#Mail on Sunday

[jerseydeanne]

"The Duke of Sussex is to ask a High Court judge to rule in his favour without a trial in his libel case against the Mail on Sunday, as he aims to echo his wife’s legal success against the same newspaper.

Prince Harry will apply for a strike out or summary judgment at a hearing due to be scheduled in the next two months after both sides failed to reach a settlement."

[tha-wrecka-stow]

[denimbex1986]

'Pre-release expectations were already “stratospheric”, but the unlikely pairing of “Barbie” and “Oppenheimer” around the world has “helped fuel the biggest collective weekend at the box office since the pandemic”, said Rebecca Rubin in Variety – music to the ears of their respective film studios, Warner Bros. Discovery and Universal, and a potential lifeline for beleaguered cinema chains.

The “Barbenheimer” cultural craze, which began as a meme on the internet, stoked US sales of $82.4m for the biopic about “the father of the atomic bomb”, while Barbie pulled in $162m. Warner Bros. reckons that’s just the start, observing: “This doll will indeed have long long legs.” Shares in AMC Entertainment soared, said Anita Ramaswamy on Reuters Breakingviews as record-breaking sales suggested that the US cinema chain would survive.

On this side of the Atlantic, both Vue and Odeon reported a “booking frenzy”, said Dominic Walsh in The Times. A remarkable 23% of Vue’s customers bought tickets for both movies at the same time. The two films took £30m at the box office in their opening weekend in Britain, making it the most successful weekend for British cinemas since 2019.

With the verdicts now in, here’s what the film critics said about the blockbuster double act…

Barbie review **** “Anthropologists believe there may be tribes living in the farthest reaches of the Amazon” who missed the marketing campaign for Greta Gerwig’s $145m, Mattel-sponsored Barbie movie, but the rest of us had our eyeballs melted by it for weeks, said Robbie Collin in The Daily Telegraph. So it’s an “unexpected pleasure” to report that it’s not the “blunt-force cash grab many of us feared. In fact, it’s deeply bizarre, conceptually slippery and often roar-out-loud hilarious.”

Margot Robbie is perfectly cast as “Stereotypical Barbie”, a “habitually smiley creature” whose life in Barbieland (a fantasy world in which multiple different Barbies hold sway) is disrupted when she finds herself “haunted by thoughts of sadness, anxiety and death”, said Mark Kermode in The Observer. “Worse still, she develops flat feet and (whisper it!) cellulite – two horsemen of the Barbie apocalypse.” A visit to Kate McKinnon’s “Weird Barbie” (“She was played with too hard”) reveals that a wormhole has opened between Barbieland and the real world. So our heroine must venture there, accompanied by Ken (Ryan Gosling), who learns that the real world is dominated by something called “The Patriarchy”, which, having always been in thrall to Barbie, he rather likes. It all adds up to a “riotously entertaining candy-coloured feminist fable”.

I saw the film with my 20-year-old daughter who loved it, said Sarah Vine in the Daily Mail. Me, not so much. “My main criticism, actually, has nothing to do with the subject matter.” Barbie or no Barbie, it’s just not a very good film. It is uneven and disjointed, and “deeply anti-man”. Every male character is “an idiot, a bigot or a sad, rather pathetic loser”, and women’s liberation is framed “not as a movement based on achieving equality between the sexes, but as a cultural revenge vehicle”.

Seeking to both satirise and celebrate Barbie, the film falls into what one critic has called the “reflexivity trap”, said Adrian Horton in The Guardian: the idea that acknowledging a fault absolves you of that fault. So it sends up Mattel, but Mattel will profit very nicely from it. The result is a film that, for all its buoyancy and fun, “feels stuck in a loop of intense self-awareness”.

Oppenheimer review **** “Oppenheimer” is billed “as a biopic of theoretical physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer”, said Wendy Ide in The Observer. “But ‘biopic’ seems too small a word to contain the ambition and scope of Christopher Nolan’s formidable if occasionally unwieldy” film about the so-called “father of the atomic bomb”. Although this “dense and intricate period piece” weaves together “courtroom drama, romantic liaisons, laboratory epiphanies and lecture hall personality cults”, it is perhaps most of all a “monster movie”. Cillian Murphy’s Oppenheimer is “an atomic-age Frankenstein, a man captivated by the boundless possibilities of science” who realises too late that his creation has a limitless capacity for destruction. “Murphy’s far-seeing ice-chip eyes have never been put to better use.”

Jumping between several timelines, the film follows “Oppie” from the 1920s and into old age, said Manohla Dargis in The New York Times. And though its all-star cast is distracting (Matt Damon, Robert Downey Jr, Gary Oldman, Kenneth Branagh and others pop up), it builds into a “brilliant” drama about “genius, hubris and error”.

It wasn’t the “instant masterpiece” I was hoping for, said Matthew Bond in The Mail on Sunday. The script feels “overpolished”; and the “coda that follows the Trinity test explosion and the attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki is a definite slog”. It’s also a shame that female characters are so peripheral, said Radhika Seth in Vogue. Oppenheimer’s wife (Emily Blunt) is a “lipsticked blur”; and we learn virtually nothing about his lover Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh) other than that she’s “emotionally turbulent” and hates flowers. The women are a bit “one-dimensional”, said Christina Newland in The i Paper. There’s also a lot of “clanging” historical name-dropping (“What’s this place called? Los Alamos”, etc.). But the film survives its flaws, which “is testament to the fascinating material and the might of its performances”.'

[groovetrill]

Shawty had them Apple Bottom jeans (Jeans), boots with the fur (With the fur)

The whole club was lookin' at her

She hit the flo' (She hit the flo'), next thing you know

Shawty got low-low-low-low-low-low-low-low

Them baggy sweat pants and the Reeboks with the straps (With the straps)

She turned around and gave that big booty a smack (Ayy!)

She hit the flo' (She hit the flo'), next thing you know

Shawty got low-low-low-low-low-low-low-low

[tornbluefoamcouch]

Artista: Flo Rida Álbum: Mail on Sunday Ano: 2008 Faixas/Tempo: 14/53min Estilo: Pop Rap/Southern Hip Hop Data de Execução: 06/01/2022 Nota: 1,0 Melhor Música: Low (feat. T-Pain)

[nvuy]

I find it kinda funny the way you react differently with Boothill and Sunday in terms of writing but they both hold the same flavor of “I want him carnally.” Keep up the wonderful work

PLEASE they’re so different it’s hilarious. gross loser with a cowboy hat that’s terrible at hiding his feelings and another gross loser with angel wings who’s slightly better at hiding his feelings but only because that’s what expected of him.

i could actually yap about them for hours…

cyborg abomination, last washed (can he bathe?) 58269652 days ago, scuffed boots but keeps them spurs polished, definitely chews hay, swallows bullets and can catch a fired one between his teeth with zero effort because his teeth are fake, probably jumps in mud puddles if given the opportunity (not like a child, but more like if he’s walking he’ll stamp in it, because he can)

versus

last washed one hour ago and smells purely of dove soap and an orchard on a rainy day, actively watches for his appearance, obsessed with organisation and order, and also actively avoids mud puddles.

but at the same time by the gods if they both don’t fret over your appearance. sunday’s more formal in the matter; he likes to dress you up if given the opportunity. fancy dinners, and he’s already organised your outfit down to the core. he likes to see you presentable, but there’s also something so raw and gorgeous about how horrible you look when you wake up (he’s swooning despite his straight face. if you’re not already jealous of his flawless he looks in the morning, that is).

sunday also absolutely loves when you keep him company in the office, even if you’re a total distraction. it’s not even your fault either. you could be doing something else entirely in the corner on a couch and his eyes will wander. don’t sit in his lap because then he’ll be a lost cause entirely.

boothill will doll you up too, don’t get me wrong, but it’s more of a “hey i bought you this and you’d probably look hot in it” and he’s always right. you’re more fretting over his appearance than anything—he doesn’t mind.

brush his hair all you want. if you wanna braid his hair, go for it. he’ll keep it like that for the rest of time if he could. his hair isn’t exactly real, nor does it grow, so it doesn’t really need to be washed, and the strands are effortlessly silky. he’ll let you do anything to him, it’s that bad. he’d probably let you push him off a cliff. and yes, you can use his little ports to charge your phone, even if he whines every time about it.

the white hair is natural, by the way. definitely had very very dark brown hair that his fathers loved to take care of, and then when he lost his daughter, it was a case of marie antoinette syndrome (whether it exists is debatable, but for my mind’s sake, yes).

[bigfootsmom]

feasting on the crumbs we’re given of the helicopter crash fic. can we please have another 🥹🤲🫶🏻

I hope soon i can feed you a full meal! I can see the end in sight it’s just a matter of finding the time to sit down and get there 😔 but I have a snippet for you for seven(ish) sentence Sunday:

Evan is so heavy in Tommy’s arms and he digs his fingers into his sides, clinging desperately to any part of Evan he can keep his hands on.

“Evan, please–– c’mon, baby I can’t—“ Tommy cuts himself off with a sharp clack of his teeth, trapping the frustrated sob in the back of his throat before it can escape. “We’re almost there, don’t give up on me now.”

Evan mumbles something unintelligible, eyes rolling back in his skull as fails to regain his center of balance. Tommy grunts, taking more of Evan’s practically deadweight.

Tommy almost loses his footing, knees nearly buckling as he tries to keep Evan from completely slipping from his grip and hitting the hard ground. Evan’s face remains slack, skin so pale under all the blood. The sight of it makes dread twist its claws into his stomach. Evan’s bloodless lips part around a wheezing rasp and if it wasn’t for the sound of it Tommy would think—

No. No, no, he can’t. He can’t even think about that. It’s going to be fine, he’s going to get Evan out of this. Evan is going to be okay. He has to be okay.

Tags below the cut <3

Tagged by the lovely and wonderful @diazsdimples and @eddiebabygirldiaz <3 <3 <3

Tagging @usersiren @honestlydarkprincess @swiftietartt @holdmygum @giddyupbuck

@monsterrae1 @loserdiaz @underwaterninja13 @father-salmon @devirnis

@princessfbi @homerforsure @mellaithwen @bisexual-buck @buddie-buddie

@bibuddie @shyaudacity @housewifebuck @colonoscopys @loveyouanyway

@watchyourbuck @smallandalmosthonest @try-set-me-on-fire @iinryer and YOU if you want to post something <3

[inkykeiji]

Sugar daddy Sunday with a brat, sugar daddy Sunday with a brat, sugar daddy Sunday with a brat!!!!

anon you literally took me out with this because he is SUCH a perfect character for that role uGH!!! not only is sunday disgustingly wealthy, but he also desperately desires complete and total dominance and control—which is what makes him ripe for a bratty lil baby (especially if he gets to withhold certain privileges as a result of being Daddy). 

sunday’s word is ultimate, decorous and divine, and what he says goes, irregardless of how many fits you throw or feet you stomp or fists you ball up in anger, defiance, or fury. he tells you he doesn’t enjoy inflicting punishment on you—and while his voice is cold, stern, and full of veracity, that sharp glimmer in his eye suggests otherwise—but that he must dole out such discipline, as it is his duty as your Daddy; to guide, to teach, to mold, to correct.

his retributions vary depending on the severity of the act you’ve committed, ranging from merely revoking privileges (technology, later bed time, sweets, his credit card) to full on physical punishments (spanking your bare ass while wearing his gloves seeming to be the one he favours most often, but he is not above using canes and the like on you if he believes it to be ‘necessary’ to sear whatever lesson he’s trying to teach into that pretty little brain of yours), and you can bet your ass he’s got a meticulously worked out system in place that decides what the punishment will be, proportional to the transgression. 

he acts as if it’s exasperating, as if your disobedience is exhausting, yet he can’t seem to smother those tiny twitches tugging at the corners of his lips any time you push back, any time you challenge him, that glint in his eye flaring to something bright and blazing, despite his features being etched in stone. because although he’d never admit it, he does love enforcing (his specific brand of) justice; he does love exerting that power over you as he shepherds you back onto the path of the righteous, just as a blessed man should; he does love the utter and complete iron-fisted dominance it affords him.

but sunday doesn’t love being your Daddy just because of the absolute control it instils in him; he also loves being your Daddy when you’re good, well-behaved and obedient. oh, then he’s sweeter than sugar and just as corrosive; he spoils you fucking rotten. it’s one of his favourite things to do, showering you with expensive gifts and extravagant outings—lace-trimmed silk and red bottom shoes and multi-day spa getaways and lavish restaurants…all until that indulgence erodes your obedience, turns you into something naughty and saucy again, something greedy and entitled, something he has to fix.

and then, he repeats the whole process over.

[lnfours]

When Tom gets back from filming after months of no sex and just so horny for reader that they have sex in the Jacuzzi just think of Tom being sweaty from the heat not just from the sex but also from the heat of Jacuzzi his muscles just all prominent 🥵🥵

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

slutty sunday

you had suggested getting into the hot tub to relax after tom spent his whole day on a plane flying back home. he knew it would help his stiff muscles, so he agreed. he slipped into his swim trunks, telling you he’d meet you outside.

you had fished out one of your bikinis, tying it around your neck and walking to the back deck. you smiled as you spotted him in the hot tub, his eyes closed as he basked in the warm water.

you joined him, stepping into the jacuzzi. he opened his eyes at your presence, his eyes immediately wandering and letting his imagination take over. he hadn’t seen you in months, and right now it was hard for him to keep his cool.

you sat across from him, smiling, “see, isn’t this nice?”

he nodded, a soft smile on his face, “it is, yeah. should listen to you more often.”

you chuckled. after a few minutes he had reached out to you, pulling you into his body. you sat on his lap, straddling his hips. his hands wandered over your skin, the hot water making his curls stick to his forehead. you reached up and brushed them away, his soft hair fluffing up.

he smiled lazily at you, “‘missed you.”

you smiled back at him, “i missed you, too, honey.”

he leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. you wrapped your arms around his neck as his caressed your back.

“y’know, we never properly broke this thing in.” he said and you laughed softly.

“what’re you suggesting?”

“you know what im suggesting,” he smirked, leaning in and pressing a kiss on your lips. you weren’t against the idea, it had been months since two of you got to have proper sex. sex that wasn’t sexting or phone calls while the other got off.

you kissed him back sweetly as his fingers worked to untie your bikini top. once he got it loose, he slipped it off of you and flung it on the edge of the hot tub. you shimmied out of your bottoms as he pulled down his trunks, his erection springing free.

you climbed back on top of him, sinking down on him. he grabbed at your hips, letting you ride him as he threw his head back in bliss. sweat was starting to form on his forehead from the heat of the water, his muscles prominent as he held onto you tightly, not wanting you anywhere but skin to skin with him.

he moaned softly, “god, it’s good to be home.”

[fantasykiri5]

A PressureBeast for day 10 of @hermitadaymay !!

[comfortzonelol]

Collar on?

[jerseydeanne]

[hippolotamus]

🪩🪩☀️☀️

I know you can do 20 sentences, my love, you've got this!

As you wish, Sir

🪩 - Mirrorball || prev snippet || master list

The stinging bite of jealousy settles in Eddie’s chest, curling up like a wild creature behind his ribs. He only hates himself a little for it. Honestly, he shouldn’t even be thinking about who else gets to see Arsen’s* body. Who might call him over for a lap dance or to a private room. Eddie saw what he came for and got his fix. Now he can drive to Athena’s and ignore Bobby’s curious looks while he stress eats his now weekly peach cobbler. He begins pushing his chair away from the table when a familiar voice stops him. “Leaving already, handsome? Here I thought we could play a little longer.” Time feels almost suspended, syrupy and slow as Eddie turns towards the sound. He finds himself eye level with a sparse thatch of hair peeking out from an electric blue waistband. His gaze travels up, up, up to an equally brilliant blue.

*if you're new here Arsen = Buck's stage name

☀️ - Weather and Time || prev snippet || master list

That night, after Where the Wild Things Are, The Giving Tree, one too many Five-Minute stories, a cup of water (and a trip to the bathroom), Christopher finally agrees to sleep. Or at least to Eddie kissing him goodnight and leaving the room. He flicks on the planet themed night light before softly closing the door behind him.   His body begs him to stay in the hallway and sag against the wall. To slowly slide to the floor, rest his elbows on his knees and hold his head in his hands. But there’s perfectly chilled beer in the fridge and a Rangers game that should just be starting.  He sprawls on the sofa, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other holds his drink. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters as soon as the game coverage starts and he remembers the Rangers are playing the Arizona Diamondbacks tonight. Because of course they are. Why would it possibly be any other team?

also going to use this as my mumbledy sentences Sunday/Last Line Tag

tagged by @loveyouanyway @missmagooglie @actuallyitsellie @jesuisici33 @tizniz

@thekristen999 @lemonzestywrites @elvensorceress @daffi-990 @loserdiaz

@spotsandsocks @wikiangela @diazsdimples @bidisasterevankinard

@shipperqueen6 (tagging y'all back for next time)

it's late so np tagging for the next tag day @stereopticons @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @filet-o-feelings @queerbuckleys

@bi-buckrights @chaosandwolves @epicbuddieficrecs @eowon @fortheloveofbuddie

@bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @saybiwithme @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck

@indestructibleheart @ladydorian05 @monsterrae1 @spaceprincessem @statueinthestone

@steadfastsaturnsrings @the-likesofus @theotherbuckley @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @thewolvesof1998

@watchyourbuck @weewootruck @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @underwaterninja13

@kitteneddiediaz and anyone else who wants to 😘

[texasbama]

Ryan looks so smol from Oliver’s POV

TINY BABY

[sebsxphia]

This is so self indulgent- but could you do something about falling asleep in Jake or Bradley’s arms after a long day? Cause 😍

bradley always knows.

bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x reader.

￫ c/w: mentions of painful headaches, fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ a/n: @sydneejean i couldn’t resist writing something as soft and fluffy for bradley so i hope you enjoy! this is part of seb’s soft sunday. find the other fics here! 💌

Your head felt like it was going to burst from it’s seams and drip through your ears it hurt that bad. Your day from hell, as you would accurately describe it, had you feeling defeated and exhausted by the time you crossed the threshold into your home. You could recognise the soft piano keys drifting through the house when you closed the front door. You wanted to shut the outside world out completely. The music was the first thing to soothe your pulsating head all day, but they came to a stop and your head went back to beating.

“Baby?” You heard Bradley’s voice follow the sound of the finished piano music.

He came through the doorway from your front room that held his piano and your desk. It was front facing the sun and you adored the summer time when the sun would cast a golden glow over your walls, the shadows dancing in time to the music Bradley was playing that particular evening.

“Baby? You’re late, what happened?” Bradley called out to you again. He wasn’t accusing you of being late, no. There was worry in his voice.

“Stand still traffic all along the northern lane. My phone ran out of battery from meetings all day, I forgot my contact lenses so my head feels twice it’s size and my favourite sandwich was all sold out by the time I got to my very late lunch and it’s only fucking Tuesday.”

A pout formed on your face as you kicked off your shoes and hung your coat up. It was winter now and you barely saw the sun with how long you were tucked away in your bleak office.

Bradley could recognise the tiredness in your face. It was etched over your features like an old painting. Your shoulders were hunched and your pace was slow as you came towards him, looking for his warm and familiar embrace. He stretched his large arms open wide and you fell into him with an ‘omph’.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It sounds like you’ve had the day from hell, hm?”

“Exactly my thoughts, Roos.” You reciprocated with a little smile. Bradley always thought the same as you.

Bradley smoothed down the back of your hair as you nuzzled closer into his broad chest, trying to soak up the feeling of his warm torso. Bradley pulled you away from his frame and you groaned in protest. He still kept you close by gently cradling your jaw with his slender fingers.

“I don’t want to rub it in and please don’t be mad at me, but as you know I was off today and I didn’t prepare dinner in case you wanted a treat. Takeout?”

You could feel an inch of tension roll off your shoulders and your eyes fluttered at the indulgent thought.

“How could I be mad at you?”

“I know, I just want you to know I still want to take care of you, baby.”

You leaned up and brushed your nose lightly against his, feeling the hairs of his upper lip tickle your skin. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips and your lips twitched upwards into a blissful smile.

“You always do, Roos.”

He kissed you back sweetly after you reassured him.

“Go upstairs, get changed, shower, whatever you wan’ do and I’ll order.”

You didn’t even need to check what he was going to order. As always, Bradley always thought the same as you.

An hour later you were scraping the last morsels of food off your plate and slumping back against Bradley’s chest on your couch. You’d slipped into Bradley’s old navy shirt and something easy was playing on Netflix. Some show you picked that could be enjoyed, but didn’t need your full focus.

You hummed in bliss and let a sigh escape your lips, one that you had been holding in all day and you felt you could finally release it as you were pressed in between the legs of your sweet Bradley with a full belly. Your inhale after flooded your nostrils with Bradley’s familiar scent. It was warm like cinnamon with a slight tang of sea salt. You twisted your warm frame around and lulled your head to the side. Your cheek was now pressed against his peck and your legs curled up in between his.

Bradley wrapped his hands around your frame and gave you a light squeeze. “Comfy?” His voice was just above a whisper.

“Very.” You agreed and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, both of you still mindlessly watching the television. “What time is it?” You murmured out to him again.

“Nine o’lock, darling.”

“Okay, one more episode then I’ll go to bed.”

All it took was fifteen minutes and Bradley could hear your soft and small snores. Your body was going limp against his. He cocked his head down and saw your eyes finally closed shut with the tension now all drained from your face. Bradley smiled proudly to himself knowing he could still take care of you and always will.

He was careful not to wake you too much as his broad arms scooped under your body and hoisted it to his chest.

“Lets get you to bed my baby.” His voice was soft against your ear as he carried you up the stairs.

“Ni’ night, Roos. Love you.”

He stilled for a moment hearing your voice peep out from his hold. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest at hearing your voice laced with blissful sleep. He wanted to squeeze you and pepper your face in kisses, but he could save that for tomorrow.

“Night, angel. Love you more.”

taglist:

@tallrock35

@luckyladycreator2

[nvuy]

FUCK WAIT spoilers for the new 2.3 story but have you seen chained up Sunday yet

2.3 spoiler warning under cut

i have not played 2.3 (still haven’t updated my game) but yes. yes, i have.

it was more or less an accident.

i wasn’t SUPPOSED to see it but my stupid ass doesn’t see any ‘spoiler warning for sunday 2.3’ text in these posts because my eyes flick straight to ‘sunday’ and i click instantly.

but anyway.

pathetic & obsessed yan sunday concept is screaming at me in my head.

because now i’m just thinking you’re his lover and you sneak down to see him.

and so halovians are telepathic, but max they can read your mind is at about 10 feet. i’m no american so i don’t get inches and feet, but anyway.

so, maybe you open the door to speak with him one last time and admit that you’re leaving.

obviously he’s chained down, so when you begin speaking to him, he freaks out and tries to launch forward in the seat and grab you.

he’s stopped by the chains, and he feels like a placated animal.

he pulls weakly on the shackles. “step closer.”

you furrow your brows. “i’m fine right here.”

“please.” he drops his hands in defeat. “i need to–”

and he’s never begged before. he’s panic-stricken, because he’s not in position to do anything but beg and plead. it eats him alive.

he can’t tell what you’re thinking, and it’s killing him. it’s genuinely destroying him, being unable to read your mind. you’re just out of reach, and his halo flickers desperately in an iridescent display of light.

and you know.

you know all too well he needs to hear your thoughts. he was always so, so paranoid and insecure, that at almost every single night you were together, he would probe around secretly in your head while he held you tight against him in bed.

he asks if you’ll ever return to him.

you tell him maybe. one day.

maybe that’s it, then. maybe you turn and leave and lock him back up in that dark room all alone.

or maybe you do step closer. you’re quick, because you know what he’ll do less you remain too long in his reach. you gently grab his face and press your lips to his forehead.

when he does probe around in your head, because of course he does, all he can feel is unconditional love, and it almost burns with how warm it is.

so, he promises himself, if he ever does get out of here, he’ll scour the galaxy and tear it to little pieces in order to find you again.