“Baby Love”

AN // Guess who’s writing smut again? It me.

Requested? // Yes

Requests are open // request here

TW // Smut, profanity, daddy kink


“You having fun there, baby love?”

He wasn’t supposed to be home. As far as Y/N was aware he wasn’t supposed to be home for the next 2 hours. So you can imagine her shock when she hears his voice coming from the doorway of their bedroom. Gasping she sits up, legs snapping shut as she brings the bed sheet up to cover herself. He’s standing there, leaning against the door frame with a smirk on his face and his hands in his pockets.

“Hey don’t stop because I’m here, looked like you were in the middle of something important.”

“But I- um… this is-”

“But it’s against the rules to touch yourself when I’m not here? Is that what you’re trying to say sweetheart?”

She nods as he walks towards her, eyes wide and mouth dry. As he reaches her he takes the covers from her hands and pulls her into his lap as he sits down.

“That’s right baby, you know what happens when my girl breaks my rules?”

Looking down at where his hands are rubbing her thighs she nods, refusing to look into his eyes. Bringing one hand up to cup her jaw he tilts her head up and makes her look at him. With a questioning hum he wordlessly tells her to answer him answer him with words, causing her to reply in a small voice.

“I get punished.”

Tightening his hand on her jaw, his eyes get darker.

“You get punished what?”

“I get punished daddy.

Loosening his grip on her jaw and bringing her head into his neck he chuckles and whispers a ‘that’s right, you get punished’ into her ear. He kisses the sensitive spot just beneath her ear and it makes her buck her hips against his thigh, whimpering at the sensation.

“Is my pretty girl trying to get off on my thigh?”

Curling into him, she hides her face in the crook of his neck and nods as she grinds onto him.

“What’s got you this worked up my love? What’s got you so desperate you couldn’t wait for me to get home hm?”

It takes her a minute but when she finally responds with a ‘you daddy’, his grip on her tightens. She tells him she thinks about him every time she masturbates, thinks about going down on him while she rubs her cunt and thinks about his tongue when she cums, told him she’d done it whilst he was at work and she watches as his eyes hardened and his jaw clenched. His hands on her waist push her down harder against him and he ever so subtly starts bouncing his leg, making her whimper against him.

“Not the good girl I thought you were are you baby love? No… You’re just my dirty little girl who gets off at the thought of me touching her. A little whore just for me, isn’t that right?”

His vulgar words are pushing her towards ecstasy hard and he can tell. Uttering a ‘just for you’ and she grips his shirt into her hands she remembers his only other rule. Don’t cum unless he lets her.

“M’so close daddy, please let me cum?”


A disappointed groan leaves her as he denies her and his hands still her hips and his leg stops bouncing against her. Pouting and eyebrows furrowed, she looks at him, her unamused face making him smile and trace his thumb over her pouted lip.

“Hey, put that lip away. You know only good girls get what they want, and you are certainly not being a good girl right now.”

Huffing, she places her lips against his, realising he hadn’t kissed her since he got home. It startles him slightly as he moves backwards unprepared. Wrapping one arm around her back and the other holding the back of her neck, he manoeuvres them around so he can lay her against the bed. Breaking their kiss he coos at how she unintentionally follows him as he pulls away from her.

“Wait there baby, won’t be a second.”

Going to their wardrobe, he pulls out the black box filled with toys designed especially for scenes like this. Walking back to where she was on the bed, he places the box next to her and takes out the silk ties that they only used when he needs her to stay still for him. Taking both her wrists in one of his hands he brings them up towards the headboard.

“Okay sweet girl, you remember your word yeah?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Yeah? You gotta tell me what it is moppet.”

“S’roses daddy.”

With a smile and a nod he kissed her temple as he secured the restraints. That’s the thing with Harry, everything he does with her has an essence of love in it.

“Give me a tug baby. Not too tight is it?”

For just this small moment, boyfriend Harry is there making sure she’s okay, never wanting to actually hurt her. It makes her feel safe, like she’d let him do anything he wanted to her just as long as he kissed her head and called her a ‘good girl’ when he was done. With a nod of her head and a whisper of ‘s’not too tight’ dominant Harry is back, eyes dark and exterior overpowering. Her legs are tied apart and he’s toying with her, her cunt is glistening with every essence of her, desperate for his tongue desperate to be filled, and it’s taking everything in him not to give her what she wants. Her hands are tied above her head and she’s thankful because she knows she’d move them if she could, knows if she moved them he wouldn’t let her cum and oh my god does she want to cum.

He spreads her wide slowly, touches her gently. His eyes, her eyes. His eyes, her skin. His hand, her neck. Collarbone. Breast. Cunt. Them. He sees her, soft as silk and sweet like honey, dripping and begging to be filled and it makes his mouth water. He reaches out and swipes his thumb gently over her clit, the slight sensation making her shiver. She locks her eyes on his as he places his thumb on her lips and takes it, fresh from her cunt, into her mouth. Showing him what she wanted.

“You like this don’t you? Yeah I can tell, get soaked when I treat you like my little whore.” His words go straight to her core and she’s whimpering around his thumb at his voice and the smirk that’s got smugness appearing in his eyes. He removes his thumb from her mouth, which is met with an displeased whine only for her to be cut off as he pushes his middle finger inside of her and curls it upwards to find that spot he’s become more than familiar with.


“Yeah? Does that feel good? Is daddy making you feel good?”

Nodding her head eagerly, her eyes meet his and she takes her bottom lip in between her teeth.

“More, please more.”

Smirking, he doesn’t respond, he just pushes his index finger into her and brings his thumb up to rub pressured, small circles into her bundle of nerves.

“So close… No!”

Raising her head to look at him with wide, desperate eyes and her hips are following his hand as he pulls away from her. She watches as he crouches down between her legs, he blows cool air against her cunt which causes her head to land back against the bed and her back to arch.

“Bad girls don’t get to cum when they want to baby, you know that. Gotta deserve it first sweetheart.”

“You’re mean, daddy.”

Laughing he kisses the inside of her thigh, reaching up to hold her hips down.

“I’m mean? If I was mean I’d leave you tied up like this, wouldn’t touch you at all, make you watch me get off and then leave you aching to cum. Now that would be mean, don’t think you’d like that at all baby.”

Shaking her head she whispers a small ‘wouldn’t like that’ as he leans in to wrap his lips around her swollen clit.

He’s brought to the edge just to pull away nine times now, now building her up for the tenth. She’s all but shaking in his hands and her hips are bucking against his mouth.

“Hold still.”

It’s muffled with his mouth against her. She’s whiny and squirming and he’s leaning back when she tries to move away from him, landing a firm slap onto her pussy as he scolds her.

“I said hold still, if I have to tell you again you won’t cum at all.”

An exasperated moan leaves her as he places his tongue back on her, soothing the sting from the slap, and pushes his fingers back into her. She doesn’t know if she can take being denied an orgasm again, doesn’t think she’s ever been this desperate before. He can tell she’s getting close again because her walls are tightening around his fingers and he can hear her almost silent whispers of ‘please let me cum’. Harry has other plans though as he takes all stimulation from her again, leaving her empty and yearning.


His eyes shoot up to her face as the broken cry reaches his ears, she’s been so quiet despite the occasional whimper or gasp or quiet plea to cum. She’d taken everything in her stride, from her built up then denied release to the slaps to her pussy every time she got too close for his liking, but she can’t anymore. He’d denied her for so long that she couldn’t focus on anything but her need to cum, her need for him to make her cum. He’s finally looking at her and the sight of his broken, desperate girl in front of him is enough to bring any man to his knees. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips all red, wet and pouty, her eyes are squeezed shut and her hands have a vice like grip on the silk ties that are holding her hands in place and it makes his heart soft and his cock hard.

“Oh baby you’re so sweet and aching for me. My pretty girl needs to cum yeah?”

Her eyes flicker open and land on his as she nods, her eyes are glossed over with lust and tears and his eyes are warm and kind, this is her Harry, sure she likes when he treats her like a fuck-doll but ultimately this is her favourite Harry; the gentle one who just wants to make her to feel good.

“Okay baby love, okay. Think it’s time we make you cum.”

A relieved sob leaves her as he stands up to remove his clothes. After untying her legs he reaches over her, unties her hands and brings her wrists up to his lips as he places kisses on the irritated skin from where she’d been pulling at her restraints. Finally, he reaches over to their night stand and pulls a condom out from the draw, opening and covering himself with it he brings himself down towards her entrance, watching her shudder with sensitivity as he rubs the head over her clit.

“You ready, baby?”

She nods and whimpers out a ‘please’, mouth dropping open when he thrusts into her slowly. Cupping her jaw in one hand, he brings her lips up to his as he kisses her with all the soft promises his eyes made when his hands were busy exploring all the hidden places on her skin. Resting her forehead against his, she cries out a quiet ‘daddy’ with her eyes closed and it has him shaking his head.

“No… No baby, it’s Harry now okay? Your Harry is gonna make you come.”

“My Harry…”

The words make them both smile. He’s hers and she’s his. Only they get to see each other like this. The close intimacy is soft and sweet and it makes her stomach flip.

“M’close H. M’so close. Please let me cum, need to cum.”

Laying her back down against the sheets, he takes one of her hands in his and brings his other down to rub messy circles on her clit and he says one word.


That’s all it takes, just that one word of permission from him and her head is thrown back and her back is arched. Her hand is gripping his and her cunt is clenching around him and oh my god it’s a sight. The sight of her euphoria alone was enough to bring him to the edge. Spilling himself into the condom, he hunches over her, eyes shut and groans of ‘fuck’ and her name leaving his lip. He keeps thrusting and rubbing her clit until she pushes his hand away, then he lifts her and lays down with her on top of him. Still inside her, still feeling her pulse around him.

They lay in silence, him tracing lines on her back and her setting sporadic kisses on his neck and shoulder. It’s her who breaks the silence, sitting up slightly so she can look him in the eyes.

“M’I your good girl again?”

Chuckling quietly, he brings her back down to his chest and places a kiss on her forehead that she wears like a crown.

“Yes, baby love, you’re my good girl again.”



In which H longs to be selfish


angst, fluff


Any parts after this are linked at the bottom :)

When Anne gave Harry a ring on a Sunday morning in March, asking whether he was awfully busy one weekend the following month, him being the humble mumma’s boy he was, said he could likely rearrange some things for her and the gathering she had planned back in Holmes Chapel.

Although, he was in two minds since he was raised to act both warmly and professionally in character by none other than Anne herself and didn’t want to screw anyone over by moving, for instance, that informal dinner-come-meeting with a new company he and Jeff were looking in to.

However when Anne elaborated further as to what the event would entail – a relatively intimate reunion of sorts at his childhood home, with old school chums of his and Gem’s, with the parents that Anne got on well with alongside family friends both old and new – Harry couldn’t help but wonder about one person in particular who’s attendance was likely up in the air.

She probably won’t be there, he thought to himself. But it didn’t take long for him to pick up the phone and cancel the damn dinner.

Enveloped by his mother’s arms and the scent of sandalwood and home cooking, Harry allowed himself a content smile. He was now just Harry. Harry the son. Harry the brother. Harry the neighbour. Harry the friend. Harry from Chemistry class. Harry the man pining after a woman he didn’t stand a chance with.

After being hit by the initial flood of honorary relatives and the like, half-filled glass of red wine in hand, Harry was free to roam around in search of the few people he had yet to greet. When he had come full circle and reentered the living room, the first thing he saw caused him to stop dead in his tracks, at a standstill in the doorway as a stunned expression found his face.

He didn’t think she’d be there. That didn’t mean he hadn’t hoped.

She was stood a little ways off, back against the fireplace with a glass of wine that was mostly untouched by her full, smiling lips. Harry concluded that it was due to being caught up in so many conversations that she had yet to catch a break. Like now, those sumptuous lips were far too preoccupied moving in eloquent patterns in synch with her speech that her drink was entirely discarded. His thoughts briefly wandered to what those lips would look like if they were busing doing…something else, but was quick to reprimand himself for thinking that of someone whom he respected so much.

If Harry had been thinking clearly he would know that it was more than likely that she would come. But he had hoped for her presence a little too much and seemed to be more so convincing himself that she wouldn’t be there as opposed to actually believing it, like he was subconsciously bracing himself for the slim chance she really wouldn’t turn up.

The crowd around her was far larger than any that he had encountered himself today, since the initial awe had worn off for the people he was currently surrounded by from when he first made it big with the band. This made him smile, since he knew very well that the next one of these he attended would be after he released his solo work and people would flock to him once again.

But she was a real gem. No wonder all eyes and attention were on her, since Harry wasn’t the only one to fly in from another country for the occasion. She had managed to land herself a mighty impressive scholarship to a uni abroad, and following her graduation it seemed she was only moving on to bigger and better things. His chest simultaneously swelled with pride and ached at the thought of her moving on to better people too. But he wan’t allowed to have these thoughts for a number of reasons, one being that she was never his to begin with.

Harry liked to consider himself a fairly selfless man, but he yearned - painfully so - to be selfish with her.

“Oh sweetheart,” The level, motherly voice of Anne Twist broke Harry away from his longing thoughts as her hand was placed on his pink cotton clad shoulder, “I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself. You’re both adults now, by this time I’m sure that time you could-”

“No, mum,” Harry cut her off with a quiet murmur, “I can’t.” He said to his polished Gucci boots.

Anne sighed, in two minds over her son’s situation. She knew that to some degree he was right in his reservations, but how could anyone ignore years of such tenacious love?

When her eyes finally found his from across the room all of a sudden Harry seemed to go a little lightheaded. Her natural reaction was to smile that glowing smile bright enough to melt Harry’s insides, though her beam shortly became laced with a nostalgic sadness. The same sadness that had often been the devil to keep Harry up at night, urging him to have one more drink in order to forget and inducing an all too familiar ache in his chest.

Due to his drowsiness, it took a while for Harry to take note of y/n excusing herself from the hoard of people and her figure quickly approaching him.

“Hello Harry.” She breathed.

“Hullo, love.” He replied, wondering if it was even acceptable to call her  ‘Love’.

There was a brief pause which was enough for Harry to panic that she was going to say something like “well it was nice to see you again” and then leave him before he’d even said more than two words to her.

Instead, she made to end the formalities between the two of you, thinking it downright silly for a pair that had once been so comfortable together to act like strangers.

It practically knocked the wind out of him when she hugged him. Though he quickly fell back in to the pattern of her embraces that had become second nature.

Her entire arms wound around his waist in order to come in contact with as much of his skin as possible. From doing this they had both discovered her penchant for settling her hands on his love handles, usually squeezing them or caressing them or tracing over them or something of the sort. Sometimes he joked and said things like “Trying t’ feel me up love?” or “Copping a feel there moppet?” to which she either hummed in response or gave a defiant pinch to the aforementioned skin.

The first time she had ‘felt him up’ by sort of massaging the skin emerging from his pants - which sounded far more peculiar when you worded it like that - Harry had felt erotic tingles more powerful than any sexual act he would experience from such an innocent gesture.

He’d proper moaned, but tried to cover it up by saying “Wha’ was that for then love? Hmm?” His voice was low with strained pleasure and he’d tried to come off as teasing, but regardless of what he sounded like, she began to pull back her hands. He’d immediately corrected any doubtful thoughts by softly grasping her hands with immense sureness and returning them to where they had previously rested. Her face had been buried in his neck but he could feel her smirk and he struggled not to cry out in ecstasy when she lured goosebumps on to his skin once again.

He always placed one hand firmly on her back, fingers spread wide like a shield which he sometimes rubbed up and down her spine in reassurance or had each finger work out those knots she got from stress. The other hand always lovingly followed the curve of her neck to the nape and, depending on the type of hug required, either remained there or went the whole way round so that his hand rested on her shoulder and her neck was nestled in the bend between his upper and lower arm.

“Missed you.” y/n murmured, voice muffled by his neck, her hot breath sending shivers coursing through his entire body. She was wearing heels today, and that factor usually determined if her head would nestle in his neck or on his chest. He preferred the former, more intimate of the two and often tried to bend down going in to the hug in order to secure her head there.

He swore he saw stars at her last statement and replied wholeheartedly. “Fuck, my angel, missed yeh so much.”

He said it breathlessly, and for once he didn’t debate if it was okay for him to say that (had he asked himself ten minutes earlier it would have been a vehement no). Because her cold nose was rubbing against the prominent vein in his neck, the one part of your body that had yet to adjust to the temperature of the household, and fuck if he didn’t want to treasure this moment forever, and her along with it.

“Staying in Cheshire for a bit. Mum n’ Dad are on holiday and your mum said I could stay here. Wanted to make sure you were okay with it.” She said all of this from the warmth of his neck, the one cheek that was squashed altering the clarity of her words but he heard her perfectly.

His eyes widened in excitement that she was asking him about staying in a home that he no longer really lived in just because she still cared about his opinion.

“O’ course love. Always want yeh around.”

“Hmm, wouldn’t be the same if I was staying here without all the people who mean the most to me. Be a bit silly really.” She hummed like a satisfied cat and at her words Harry felt like he might have a cardiac arrest.

“Yeh always were a silly one.” He recalled, noting that she had yet to remove herself from his arms and prayed she wasn’t about to.

“S’ why you always called me goose.” She chuckled.

His heart squeezed further that she had remembered.

Anne had always called Harry a silly goose as a child, usually it was whenever he did something adorably naïve or childish. And he seemed to have pertained a knack for repeating words or phrases he particularly enjoyed, sometimes not even fully understanding the meaning, which is what inspired him to call her ‘goose’. Being so young, he’d unknowingly discarded the first word, opting to call her only by the second, and with age the use of the word changed.

As youngsters he’d sporadically point at you and proclaim you “Goose!” with a gurgling giggle. Then as children he became more playful with it, saying it in the appropriate context, like when you wore horribly mismatched socks and he’d jokingly chide you by shaking his head and saying you were “such a Goose” though his trademark grin gave his lack of seriousness away.

Then when they’d become teenagers, he’d gotten a little cocky and used it solely as a pet name, oftentimes smirking at the fact that no one else knew what had coined their little title when he teased her after she made mistakes or got embarrassed. When she’d fallen over a protruding tree root once during a walk in the woods with Harry and their respective families, still wearing her school skirt mind you, Harry had just chuckled and offered her his hand whilst saying “If yeh wanted t’ flash me yeh underwear love yeh could’ve just asked.”

It was late, or early if you were being smart about it, and Gemma had just banished Harry from interacting with any of the stragglers that had yet to be politely dismissed because of his incessant, though unintentional, knack to draw people to him, which was the exact opposite of what he should’ve been doing.

Anne busied herself in the kitchen, sending the dishwasher in to overdrive with all the glasses and plates she’d stocked it with. When Harry entered the room, he noticed that she’d left a few odd pieces of cutlery and crockery by the sink to clean by hand.

He smiled, Anne was a strong, independent woman and had been all his life and, from what he’d heard, all of hers as well. Despite having a dishwasher he knew she enjoyed doing some of the cleaning for herself, partly because she’d never shed the need to do things for herself every once in a while and partly just for something therapeutic to keep her occupied.

Anne would never admit that to anyone else though, and would simply say that she was merely doing the dishes that had been left since the dishwasher was too full. Though Harry knew full well that this was the second round the dishwasher had done tonight, the activity brought his mum happiness and was a little idiosyncrasy of hers that he appreciated the few times that he could.

Y/n was the first person to tell him about that word, it was one of her favourites. It was when they were sixteen, and Harry took her out to eat at her favourite place, which was a forty minute drive and he wasn’t old enough to properly get his license but he couldn’t care less. That was what she did to him, she always had and always will have him voluntarily wrapped around her finger and she never even knew it. She never asked for anything extravagant but he was always on his knees ready to exceed expectations.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” Harry muttered the same words he had all those years ago “she literally drove me to commit a proper crime and she didn’t even ask me to.”

But he didn’t care, and he’d do it all over again if it meant getting to experience the happiness radiating from her the whole journey home, which, in fact, hadn’t been long enough.

Harry peered sombrely down at his glass, memories of that night staining his memory like the wine, and glanced longingly at the stairs leading to the woman he loved.

part two

“Flat out” - h.s. Part 1

Prepare for the domestic cuteness.



It was more your flat than it was Harry’s now, after years of living in it. Originally, it had started under the premise that you would only remain in his flat for as long as it took you to find your own place. Which was fine, because he wasn’t staying there and you needed a place as uni started and you were friends, close friends, and it was all fine and dandy.

But then you really started to get busy with your schoolwork and considering the workaholic and professional perfectionist that you were, you were constantly on the move between classes and work and more classes and your second job. And besides, Harry was really only in and out at that point. The tour was coming to an end, the band was on their final days, and Harry really hadn’t thought much of it that you had now lived in his London flat for an entire year.

And also, he felt bad. He felt bad that you felt the need to always support and provide for yourself and that you were doing nothing but working yourself to death in order to pay your tuition and then be able to find your own living conditions and so finally he had said, “Just stay here. Stop worrying about it. You’re fine here, Y/N. Really.”

Though you’d fought it originally, you knew that in order to keep your perfect grades in tact and be able to get to work on time, there was no better place to live than where Harry was. You were centrally located now considering you’d applied to jobs close to Harry’s flat so you could walk, and you only had to walk a solid fifteen minutes to get on campus. You were comfortable, Harry was comfortable, all was well.

Keep reading


Big Paw’s Cave, is the final Moppet title released by Intrepid Marketing, considered the rarest of all 6 Moppet titles. It was the only Moppet title that had dedicated side art unique to its game title(not the usual Moppet side art; two children’s faces). The Berenstain Bears in Big Paw’s Cave was the most complex of the Moppet Video games released by Enter-Tech, Ltd.. While there was one additional Moppet Video game that was in development at the same time as this one, Popeye, it was never finished or released.

The only ever known and recorded cabinet of this game was at Harborview Hospital in the mid 80s, no longer available there. 

There is one cabinet in the private collection of a collector in California.

The Berenstain Bears in Big Paw’s Cave (c) 1983, Adventure

      Control Brother Bear, a member of the Berenstain Bears family, navigating a switchback path across an underground chasm in order to sneak past Big Paw (a non-anthropomorphic bear in the book and cartoon universe) to reach the outside. The levels increase in difficulty both by virtue of a longer path and more obstacles, including bats, falling stalactites, etc.      

Max Simultaneous Players: 1
Max Players: 2
Gameplay: Alternating
Control Panel Layout: Single Player
Controls: Joystick: 8-way
Sound: Amplified Mono 


Main CPU : MOS Technology M6502 (@ 2 Mhz )
Sound Chips : General Instrument AY8910 (@ 2 Mhz)
Screen orientation : Vertical
Video resolution : 224 x 240 pixels
Screen refresh : 60.00 Hz
Palette colors : 256

I was going to try to do a Star Wars novels post this week, get back in the swing of things, but I can never stay away from STAR WARS fic for too long, there’s just too much that’s incredibly good! There’s so much that’s either just spot on to the characters or just hits the id or does something so clever that I’m enthralled (or does all three!) that is amazing and everyone should come scream about them with me!

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full details + recs under the cut!

Keep reading

“Alien: Covenant”

-I fucking loved this film, utterly and wholly because Ridley Scott let his freak flag fly

-this film is mythological in stature; combining Greek gods, Mary Shelley, Old Testament, haunted houses, the cosmos; goddamn delightful

-as the first shot implies, the android David is our protagonist

-in fact this film starkly makes me realize that he is kinda the whole key to the “Prometheus” saga (which makes it separate from “Alien” saga)
+everyone else plays second fiddle /he is an id for Ridley

-this might be Fassbender’s greatest performance yet; he is given great leeway and pedestals for the character and hits all of them on the bullseye

-I think the little opening mini movie is marvelous; deftly setting up the idea of mortality and creation

-nice to Guy Pierce play Weyland young, allowing him to put his distinctive gravitas stamp on the character

-the shot of David at the piano is a scrumptious shot that exists inside the film and by itself

-the scope of the space station with the yellow sail, immediately tips us off this will be a grand adventure, far away from the tight corridors of “Alien” and very much its own thing, in the 50’s sci fi mold
+I love it

-didn’t expect a person to burn to death in their cryo sleep chamber. A sharp note to unsettle our nerves

-Fassbender plays a second, pretty much identical looking android named Walter, and his very small adjustments become pronounced the more we see him interact, creating a separate identity

-he is much more docile and very tender to the grieving Daniels (the wife of the burned man)

-Daniels is played by Katherine Waterson, who has a moppet look but fierce convictions

-I find her scene mourning his loss and their shattered co life together very moving and well done
+interesting to note a woman getting over a man’s death when often in films it’s very much the opposite

-what is up with both films in “Prometheus” saga making the pilot the most amusing character, and a name actor playing them? Ideas Elba before, Danny McBride killing it here

-I laughed out loud when the Daniel’s ex is revealed to be James Franco; face timing while rock climbing without a safety rope is exactly what his reputation would infer he would do

-I find the use of McBride humming along to the transmission to the tune of John Denver very amusing
+again echoing Elba playing Stephen Stills’ “love the one you’re with” (and I suppose the disco in Scott’s “The Martian”). 70’s music in the 22nd century. Interesting motif

-I like how the film establishes billy crudup’s character as a total chickenshit, unable to handle the responsibility of leading the crew
+interesting detail where it talks about him being super religious, referring to his fellow colonists as “my flock”, leaving him thought to be unsuitable to delegate and survive under pressure

-crudup of course ignores waterson’s perfectly good advice and reservations, which makes me wonder if the morale of the Universe is “He should have listened to her; the story of the cosmos”

-it is very strange to see so such forest and green land in this series

-I particularly like the line “do you hear that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing”

-the chemical warfare of “Prometheus” is very pronounced as the black substance makes its way into the victims ears noses; again, this directly clashes with the Ripley saga but it’s doing its own thing here and and is pretty consistent

-nice little moment as Walter tries to comfort Daniels’ reservations by simply stating “it would make a lovely spot for a cabin” then walks away; contrast to Crudup’s character overselling how great he finds it, and continues to rattle off how over worried he found Daniels, this smothering her and make her apprehensive
+brevity is the soul of wit is set up here

-good god, there is a ton of blood here, a smattering of it

-I find the scene where the first infected strobes out and spurts blood out his back to be effectively creepy

-I’m considering the creature in this film (“neomorph”) a in between. Not as well designed as the giger perfection, but a huge step up from the black sea liquor from “Prometheus”. It is startling and very well directed

-a masterful little shot as a dead colonist is shown partially in frame, his wedding ring clearly in shot, another man cupping his head, and whispering to his mouth “I love you”; succinctly setting up their same sex love and marriage

-the neomorph is definitely far more animalistic in this film. It’s given unhuman like movements, that suggest more primal instincts

-I cannot do justice to the goosebumps I felt as the party was lead by its stranger savior and we see the charred bodies and landscapes

-the stranger savior is at this point revealed to be David (with iggy pop type hair at first) who then hijacks back the film, rightfully so

-immensely hilarious moment as David shoulder knocks Walter, and adds “Hello there, brother”

-David is giving me Dr. Pretorius (“Bride of Frankenstein”)/Dr. Moreau (“Island of Dr. Moreau”) vibes
+ie creators who bent the structure of biology and didn’t care who got destroyed in the way

-there is a long, long scene where Walter and David take turns playing the flute that is frankly worthy of an entire essay in itself

-firstly, it’s a big fuck you to anyone who was dismayed by the flute segment in “Prometheus”
+there it was five seconds, here it’s like 10 minutes and two identical people are doing it at the same time

-secondly, they are playing the fucking theme to “Prometheus” on said flute
+those is self-reference in the scale of Mel Brooks (and makes me think Ridley was grinning during the Sean bean-“lord of the rings” scene in “The Martian”

-the line to Watler from David “just blow, I will take care of the fingering”

-it is revealed that David unnerved people by being so human like in temperament that future versions like Walter were “streamlined”/neutered, so that Walter can play but not compose
+there’s going to be a whole genetic modification bit coming up, but now I realize how eugenics/forced sterilization this sounds

-the contrasting glee in David’s voice and unease in Walter’s eyes as David relates how he was around their creator when he died, and David notes “he was stupid and weak, like all humans”

-the whole scene the camera is robotically swerving around clearly adding to the tension the audience feels in witnessing this unorthodox meeting

-needless to say, the film takes a monumental leap and variance in tone hereafter

-David mentions that Shaw (From “Prometheus”, last seeing going with David as a decapicated head) died, but she was “so kind to me” and David loved her
-“much the same way Walter looks at you” (Daniels disagrees) “oh, does he call it ‘duty’? I know the difference”

-Ridley is really digging into the horror elements of the film as the neomorph comes up the wall and severs a woman’s head, leaving it floating in a full sink
+the neomorph is eating her shoulder, shoring carnivore habits for the time in this universe

-one of the strangest moments (and there will be plenty coming up) where David and the tall albino neomorph are communicating via breathing

-the most emotion David has is when crudup kills it and David screams “how could you?!? He trusted me!”

-crudup has a equally odd non sequitur where he threatens David to “tell me what is going on, or I will destroy your perfectly calm composure”

-this film is bizarre and exploitive in the extreme

-for those that are keeping track, the importance hierarchy is as follows
+we are fucked

- my favorite sequence in the entire film as we see (via David’s memories?) that he dropped the entire payload of black goo/chemical weapons upon an unsuspecting engineer population (who look totally different from ones we saw in “Prometheus” in facial structures and eyes) and they die as the goo descends upon them like locusts.
+it seriously looks straight out of Exodus as God wrecked his vengeance upon Pharioh

-so yes, that was the charred bodies we saw before

-we see the lair of David as it is littered with graphs, illustrations, designs of his work in the goo into the neomorph and beyond
+ his response, dripping with sarcasm: “idle hands are the devil’s anything”

-we are officially one step closer to classic “Alien” universe as the first facehugger is introduced (to kill crudup)

-Daniels is trying to reach Tennessee (Danny McBride) as still others are getting slaughtered, the neomorphs are clearly the hounds to David’s Satan

-line of the film as crudup wakes up to see David, asks him what his religion is, and he responds “Creation”

-a early beta of the xenomorph is here (still not quite Giger 100), as he splits from Crudup’s chest after the question, and he dances, mimicking the moments of David
+David looks like a puppet master pulling the strings

-more facehugger madness as others go after the remaining human sheep

-much like “Prometheus” this multi million dollar film has a strikingly low opinion of humanity
+ at this point, two films in, the expendable nature of the vast majority of people therein is a feature, not a bug

-positively bizarre sequence as David tempts Walter to his side, kissing him(self) on the lips, before ripping out his neck battery, depowering him

-I neglected to mention just before that my second favorite line of the film, after Walter cited a line then asks who did it, David answers Byron but Walter correctly notes
“No, Shelley. If one section of the orchestra is off, it changes the entire symphony doesn’t it?”

-David has officially gone too far

-David coos “no one knows what it is like to dream and be perfect like myself”

-remember early when I said the importance scales? Well, since Ridley seems to see David as a propionate of creation, therefore a creator it would perhaps follow as such

-possibly subliminal moment where David corners Daniels and she’s asks what really happened to Shaw, and David says “this” then forces a kiss upon Daniels
+so did this robot, who was too human for other humans, teach the neomorph to rape?

-Walter is back (they made a few safety measures since David) and this we get to see someone hitting his own face repeatedly
+it is fucking weird to see this brawling action in a Ridley Scott film

-Tennessee is here to save the day, but now the brute pronto xenomorph is here, and this murder is getting more grisly by the second

-David asks Walter to decide whether to reign in hell or serve in heaven as he reaches for a knife

-the sequence where Daniels is held by a straight line as she keeps falling over the side of the ship, swings and shoots at the proto xeno is jaw dropping

-is Tennessee the giant claw dropper of doom as he uses an arm to crush the proto xeno? Seems like it

-you better believe I was eagle eyes to see if it was Walter or David helping Daniels

-aboard the main ship there is a unidentified life form aboard, but where are the co pilots?

-in a scene straight out of the sleaziest slasher from the 80’s (like prime “Friday the 13th”) the co pilots are having shower sex (to some r&b music) when the xenomorph puts his phallic tail between their genitals
+then impale tongue’s the guy’s head. Sexploitation!

-every close up on Fassbender’s face is a mini master class in suspense

-I fucking cannot believe they brought back the xenomorph point of view, the first time since “Alien 3”

-this second proto xeno is slobbering like the cerberus he is

-my heart is pounding like a jackhammer the entire time Daniels is staying barely ahead of the creature

-“care to lend a lady a hand?” might be the mantra of this depraved series

-the subtle continuity of the cabin comes up as her face screams in terror as she realizes David is here, and there are no cabins in hell

-one final twist of the screw as David coughs up some proto xeno eggs and looks upon the vast laboratory of human frogs to dissect

-this film took everything I loved about “Prometheus” and kicked it up ten notches, while adding many many more layers of cosmic craziness. Oh, and blood.
+ I am fully confident the “Prometheus” saga will gain a cult following and be seen as one man’s tremendous exploitation of his own creation(like David?) and a particular, articulate and demented journey into space hell.

-I myself feel the flames get higher and higher, and wonder if I will be making repeat journeys to this particular corner again. I feel it to be so.

The Mad Realm - The Mad King’s Labyrinth (Halloween)
Mad King Thorn: I forgot how much your little tantrums bored me, Eddie.
Bloody Prince Thorn: It’s Edrick! Edrick the Bloody! Let’s see how bored you’ll be when I tear you limb from limb, you maniac.
Mad King Thorn: Ooh, getting all emotional, I see. Why don’t you run home to momma and cry.
Bloody Prince Thorn: I can’t. You beheaded her.
Mad King Thorn: Best birthday ever. What about your stepmother, Estrella?
Bloody Prince Thorn: You put her in a coffin filled with rats and dumped it into the sea! Henrietta was the only one who was kind to me, and you killed her, too.
Mad King Thorn: No, my massacring little moppet. That was you. (laugh) You decided to play Pin the Tail on the Drake with her.
Mad King Thorn: Of course, you literally nailed her hands to the drake. (laugh)
Bloody Prince Thorn: You…stop. Stop laughing! I…I did that? I remember the hammer. All that blood.
Mad King Thorn: Oh, you never liked her. And she bored me. Besides, I was proud of you for that.
Bloody Prince Thorn: Really?
Mad King Thorn: No. You’ve always been a major disappointment.


‘Children of the Streets’, 1954

Text by Alex Q. Arbuckle / Retronaut @

In the summer of 1954, the streets of London were overrun with rambunctious kids enjoying their time off from school.

Photographer Thurston Hopkins took note of the chaos and followed along with several gangs of hyperactive moppets, snapping shots as they turned grimy streets and alleyways into playgrounds.

His photos were published in Picture Post as a photo essay entitled “Children of the Streets.“


topic: fighting and makeup sex with Harry

okay! so! I feel like Harry is the type of person who takes fights in a relationship fairly serious. When u guys would fight, he would eventually back down if he sees it’s getting into dangerously high grounds, letting out a deep, tired sigh and knuckling at his puffy eyes, dragging his hand down his face and looking at you all soft and resigned, slouching into the couch and patting the spot next to him. “Come sit down, love. Let’s settle this out without the screaming, yeah?”

And you guys would talk the problem out, unraveling the issue and ultimately ending up with you nuzzled into his side, your legs draped over his as he hugs you tightly, smoothing his hand up and down your back soothingly and kissing the top of your head lovingly, encouraging you to cry if you had to. “Just let it out, pet. S'okay– waterworks are necessary sometimes. Just let it all drain out, okay? M'here, darling, m'here.”

And he’s all warm and soft and strong– he’d put out a strong front for you to lean on until you’re okay again, but there’d be times when he, too, would need to let out all of the pent up emotions. Sometimes it’d be in the form of silent tears with a red nose and lots of sniffling bc he doesn’t want to break down completely, and sometimes it’d be full on sobbing bc he’d need to deflate entirely in order to get back up, his breathing rattling and his shoulders jolting uncontrollably, low chokes of whimpers bursting from his mouth and you’d kiss his wet cheeks and eyelids and comfort him just as he does to you.

And then there’s the fights that aren’t as serious as they look. Fights that generate from days to weeks of bottled up stress from both of you and they’d eventually break out from no where. It could be something as simple as him walking into the house tracking muddy shoes across the wooden floor and you’d explode. Worst case scenarios with these types of fights would be him walking out on you for the night, crashing somewhere else to allow both of you to simmer down. But most times, he’d end up storming into your shared bedroom, grabbing some pillows and a blanket and stalking back out to the living room, declaring that he’d be sleeping on the couch for the night. He’d do this bc he wants to show either of two things, depending on the fight: if the fight is in between the mild to severe range, he’d do it bc he wants to show he’s still himself– that he still loves you and wants you to be more comfortable while thinking the whole thing over; that he would still sacrifice himself for you to get the space you need. Then there’s the other, which would be when the fight is overly severe (where it’s just pure anger and chaos with hoarse screaming and stomping and flaying arms), he would do it to brag and show that he’s the bigger person– the tougher fighter. That he can take the heat and then some.

These severe fights would be called “frus fights,” short for “frustration,” meaning it’s out of pent up shit that came out due to tiredness and the need to let out steam. It’d end up with you guys separated from each other and you’re fuming and gritting you’re teeth, wanting to punch a wall bc Harry can be so fucking impossible sometimes.

So you guys would go to bed on opposite sides of the apartment and around 2 or 3 A.M, you’d get a text on your phone from Harry. It’d be the two simple words: “Frus fight?”

Here, he’d be telling you that he acknowledges the fact that the fight was do to frustration and he’d be asking you if you thought the same thing. You’d sigh in relief, typing back, “Frus fight.”

And then you’d bite you’re bottom lip, trying to suppress a grin bc, simply stated, frus fights = rough makeup sex. You guys had established that in the beginning of your relationship. Easy as that.

“You coming to bed?” you’re fingers would hover over the keyboard as you see that he has read it and you can hear his bare feet padding across the ground outside your room as he heads towards it.

The door creaks open and you quickly flip onto your stomach, making sure he has a proper view of your bare legs since you’re wearing one of his t-shirts bc even when you fight, you want to be close to him somehow.

Harry squeezes through the door, eyeing you with a cocky smile but you can’t see it bc you’re hiding your face into your forearm, liking the suspense. He saunters over to you and you feel the bed dip as he gets onto it on his knees and crawls over to you, sliding his arms up the mattress and under your body, hugging you to the front of his as he lays over you. And he kisses up your spine, moving your hair out of the way to trail up your neck, his hands beginning to grope your hips more harshly.

He’s right at your left ear now, blowing softly as he shifts against your back, rubbing his semi-hard against your backside subtlety. His voice is a low and throaty whisper, thick and croaky because of the screaming from hours prior. It’s teasing. “You gon’ apologize, minx?”

And you bite into your bottom lip, swiveling your ass slightly against his bulge. “Nope. Aren’t you?”

And you can feel his almost predatory grin against your hot, dampening skin. “You’re going to have to pry it from my cold, post-orgasmic-weakened hands.”

“The usual?” The rule is that the person who comes first is the one that has to apologize first.


And before you know it, he’s flipping you onto your back, shoving his hands down your panties and roughly pinching at your clit, his lips claiming your neck as your whole body arches against his flexing arm and you’re already pooling into his hand, aching for him to fill you up.

And when he does, it’s quick and harsh– full of slamming, scratching, bruises and biting. He has your legs thrown over either sides of his hips and he’s fucking into you fast, rolling the swollen nub in between his index finger and thumb while the other is snaked around your back to keep you steady against him. Your arms are wrapped around his broad shoulders so your hanging off of him, body jolting as he fucks up into you, grunting and sighing spastically. And he suddenly releases you, shoving you flat onto your back and he grabs your hips, working them against his own with so much raw power that you can practically feel him in your stomach.

He’s sweaty and red-skinned, growling out his noises of pleasure. “Gonna give up? Y'won’t last much longer, baby. Can feel you clenching around my cock. You wanna come, don’t you?”

He slams his forearms down on either side of your head, sifting his fingers through yours and crossing your arms over your head as he keeps ramming into you, your clit catching on his pelvic bone and the intensity of your screaming is starting to hurt your head.

“Come for me. Know you can be a good girl for me. Just let it out, moppet.” He’s licking and nibbling down your jaw and across the area of your collarbones and every thrust he gives is syncopated with his breathing. Inhale, push in; exhale, draw out.

You’re a gasping, clawing mess but you’ll be damned if you give in first. “Over my d-dead body– oh!”

And he just chuckles darkly, burying one hand in your hair and tugging roughly, picking up speed, his thighs slapping against yours and he’s biting into your lips, his spastic breathes filling your mouth along with his tongue and his face is scrunched up, eyes crinkled at the corners as he hold himself from spilling inside you.

He bites into your shoulder, leaving purple marks as a reminder. And you’re writhing and bucking up against him, legs locked around his lower hips as he fucks you into the mattress, the whole bed creaking. He grabs the hair at the crown of your head, leveling his face with yours and his eyes are parallel with yours, sparking with an ominous dominance that you crave so bad.

He doesn’t liven up his thrusting, but pushes in harder, your noses nudging and swollen lips brushing and he keeps close eye contact with you, striping you of your determination. His voice is quiet and soft, but heavy with assertion. “You’re going to come and you’re going to do it now.

He releases your wrists, the hand in your hair staying in place and the other wraps loosely around your throat, applying enough pressure that it gives your body an adrenaline boost. His thumb presses into the side of your jaw while his index and middle press into the opposite side, keeping you from turning your head away as he establishes his hold over you, physically and emotionally. You bask in it, loving every second of it. You can’t hold up anymore bc his cock his brushing the perfect angle and he has an arrogant smirk twitching the corners of his lips as he licks them lightly, curls falling across his sweaty forehead as he presses the side of his face against yours, his lips ghosting over the crest of your left ear again.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you, doll? Can feel you squeezing– such a tight little thing you are for me, hm? Daddy’s naughty baby girl, picking a fight you couldn’t even hold your own against ‘cause you knew I was right. And now, you’re gonna be begging for so much more than just my forgiveness.”

You gasp out, digging your nails into the flexing muscles of his back as he gives a short, hard thrust, not drawing out but staying in up to the hilt to where you can feel his warm balls pressed against your ass. The only sound is both of your labored breathing, Harry kissing his way down your cheekbone and to your chin, his eyes taunting as the hand in your hair gives a demanding twist.

His cockhead is wedged against your g-spot and you’re melting into his arms, body jerking without consent as he dangles you over the edge. “You gonna give it up?”

“No.” Your voice is weak and strained.

And you feel him shifting onto his knees, preparing for the winning blow. “S'a shame. Was gonna lick you clean as a reward, but I guess not.”

He suddenly draws out and rams back in and you feel something inside you snap– he feels it too as your whole body tightens against him. And he takes this advantage, picking up where he had left off and finishing you off ruthlessly. You come hard, gushing out over him shamefully and going limp in his grip and he hums out a laugh, shaking his head with fake pity and tutting. “That was too easy, kitten. Too easy.”

You’re sobbing in sensitivity as he keeps rocking into you gently, milking the orgasm out for everything it’s worth, giving butterfly kisses to the racing pulse in your neck as you convulse under him. “Tha’s a good girl. Every last drop for me, alright?”

And when you finally finish, feeling empty and depleted, he cradles you into his side, kissing your temple and pressing his nose to the side of your head, clearing his throat playfully and arching an eyebrow expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” you huff, swallowing thickly and closing your eyes in fatigue.

“Apology accepted, petal.” He hugs you tightly, kissing across your nose and cheeks. “I’m sorry, too.”

A second passes by and then he speaks up shyly, “Do you think you could finish me off? It’s hurting something awful.”

“Sure. Just let me get the cock ring.”

“Oh, fuck.”