thrill in your veins, feel your heart leap and your legs trembling when a strong hand grabs your chin from behind, gently, sensually lifts your head.

The soft light filling the dim walls of the empty, closed tavern flickers in your vision, soft tears of passion melting it to a blur along with the dark of the late night and a breathed, blissful sigh leaves your lips, forced out of you by the way the body of the man behind you rocks once more against you.

Pirates are the worst of the worst, you learned early in your life. And Edward Kenway is so good at being a pirate, at getting what he wants, that he might be something even worse, armed with those mischievous eyes, his charming smirk and skilled fingers.

You did not question the leathern bracers wrapped around his lower arms, the hidden blades you saw shimmering in the dim light when you served him and his men, and you didn't question the hooded robe hanging over the back of his chair, could only focus on the white lace-up shirt on his body, the cleavage that slightly revealed the tattoos spreading over his chest.

It was no surprise and nothing new when one of his men hit on you, spitting rude words from a drunk tongue in an attempt to seduce you. What did surprise you was how fast Adéwalé grabbed him by the scruff like a puppy to kick him out of the tavern, and the way Edward apologized to you, genuinely and gentle.

Most men did not act like this when they came to drink in your tavern, only laughed when their comrades harrassed a girl. It did not fit your world view, disturbed the evil picture you carried of pirates all these years of your life.

You couldn't help but smile at the way Edward looked at you, a mixture of apologetic and enthrilled, felt your breath hitch when he asked you what he could offer to beg your forgiveness.

The way his hands are now roaming your body, his husked breaths against your ear and his body pressed against yours is not what you had in mind at first, but you'll gladly take it as a form of apology.

He lets out a groan as he fills you, slides into you like you are made for him, slicked walls hugging his cock, clenching around his girth.

He fills you just right, hits spots you have never felt, makes you see stars despite the roof above both of your heads.

„What do you say, sweetheart? Think this'll make up for the inconvience?“ he husks against your ear, sends a new shiver down your spine that ends up right inside the heat pooling in your lower stomach, and you lightly lean your head back, feel the stubble of his beard brushing your ear.

Just when you're about to answer, he hits you with another thrust from behind, knocks the air out of you with the sheer depth of his movements.

You need a second to catch your breath, collect yourself, before a little smirk spreads on your lips.

„Thought a world-class-pirate would have more to offer“, you respond, with a low, seducing voice, a tone that lures him in, makes his breath hitch lightly, bearly hearable if he wasn't so close to your ear.

He's so close even that you think you can feel the way an amused smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and you shudder again when his breath fans your cheek.

„Sly little thing, aren't ya?“

Before you can answer in an even brattier tone than before, you feel how he slightly pushes you down, makes you lean further forward until you're forced to hold onto the bar, driven further and further into the wood by his harsh thrusts.

He quickens his pace, makes you whine and moan with the way he fills you, tip kissing your womb, his slight curve brushing your sweet spots just right.

„Sweet cunt and a sharp tongue, you're a dangerous combo, love.“

His words and the deep tone of his voice only make you arch more in his grasp, make you hold onto the bar with one hand, while the other carries your balance on its wooden surface.

You feel your own arousal run down your thighs, feel yourself getting higher and higher on the wet sounds echoing through the room whenever he enters your aching cunt, your brain spinning around mixed feelings of confusion and arousal.

He's a pirate, a well wanted one as well, and yet you can not help but love the way he grabs you, the way he fucks you, the way he makes you feel.

When he leans over your back, one hand placed next to your body, the other one on your hip to hold you steady, you somehow forget how much his head is worth, how dangerous his hands should feel on your body.

It feels strange, but a spark of sympathy arises within you when he leans in further, buries you in his shadow as he pushes a soft kiss against the back of your neck, drowns you in the illusion of intimacy when he gently closes his teeth around the shell of your ear.

Edward doesn't seem like other pirates, doesn't initiate fights he can not win, doesn't harrass others, doesn't cause unnecessary ruckus to prove his ego. He smells better than most of them, covered in the scent of the sea, of salt and a hint of rum, but with an underlying note of herbs, probably because of salves that are used to treat wounds lingering his body.

And above all, he looks so handsome, a dark angel within a bunch of dirty, fattened and drunk pigs, his cheeky smirk more intoxicating than alcohol or money.

A smirk that is directed at you, resting on you as he observes you, watches you writher and shake beneath his movements. When you catch it from the corner of your eye, it fuels new fire inside of you, and your lips curl sweet and mischievously when you slightly raise your head to respond.

„Maybe you shouldn't provoke my sharp tongue too much then, captain.“

The word does something to him, you can feel it, notice the way he gasps for a second, slows his thrusts for the shortest bit. Then he suddenly slips out of you, both hands grabbing your hips and pulling you up, your back straightening for the shortest second before he turns you around, pulls you in by the waist and leans forward to push his lips against yours, catching you in a heated kiss that steals your breath, makes your knees weak.

You bury your right hand in his blonde hair, hold him close, while your other hand rests on the textile of his shirt, trying to hold onto soft linen while you sigh and feel your legs tremble.

As if he's feeling it, he lightly bends his knees, slides his hands from your hips to the back of your thighs to pick you up, makes you wrap your legs around his waist while your hands cradle his face and you sink further into his kiss, melt against his lips. You hear the rustling of clothes, feel how he picks up your discarded dress from the edge of the bar and spreads it on the counter, adjusting the textile before he sets you down on the wood, just to break from your mouth a few seconds later.

He smirks at your little gasp, licks his lower lip before raising his voice.

„Captain, huh? That a hidden request to join my crew?“

You gasp when you feel his fingers dig into the softness of your thighs, need a second to collect yourself before you scoff at his words, look at him through a glimmer of competition before you breathe out an „In your dreams, pirate.“

He only grins at that, eyes slightly narrowing as they slide down to his hands on your thighs, watches them when he spreads your legs to get new access to your leaking centre, his eyes staring shamelessly at it.

And just when you think to finally have the air to add another snarky comment, he suddenly thrusts back into you, one switft motion with which he fills you to the brim, makes you throw your head back as he falls back into a relentless rhythm, his cock slicking in and out of your warm wetness.

He leans over you again, holding you by the waist as he pounds into you, forcing high pitched moans and whimpers out of your throat that you simply can not hold back.

His thrusts feel so deep, hit you so perfectly and when he grabs one of your legs to raise it to his shoulder, you almost choke on the air in your throat, bliss filling you at the pleasure washing through you by his deepening movements.

You curse out an „Oh god-“ as you throw your head back, hear a breathed laugh from Edward when he grabs you by the hips again, adjusts your body on the textile of your dress, pulls you in to take his hard thrusts.

Another whimper leaves you as he partially folds you in half, sass and mockery leaving your body with each new thrust, slowly melting in the heat of a building orgasm within your body.

It doesn't help how he reaches out with his hand to search for your clit, forcing a loud moan from your throat when his finger presses against it.

„That it, darling? That the spot?“

Through your panting and heavy breathing, the dizziness in your vision, you see how he smirks at you, pure confidence written in his attractive features and you can only nod, breathe out a „Please-“, a word that only makes his smile widen.

Your lower body tenses, a coil clenching deep within your core, tight enough that it almost hurts.

„Don't hold back. Let me feel you come, fy nghariad.“

His voice slightly falters, breathless because of his own arousal, the tension with which he holds himself back, and his words only add fuel to the fire in your body, make the flames lap higher, reaching your chest, making your heart race.

Whimpers and gasps leave your throat, you tense, feel your thighs shiver, your entire body short-circuiting until eventually, you feel yourself breaking apart, tension and arousal reaching their peak, knocking you into an abyss of white noise, making you cry out in pleasure, your head falling back as arousal floods your veins.

His thrusts never waver, seem to get even harder, fucking you through your orgasm, almost making you pass out with the sheer overstimulation. Your brain turns to mush, simply melts away and when you look up at him, with tear-filled, flickering eyes and your tongue slightly peaking over your lower lip, he takes in a sharp, hissing breath, slipping dangerously close to an orgasm just by your gaze and your walls spasming, clenching and relaxing around him.

His hand trembles a little as he trails it further up your body, fondling your chest for a second and making you whine out at the soft feeling, before his fingers graze your neck, eventually rest on your cheek.

He spreads his thumb, runs it over the corner of your mouth, doesn't expect the way you push out your tongue to taste salt, gunpowder and rum on his skin. Not a second later, you allow his finger to slip into your mouth, relish in the way he draws a sharp breath when you lazily swirl your tongue around it.

The facade in front of his face cracks the slightest bit, and you see how he bites his lower lip, how his brows furrow a little in what seems to be despair, before he breathes out a „Shit, you're gonna make me cum, sweetheart.“

It's the cue you need and while you whine, shudder beneath each of his thrusts, you at some point slightly bite down into his finger, hard enough to make him jolt, hard enough to break his facade.

He gasps for air, lets out short „Fuck-“, before he holds onto your hip, digging the fingers of his free hand into the skin when he forces himself to pull out, holding you in place as warm, white seed spurts over the skin of your abdomen.

For a few moments, you only look at each other, breathe into the space between both of you, wallowing in the heat of each other's body. Your head is still spinning when Edward slightly leans forward, gently rests his forehead against yours before he lets out a heavy breath.

His eyes are dark and dominant when they dig into yours, captivate you with the slight glimmer within them.

„Aren't you just something else... Maybe I'll pick you up and simply take you with me. Wanna know what else that sweet mouth of yours can do.“

It doesn't matter what you learned your entire life, his words make you giddy and thoughtless, make your heart leap in joy and your lips curl to a smile.

„Careful, Kenway. My lips may seem sweet, but they come with a pair of teeth.“

He lets out a little groan, a sound of playful despair and frustration, before he leans further against your forehead, gently nudges his nose against yours.

„Fucking heavens, you're perfect.“

You smile when he kisses you, wrap your arms around him and become a mess of sweet nothingness beneath his hands when they start roaming your body again, not taking long until you throw your head back once more, sending sighed versions of his name into the warm night.

#assassin's creed #edward kenway #edward kenway x reader #assassin's creed x reader #smut #oh to be one of the girls he's with in the trailers agfhfjsgxhs #assassin's creed black flag

[3terna15unshin3]

Then Because She Goes

★ Matty Healy x Original Female Character

★ slow burn, friends to lovers, mutual pining, eventual romance, eventual smut, fluff, time skips, angst

★ 15 Chapters, 74243 words

“Well, she says beauty brings copies of itself into being. That it makes us draw it, take photographs of it, describe it to other people—it has a forward momentum. And I always thought that that was a sort of—superficial, I guess—way of putting it. But I feel that when I’m with you. Almost like I want to savour you up so that the minute you’re gone there’s still some of you left.”

From meeting in a second-hand bookshop in central Manchester, Este and Matty begin exchanging questionable (and pretentious) book recommendations and flourish an alluring interest in one another.

1: You are mine, I’ve been drowning in you

2: You fracture light again

3: Beautiful, please don’t cry, I love you

4: When you leave, I cry on the inside

5: I wake up, love you, so love you, love you

6: Cry, I wake up, love you, love you

7: We’re supposed to leave by half-past eight*

8: You wait for a bit

9: Pissed again, I’ve been dying to meet you

10: You fracture light again (Ooh), I love you, oh, love you*

11: When you leave, I cry on the inside*

12: Oh, so I love this, I love you, so love you

13: Cry, I will love you, love you, love you

14: We’re supposed to leave by half-past eight

15: Will you stay or wait?*

*mature content

Soundtrack

All Titles Mentioned (in order of appearance)

— Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata

— Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

— To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee

— Lord of the Flies by William Golding

— Emma by Jane Austen

— Persuasion by Jane Austen

— You Are Here: Art After the Internet by Omar Kholeif

— Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari

— On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

— Challenger Deep by Neal Shusterman

— On Beauty and Being Just by Elaine Scarry

— Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion

— If Cats Disappeared From The World by Genki Kawamura

— The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

— Coraline by Neil Gaiman

— Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

— Piranesi by Suzanna Clarke

— “The Orange” by Wendy Cope

— Pure Colour by Sheila Heti

— Play It As It Lays by Joan Didion

— Mayflies by Andrew O’Hagan

#tbsg #matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x oc #the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy smut #smut #fic #fanfic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x female character

[quantumshade]

"the shepherd's boy" by murray gold plays in heaven sent during the climax of the episode, in the scene where the doctor wears away at the wall over billions of years. he dies over and over and over again, literally burning himself to make a new one in the vague hope of escaping this prison on his own terms.

the same song also plays during twelve's regeneration, which takes place at the end of an episode where the doctor is unsure he even wants to regenerate, if he wants to go through all this again -- or, in other words, "burning an old me to create a new one."

the doctor is a phoenix, bursting into flames and rising from the ashes in an endless and exhausting cycle.

the pure fucking symbolism of using the same song for when the doctor is repeatedly dying in a time loop of his own making and for when he chooses to die and be reborn again is just. stunning. AND it's one of the most incredible instrumental songs ever composed. the doctor who soundtrack is genuinely everything to me.

#i am normal and not autistic about this subject [affirmation] [lie] #doctor who #doctor who meta #twelfth doctor #murray gold #doctor who soundtrack #delia.txt #someone remind me to make a post about the dr who soundtrack and how it equates memory loss to death. i need to do that #meta

[torturedblue]

All my thoughts and theories of this adorable clip:

Guys the soundtrack in the background sounds so good and epic, and I’m so loving the use of hip hop and rap in every trailer. You forget how effective black music is for action movies too considering how little it’s used comparatively. And it’s another thing about this movie that gives off Spider-verse vibes 👏🏽

Oml guys MM Leo is just like 2012 he’s such a dork and he gets all pouty all the time and the way Raph trolls him about it is just like the 2012 duo 🥹

I’m sorry the way Leo smiles so much while reciting that horrible speech??? 😂 like it doesn’t matter what Splinter tells them it is gold that he will gobble up even if it is objectively prejudice

Speaking of which, “I know that’s objectively prejudice but it’s what Dad taught us” line is so relatable to most kids today like yikes what a motto of the 21st century

But it really makes me wonder what Splinter’s backstory is going to be in this iteration considering no other version has hated or had a gripe with the human race as far as I’ve seen. I assumed he was going to be formerly human too, although this clip makes it seem that might not be the case, but if he still is I think that makes his speech to the kids much more interesting and honestly hilarious because if any of us were in his position would we tell them much differently? I mean come on that “they lust to murder that which is different from them” is so spot on. And honestly we already teach kids everything else he said too when it comes to strangers 😂 humans are bad, don’t say hi, humans are everything wrong with this planet, do not interact or you will die 👍🏽

“We wouldn’t have K-Pop without humans!” Wtf he’s so pure ugh

“I’d love to have a champagne brunch with Tom Brady” OMG GUYS HE’S JUST SO PROPER AND DORKY AGH

“Drake! That guy is the GOAT of all time.” I’m sorry did I hear that right 😂 sweet simple Raph ya gotta know what the terms mean if you’re gonna use modern slang

“Guy Fieri seems like a fun hang” ooooh continuing with the Mikey is the cook character trope maybe?

I really think this whole bit here is an interesting way of setting up the mutants vs human premise of the movie with the turtles in the middle of it all. Especially the way Leo recites that anti-human speech so whole-heartedly but also still acknowledges that they all disagree with Splinter about how cool humans are. Especially since they likely keep their own beliefs about it from their Dad, which again, so relatable to kids of old-fashioned parents today

“oOh i’M tHe lEaDeR. You sound like you have bronchitis!” They way they mock and roast him is just too much and too accurate 😂 also I just love their overlapping conversational moments

Other thoughts:

Also I gotta say in these released clips Leo is pouting or anxious half of the time while his bros are always having fun and I just gotta see how much that’s amplified in the entirety of the movie… Like it makes it seems like he must feel some kind of rift between him and his brothers sometimes and I want to see if that’s true

These kids are truly on their own… They at least start off keeping their fondness of humans from Splinter, they still can’t interact with humans either way, they find a group of mutants like them and seem to hit it off at first but then it just turns a whole fiasco where they have to defend humans from them, and at some later point we know when they do interact with/are exposed to humans it does not go well. I’m so excited to see how they tackle that post-climactic depressive section of the movie where the boys are really feeling the weight of all of it. Like, not too many clips have been released and there’s already so much isolation on their end. I’m glad April will at least be one positive outlet for them

#tmnt #ninja turtles #mutant mayhem #tmnt 2023 #tmntmm #tmnt mm #tmntmm mikey #tmntmm donnie #tmntmm leo #tmntmm raph #tmnt movie #mutant mayhem trailer

[theredqueenandthebloodwyrm]

episode 8 Castlevania Nocturne

Episode eightttt

Like Major Spoilers

Like don't read this if you don't watch spoilers for the season 1 finale type of spoilers

I can't spell the Vampire Messiah's name. I'll admit it. Ezeb...Bathory? Captions to the rescue, it's Erzsebet.

Anyways her Sekhmet Transformation is a total glowup and I can get behind the new hair. Also that gold and black dress? Yes, just yes. And that golden chariot? Loving it!

Did the Abbott fucking forget that Isaac didn't actually kill his son??? Yeah Tera fucking tell him!

Edouard's singing!! Forget the power of love, try the power of music. Well actually they're somewhat intertwined but yknow.

Hahaha get wrecked by a turtle Drolta! Turtle attack! Or uh tortoise. Maria's animal summoning is wonderful. Shoutout to the teleporting cat too.

Olrox saving Mizrak was a nice surprise. Love his green eyed shadow form. Haha go kick their asses Olrox!

Erzsebet / Vampire Messiah's new Sekhmet design is so...so good, that is a god. A goddess who can and will kill you. Then Olrox saved Mizrak from being a suicidal knight, like seriously what were you thinking Mizrak? If Richter Fucking Belmont and his blue flames couldn't touch her, what was your basic ass sword gonna do??

She wasn't gonna kill her? I mean she planned to turn Maria into a vampire so kinda kill her but like everyone totally was thinking she was going to use Maria as a sacrificial lamb of sorts (myself included) imagine my surprise when she was like "no dumbasses, I'm giving her life" albeit vampiric life.

Gasp my heart "I don't want you to die, Mizrak."

No no no not Aunt Tera being the fucking Ram.

Huh you know I wondered how someone became a vampire in the Castlevania universe. Guess the classic drink their blood and then give them vampire blood works. Damn newbie vamps are hungry as fuck it seems.

The Abbott's face is hilarious to me, it's a look of pure terror mixed with the realization he fucked up.

ALUCARD?? ALUCARD?

Bye bye Drolta!

ALUCARD ALUCARD ALUCARD HOLY SHIT IT'S HIM

Oh how have I missed him.

What happened to his pigment though? Is it a vampire thing? Like his hair went from blonde to nearly pure white? Skin too? Has he been sleeping in a coffin for these few hundred years without moonlight? It's probably a vampire thing. Or half-vampire in his case I suppose.

I love all these characters, the animation, the music and soundtrack, the beautiful voice acting, the story and its themes. The character designs, their outfits, their glowups, their magic.

#castlevania #castlevania nocturne #netflix #aaaaa so so good #best characters ever

[fall-dog]

11, 18 & 28 for the song game please xx

ah hi love how are you??💌 these were so fun ty <33

11. three favourite songs from movie or TV series soundtrack

- mystery of love by sufjan stevens... i know it's a basic answer but it had to be there... he put his whole pussy into it okay

- a huge tree in the tsukamori forest by joe hisaishi (totoro was my fav movie as a kid and this song is still so nostalgic to me <33)

- merry christmas mr lawrence by ryuichi sakamoto (this song just elevated the movie so much it really made the scenes feel like magic <3)

18. three songs that remind you of your best friend

- the kick inside by kate bush (we both love this one and often dance to it at her place and it's so so lovely)

- she dances by billie marten (she howls as she dances!! i just think she really embodies this song i should probably send it to her)

- back to black by amy winehouse (she performed this on stage once at school so it's always hers in my mind now)

28. three best songs to get drunk or high to

okay i was thinking songs that i would play with friends while getting ready to go out but if i was having a more chill night in i'd probably play my pure gold or 60's-80's rock lists🦋 but yeah these are more like hype songs lmao

- hittiputki (hit stream) by leidit!! okay this is a very finnish thing but i had to mention it because it's the best thing ever and i always play it with my friends <3 basically in 2000 someone decided to combine a bunch of old iconic songs from finnish iskelmä queens and made this 9 minute banger out of them,, the songs are all ridiculous but everyone knows and loves them and it's still played at every club to get people hyped up

- papa don't preach by madonna (personal fave and soo fun to sing)

- alejandro by lady gaga (a banger to get ready and drunk to i love it)

#fall's music recs xx #ask game #fate tag #<3

[emotinalsupportturtle]

As much as I’m excited about 60th anniversary specials, David Tennant AND Catherine Tate coming back, RTD taking over again, Ncuti Gatwa as the new doctor etc do you know what I am most excited for? 3 words:

Murray Gold’s return

Sometimes just thinking about it makes me vibrate with joy and anticipation

That man is a pure and utter GENIUS and honestly wrote some of the best soundtracks ever. his music is purely magical and just so so good. The mixture of genres, how the music actually tells the story and perfectly encapsulates the characters personality is masterful. He has the epic tracks, the dramatic pieces, the contemplative ones, the bittersweet - I don’t know how but he does it all. There is also something so `’doctor who” about his music which is so iconic, I cannot explain

The new themes (60th anniversary, 15th doctors and Ruby Sunday’s) are FIRE and by god, I can’t wait for another whole dw era with his music

#doctor who #dw #doctor who 60th anniversary #murray gold #sountrack #music scores #theme tunes #heaven sent #the Shepard’s boy #I am the doctor #every single doctor and companion theme #I couldn’t even imagine listing all amazingly good music #that man deserves all the awards #and more #honestly there is not one thing wrong about the doctor who soundtrack when he does it #I know he isn’t scoring some big budget Nolan film or something #but genuinely his music easily surpasses all that #no hate #this man is just that amazing #listening to his music gives me chills #honestly a living legend

[bearded-shepherd]

LET’S TALK: LOVE DEATH + ROBOTS VOL 3 (few spoilers)

THREE ROBOTS: EXIT STRATEGIES >>

The first episode starts out super strong with everyone’s beloved robots! On their next stop, they’re visiting where all the sorry fukers hoarding all the money come to cower in isolation. The whole short was just jabs after jabs towards humanity, tech bros, and billionaires have me ded laughing… bet Musky boy is lovin this… on top of his ‘elongate’ thing (:

BAD TRAVELING >>

I dunno how ya can put a whole ass movie in less that 14:00 min, but they did it somehow! Also, ya never really thought crabs can be so terrifying and yet so delicious at the same time. But anyways, the short took me on a loop (especially the ending).

THE VERY PULSE OF THE MACHINE >>

Kids, drugs are a powerful thing; and if ya start hearing your dead friend spouting deep shit like it’s 3 o’clock in the morn on a weed session, then uh … idk it’s all vibes from there really.

Damn I can’t get enough of the visuals, stunning and trippy. What I really like about this short is that it take same story of dying in space. Most stories ya have the person float out into space, drifting further and further into the black ink… alone; But in this short, ya have the feeling of not being alone in an array of beauty ( even if it’s the drugs doing all the talking).

NIGHT OF THE MINI DEAD >>

O man I fukin love this; just full fukin chaos out the wazoo. I love the literal aspect of it all. It’s like one of those shitty mobile games that is constantly advertised and ya know it’s false advertisement, but actually came to life (or in a mini short). I will honestly play the fuk out of a game like this.

KILL TEAM KILL >>

If the Terminator, G.I Joe, and The Edge had a fuck up baby, this is it. What more can ya ask for; just 3 loving parents raising an edgy child. Pure fukin testosterone shooting up to ya brain creating a whole ass fever dream. This is Adult Swim gold right here.

SWARMS >>

That Guy: Let’s exploit this alien race (presumably non sentient) for profit Everyone Else:  … da fuk you aint

Humans being humans I suppose. So  uh, we all skipped the sex part right?

MASON'S RATS >>

First of all, what the hell was in the GMOs? Second, how did WW3 end? And third, how rich is this fuker to be able to buy all this tech?

Another thing, these rats hold ZERO grunges even if the main guy bought tech to literally commit rat genocide… like wot, did the rats not eat enough GMOs or somethin to think for a sec. Whatevs, that’s not the horrifying part, that goes to the Traptech guy and his tiny ponytail friend.

I can’t deny, I did laughed pretty hard on the long scene with the TT-15 over killing one of the rats tho.

IN VAULTED HALL ENTOMBED >>

This is a long video game trailer right? Right? I mean Ya got ya generic male lead that was randomly created by  a COD character creation thing. HOWEVER, this short, the true lead is Cthulhu’s lost sibling Cbhubhu alright. My eye is on them and only them. But no seriously, if this was a game I would actually be interested in; I wanna know the story/world and I wanna get to kno… them.

JIBARO >>

Now boy Howdy, this one fuked me. Girl out here fuking it up on the waters and slaying the boys in the yard. Can’t resist a lil jingle jangles in our brains and it goes strait to our jiggly asses; except for that one knight, he was deaf… (:(:(:

Anyways, fukin brilliant, I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. I love how confused the siren was when she realized the guy was just not reactive at all.

Honestly, this short haunted me the most (well besides the traptech guy…)

Overall, great season; I really enjoyed it and for me, a definite step up from the last season. It’s hard to choose a favorite on this one; but I do say, the true winner was the soundtrack. The music in each short just fit so well.

#love death and robots #love death + robots #LTs #love death and robots spoilers #three robots #jibaro #kill team kill #the vaulted hall entombed #mason's rats #night of the mini dead #bad traveling #the pulse of the machine #swarms

[alloveydovey]

Dramas I watched this past month! The month of the rewatch. (Also spoilers!)

Crush (cdrama) 6.5

This had such a strong start and then went downhill bad (like really bad).

Psychology student decides to sort of intern (? at a special education school and meets a blind braille teacher there. There’s also music involved.

Like in most cdramas I’ve watched, everyone behaves like a twelve-year-old, and the conflict starts out of things that an adult should be able to prevent. The main couple drastically changes in the second half, and it’s like you are watching a whole other drama.

Into the Ring (kdrama) (rewatch) 10 ⭐️

My eternal love to Nana in this (and in general. I’m in love with her). Se Ra is probably my favorite FL from all the dramas I’ve watched.

I remember being very skeptical the first time I saw this (because politics, kinda boring?) but it was so worth it.

Park Sung Hoon is also such an excellent companion to all of her craziness. His and Nana's chemistry was one of the best ones. The awkward but somehow very comfortable atmosphere you feel while watching them is next level. Still one of my favorite dramas. 10/10, I adore it.

Doona! (kdrama) 8

I still have mixed feelings about this one. The sort of angst romance was on point. Actors were good, narrative was fast-paced and kept me entertained. Doona is presented as a complex character and so the story even with happy moments, feels very bittersweet. But even with all that, I feel like I'd have to watch it again because there’s something that puts me off but I can’t quite decide what it is exactly.

I also want to know why they had her wearing tiny tank tops and shorts in snowy winter lol…

A Business Proposal (kdrama) (rewatch) 8.5

The first time I watched a business proposal I didn’t really like it. I thought it was way too cliche and absurd and dropped it after the third episode. It was the fourth kdrama I had watched after Crash Landing on You, Hometown Cha Cha Cha, and Twenty-Five Twenty-One so like… it had big shoes to fill in. I came back to it eventually and finished it.

Now after rewatching… I think learned to appreciate a good over-the-top rom-com (they became my favorites lol) and this definetly hits all the boxes. It feels like an instant classic. Also music 10/10.

Usokon (jdrama) 7

If it is marriage contract/fake dating then sign me the fuck up!!! Usokon started strong but at some point (around episode 8/9) I started getting frustrated. We know that there are feelings involved, but nobody is doing anything about it. The ML (even though he absolutely steals the show) doesn’t do anything to move forward, and the FL is too clueless to make a move. And so there’s not enough romance in a drama that is primarily romantic since the main focus is their fake marriage/ relationship. Also, it had such a frustrating ending!!!

My Girlfriend is a Gumiho (kdrama) 7,5 ⭐️

Nothing beats old kdramas, they have such a particular nostalgic vibe that makes you unable to stop watching. My girlfriend is a gumiho was so sooo stupid, childish, and even cringe, but so cute!!! Every time Shin Min Ah and Lee Seung Gi were together on screen I couldn’t stop smiling. I can totally see this one becoming a comfort drama. Another one with soundtrack 10/10.

Daily Dose of Sunshine (kdrama) 9

I read somewhere that this was like a mental health for dummies book, and to be honest, it’s kind of like that, but it works so well! The way they visualized mental disorders was so creative, I was impressed.

All the characters were intriguing enough to keep me going. Everyone had something to offer here. Even the patients from each episode.

Watching this felt deeply sad yet deeply comforting as well. Park Bo Young absolutely kills it (as usual. QUEEN).

Twinkling Watermelon (kdrama) 9.5

This one was pure gold. Time travel to meet the younger version of your parents? Sign me fuck up. The idea of sending Eun Gyeol back in time to try to understand his family and live his youth is such a cool (and emotional af) premise. It had the ideal balance of comedy and emotion. I feel like sixteen episodes weren’t enough. I could have sat there for another twenty episodes watching those teenagers being silly lol.

#netflix kdrama #kdramas #jdramas #cdramas #daily dose of sunshine #twinkling watermelon #crush #usokon #my girlfriend is a gumiho #into the ring #a business proposal #doona! #dovey watches

[stillhavetodothat]

Replaying Nancy Drew without cheating - Part Four: The Final Scene

AND HERE IT IS....

Is The Final Scene the MOST brilliant game in the entire Nancy Drew series??

Hear me out. It has literally everything you could ever want out of a Nancy Drew game. Danger. Mystery. A ticking clock. A lack of pointless chores. An intriguing backstory. An amazing soundtrack. An extremely sassy Nancy. A caked up Nicholas Falcone.

I think the ONLY thing that is missing from this game, honestly, is length. I think it is well-known in the community that this game is too short, especially on replay, but I recently learned that this was the first game that HerInteractive put out on a 2-a-year schedule, so the development was rushed. After TRT, the company almost could not afford to continue making games, so they had to switch strategies. Technically, FIN saved the franchise. In that context, the only disappointment is that they didn’t have more time to work on this absolute MASTERPIECE.

I also think my love for this game has grown after reading the book that it’s based on. Queen Simone Mueller was adapted from a boring male Simon Mueller, the talented Louisa Falcone was adapted froma boring male Louis Falcone. The Harry Houdini storyline was completely new in the game. Brady Armstrong having a vested interest in the theater demolition was also new in the game and made him a much more interesting and sinister character. I know that this book was written in the 80s, but Bess’s one-dimensionality (obsessed with food and boys) annoys me; much happier to see Vietnamese-American college student as the kidnapee instead.

Not cheating in this game was super easy for me. It’s another game I’ve played a dozen times, so even if I didn’t remember the exact sequence of events, I quickly was able to move the game along. I finished in under 3 hours, and that is with being consistently distracted by the NFL game my fiance had on in the background. Having three distinct days makes this game very sequential and hard to get stuck.

Some random thoughts I had during this replay:

1. Someone put this soundtrack on vinyl, PLEASE. I would literally murder someone to play this in the background while reading a book and smoking a joint on my couch.

2. Even as a child, I loved Nicholas Falcone. There is just something about a man with a passion. Nothing used to turn me on (still does turn me on) than Nicholas’s intellectual negging of a dim-witted Brady Charmstrong during the press conference. This was also the first time I really took the time to listen to the entire press conference from the ticket booth...pure gold.

3. Speaking of the ticket booth, taking to Sargeant Ramsay on the phone is absolutely hilarious. Who is this voice actor? Someone find him and give him more gigs. And Eustacia Andropov? An incredible character and a treat of a phone call as well. WHO WROTE THIS SCRIPT?? I think this is probably the funniest game there is.

4. Let’s just go ahead and go through some of the best quotes of the game.  “I may have to cut this short, Hal. Someone just climbed out of my wardrobe.” (entirely unphased) “I think your phone’s about to ring.” “Take a breath and pinch yourself, because it’s reeeally happening: Brady Armstrong, in the flesh. Star of Vanishing Destiny? Go ahead, faint. I’ll catch you.” “Why don’t you tell that little grey troll that I think he did it just to keep himself from dying of boredom in this old dump. THAT’s my comment.” “Fight the power.” (a classic) "Mr. Charmstrong, do you find that your fans respond to you more in your chicken suit or curly wig?" “Maybe you’d better think about being ‘in on the law’ and ‘down with the truth’ Nicholas.” “More? I’m 96 over here. I don’t exactly have time to burn.” “You tell that Sherman Trout Eustacia said, ‘You’re not dead yet, Shermie, so get up and make yourself useful.’” “Armstrong: Uh, do we still like him or what?”

5. Joseph always scared the hell out of me. Even to this day. He is creepy and he IS a little grey troll. Why is he constantly trying to get me to leave the theater and go to bed in the middle of the day? Why is he lying about his brother Jake? Why is he always popping up in the most chilling way possible? I hate him. I suspected him from the very beginning.

6. When Nancy says that Maya never goes ANYWHERE without her press pass...ma’am you are an undergrad student at Washington University. Please calm down.

7. Not sure if anyone remembers, but back in the day on the HerInteractive message boards people used to put all the games they had finished in their signature for all their posts. Some would just put a list of all the games, but others would get creative (including me, although it wasn’t creativity on my part as much as it was copying other people). Their signature would say things like “I have Stayed Tuned for Danger,” or “I have discovered The Secret of the Scarlet Hand.” FIN’s was “I have seen The Final Scene” and I still to this day say this whenever I talk about this game with anyone. Throwback.

8. I never would have figured out the gum on wand bit if not for the message boards back in the day, and my memory of it now.

9. This is a game that is more about the mystery and less about the puzzles. I loved this one, even though this is probably the hardest part of the entire game (besides the gum on wand thing).

10. The ending is SO intense. Because I know exactly what to do, it is less so, but the whole thing still gives me goosebumps. That timer in the corner quickly ticking down? Hiding in the closet when the police do their final sweep? Joseph being an absolute psychopath? The focus knob breaking off? The KEYS? MAYA BEHIND GLASS?? TRYING TO BREAK THE GLASS WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER? JOSEPH BEING A PSYCHOPATH AGAIN?? (I can let it slide that defeating the culprit involves flashing them with a cheap prize from an ancient game in a decaying basement. It’s still so good).

11. Also, I have a print of this in my house right now because of this game. I don’t even know the artist, but I love it.

So thankful to rediscover my love for this game. Can it top Treasure in a Royal Tower and Dexter’s sexy, raspy voice? Maybe not. But it is up there.

Next stop: DC!

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #nancy drew pc games #pc gaming #herinteractive #the final rule #fin

[autumndasher]

My thoughts on all of Disney’s theatrically release Winnie The Pooh Films +1

The Many Adventures of Winnie The Pooh (1977)

You can tell this is a collection of short films. It’s very scattershot and the characters feel off (and I’ve never vibed with the Story Book films)

Pooh’s Most Grand Adventure: The Search For Christopher Robin (1997)

An adorable adventure with banger musical numbers and good crying

The Tigger Movie (2000)

Wholesome found family film that has a massive disaster set piece climax that I’m not too fond of

Piglet’s Big Movie (2003)

SO ADORABLE. Shorts with a cohesive theme, a comfy soundtrack and happy crying!!!

Pooh’s Heffalump Movie (2005)

Fun film about how Friendship is better than Racism, it’s super cute

Winnie The Pooh (2011)

A more cohesive collection of shorts that, while fun, I never feel inclined to watch again but the “Not Knot” bit pure gold

Christopher Robin (2018)

Disney’s Live-Action department proves they’re not creatively bankrupt with a wholesome film about reconnecting with your childhood self and learning to be a better parent

#winnie the pooh #the many adventures of winnie the pooh #pooh's grand adventure #the tigger movie #piglet’s big movie #pooh’s heffalump movie #christopher robin #film review #film criticism #disney

[tavsboots]

On repeat tag game!

Tagged by the lovely and talented @auspex-author. Thank you! Enjoyed listening to your playlist. Soundtracks, Folk, Metal, Indie, Rock. It's got it all! Under the Rug and Josiah are instant adds to my listening queue now haha! :)

Take 2!! ...of my easy listening tendencies.

Rules: shuffle your on repeat playlist 10 times and post the results

1. Comfort (I love this album so much...)

2. Catchy (and a bit sad.)

3. Melancholy

4. Delightful

5. Beautiful cover. (God, I love the Black Keys....)

6. Sunsets (& Cowboys)

7. Cinematic (The strings are phenomenal in this track...)

8. Dance!

9. RUN!

10. AND WHEN I'M BACK IN CHICAGO I FEEEL IT....OOOH! I WAVE GOODBYE TO THE END OF BEGINNING~ (Djo is pure gold!)

If this interests you...consider yourself tagged! I love listening to everyone's lil mixtapes!!!

Have fun and thanks for listening~ :)

Cheers. 🩵

#Spotify #music tag game #tag game #auspex-author

[clapperboardtalk]

TOTALLY KILLER (2023)

Totally Killer (2023): A Killer Time Warp with a Dash of 80s Nostalgia

Movie: Totally Killer (2023)

Genre: Horror/Comedy

Year: 2023

Country: USA

Plot Twisting Time Travel:

Totally Killer throws us into a whirlwind of time travel and teenage troubles. When the notorious "Sweet Sixteen Killer" resurfaces after 35 years, 17-year-old Jamie finds herself flung back to 1987 in a bizarre twist of fate. Now, she's stuck navigating the neon-soaked world of the 80s, all while teaming up with her hilariously clueless teenage mother (played to perfection by the ever-charming Julie Bowen) to stop the killer before history repeats itself.

Stellar Cast and Groovy Vibes:

The cast is a delight, with Kiernan Shipka delivering a perfectly sassy performance as the resourceful Jamie. The 80s setting is brought to life with vibrant costumes, a killer (pun intended) soundtrack, and clever references that had me chuckling throughout. The camerawork is slick, adding to the suspense and the overall fun vibe.

A Few Nitpicks:

While the film kept me entertained from beginning to end, the ending felt a tad rushed. A bit more closure regarding the killer's motives wouldn't have hurt. However, that doesn't take away from the overall enjoyment.

Overall Verdict: 4 out of 5 Stars

Totally Killer is a rollicking good time for fans of horror-comedy and anyone with a soft spot for the 80s. The plot is clever, the acting is spot-on, and the soundtrack is pure nostalgia gold. While the ending could have been fleshed out further, it doesn't detract from the overall experience.

Netizens' Take:

The film received generally positive reviews, with praise for its humor, cast performances, and 80s vibes. However, some viewers echoed my sentiments about the ending, wishing for a more satisfying conclusion.

Box Office Buzz:

Made on a budget of $15 million, Totally Killer grossed a respectable $42 million worldwide.

Bonus Trivia:

Did you know? The film's original title was "Sweet Sixteen Redux," but it was changed to avoid confusion with another horror movie with a similar title.

4 star out of 5 star

#movie #horror #slasher #comedy #totally killer 2023 #TotallyTubularTimeTravel #Killer80sVibes #SweetSixteenSlasherParty #SoFetchSoFatal #SlashingThePast