#{this is painfully american but it's fine because it's crack}

[divertedcourse]

"they stopped being his kids when he abandoned them in the walmart ramen aisle they're mine now."

[hakasims]

The Most Important Review of Every Single Marwan Kenzari Film

If you’ve seen this one about Luca, you know the drill.

Now, Marwan’s brand is a little less defined than Luca’s but I managed to find similar tropes in a lot of his films. Also, rather than copy myself and give you a redundant Marwanmeter, I decided instead to recommend which Luca character best pairs with each Marwan character for your crossover pleasure. Let’s see if we ship the same things! Some of them are crack. You’re welcome.

(all gifs again by the awesomely amazing @weardes​ who did not ask to be my gif factory but life’s a bitch)

Het zusje van Katia (2008)

Will you miss him if you blink? Kinda. They talk about him a lot but his actual screen time is like 43.7 seconds. Also can I just say... he’s supposed to be from Italy?? The boy says literally one (1) Italian word, and you’ll never guess what it is. (Obviously, it’s “bella” like there’s a chance he could’ve said anything else.)

Is he hot? Painfully hot.

Is he naked? There’s this one scene where he’s wearing the sluttiest pair of speedos I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Does his hair look great? Actually, yes. Perfect hair, perfect beard, he looks amazing.

Does he fuck? Yes, a lot - off screen, including an M/M/F threesome he presumably, probably, most definitely initiated.

Best paired with? From what I’ve gathered, this hoe ain’t loyal, so the best course of action is to find him a Luca that would benefit from a one night stand with no strings attached and wouldn’t fall in love with him. The obvious choice here is Valerio from Slam - Tutto per una ragazza. They meet, they fuck, then Giac makes his 4-hour drive back to Pisa, and they don’t see each other again until the next time he’s in Rome. Everybody’s happy, especially the two sluts in question.

De laatste dagen van Emma Blank (2009)

Will you miss him if you blink? Yes, absolutely.

Is he hot? Very.

Is he naked? Almost constantly.

Does his hair look great? He’s got those cute short curls, he looks so good.

Does he fuck? That’s literally why he’s there: to fuck and to die.

Best paired with? Man, I wish I had something to work with here. The only thing we know about him besides his sexual prowess is his affinity for white suits and toy helicopters. And as far as I know, those might be the exact things Fabrizio from Nina finds hot in guys. So like, why not?

Loft (2010)

Will you miss him if you blink? He’s the fifth most important character.

Is he hot? Yeah, sure.

Is he naked? There’s a scene where he’s wearing underwear and a tank top but it somehow makes him look like a kindergartener.

Does his hair look great? It looks quite nice.

Does he fuck? Yes, though I wish he didn’t.

Best paired with? Tom is a very violent person and a drug addict. He does messed up stuff to his sexual partners I’d rather he didn’t do to any of Luca’s characters. Feel free to use him for your sadistic fantasies or as a villain or whatever.

Rabat (2011)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s one of the three leads.

Is he hot? Oh yes! And cute!

Is he naked? He’s at the beach wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

Does his hair look great? He’s got this extreme undercut thing that would look ridiculous on anyone less pretty, so like no, he doesn’t have great hair, but also like it’s Marwan, you know what I mean?

Does he fuck? Before he embarks on a road trip with his friends, he has an offscreen threesome with two girls he picked up at a wedding. Slut.

Best paired with? Gabriele from Waves. They’re both sweet guys who could meet in some Tunisian port and decide to sail the Mediterranean Sea together.

Black Out (2012)

Will you miss him if you blink? Not unless your blinking is very deliberate.

Is he hot? Not really. He’s a dirty cop with a shitty moustache and oral fixation.

Is he naked? No, but I wish he was: his clothes are awful. Marwan is 29 in this movie and he looks 50!

Does his hair look great? Nope. They took Marwan’s usual short hair and made it not work somehow.

Does he fuck? No.

Best paired with? The one thing Luca’s characters all have in common is that none of them come off as bootlickers. All of them are either too soft for such a relationship or wouldn’t waste their spit on a cop.

Wolf (2013)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s the protagonist.

Is he hot? *gestures wildly at the gif*

Is he naked? He’s got quite a few shirtless scenes.

Does his hair look great? It’s nothing special but suits his character well.

Does he fuck? Oh yes.

Best paired with? Hear me out. I know that some people ship him with Fabio, but in my opinion that pair, while hot, doesn’t work. Here’s my pitch: Cesare from Non essere cattivo. The drug connection is still there, but in this case Majid’s problem-solving skills won’t fall on deaf ears. Cesare needs a daddy, ok? Majid can be a daddy when he needs to, especially when he has a soft boyfriend to care for. And Majid needs soft, not psycho.

Hartenstraat (2014)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s the protagonist once again.

Is he hot? Painfully.

Is he naked? There’s that iconic scene where he’s wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and boots while carrying a tray...

Does his hair look great? He’s got Joe-like curls and looks like what every male romantic lead should aspire to look like and then cry because they all fail.

Does he fuck? There’s one very unfortunate sex scene played for laughs. I’m pretty sure he’ll need therapy afterwards. I certainly do.

Best paired with? Paolo from Il padre d’Italia. Paolo deserves the best boyfriend, and who’s better than Daan, an extremely hot man who cooks? They both have daughters, so they can talk about that, I guess, and Paolo can finally have a family. Honestly, this is so wholesome I just made myself cry.

Lucia de B. (2014)

Will you miss him if you blink? For sure.

Is he hot? He’s a cop. Again. But he looks good.

Is he naked? Fully dressed, but man are his clothes ugly. Is that a cop thing?

Does his hair look great? He has slightly longer curls, which is fine and the best thing about this character.

Does he fuck? ACAB. (I know this doesn’t answer the question, I just wanted to make it clear.)

Best paired with? See my bootlicker comment from earlier. While Detective *checks notes* Ron Leeflang isn’t explicitly corrupt, he’s obviously a dick, so the best I can do here is recommend any Luca character that has ever been in trouble with the law for any fics about power imbalance you want to write but aren’t comfortable with a nice Marwan playing the villain.

Bloedlink (2014)

Will you miss him if you blink? Oh no, he’s there the entire time.

Is he hot? In a weird way, yes.

Is he naked? So, so, so naked. Like, leave nothing to the imagination naked.

Does his hair look great? I’d say that little rat tail is the exact opposite of great.

Does he fuck? Probably more than is good for him. I should also add that he’s canonically queer in this.

Best paired with? Rico is a pathetic loser in need of someone who’s got his life together and has a lot of experience dealing with fuckups. Enter Loris from Il mondo fino in fondo. He has a stable job and a savior complex, and with his little bro gaying it up in Chile and not needing him anymore, all he wants right now is someone to fix. I should be a fucking matchmaker in real life, for real.

Pak van mijn hart (2014)

Will you miss him if you blink? Undoubtedly.

Is he hot? No. The whole point of his character is to be the lesser choice compared to a guy who looks like a completely ordinary bland white dude...

Is he naked? ...so of course he isn’t naked! What, are they gonna take this poor woman, show her Marwan Kenzari’s post-Wolf body and expect her to choose her deeply mediocre ex? Please! They’re gonna dress him in the dorkiest clothes possible...

Does his hair look great? ...and make him wear the most awful wig that was clearly run over by a truck.

Does he fuck? No. As you can observe, they tried really hard to make him unfuckable, but honestly, he seems like a perfectly nice guy.

Best paired with? You know what? Mattia from La solitudine dei numeri primi is in desperate need of some sweetness and normalcy. I’m sure Richard will treat him with kindness and respect.

Collide (2016)

Will you miss him if you blink? He’s the fifth most important character. Out of five.

Is he hot? Very hot.

Is he naked? Not for a second! What’s up with American movies where people aren’t just casually walking around naked without any plot necessity???

Does his hair look great? His curls are so cute you guys! Look at them!

Does he fuck? Not explicitly.

Best paired with? Fabio from Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot. Again, the drug connection is there, but Matthias is soft enough not to butt heads with Fabio and, by the end of the movie, rich enough to satisfy his cravings for good living and fame. Also look at how good their color coordination is with those dark wine red clothes! Sometimes planets just align, okay?

Ben-Hur (2016)

Will you miss him if you blink? Yes, especially if you aren’t watching the background.

Is he hot? Your usual Marwan hot.

Is he naked? No.

Does his hair look great? His typical short curls with a twist. I think the forehead area is supposed to invoke the Caesar cut? I don’t know. It looks fine when not hidden under that dumb helmet.

Does he fuck? No.

Best paired with? A better script and a much better director. (Seriously, what is this blocking?)

The Promise (2016)

Will you miss him if you blink? He’s there a decent amount in the first half of the movie and then almost completely disappears in the second half.

Is he hot? Very much, yes.

Is he naked? Unfortunately, no.

Does his hair look great? He’s got short curls again, but this time they’re fashionably styled, it’s magnificent.

Does he fuck? Oh yeah! And there’s no way he isn’t bi or pan in this. No way.

Best paired with? Roberta from L’ultimo terrestre. Listen, Emre Ogan may be a slut but he’s a gentleman, okay? He’d treat Roberta right and he’s got daddy’s cash to spare on hundreds of gorgeous white dresses for her.

The Mummy (2017)

Will you miss him if you blink? He’s there, but barely.

Is he hot? Dangerously hot.

Is he naked? Not once! Instead we get a naked Tom Cruise literally no one asked for.

Does his hair look great? It’s your basic professional short hairdo.

Does he fuck? No.

Best paired with? Malik is a member of an organization tracking and destroying various monsters and historical artefacts related to them. Guido from Tutti i santi giorni speaks four languages, including Latin, and is a literature and ancient history nerd which makes him a valuable asset. Malik can fight and protect; Guido is bumbling and in need of saving. Guys, this writes itself.

What Happened to Monday (2017)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, especially not in the third act.

Is he hot? He’s okay.

Is he naked? Very naked.

Does his hair look great? They shouldn’t have greased his curls back. He looks like another victim of Fabio Cannizzaro’s stylist. Also I wish he’d either shaved or finished growing out that beard.

Does he fuck? He fucks and he fucks good. He’ll go down on you, he’ll deflower you slowly and gently, he’ll choke you if you want him to, he’ll spoon you all night, he’ll give you emotional support, he’ll murder people for you - he’s down for whatever.

Best paired with? There’s one Luca character who needs a lot of sex and even more emotional support. Alright, most of them do, but I’m thinking of Ettore from Lasciate andare. He needs it, okay? Good dicking, good spooning, a good ear, a fine piece of ass to cry into - you get the gist. Most importantly: someone who’d love him for who he is and with whom he could relax and be himself. (Also, I see you, people comparing him to Fabio. Shame on you for sleeping on this soft boy and judging him based on his appearance.)

Murder on the Orient Express (2017)

Will you miss him if you blink? He’s kinda always present, being very French.

Is he hot? Very hot.

Is he naked? No, but I’m willing to forgive that because he looks so good in his conductor uniform.

Does his hair look great? He never takes off his hat.

Does he fuck? No.

Best paired with? Mickey Miranda. They’re both murderers morally dubious characters who would look hot together. What else do you need? (Again, I see you, people who want Pierre for Roberta because he’s a “nice guy”, and I know for a fact you didn’t watch the movie. Spoilers, I guess.)

The Angel (2018)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s the protagonist.

Is he hot? Oh yes.

Is he naked? Not once, but you won’t regret it because he’s wearing excellently stylish 1970s clothes.

Does his hair look great? It looks fantastic. The sideburns (not yet seen here) are a good touch.

Does he fuck? He can definitely get it, but he’s loyal to his wife.

Best paired with? As the most aesthetically coherent and fashionably hot pair in this post, Ashraf and Primo are a no-brainer. Can you imagine Primo calling him “Angel” in different contexts? When he’s being intimidating, not realizing how palpable the sexual tension between them is, and later not even hiding his arousal? Sometimes things just work because they’re hot. That’s all, folks.

Aladdin (2019)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s the main villain.

Is he hot? It’s not like he went viral for being the “hot Jafar” or anything.

Is he naked? No! Fucking thanks a lot, Disney.

Does his hair look great? He has a buzz cut under that turban but he looks good in the turban, so that’s something.

Does he fuck? It’s a Disney movie, so he doesn’t fuck - explicitly or otherwise - but he still comes off as a thirsty bitch.

Best paired with? Jafar ends the movie as a genie who’s obligated to grant his master three wishes but is enough of a petty bitch to exploit the hell out of the “gray area” and screw them over Wishmaster style. My unconventional pair for him is Lui from Ricordi? So many scenarios with distorted memories and magic-induced mindfuck. So many possibilities for awesome and messed up crossover gifsets! Don’t say I never give you guys anything.

Instinct (2019)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s very prominent.

Is he hot? I hate myself for finding him hot but I do.

Is he naked? He’s playing basketball shirtless in one scene, shaking his sweaty boobs everywhere.

Does his hair look great? His weird mohawk-like thing is honestly terrible, but if anything can make it work, it’s Marwan’s bone structure.

Does he fuck? Um, I’m pleading the Fifth on this one for the sake of good taste.

Best paired with? Prison. A very lonely, Luca-less prison.

The Old Guard (2020)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, unless blinking in your case means sleeping through the gloriousness that is the first ever canonically gay couple in an American action film.

Is he hot? Painfully.

Is he naked? Shirtless in one scene.

Does his hair look great? Soft curls courtesy of Luca Marinelli’s tireless lobbying.

Does he fuck? Not on screen, but you can just tell by the way he looks at his husband and reads impromptu poetry right to his face. And everybody knows nothing kindles the fires of passion quite like murdering homophobes together.

Best paired with? If you have to ask, you’re clearly reading this by mistake. In which case, kudos for finishing such a long and confusing post, now go watch The Old Guard and cry at the beauty that is The Immortal Marriage.

[starbuckie]

𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐰

challenge: 200 followers challenge by @angrybirdcr

prompt: “there may have been a slight misunderstanding, but nothing we can’t fix.” and locked in the trunk of a car

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: 5,504 words

warnings: post-endgame, bucky’s kinda a dick, enemies to friends(?), swearing, angst, mentions of violence, talk about sexual assault, guns, bickering, jealousy

summary: bucky had been adjusting to the new familiarity of having a stable routine, right until she walked in.

a/n: I DON’T NOT OWN ANY CHARACTERS ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO MARVEL. okay, great, done that, but congratulations on 200 followers!! i had so much fun taking part in your writing challenge, so thank you so much. imma be honest, there’s not a lot of romance in this, it’s some enemies to friends type of shit and i genuinely did not think this fic would get so angsty and dark and actually long, but i had an idea and ran with it mid way through the old fic with this prompt. also i had an idea for an epilogue to this, so tell me if you want that part 2 because i am on the verge of writing it. this is not proofread by a beta, but i edited it myself and hope it is okay. anyways, now that we’re done with that, please enjoy this rollercoaster of a fanfic i’ve written.

main masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist

Life in the twenty-first century was strange, Bucky concluded. Though he’d been free of HYDRA for around nine years technically, being a fugitive and in another realm didn’t give him much time to learn about the modern world. As soon as he came back, Steve had left him and he had to move on without his childhood best friend. It was hard for him to adjust to this century, with the new rules and the whole scene in general, but he seemed to make it through just fine. He’d come to peace with the fact that there was no escaping the fighting at all, falling into a steady routine that became his holy grail. 

In the new Avengers compound in Upstate New York he felt content and more sure of himself than he’d felt in a very long time. Everyone in the tower was quiet and kept to themselves mostly, still dealing with the aftermath of losing so much in so little time. But in that silence Bucky felt like a free man, able to walk around without fear of being hunted down every second and time to really look about this new world.

There were still times when he woke up in a sweaty panic, disoriented and terrified until he realized he was in the safety of his room in the compound. He’d flinch at loud noises in the quiet and his heart would stop, something that went by unnoticed by everyone else, though he didn’t blame them for it. Bucky felt extreme guilt for the horrible things he had done as the Winter Soldier, memories of bloodied and dead bodies, bodies he had made fall to the ground motionless. It wasn’t him, he knew, but his hand still had pulled the trigger. When he found something new a smile would split across his face, ready to tell Steve what he had discovered, until he remembered that the rambunctious blond boy was gone, a wrinkled grey man with a new family in his place. It still hurt him to think that he had left him so easily, with barely a goodbye. Bucky still had days where he felt so incredibly tired, left still on his bed as horrible thoughts ran through his mind, anxious about the future.

But then he found new things everyday, things that seemed to outweigh the bad by a whole lot. He’d found cool ranch Doritos were the best chips and that he really liked the season of fall with the leaves falling around him as he took a serene walk. He found that he really loved Frozen, the songs and Sven the reindeer making him crack a smile every time he watched it. He found that he could sleep in on his days without missions and Wanda liked her pancakes with an unhealthy amount of syrup on the side to dunk them in. He found that Sam was actually really funny, always making the worst puns or the dirtiest jokes at the most inappropriate of times. He found a new sense of respect and warmth in the family they’d built together, learning how to go on without those that they loved. He found that he was really enjoying his new routine and his new sense of peace with himself.

All until she walked in.

Bucky could still remember the exact moment she flipped their world upside down. Sharon had fawned over her, talking about one of her old SHIELD buddies who was finally coming back to the states. After the organization fell in 2014, Y/N L/N fled to Hawaii, running away to the one place she knew no one would find her. She was done fighting, or that’s what she believed until Thanos showed up. 

It was shameful, really, that Y/N was aware of all the problems that went on, yet did nothing to help. They needed her help, she knew they did, but she couldn’t bring yourself to go help her friends. Originally she was trying for a settled down life, planning to retire from the constant fighting, but after a few failed relationships Y/N realized that she wasn't cut out for that white picket fence life. Those had just been the dreams of a fourteen year old Y/N L/N, left empty and hollow by the horrors she had seen during her time at SHIELD. There was nothing left waiting for her, no family, no friends, but she was too stubborn to get back into the fight, so she stayed in her humid Oahu apartment and waited for something interesting to happen.

Well, maybe Y/N shouldn’t have wished so hard, that “interesting thing” showing up in the form of being snapped out of existence by a large, purple grape.

When she came back she felt nearly indifferent, knowing that five years had passed by her, and though Y/N felt nothing but emptiness she knew that it was time to go back. It was her duty when she had joined SHIELD to always be there and protect, and she had failed that job. But Y/N was more than ready to make up for it. Nothing like Thanos could ever happen again, so she called Sharon, one of her closest friends and previous commanding supervisor at the organization. She was ecstatic to have Y/N back, probably a bit too much, and before she could have second thoughts the girl was on a plane overlooking JFK, ready to land in New York.

So when Y/N walked in, with a tight-lipped smile and butterflies anxiously fluttering in her stomach, Bucky couldn’t help but despise her. Maybe he had formed his opinion off of Sharon’s explanation of her past, but Y/N got the life of settling down that he didn’t and he was infuriatingly jealous. 

“Hey, Bucky, Sam, come meet Y/N!” Sharon said excitedly. Her hair was put back in a headband neatly, two suitcases in hand as she looked at the two tall, muscular men. Of course Y/N recognized both of them, she hadn’t been living under a rock. Keeping up with the news of the Avengers and remaining SHIELD officers had been one of the only things keeping her from coming back, hearing of the terrible fights and destruction done to whole cities. She recognized Sam Wilson, the infamous Falcon being marked down as a “war criminal” in 2016. She never believed that crap, if he and half of the other Avengers were locked up there had to be a good reason behind it.

Then, there was James Buchanan Barnes. Now, she knew him from her eighth grade American history books, reading about the brave Howling Commando who had given up his life for saving the country, but Y/N knew him better as the Winter Soldier from her time at SHIELD. The fight in 2014 had been brutal, hectic in all forms, but she’d caught a few glances at the metal-armed man. He hadn't been in his normal state, with being controlled and tortured by HYDRA at the time, but the kid inside of her freaked out, remembering memories of gossiping with her friends about how hot he was in the textbooks and how much of a hero he was. That man was still in there somewhere, hidden by decades of reprogramming and mind-wiping, and Y/N was finally seeing him in the flesh. She would be working with him daily, living in the same space as him. The thought made her giddy like a middle schooler with her first crush,though his presence was intimidating as well.

“Hi there, I’m Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to be working with you.” Sticking out her hand, she gave a bright smile, already growing out of her nervous state. 

Sam quickly shook Y/N’s hand, giving a warm greeting in response to her introduction. Then she turned to Bucky. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

His cold, dead glare locked onto Y/N, staring straight through her soul. It felt like he could see every insecurity and guilty action she had, and she didn’t like it one bit. “That’s Sergeant Barnes to you.” Without another word, he walked out of the room like a petulant child, leaving Sharon, Sam, and Y/N flabbergasted. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, he’s usually more friendly than that, I’ll go check in on him,” Sharon furiously said with a painfully fake smile. Sam grabbed the new girl by the arm, linking it with his own and led her in another direction as he explained the usual training routine and schedule for the week. 

And while she was completely enraptured by Sam’s comforting words and the exciting compound, her heart still felt heavy from Sergeant Barnes’ cold greeting. 

-

She had tried to be nice. She really had. But after two months it was pretty clear Sergeant Barnes wasn’t getting any better, and Y/N was beyond pissed off. Childish, is what he was being, fucking childish. 

It started off with leaving every room she came into, blatantly ignoring her presence. When she would say hello every morning he’d grunt or even worse, he wouldn’t answer her at all. Y/N had begged Sharon if she knew why the sergeant was acting up, but she didn’t know either and just asked her to ignore him and his “crappy, old-man behaviour”. Sam wasn’t very helpful to Y/N’s cause either, but he was a great mentor and an even better teacher.

Sharon was really the only person Y/N had in her phone, her parents dead and no boyfriend accounted for. The rest of her family had wanted nothing to do with her when she joined SHIELD, but that was okay with her. She knew what she had gotten herself into, and it was an extreme risk to even be acquaintances with her. But now, living with several others in a compound that seemed so large after the great loss, Y/N became part of their family as well. 

It was nice to have friends again, as years of solitude on an island where she knew nobody had made her nearly desperate for more human interaction than with the teenagers who worked the cash registers at the grocery store. Y/N became an integral part of the Avengers (she could actually say that aloud now), going on missions and kicking ass just like she used to. Of course, Sergeant Barnes’ behaviour in and out of missions stayed the same, but she usually tried her best to not take it to heart and move on. After all, she couldn’t have everyone like her.

But one day they both snapped.

Y/N was sitting with Sharon and Wanda, eating lunch and talking over their most recent mission with them and Barnes in Cairo. It hadn’t been a necessarily bad mission, per se, but she had run back into the building to get Wanda out from under a fallen pillar, which apparently was “severely dangerous”. Looking back, she could see how it was, putting her entire team’s secrecy and mission in volatile danger, but Wanda was like her sister and in Y/N’s heart she knew that she had to. Bucky had had to grab them both, nearly dragging her back to the jet before the building had collapsed. He’d been beyond angry with Y/N for the stupid decision, but when they landed he just huffed and stomped away. The redhead was grateful for her and so was Sharon, but lunch was just for a simple stern talking about mission protocols. 

“Y/N, I know that you’re a fantastic agent and even better friend, but when we’re on missions we need that agent. You can’t let your feelings and outside life get in the way of our objective.” Sharon said in a firm voice. Y/N dropped her head in her hands and rubbed her face tiredly.

“I know, Sharon, I’m sorry, Wanda could’ve probably gotten herself out but I just let my instincts act too fast and ran back in without another thought.” She groaned. “Plus, I just caused more damage than anything else. It won’t happen again, I promise.” Wanda and Sharon nodded in understanding just as the Asshole Supreme walked into the kitchen.

“You talking ‘bout how Y/N fucked up the mission yesterday?” Sergeant Barnes grunted. While Sharon and Wanda gasped in shock, Y/N’s eyes were trained at the plate on the table in front of her, not daring to make a sound. She muttered out a sorry and got up to put her dish in the sink. As long as he was here, he was going to make her life a living hell, and as much as she wanted to lash out, it would be cause for her dismissal from the team. While her old, solitary life was what she had once dreamed of, Y/N now saw her future among these people, this family, somewhere she finally felt a part of despite Barnes’ horrid behaviour. “Sorry?” He scoffed, “Sorry doesn’t make up for the fact that I had to run back in for you. Sorry doesn’t make up for the extreme risks we all pull to save your ass out in the field.”

“Bucky, stop.” Sharon yelled.

But he ignored her words and sauntered over to Y/N with a knowing smirk, leaning down to meet her level. His warm breath hit her face and she could stare into his deep eyes, swirling like a raging storm of blues and greys. “You shouldn’t even be out there, L/N. I mean, you haven’t had training in years, it’s not like you were anything special either. Just another agent, hoping to get to work in the big leagues.”

“Shut up.” Y/N whispered meekly. Tears were just barely being held in, her chest feeling empty and hollow with anger and guilt. Is this what it felt like to want to kill someone with so much vengeance? 

“Where were you when Thanos came? Where were you, L/N? We needed all the help we could get, but there you are, in fucking Hawaii, with you little fucking margaritas on the fucking beach-”

“Shut the fuck up!” She screamed. The room went dead silent with her voice. None of the team had seen Y/N look so angry, so sad, so vulnerable, at one time. It was easy for her to hide her emotions and Wanda refrained from trying to toy with her mind, but shame was overwhelming the girl by the second and Sergeant Barnes was right, as much as she didn’t want to say it. She was a coward, thinking she could run away from the “hero life” so easily. They’d caught her, and Barnes was making her face that truth right now. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I know, that I was absolutely scared shitless of returning here, facing all of you after what you endured for so long?” 

Y/N took a deep breath, laughing mirthlessly as tears ran hot down her cheeks. “I’m sorry that I came back, I really am, but I’m trying my damn best to make up for what I did. Being scared is no excuse for why I ran away, I was fucking terrified of having one more thing to lose. My family is dead, SHIELD fell, and I had no one to lean on so I ran as far as I fucking could. But I’m back now, I’m ready to serve up to what I left behind, and you better fucking deal with it because this,” she jabbed a finger into his broad chest, “is not fucking it. I’m not going to live with your shitty behaviour anymore, Barnes.”

He, Wanda, and Sharon all watched as she slammed the plate into the sink, storming out of the room. They could hear her door slam shut, and the two women glared at Bucky.

“What the hell is your problem, Barnes” Wanda hissed in a scarily low voice. Fuck. He knew he’d messed up then, gone farther than he ever dared to with insulting Y/N, and both of the women were severely overprotective of the new Avenger. 

Sharon walked up to Bucky with large strides, delivering a slap to the side of his head. Yeah, he definitely deserved that. It was dead silent in the kitchen, the tension still high strung from the fight seconds before. “You better go apologize, Barnes, I swear to God this has gotten far too out of hand. You two have a mission tomorrow, estimated a month, and wheels are up at 2300 hours. I need you two to go get the intel quietly and undetected and we can’t have both of you arguing the whole damn time, so you better fix things by then.”

The blonde agent walked away, Wanda trailing behind her, but not without the middle finger from both of them. A mission? Tomorrow? With Y/N? This was going to be horrible. Bucky ran a hand over his face and trudged off to his room. 

It was going to be a long month.

-

Y/N stared out of the window as they flew over the clouds above the Mediteranean Sea. Eleven in the morning in Italy gave a clear view of the skies, light blue as far as she could see. They were ready to start their descent into Azzano and the woman glanced to the man beside her, his stormy blue eyes glaring in any direction but hers. The sergeant had avoided her all he could up until they boarded the jet, and even then he only spoke to her when necessary. “Hey, Barnes, we’re starting to descend, go get ready.”

The brunette looked over to Y/N and grunted in response. Oh well, it was better than him yelling at her. His little outburst in the kitchen had her pissed at him more than ever, but the words thrown around still rung true in her head. But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

She paid careful attention to where she was supposed to land, a shaded facility almost five miles south of where they had to get the intel from an old, but rebuilt HYDRA base. The same base where James Buchanan Barnes was once held captive, experimented on and tortured until Steve Rogers came to save him. Y/N didn’t care much for Barnes usually, but she also didn’t know how he’d react to being in a location with such horrible memories attached to it. They had both been at the mission briefing the day before of course, he knew what it entailed and he seemed unfazed, and he was always good at hiding his emotions. As the jet touched down finally, the agent thought back. Well, sometimes he was good at hiding his emotions.

Making sure her comm fit snugly in her ear, Y/N unbuckled herself from the seat, heading back towards the wall of weaponry they kept in the back of the jet. Barnes was already there dressed in hs black kevlar tactical suit, hugging his body nicely and vibranium arm on display. When he was around her he tried to hide it, and she saw him joking around and being comfortable in other’s presence with it out, wondering what made her so different. She personally found it fascinating, the beauty of the gold and black metal with the incredible Wakandan technology, but she respected his privacy and tried to not think too much about it. 

Y/N threw a vest on over her own navy blue tac suit, tightening her combat boots before she fully zipped up. Were they finally ready?

Three guns perched in holsters by her waist.

Two taps to her earpiece and Barnes’ breathing in her ear.

One mutual nod with the sergeant himself, and they were off, slowly making their way to grab the intel, not a trace to be left behind. 

-

Getting stuck in the trunk of a car was not in the plan. It definitely wasn’t. Bucky remembered every single inch and cranny of that meticulously planned out schedule, every move, every kill they had to make, but not once was it mentioned that Y/N was to get stuck in Baron Zemo’s car without any weapons on her.

“L/N, what the hell do you mean you’re in the back of Zemo’s car.” He seethed, already searching frantically around the large remains of the building for her. It had gone smoothly, she was just supposed to quickly check inside his car as he searched the base. It’ll be so much quicker if I do it, L/N, is what he had said, but now he regretted it. Like the incompetent fool she was, she was spotted and ended up shooting out half of Zemo’s goonies before dropping all her weapons to the ground and running when she ran out of ammunition.

“There may have been a slight misunderstanding,” Y/N whispered into her comm, “but nothing we can’t fix! Just come find me, Barnes, and all will be well.”

She could hear his angry curses and jostling, which she assumed he was running to come find her. It wasn’t entirely Y/N’s fault she had run out of ammo. Some of it must have fallen from her pockets during the shootout and when she saw the car she thought it’d be the perfect place to hide. Until she realized that no one else was at the partially burned down HYDRA base besides Baron Zemo, the person who Sharon had told her to avoid at all costs, and she was in his damn car. Practically her death note.

“If you had just listened to me you wouldn’t have been caught!” Bucky furiously whispered through the comms. 

Y/N rolled her eyes, though he couldn’t even see her, and groaned. “I did listen to you, Barnes, I checked the damn car, but we weren’t expecting his guards to find me so I killed them and hid. Is that actually so bad?” 

“Yes it is!’ He explained. “Give me your coordinates.” She checked the small watch on her wrist, pushing a button on the side that gave a small holographic image of the time and her coordinates on a world wide map. Reciting them for him, Bucky followed, continuing to berate her as he did so. “And you’re right, L/N, I asked you to check the car, not fucking jump inside it!”

This time Bucky could envision her rolling her eyes as she groaned even louder in very Y/N L/N fashion. “Would you rather I be dead?” She asked. It had been a few seconds, but she still received no response. “Barnes?” Crackling. “Sergeant?” Absolute nothingness. “Sarge?”

The trunk of the car opened as the woman let out a squeak, the broad frame of James Barnes hovering above her, some dirt smudged around the annoyed expression on his face. “Don’t call me that.” He grumbled.

He reached his hand towards her, grasping her own tightly before pulling her to a sitting position. “Why, you had all the ladies calling you that back in the day?” She mimicked a much higher tone, nearly resembling Snow White if the princess were high on drugs and had a Brooklyn accent. “Hey, Sarge, we goin’ dancing? Sarge, you goin’ to give me some sweet lovin’ tonight? Oh, how I’d just love for you to shove your fat, ugly head up your a-”

A loud beeping from his wristwatch cut her off. With a glare, the man let go of Y/N’s hand, checking to see what the problem was. A small red tracker on the map moved, and both of them knew they were in deep shit. “Crap, Zemo’s coming this way. That’s one of the trackers I set up on the ground and we gotta go quick.”

Faint whistling from Baron Zemo made both of them panic as Bucky tackled her back down and quickly shut the door behind him. Footsteps were approaching, the whistling getting louder and a door opening let the two Avengers know that they couldn’t get out anytime soon. Y/N could feel Bucky’s racing heart against her chest, hers beating just as fast. He turned to face her, a lot closer than both of them expected, lips dangerously close and noses nudging against each other. Ther breaths mixed together, the hot air of the car doing nothing to help her current close quarters with the man. 

“Can you bust us out of here?” She whispered hurriedly, rather uncomfortable with the present situation.

“We’ll die if we leave now. He’s much more prepared than we thought and with half his men down he knows something is up. Zemo wasn’t even supposed to know we were here so we’re far too unprepared and you lost your damn weapons. There’s no way we can go out so we’re going to stick in here until he gets out.”

Truth be told, Bucky was terrified and had no clue what to do next. Being stuck in a small confined space with Y/N had to be his worst nightmare, especially after he didn’t apologize for his shitty behavior last night. And the night before. 

And the several months before that.

From his view Y/N seemed to be uncomfortable and as the car started moving, she wiggled around, struggling to get as far away from Bucky as she could. He too was extremely uncomfortable, but as her wriggling continued, his already tight fitting pants seemed to get even impossible tighter as she practically grinded on him. 

“Would you stop squirming around?” Y/N shot him what would’ve been a questioning glance if not for the pitch blackness of the trunk, and heard his loud sigh, warm breath fanning across her face. “I’m sorry, I’m having a situation, uh, down there and your wiggling isn’t helping it too much.”

Her face heated up, not knowing what to feel after he said that. Was he… flustered? Y/N had never seen Bucky Barnes anything less than grumpy or professional before.

When she said nothing, he assumed the worst and thought she saw him as a disgusting and creepy person. Before that moment he’d never had any particular care about how Y/N felt, but he knew that there were still a lot of perverts, if not more perverts than back in his day. With his four little sisters always getting catcalled and the crude men who thought women were their property, Bucky knew it was definitely terrifying to be assaulted or any situation such as this. 

There wasn’t much he could do, but he shifted so they weren’t lying down hip bone to hip bone. “Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, I don’t want you to think I’m a pervert or anything, it’s just been a while since I, well, y’know…”

“I understand, Barnes, but thank you for apologizing.” Y/N said carefully. It was weird to hear the now shy and surprisingly considerate sergeant apologize to her, but she had to admit that her respect for him had gone up. 

He cleared his throat in return, trying to turn in any other direction besides hers as they listened to the tires of the car bumping along the road, heart wildly thumping. 

It was quiet. Far more quiet than it had ever been when either of them were in the same room. As Y/N stared down at Bucky’s head, almost resting on her stomach, she saw the man she’d read about in middle school. For a moment she was able to look past the last few months of fighting and hatred, and see the noble sergeant she’d admired for so long. 

“You can rest your head if you want to, I knew keeping it up like that must be hurting your neck. I promise I’m okay with it.” She reassured him. With a small hesitation, Barnes submitted to his screaming neck muscles and laid his head on her stomach, the vest providing cushion. A few more seconds of silence and gathering courage, and she finally asked him the question she had been wondering since her first day at the compound. “Why do you hate me?”

I’m jealous, he wanted to say, but he wasn’t brave enough to say it. With a small sigh, he managed to get out, “I don’t.”

“Then why are you so cold to me all the time?” Emotions that were borrowed so deep inside Y/N’s chest seemed to come barreling out, seeping into every question that she asked. “Am I really that horrible an agent? Do you not think I’m trying my best? I know I made a mistake, I wasn’t there when you all needed me, but I’m trying so, so damn hard to make up for it. I swear on my life, and every one that comes after it, that I’m-”

“It’s not you, it’s me, God damn it!” Bucky exclaimed angrily. Both of their blood ran cold in fear that Zemo might have heard them, but the radio continued to drone on in the background, nothing seeming to have changed. He took a deep sigh and tried how to best explain it to her. Even though he’d probably never have Y/N’s forgiveness for insulting her so plainly and hurting her so much, he felt as though she deserved as much as his reasoning as to why he “disliked” her so much. It was difficult for him to say, having to also put his pride away for once to just admit it. “I’m jealous of you, Y/N. You got the sweet life for a while, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. When you look at us who remain, not a single one of us was planning to be an Avenger. You were getting the dream home, the kids, the family that I’ve wanted since I was a boy back in Brooklyn, and all you had to do to get it was run away. It was so simple.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, not at all expecting that. “It wasn’t all too much ‘sweet life’, you know? It was my dream when I was younger, I thought being an agent was temporary and then I’d move into a big, old house with a loving spouse and have millions of little carbon copies of myself to occupy my days. But the truth about what we do is that we can only stay away from it for so long, Barnes. With people like us,” she squeezed her eyes shut, letting the final tears roll down her cheeks, “there’s no running away from the hero's life. It's just who we are. We’ve already done too much to change that part of our lives.” 

Y/N felt him nod through the fabric on her skin, sniffles letting her know that he was crying too. They were connected. All the shouting, all the yelling, the pain, the battles, the fore, the blood, the years of torture, all led to this moment. This historic moment in Y/N and Bucky’s relationship where they both waved white flags, wet faces and hearts filled with sorrow for the life they never had. 

“I’m so sorry for the way I dealt with my anger and jealousy, Y/N.” Bucky croaked. 

“I used to idolize you when I was a kid.” Y/N recalled with a faint smile on her face. “In the eighth grade I wrote a history paper on you, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, American hero and inspiration to all. And you know, I always kinda had a crush on you. Wondered what it would be like if you were still alive, if you would’ve gone home after the war, if you would’ve had a family. No matter what wild thoughts ran through my head, though, you were always my hero.” Bucky took her confession in shock, pure amazement and surprise coursing through his body. Maybe a little bit of sadness, longing for that old life, maybe a bit of bashfulness of her having a crush on his as a schoolgirl. “And then I met you and you were this grumpy, irritable old man who seemed to despise me as soon as I walked in the door. Definitely not what I had expected.” He opened his mouth, ready to apologize again, when her next words cut him off. “I want to start over, don’t you?”

How was she so calming? Her words were exactly what he needed to hear and didn’t need to at the same time. Her voice brought back all the old memories of running around New York with Steve as a kid, reminding him of his wise ma in a way. “There’s nothing I’d like more than that, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled to herself, looking towards the top of the car. “Perfect.”

And with the twinkle in her eye and his head resting on her stomach with a small grin, it really was.

[iphoenixrising]

hey we haven’t heard anything from you in a while. everything good? How’s life treating you? All my love for one of my favorite batfam writers!💗💗💗

Hi babe.

Ah sorry, I’ve been super busy at work and with kiddo :( I mean, I’m still writing when I can, but it’s just time and motivation. My project has really taken off (reads as: expanded) and most nights I’m chipping away at the massive amount of documentation for not only a Java-based framework, but an entire Platform *sob* So, it’s just such a huge amount of old articles and brainstorming sessions and meeting minutes and just ugh. I mean, it’s kind of interesting to try tracking all these things down and figuring out how they’re going to work together since the developers (from 12 to 50-ish, my God and now they want me to read markdown and do pull requests for comments and shit because this is my fucking life) are still working on the platform services, the development environment, and all these fucking tools I’ve never heard of (Kubernetes, wtf is this thing??) so I’m learning a foreign language almost tbh.

Did I mention *sigh*?

ANYWAY, also some of the things I’m working on that are like Batfam are a little more...I dunno, just things that a bit harder for me I guess, but even if I write just a sentence or two, I still count it as a win.

But like...I said something about a Sentinel / Guide Au, and even though I’m at what would be a good stopping point, I’m not very happy with it :/ So, if you’d like to see kind of what I’ve been doing, I’m going to throw down what I’ve got below the cut. 

Warnings: 

DickTim, Angst

Sentinel/Guide Au

**

After he brings B back from time, send the Dark Knight back to Gotham, he gives in to things long overdue, and trains with Shiva–

–to be an effective Guide.

Years of suppressants made it literally hell without them, trying to keep his shields up, trying to push out the telepathic traffic suffocating him the second he opens up just a crack.

Shiva, of course, had been her cheerfully murderous self, plying him with the full onslaught of a powerful Sentinel.

"You will be drawn to us from now on, Little Bird. You will want to protect us, bring us back from the abyss. If you choose to allow your powers as a Guide rein free, then you must learn to fight against the urges."

The fucked-up part is–

–she's right.

If he wants to stay in the life, wear the cape and cowl under the new name, go back to the Titans (since they've been looking for him again, fly-bys and searches for his tech), then he needs to learn how to deal with what he can do and how to deal with the instincts that come along for the ride.

It's not enough that Shiva is in the middle of hunting down a few former students ("They have made...the wrong choices." 

"That's rich coming from you, you know."

"We all have a code, Little Bird, and I am no different.")

but they managed to run into a few other Sentinels along the way.

He'd like to say he'd taken his ass beating like a pro at this juncture in the vigilante game, but the reality is, they'd had to take shelter in a shitty lean-to, so he could be tragically, metaphysically hung-over.

He gives up the cowl and suit, utility belt and sundries. He goes as a wrecked teenage American boy, changing it up from the last time he trekked behind Lady Shiva and took on her adversaries. He tries not to think about Dick or Jason, Dami or Alfred, tries not to think about the confused look on B's face in his safe house, drying his hair after a long shower, trying to readjust to the current timeline.

("You aren't going back to Gotham?"

"I still have things to do."

"...there's something you aren't telling me."

"There's a lot I'm not telling you."

"Come to me when you're ready, Tim. No matter what, you're always going to be one of my Robins.")

Instead, he learns how to keep himself, and the Sentinels around him, safe and sane while trying to stay two steps ahead of the next fight, the next clue, the next "training."

In Shanghai a few months later, he knows it's time to move on when people part ways for the brightly clad superheroes coming en-masse down the packed street for him.

Well, moving on it is.

Going back to the Tower, away from the Bats and Gotham and the Rogue Gallery (thinking about facing the Joker this raw and open is fucking terrifying), was the best he was going to get considering the circumstances.

Those circumstances being the pointed twitch over Kon's eye and Bart's very intense gaze.

"You were supposed to call, asshole. The OG Batman has been back in Gotham for like months and you've just been, you know, chilling with Lady Shiva?"

Tim, who is so out of bullshit at this juncture, feels better after a hot shower and some old sweats with a Superboy t-shirt, throws up his fucking hands.

"All right, fine. I never told anyone. I...I've been on suppressants since I was a kid, just like my mom. Guides..."

"It's not that bad anymore!" Cassie tries helplessly, the first to actually reach across the table for his hand.

The instant connection makes them both gasp. It’s a shallow one, just a dip under her natural shield (he knows it’s Cissy, the Guide that’s been helping her until now, bringing her back whenever she hits a Zone, recognizes the touch of their Arrowette), just a skim over her immediate emotions  this thing now untried and how utterly calm he makes her just by hands lightly placed. 

"O-ooh," is soft while his fingers tighten, his eyes sharpen, his shields constructing around her, his instinct to protect.

"Not necessary," Gar chimes in, still leaning against the door between the kitchen and communal entertainment room, "we're all good in the Tower, T."

Is what shakes him out of it, hastily pulling away from Cassie's hand.

"Wow." Wonder Girl breathes out, eyes soft and half-mast, looking at him dreamily.

"Nope." Because he can already feel the headache coming on, how her hand tries to grab back at his.

“We could fight better together, Tim!”

“Do you even know how strong a Guide has to be to take care of four Sentinels?”

In one terribly creepy singular move, Bart, Kon, Gar, and Cassie give him that look.

You know, aimed at his face.

"No one," Bart cuts in, eyes wide at the exchange, of Tim's aura warm and inviting suddenly stronger, reaching out... "Tim, T. No one has to know."

The flash of fear, a residual from the tunic, makes him hedge back a subtle step back.

Kon pointedly grips him by the bicep, over his shirt while Bart moves enough that his shoulder bumps into Tim’s ribs, halting the possible escape attempt.

“Okay, okay, backing off. New powers are about a bitch, not like we all haven’t been there once or twice.” Kon soothes over, taking small steps and tugging until Tim is moving with him closer to the communal kitchen where his seat is empty at the island, and they can possibly get proof the guy actually eats.

“Amen,” Cassie throws up a hand and is already digging through the fridge until she finds–

–the last grape Zesti.

Tim’s eyes narrow dangerously on that singular can, his body moving before his brain can take over because he’s sliding on his old chair, the can cold against his fingers, too thirsty for caffeine that he can’t even.

Sure, it’s a trap, but with these guys, at least he knows it.

“I’m very not ready to do anything remotely Guide-like in the field,” the soft ca-saaaa as the can opens. “You want me to sleuth, fight, and strategize, then I’m all for it.”

Bart is just suddenly in Kon’s usual seat beside him, spinning around in tight, fast circles, “you mean you’re thinking about coming back? To the life?” 

“Dude, that would be stellar.”

Tim side-eyes his besties, “it was never in the plan to-to stop.”

“Can’t blame us for assuming, you know,” Gar grins toothily, “no Red Robin for a while, my dude.”

Tim goes quiet, staring down at the can between his hands, shoulders hunched over.

“At least,” Raven’s voice is smooth and soft, comforting, “tell us why now, Tim?”

“Why now?”

“Why begin training as a Guide now?” She clarifies, sliding into the seat across from her, and the coolness of her aura, not a Sentinel, but something purely Raven puts his frayed nerves at ease, makes it easier for him to find the words.

“I turned 18,” and he can’t look at them while he admits to it, “and...and I figured out who my Sentinel is after Ra’s kicked me out the window.” (I was fine going out that way. It was fine. I was saving Wayne Enterprises from the League of Assassins, I was fighting the good fight. It shouldn’t have happened that way...why did it have to happen that way?)

“Oh,” and Cassie’s eyes get huge.

“Ra’s al Ghul is your Sentinel?!” Bart fairly screams.

“No dude,” Tim rolls his eyes and finds his can suddenly fascinating. “It’s...Dick. He’s...yeah. It’s him.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Kon hurries, standing shock-still, “I didn’t hear any of that.”

“Not him,” Bart is gritting his teeth because dammit, why couldn’t Tim have been his Guide? The universe was totally, wholly unfair.

A muscle in Tim’s jaw flexes, his nose pinkening along his upper cheekbones. He blinks watery eyes, takes a deep, deep breath to try and keep himself under control. 

“Yeah,” and Tim sighs a little, the ache in his chest more acutely painful when he thinks about that moment waking up in the Cave, Dick in the Batsuit without the cape/cowl combo smiling down at him, still painfully unaware of the connection drawn tight between them.

(He doesn’t need me. He’s got Babs and Dami. His Guide and his Robin.)

Getting the absolute fuck out of the Manor had been his first order of business once he’d come to, just sprouting whatever placating bullshit Dick needed to hear to let him go without much of a fight (this time).

Finding Bruce and staying the hell out of Gotham hadn’t helped the pull he inexplicably felt, or the pressure of minds around him that had sent him to Shiva in the first damn place. His Guide abilities were overcoming the suppressants, so he was out of time...and out of options. 

Still, even with the training, he occasionally has the dreams at night. Not the usual array of awful nightmares from his real life, Jason shooting him in the chest at point-blank to make sure the job gets done this time, Bruce dying right before his eyes, turning into that skeleton husk Superman brought to them thinking it was the real thing, Damian sneering at him with the katana held high, spitting out how it’s time the real Robin took his rightful place just before bringing the blade down–

No, no, it’s even worse than those.

It’s shadowy hands touching him, the warm wet of a mouth over his skin and scars, gentle voice in his ear telling him how beautiful he is, how much he’s needed, wanted, how it’s not just because of what he is or what tunic he used to wear, it’s all because he’s Tim. He doesn’t wake up when his dream self realizes it’s Dick over him, those blue eyes taking him in, pinning his wrists down to look over every inch of his naked body. He doesn’t wake up when Dick starts preparing him. He doesn’t wake up when Dick kisses him hard and desperate. He doesn’t wake up when the tears dry on his face and their bodies line up.

“Mine,” his dream Sentinel doesn’t even hesitate, “Don’t ever run from me again. Do you understand me, Tim?”

Just before Dick pushes, he wakes up, panting and hard, his instincts going crazy enough that he has to meditate to calm down.

Cassie gently wraps her hand around his shoulder, making sure they don’t have skin-to-skin contact this time. “I’m sorry,” she smiles gently at his frown, “I know you and Dick have had some...issues in the past few years.” But he can read the guilt in her face. Back when everyone thought Bruce was dead and his cape had been yanked out from under him, Dick had sent Cassie to try talking some “sense” into him. She still feels awful for jumping on the same train everyone else had been riding, the ‘that guy is suffering from depression’ instead of believing he might actually be right. 

(It still stings though, doesn’t it?)

He doesn’t say anything back, just looks out one of the big windows and pulls out of her hold to take a drink of his Zesti.

“But,” Gar quickly jumps in, “you’ll stay in the Tower and fight on the team again, right? Like, no more trips with World’s Deadliest Assassins?”

Tim visibly hesitates, pausing with the can up to his mouth. 

Slowly, he lowers it, his eyes taking on a cold calculation that is and isn’t like their old Rob. “Like I said, I can’t be a Guide for anyone, and I mean that. Second, I told you the truth in confidence, so I expect everyone to keep my secret. Third, I’m not anywhere near ready to go to Gotham or face the Bats, so for now, I’m fighting under the radar. If those aren’t acceptable stipulations, I’ll grab some of my clothes from storage and be out of your Tower.”

“Storage?” Kon glances around at the team, “Tim, buddy, why do you think we’d have your stuff in storage?”

“I assumed Dick would already approach you about making Damian part of the team,” his tone is absolutely empty, emotionless. “And there’s no way both of us could be here at the same time, so...” he lets them put it together from there.

The look of utter devastation on Kon’s face makes him feel slightly better.

**

Coming back when Cassie, Bart, and Kon have his back, just like they were closer to the end of their YJ run, makes the transition easier than it realistically should have been.

And it really might just be how low the dose of suppressants are now, or that he feels comfortable stepping into Robin’s role on the team, just with a different name, a different mask. It might just be how Bart has a tendency to hover with that hummingbird energy coming off him even when he’s seemingly standing still, maybe it’s Kon’s TTK pressing at his back even if the guy is across the room, maybe it’s how he and Cassie have leadership meetings where they just binge watch reruns of Gossip Girl and eat ice cream to bemoan their woes. 

But maybe, it’s how he can feel them pulling at his shields unconsciously. Maybe it’s how he can sometimes push back enough, can skim just the edges to get impressions of angry, sad, depressed and gently erect a mental shield without delving deep without permission, can give them the space they need from their intense senses and powers. 

Just another way he can be the regular guy on the team, working under the radar. So much a part of his role in the first damn place. 

He doesn’t realize it becomes something normal until they take the good fight a little too close to Gotham for his liking, but the choices were few and Luthor is such an incredible ass hat that Tim actually plays it down, dresses up as CEO Tim Drake to divert their baddie while the team takes apart his latest weapon of mass destruction on the down-low.

What he absolutely doesn’t expect is to leave the lobby of one of the most posh restaurants in Metropolis–

And walk face-first into Dick Gryson’s chest.

(Technically, it’s Nightwing, but really, this doesn’t make the sitch any better.)

A hand, black with blue fingerstripes, covers his mouth, and the sound of a grapple retracting is a pending oh no that he doesn’t fight the vigilante pretty much kidnapping him off the street in broad daylight. 

He can only thank God it isn’t skin-to-skin contact because his inner senses are flaring this close to the Sentinel, his Sentinel, that he has to grind his back teeth to keep himself in check. He pulls away the second they land it on solid rooftop, shoving his sleeve back to check the team’s status on his hidden wrist computer. 

Mission success! 

“Imagine my surprise,” Nightwing growls, hand on his shoulder to spin him around, “when I find you having lunch with someone like Lex Luthor instead of taking my damn calls, Timmy.”

Stepping out of that hold is subtle because Tim is looking over the side of the roof, adjusting his tie to try putting some distance between them. “I’m undercover. Those are the things people like us do when we’re running an Op, Nightwing.”

Those whiteouts narrow on him, a trick only Dick can really pull off effectively. “None of that tells me where the hell you’ve been for the last year since you left to find Bruce, found him, and didn’t come back.”

His back straightens, eyes looking away when the irritation and heat of anger hits him harder without the nice little cocktail of suppressants and stabilizers, makes his own shields tremble at the burning sear along the edges of his consciousness. 

Instead of saying something he might come to regret, Tim sucks in a breath through his nose and works through the bolt of pain, gathers his shields around himself to keep the Sentinel from unerringly lashing out at him again.

“What the hell are you even doing here? Recon on Luthor? For which nefarious plot?”

A black and blue hand slashes the space between them, “not even important, Tim. So, how about you call your team and tell them you’ve got some Bat business because we? Need to talk.”

“I’m sorry, what now?”

“You heard me. I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for weeks.”

“I sent back your case files, asshole–”

“Not about cape and cowl shit, Tim!”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now,” even though he does, he really does. He just doesn’t know why it has to happen now.

Nightwing, however, has had enough of the talk and with a whip of his arm has a bolo out and thrown, his natural speed as a Sentinel might be slower than someone like the Flash, but it still has Tim wrapped up tight faster than he can realistically dodge.

The sight of the vigilante Nightwing swinging through Metropolis with the CEO of Wayne Enterprises over one shoulder would be big news in the city if anyone had been bothered to really look up.

**

The hotel is nice Tim thinks while wiggling around on the bed where Dick pretty much dumped him. His fingers are already getting the bolo loose from around his upper body by the time Dick has the mask off and the Nightwing suit unzipped to flop around his waist.

The Gotham Knights t-shirt underneath is a new one since the old faded one got blown up in that little explosion in the ‘Haven a few years back.

Dick lifts and sets a chair down with a pointed clack, sitting down to watch Tim squirm his way up. He’s got the bolo loose enough to brace his palms.

“What part of I’m in the middle of an OP–”

“Don’t care,” Dick cuts him off ruthlessly, those blue eyes hard and jaw tense. “I honestly don’t give a crap about the Titans right now.”

“Well I sure as hell do thank-you very much,” Tim pulls the bolo off, tosses it across the room with an angry flick, facing his former mentor, former partner, former friend with those old feelings creeping up his throat to make the taste in his mouth coppery and bitter.

“The only thing I care about right now is that I finally caught up to you. The last time I even saw you was that swan dive–”

“I’m aware. Being kicked out of a window is pretty memorable, even for people like us,” he keeps it deadpan, keeps the anger and irritation, the feelings of shit like betrayal and it must have been so easy to throw me the fuck away.

“The point is, smart ass, you left the Cave and haven’t been back. You only answer my emails about cases and bad guys. But when I ask you to come back home, which I have, Tim, I don’t even know how many times, and I get nothing! We need you–”

“Why would I come back to Gotham for you?” Is what spills out of his mouth, something bitter and foul. “You’ve already got a fucking Robin to be your little brother, remember?”

Welp, there goes playing it cool.

But watching Dick jerk back like Tim had landed a physical blow was more satisfying than he wanted to admit.  

“Are you kidding me right now? You’re still angry about that? I’ve explained to you exactly why–”

The irritation in Dick’s tone, obvious disgust when he leans back and crosses his arms over his chest is just about enough.

“You explained it just fine. You made your choice, so everyone just has to deal with it, right? Yeah, that’s really being my equal.” 

Tim makes himself stay deadly calm and cold, moves his legs away from Dick’s to stand and take a few steps away from the seething Sentinel to adjust his tie and try to get his hands to quit trembling. 

“I can’t believe you’re acting this childish, Tim. I’m really disappointed with you right now.”

“Glad we’re on the same page, Dick, disappointed in each other,” but it strikes him anyway in the small, sad place where he held on to the hope they could still work everything out somehow and at least go back to being friends. A small part that’s been slowly dying in degrees, and that last hit is enough to make it so absurdly painful.

(All those years in the R, fighting the good fight, being brothers, having each other’s backs, and it all ends here, doesn’t it?)

“What? I did everything I could do for you! I–”

“If that’s what you want to believe, then that’s fine. I don’t have any reasons to argue with you,” staring at his own reflection in the mirror, seeing the red start to creep over his cheeks, his eyes get overly shiny, Tim Drake straightens his spine and flexes his own shields. 

He keeps himself together enough to turn on a heel and walk calmly to the door.

“Tim, just...okay, just wait. Let’s talk this out–”

He doesn’t even turn, hand already on the knob, just pulls open the door and takes a hasty step through. It’s only the first step, but Dick is still just suddenly there, trying to snatch at Tim’s wrist with a bare hand, managing the brush of fingertips over a pulse.

“Don’t leave like this,” Is the last thing Dick says before the electric shock slides up his spine, the pull to all his senses almost has him on his knees.

The touch has Tim lurching away, jerking his wrist up to cradle against his chest, the red burn of Dick’s emotions beating at his shields harder with just a simple graze.

It ends with Dick still in the doorway, braced against the frame, gaping, and Tim leaning heavily into the wall across the hall, a wince on his face.

Stupid metaphysical connections and shit.

The touch hadn’t been enough to, you know, like bond them or anything, but it’s widely believed True Pairs didn’t even have to touch to get impressions from one another.

“You asshole,” he seethes at that shocked expression. 

“You feel like I betrayed you,” is low and thick, Dick’s eyes a little dazed with what he picked up through the momentary connection, “it hurt you so much when I made Dami my Robin because I didn’t even talk to you, I didn’t trust you. You think I just threw you out of my life. How could I ever do that to you...?”

If Tim was a better Guide, on a higher dose of suppressants, he would have been able to keep himself closed off enough that if they did manage to touch, he could have kept Dick out of his shields, wouldn’t have given him the ability to skim over shitty emotions.

If Tim was a better Guide, he wouldn’t have the urgent need to run.

But welp, here they are.

As the thought takes shape in his brain pan, that he’s in his civilian day-ware and can run down the hall while Dick –still half in Nightwing– is trapped in the doorway, his knees firm and his eyes dart wildly to the side, giving himself away.

And since Dick was Batman, is Nightwing, is a Sentinel, he sees the writing on the wall and absolutely refuses to let it happen. Dick shoves with his arms, darts out into the hallway, makes his suddenly weak knees work enough to shake up Tim’s plan, seizes the apparent Guide, his Guide, in a princess hold and get back before the door even starts to close.

“Put me–!”

But Dick folds his legs to sit with his back against the door, and wraps both arms around the struggling third Robin. He can hold onto Tim better than a bolo anyway. 

The push at Tim’s shields is a pressure he isn’t used to dealing with, and it’s painful to fight against it rather than just let the tentative connection open. His hands curl into fists in his lap, trying to strain against the arms pinning him while concentrating on strengthening his shields. 

He doesn’t realize he’s whispering, “no, no, no,” under his breath. 

“Please,” Dick lays his forehead down on top of Timmy’s head, “please don’t go. Not now. I’m finally...Tim, I get it now. I swear, I get it.”

“...doesn’t matter. Too late.”

“That isn’t fair,” the smallest shift and Dick is breathing against his throat, making him shiver, “I just found out you’re...a Guide. My Guide. We haven’t even started yet. It can’t be too late if we haven’t had a beginning.” It gets worse when Dick breathes in his scent deeply, a noise coming out of his chest.

“We have had a beginning,” he bites out, fists tight, concentrating on keeping his shields strong but flexible, “we’ve had years–”

“And I’m not ready to throw all of that away.”

The pressure against his mental shields finally eases up as Dick raises his head, gives him a little shake to make him look up. 

“You already did, remember?”

“I didn’t... I never threw you away. That’s not what I meant or wanted. Yes, I should have handled things better. I know that now, and I’m sorry I hurt you. I was sorry before, I just didn’t know how to tell you, how to make it better between us.”

Tim’s eyes narrow, and he doesn’t let up in case this is one of those diversionary tactics to put him in a false sense of security. 

(They fight bad guys. Sometimes, they have to cheat, and he wouldn’t put it past Dick to do just that.)

“I don’t know what you think is going to happen here,” he finally tries, staring up into those blue, blue eyes (I trusted you once, and fuck if I’m going to let you do this to me again). “But whatever it is, you’re wrong. I’m not going to come back to Gotham and be your Guide. I’m not going to bond with you because the universe says I’m meant to be some kind of magical counterbalance.”

Dick’s expression crumples, his arms go a little slack. 

“Tim, we’re...we’re a True–”

“I don’t give a fuck about True Pairs, Dick, not anymore. Babs has been your Guide since you both presented. She wants the job, she can damn well have it.”

It’s not a fight to push against Dick’s arms the second time and stand up out of his lap.

“You’ve loved me since the moment you put on the cape, Tim. I know you have.” When what he means is I know now.

“I loved you before that, you asshole, and you betrayed me. You don’t get that chance again.”

Turning away shouldn’t be this easy now that Dick knows the truth, but it is, and the very last parts of him still hoping, still craving, are just as easily–

–wiped out.

Dick’s eyes are watery when the door hisses and creaks upon opening, and it’s an automatic thing, reaching a hand up just expecting Tim to take it.

“Tim. Timmy, please.”

“Good-bye, Dick,” is already fading with rapidly retreating footsteps. At least he can keep some of his dignity because Dick will never know he falls the fuck apart as the elevator goes down.

**

Author’s notes:Here’s why I don’t like this: 1. I want to talk more about why Tim chose Shiva as the Sentinel to teach him how to be a good Guide. Like, I want to explore that dynamic more because I’ve never really had the time or space to write Shiva as we see her in Tim’s Robin run.2. I wanted to go more into the expanded senses of Sentinels and how to - hell, I dunno, make it seem to be a little closer to cannon maybe? Like point out some of Dick’s greatest escapes and be like part of that is due to his Sentinel power. 3. Dick says some shitty things, and I don’t give him any context. Like, at that point, he legit believes he did the right thing at the time, and look! Tim’s Red Robin so everyone wins! But yeah, once he got under those shields, the truth shakes him up. 4. I dunno, this au might not be for me. It doesn’t feel very different from some of my other angsty things I guess but meh. Who knows, I might fix it someday :D 

[howrry]

hot yoga

a/n: this is one of my favorite things to write, idk why. i just love roommate slash best friend h, i guess. anyways, he walks in on you masturbating and basically loses his goddamn mind over the course of one (1) week. bon appetit!

warnings: smuttyyyyy ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

w/c: 3.9k

***

THURSDAY

Harry didn't really take Y/N to be the type to masturbate during the day.

Not that he necessarily thought of his roommate masturbating at all. It's just... so risky for his normally tame best friend. So imagine the shock on his face when he came home early from work to hear her softly moaning in her room.

Honestly, at first, he thought she had a guy over. Of course, that didn't really explain why he still nosed in anyways. The two of them were quite close, but not close enough to openly talk about their sex lives. Harry assumed it was because she didn't date much and, out of respect, decided to keep his mouth shut about his own goings-on.

So maybe, then, it was out of disbelief that she would actually be getting anythat he slowly trudged up the stairs to her room in their shared house. As he approached her door, her noises got clearer and he could even hear her gasping for air.

Christ, he thought to himself. Who could be that good? Her door was cracked open just a bit, enough for Harry to peer through the gap and see her in bed... minus anyone else.

She laid in bed in her underwear, and he could see she'd tossed her clothes onto the floor haphazardly. One hand dipped into her panties and he could clearly see that she had her fingers deep inside herself. The other was poking into her bra and pulling at her nipples for more stimulation. In between her continued soft noises, Harry could even hear how wet she was.

It was in this exact moment Harry realized what he was doing. Why was he peeping on his roommate and best friend? Why was it so hard to tear his eyes away? Why was his cock fattening in his pants? Why, pray tell, was he still watching?!

He stumbled back a bit, trying to stay quiet, but the floorboard creaked. The door wasn't wide enough for her to see anything outside, but he figured his cover was blown since she suddenly silenced.

Nevertheless, he creeped back downstairs soundlessly, made himself a cup of tea, and decided to take the best route he could think of—pretend he didn't see any of that. Easy.

He hoped.

About twenty minutes later, when his dick was behaving again and he’d cleaned out his tea mug, Y/N hopped downstairs wearing the clothes he'd just seen thrown on the floor.

She acted mildly surprised to see him, making a note of his early arrival home. "We finished up our work for the day and the manager gave us the rest of the day off. Figured I'd come home and have a cuppa," he explained, not looking at her but rather lying on the couch and flipping through channels.

She nodded, hands on her hips and arms pointed back like a chicken. "Good idea. Think I'll go make one m'self," Y/N decided, awkwardly stumbling to the kitchen.

This time, Harry peeked a glimpse at her. He saw that her cheeks were a bit pink, and he was painfully reminded of what she was just doing. His filthy mind started to wander and he thought about if she was a full-body blusher. Did her chest brighten up a bit when--

Stop, he urged himself, rubbing his face with his whole hand. What was wrong with him?

Just pretend it didn’t happen, remember? He’ll be fine!

***

SATURDAY

Harry hated the summer.

The man was just not a heat-adapted person. He claimed it was because of his English roots that his body was naturally made for cold weather. Living out in LA made his career and social life much easier, yet the summer months were hell on his body.

He spent this toasty day on the couch with the A/C turned up high and a small fan in his hand while he read in the living room. Y/N read with him, neither of them saying a word to each other. They'd managed to talk a little since, ahem, the incident, but the conversations weren't very lengthy.

Suddenly, Y/N stood up and placed her Sherlock Holmes novel on the arm of her chair, bending the book's spine. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a green Otterpop. Without saying anything, Y/N picked her book back up and continued reading, enjoying the popsicle.

Harry didn't show it but he’d completely lost interest in his own book; his focus was on her now. She hollowed her cheeks around the treat, audibly sucking out the melting juice. Her lips were so pretty perched around the ice, colored pink by the temperature. He would've thought she was doing it on purpose had she not been so entranced by her reading material; it was like he wasn't even in the room at all. If he kept staring at her, he’d have a full blown hard-on any minute now.

"Can yeh stop?" he blurted, making her head snap up confusedly. He backtracked immediately, realizing he had no reason to say that. It was his fault for being a perv, she was just eating a damn popsicle! "I, uh, I want one and I'm jealous. Do we have any left?"

She nodded with innocent wide eyes, the popsicle still dangling out of her mouth held up only by her teeth. It was a stupid save and she probably saw right through it, but he was glad for the free exit and went to get his own, though he didn’t stop by the living room on his way upstairs.

***

MONDAY

The beginning of the next week had weather that was muchmore bearable, and it'd appeared the heat wave had broken. Harry had no time to appreciate it though, as he had a long and productive day at the studio to end his not-so-relaxing weekend. By the time he got home, the house was empty. He didn’t question this; Y/N tended to be the spontaneous type and could be out with one of her friends.

He busied himself with cooking a small bachelor dinner. After he’d finished his meal and the post-eating doze was just about to lull him to sleep in the living room, the sound of keys in the front door’s lock jerked him awake.

Harry sat up straighter on the couch, waiting until his roommate was safely inside. “Hey, H!” she called. She was only wearing a black sports bra and a pair of peach leggings. Over the course of living with her, Harry had noticed that Y/N’s body tended to soak up sun in these warmer months, evident by her glowy skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Where have yeh been?” he questioned, not bothering with a greeting. He knew his eyes were begging to dart all over her smooth, gleaming body, but he tried his damn best to be subtle.

She snickered, tossing her bag on the love seat across from him. “Good evening to you, too. Valerie and I went to hot yoga.” Y/N dug through her duffel to get her marbled Hydroflask out.

“Hot yoga? What’s tha’?” he muttered, raising an eyebrow and resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

“It’s just regular yoga but it’s in a room at 100-something degrees and 40% humidity,” she explained, opening her water bottle and taking a swig. Big droplets leaked out of the sides of her mouth and trailed down her jaw and neck to join the sweat on her skin.

He rolled his eyes, pinching his bottom lip. He was trying not to bite it and figured he’d attempt to be more inconspicuous. “I don’t speak American, how hot is that?”

“It’s hot. And humid,” she huffed. “But it relaxes your muscles so much and makes all your joints pop. It felt so good.” Her eyes fluttered shut and she stretched an arm across her torso, pressing her boobs together. Harry’s mouth popped open and immediately shut. “Actually, there’s one move I want to show you. How’s your back feeling?”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Well…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Laying down on this couch isn’t the most comfortable, t’be honest.”

“Great!” Y/N grabbed H’s hand and guided him down to the floor. She hovered behind him as he sat with his legs extended. “Lift this knee,” she ordered, lightly tapping his right thigh.

He obeyed, extremely glad that his pants were thick black sweats. Her chest was brushing against his shoulders as she showed him what to do, and everywhere she touched him felt like it was on fire. He could only think about dead puppies to calm himself for so long.

“Cross it over the other knee, like you’re in a chair.” It was phrased like she was telling him what to do, but she still grabbed at him to move him into the desired position. She might have been a bit rough on him, though, and nearly crushed his family jewels between his legs.

“Whoa, easy, love,” he groaned, stopping her from man-handling him any further. “Some of us are a bit more delicate down there.” Y/N giggled, and Harry carefully crossed his leg over while remaining painfully conscious of her presence behind him.

“Now take your left elbow and put it on your lifted knee to twist as far as you can. Your back will sound like someone shuffling a deck of cards.” She put two hands on his shoulders to help him with the motion, and she was right. The stretch sent relief flooding through Harry’s body and the noises he made were borderline pornographic. “Feels good, hmm?” she purred into his ear.

He nodded, reveling in the feeling of her breath ghosting over his skin. “Try the other side,” she suggested, standing up and drinking more water.

“You should try going to hot yoga sometime,” she offered as he fully stretched out his spine, grabbing her bag and heading upstairs. “I’m gonna shower real quick. Do me a favor and pour me a rum and Coke?” she called behind her, not bothering to see if he agreed or not.

And Harry would be damned if he didn’t check out her ass in the leggings before getting up to make her a drink.

***

TUESDAY

Some nights are, in general, rougher than others in H's life, and this was one of those nights.

It wasn’t that the day was a complete disaster, it’s just that the studio had kept him much later than he'd anticipated. He was a very tenacious guy, but two long days in a row was just a bit much on his end. As he drove home, all he could think about was pouring himself a glass of MacMurray pinot and having an unwise later-evening nap. He sloppily dug his key into the lock and kicked his shoes off the second he was inside.

As he wandered through the halls of his house, he yanked out his headphones to reveal his roommate's voice coming from the kitchen. Given that it wasn't accompanied by another voice, he assumed she was on the phone.

Sure enough, he poked his head into the kitchen to see Y/N with her phone cradled between her shoulder and her cheek. She was making dinner while talking and didn't appear to notice Harry had arrived. He should’ve made his presence known given how this situation usually ended up, but he remained silent.

"You're lucky you have so many hoes, Val," Y/N noted, checking on boiling noodles and stirring them with a purple spoon. "If I'm trying to get fucked, I don't exactly have a lot of options."

At her words, he ducked out of the kitchen and hid in the hallway. Harry could chastise himself for being nosy later—he had to hear this conversation. There was some silence as Val responded before Y/N continued.

"I mean, dating for-real at this age sucks, and one night stands aren't what they used to be. All the attractive guys are cuffed up so now the only people prowling the bar scene are ugly or shit in bed." The two of them laughed. "And there's only so much my own hand can do," they giggled again before dissolving into a conversation about Val's new dog (how fast they were able to switch topics is beyond his grasp).

Harry took this as a chance to go back upstairs and pretend he never even heard that. Jeez—how many times will he have to remind himself that was the plan? How many times was this going to happen before it stuck? What was with him and barging in on Y/N during intimate moments and conversations?!

***

Harry woke up in the middle of the night with lips pressed against his neck.

At first, he couldn’t tell exactly whose lips were on him, but could tell it was some attractive female and decided to let it continue. He loved when girls spent a lot of time on his neck but didn’t give him love bites. He was so sensitive on his throat and chest that any kissing or sucking would leave him like putty in anyone’s hands. Harry decided to not question this and enjoy the lovely treatment.

The mystery girl did all the things he loved—she brought a hand up to rake through his sweaty curls, the other forced two fingers into his mouth to get them wet, and her kisses left wet patches all over his taut skin. The fingers between his lips dropped down, presumably to touch herself.

Finally, Harry needed to see who was doing all this to him. He lightly tugged the girl off by her hair, only to make eye contact with none other than his roommate Y/N.

“Y/N?!” he blurted. He was in utter shock—not only was he hard as a rock, but one of his closest friends is bare naked in front of him and trying to make out with his neck.

“Don’t think about it, love,” she purred, mocking his accent. Y/N tossed a leg over his body and grinded down onto his cock, kept separate by his boxers and the sheets on his bed. He could practically feel the heat coming off of her, if only it wasn’t for the barriers between them. In fact, the sheets seemed so tight around his legs.

Harry was suddenly washed over with anxiety and thrashed around, struggling to kick the sheets off his legs. Y/N stared at him like he was a maniac, which only made him panic more. Why wouldn’t the sheets come off his legs? Why wasn’t she helping him? Why was it suddenly so hot in there?

Harry woke up with his cock straining up against his stomach, forehead covered in sweat and bedsheets tangled around his feet just like in his dream. You know, the dream where he was about to have sex with Y/N.

He was grossed out when he thought about it, even though he had no control over his dreams. How could he be actually thinking about his totally platonic, totally innocent roommate like that? It almost felt dirtier dreaming about her than it did watching her touch herself. One of them was just a goofy accident and the other was rooted in some sub-conscious desire to bury himself in someone who probably trusted and respected him as a co-habitor.

God, did he need a therapist?

***

WEDNESDAY

“I’m thinking Chinese for lunch,” Y/N announced as Harry came into the living room.

He groaned. “The last time we had that, they messed up every part of our order. Can’t I have some time to heal?”

She lazily flipped through the last pages of the magazine in her hands. “It’s been six weeks, Harry. You have to give them another chance sometime.”

“You’re not the one who got duck in their order last time!” He indignantly crossed his arms. “Let’s just order in pizza.”

“Fine,” she sighed. Y/N pointed across the room to her phone on the TV mantle. “Go ahead and call that place down the street. I’m going to get some water.” She tossed the Cosmopolitanon the coffee table and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Harry with her phone. Alone.

It wasn't that Harry was a distrusting person, necessarily, he was just a bit nosy. He stared at the keypad in the phone app, switching over to the recent calls tab as quickly as he could. Most of them were pretty normal—her mum, Harry himself, her job, and so on… But what really confused Harry was the fact that the most recent phone call she’d made to Valerie was over two weeks ago.

Wait. He’d just heard her chatting with Val about her sex life yesterday. There’s no reason for her to have deleted the call so… it must have never happened.

Y/N had been playing him the whole time. His mind felt like it was short circuiting. He truly had thought he’d gone mad! She knew exactly what she was doing, at least ever since the popsicle incident. He wasn't sure if he should be mad or super turned on, but he was sure that she couldn't get away with this.

“Everything alright, Haz?” she asked, coming back into the living room with a sweating glass of ice water in her hand.

He scrambled to switch back to the keypad, hastily punching in the number to the shop and bringing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, m’fine! What’d you want on yours, again?”

***

THURSDAY

The next morning, Harry sat at the breakfast table, reading the paper and minding his business. A tiny rumble from his stomach made him consider eating something, since his tea wasn’t doing much for him. His thoughts were interrupted when Y/N joined him in the kitchen.

She fluttered in wearing only a t-shirt. It was a black band shirt that was long enough to cover her ass, but Harry still peered over his newspaper, wondering what kind of game she was going to play now.

The answer to that was metaphorically shoved in his face when Y/N got on her tip toes to reach a bowl on a high shelf; the hem of the shirt lifted as her arms did, exposing her panties. Harry couldn’t believe his eyes at first, but after a few seconds of shamelessly staring he realized they were the exact same pair she'd been wearing when he peeped her touching herself last Thursday.

They were silky and light pink, not covering her whole ass but not quite a thong. The fabric really framed her flatteringly and Harry felt an urge to grab her ass and maybe smack it, even more than he’d been wanting to earlier throughout the week.

Fed up, he scraped his chair back and threw down the paper. He marched over to her as she whirled around wearing that fake confused-and-innocent look she'd been rocking all week. Harry was quite done, however, and pressed her up against the counter, his semi-hard cock digging against her hip.

"Why are yeh doin' this to me, love?" he whispered, breath ghosting over the shell of her ear.

Her knees buckled, but she stayed standing thanks to H trapping her between his warm body and the counter. "I d-don't know what you mean."

Harry laughed dryly, grabbing her wrists and forcing them behind her, getting them even closer together. "That's enough of that, minx. Y’know you've been driving me mad all week just to get a rise out o’me." He smirked as his eyes dragged across her face.

She swallowed, trying not to break eye contact with this intimidating man. All she could do was nod.

His eyes darkened and he dropped his head down to her neck, brushing over the skin with his lips. "I want to hear you say it, pet," he growled. "Say you've been teasing me all week because you wanted my attention."

Her jaw dropped as he started sucking marks into her soft skin. "I teased you all week - oh God there - because I wanted your attention. Wanted you to fuck me."

Harry groaned at this, one fist coming up to yank at her hair. "Yeh think y’deserve that? You've been a real menace ‘n you shouldn’t get off that easy,” he demanded, grinding his cock into her hips. "You think you should get my cock inside your sweet cunt?”

“Yes!” she groaned out, knowing a nod wouldn’t suffice. The corner of his mouth tugged up once more, and he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her up to her bedroom.

He set her down on the bed and joined her, crawling on his knees. “There’s a move I wanna show you,” he started, yanking his t-shirt off from the back of his neck. “Here’s what you’re gonna do, pet,” he ordered. “You’re gonna lie on your back and you’re gonna touch yourself.”

Her brows furrowed and she sat up on her elbows timidly. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” he barked, voice low. “Don’t act shy now, I saw how you make yourself feel.”

She nodded, pulling her shirt off her body. She laid back down and timidly pulled aside her underwear to expose her cunt to Harry. His own palm dug into the front of his trousers as she warmed herself up, rubbing circles around the sensitive spot on her clit.

“Wish it was,” she breathed, “wish it was your fingers. They’re so much – uh– bigger.” Y/N was one to put on a show and Harry was eating it up. Her fingers dipped inside herself and came out glistening wet, and he finally pulled out his cock from his trousers to start stroking himself. Neither one of them were really giving any thought to how insane masturbating with your best friend was—all they could think about was how long both of them have waited to do this.

Harry caught her eyeing his cock slicking in his palm. “Wanna get your mouth on me?” Her doe eyes met his, and she confidently nodded. “Stay still then,” he commanded, “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

So she continued fingering herself and Harry climbed over her and straddled just below her shoulders, so his cock was right at her mouth. She obediently stuck her tongue out and he slapped the head on it a couple times, eliciting a groan from his mouth. Y/N latched her mouth around him and sucked like she did on that damn popsicle. H grabbed a fistful of her hair as the moans from her self-inflicted pleasure rang through his cock into his body.

The more she touched herself, the more she moaned, and Harry was starting to lose it. Her fingers worked herself over as the heel of her palm slid over her clit. She came on her own fingers, just like she did by herself awhile back, and arched her back below him as her orgasm rippled throughout her.

“Can I come on your face, pretty girl?” he begged, and she politely nodded, having trouble catching her breath with a dick in her mouth. He pulled out and painted her face with thick ropes of white cum, body shaking as the pleasure washed over him. “Fuck, pet, you’re killin’ me.”

Once they’d caught their breath, Y/N got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a new t-shirt on and a clean face. Harry had since put his boxers back on, and she joined him on the bed. He was the first to speak.

“So… do you wanna go to hot yoga now?”

[autisticalbert]

national rock day

part one of the ralbert the office au! i wrote this a few days ago and part two is already sitting on my drafts waiting to be posted, but i wanted to post this au here as well as in ao3 because Why Not.

featuring: non-binary albert! because tumblr doesn’t have any enby albert and i’m pushing this agenda.

read in ao3

There were one or two things Race could name off the top of his head that made American Textiles an unbearable workplace.

It wasn’t that he hated fabrics—that was a rather unreasonable thing to hate, and even though working where he worked had made buying new clothes a particularly annoying part of his life, what he sold wasn’t as paining as where and how.

Race knew—had always known—that an office job wasn’t his thing. It hadn’t been when he started as an intern and it didn’t became any more pleasing when he got his first official paycheck as a textile distributor salesman. It was a little bit depressing, too.

He didn’t like to think about wasted potential. It really was easier to live in oblivion of it all.

Maybe, the only truly good thing about American Textiles was Albert. And Race caught himself thinking about that very often.

Albert DaSilva was and had been for as long as Race could remember the receptionist and secretary at the New York branch of American Textiles. They were the funniest person Race knew and they weren’t happy with their job either—no one would be, having to work for Jack Kelly so directly—so they had bonded over exactly that: despising their lives as subordinates and pranking their coworkers to get through the day.

It worked. They laughed at the same things, they knew each other like best friends do.

In fact, to Race, falling in love with Albert was only a minor side effect. A bump in the road, a distraction. Or so it had been when he first saw them. Now, three years later, he had to rethink his strategy. Especially when the person in question was engaged.

A rock landed on his desk.

“What—“ He looked up. Albert, at their desk, perked an eyebrow and shrugged.

Needless to be prompted, Jack Kelly popped up into his field of vision a second later. Race didn’t know how bad it would be until he saw the look on his face.

“It’s rock day,” the man said, holding back a laugh.

He tried too hard. That was one of the two things everyone who worked for Jack Kelly knew. The other one was that he had the sense of humor of a five-year-old.

“It’s been a year?” Asked Race, contemplating the rock that rested on his desk.

January 7th was Rock Day. No one knew or cared, but Jack did. He had a fascination for fun holidays that Race couldn’t get around.

“Yes it has, Tony-Tones,” he said, clapping. No one seemed to pay him much attention until he cleared his throat. “Attention, everyone. No one has come into my office to wish me a happy rock day, but I wish it to you all. Even if you’re inconsiderate to your boss,” he stated before laughing at his own so-called joke.

Race took a long breath in and out. He looked at Albert, who was looking back, and shrugged in resignation.

Next to him, someone stood up like a lighting bolt. And there it was—the missing part of their morning routine.

“Happy rock day, Jack,” exclaimed American Textiles’ most recent acquisition of an intern, Lester Jacobs. He was sixteen years old and already both as tall and more talented at shoving fabric down people’s throats than Race had ever been in his whole career.

He rolled his eyes and caught Albert laughing at him quietly.

“Thank you, Les,” nodded the man before turning on his heels and heading back into his office.

It was ten thirty in the morning, which meant only one thing. Race could either do something or start to go crazy slowly and painfully. He saw his boss walk away as Les took a seat in the desk next to his and immediately turned to Albert with plead in his eyes.

Albert nodded.

“I’m going insane,” he said, shutting the kitchen door behind him as Albert sat on the counter, shook their and laughed.

“This is the earliest you’ve cracked,” they said. “But he deserves it, so I support you.”

“Thanks for your approval,” he mocked. Albert stuck their tongue out. “Problem is, I’m out of ideas.”

A gasp. “The Antonio Higgins doesn’t have any pranks left?”

Race bit his lip not to smile. He feigned annoyance. “Dry as a bone. Help,” he begged.

Albert thought for a second, humming with their lips pursed. Their legs bounced slightly against the wooden counter cabinets. After a minute, they shrugged again. They did it quite often, Race noted.

“How mean do you want it to be?”

“It’s not mean, just—“

“Tony,” Albert looked at them.

Race lifted his hands. “Alright, um—Just regular dose of mean-ness.”

A beat. “First, that’s not a word, and second...”

They smiled. Race smiled back.

Les deserved it, for the most part. He was well aware of his status as a prodigy salesman and at the naive age of sixteen he had decided that it was worth being smug about. He was proud of himself and his severely underpaid job, as much as he was a suck-up to Jack, to Corporate, and to anyone but Race. The hatred was mutual. So Les deserved most of what he got, and what he didn’t deserve, Race knew he’d find a way to earn sooner or later.

The way down to the warehouse was one that Race knew well from his many times escaping his responsibilities. Or Jack.

“Hey, babe,” Albert smiled as they curled both arms around the neck of their fiancé. Race didn’t know where to look while they kissed.

Oscar Delancey was both Albert’s soon-to-be husband and the head of the warehouse. He was a nice man. He was funny, or so Albert mentioned every now and then. To Race, Oscar was… tall. He was one tall man.

“What’re you doing down here?” Asked Oscar once the kiss was broken.

“We need tools,” Albert said. Race nodded, standing at a safe distance. “Vending machine tools.”

“What?”

Albert smiled an innocent smile. “We just want to study our vending machine—“

“See how it works—“ Added Race.

“Yeah, exactly,” Albert nodded. “So, can we borrow some of those?”

Oscar squinted, looking between Albert and Race, and nodded cautiously. “Sure.”

At that, Albert grinned and kissed their fiancé’s cheek before untangling themself from him. Oscar was turning towards his toolbox when he spoke again, over his shoulder.

He didn’t have the smartest mouth.

“Be careful, though. Not marrying a jobless person.”

Albert faltered slightly. Race caught them quickly pulling themself up and shrugging in a dismissive way, taking the toolbox and glancing at him before turning to make their way back.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re marrying me, anyway,” they said when they were out of earshot.

Race knew better than to bring it up, after years. And it really had been years—he was barely finishing his first year as a salesman when Oscar proposed to Albert as they were making their way out and into their cars. He’d been there to see the whole thing.

Two years had passed.

It wasn’t worth any mention, because Race knew it was out of line to offer support about something he didn’t know anything about. Besides, Albert was very good at pretending to be fine.

They could either dwell on the uncomfortable silence that had fell upon them or laugh it off.

“This is one of your best ideas,” Race said.

“Well,” Albert said, carefully working themself around the screws of the vending machine in the break room. “We’ll have to wait and see. But, yeah, I’m a genius.”

Race had an arm inside the machine when someone walked in. Albert stood up just too fast to play it cool.

Charlie Morris frowned at the sight.

“What’s going on?” She asked. Albert shrugged, waving their arms around mindlessly.

“Nothing—much,” they said. Race removed himself from the insides of the vending machine and nodded.

“Monthly inspection,” he said casually.

“Isn’t a guy supposed to come in and do that?”

Race crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m a guy,” he defended. Charlie perked an eyebrow.

“Okay,” she said, turning around and walking away slowly.

Only when she was completely out of the room did they both exhale at unison. Albert ran a hand through their hair and Race laughed.

“She almost caught us,” he said.

Albert waved him off, handing him the last crucial piece of their procedure. “It’s Charlie. What’s she gonna do? Tell Jack? Tell Les?”

“Well,” Race said. “Yeah.”

He slid away from the machine and up to Albert’s side. They looked at their done masterpiece and then at each other, spark of pride in their eyes. Then, exactly ten minutes before their lunch break, they went back to work.

Les came back from a sale to find his desk deserted. He then followed the sound of Charlie Morris’ laughter into the break room, where she was shaking her head at the view.

The boy had the option to come out fuming or pouting. It was funnier when he did both.

“Jack,” he cried out as he walked out of the room and into the manager’s office. “They put my stuff in the vending machine!”

“What?”

“My things. They’re inside the vending machine.”

“That’s hilarious.”

Les turned to Race. “How am I gonna get them back?”

He looked at him and shrugged. “You gotta pay, little one.”

As he scrambled for his wallet in frustration and stormed off, Race and Albert looked at each other from their desks and motioned a high-five.

It was a good day.

[chicgeekgirl89]

Mercy is Out of Your Reach: Chapter 1

Fandom: SEAL Team

Characters: Sonny Quinn, Clay Spenser, Lisa Davis, Jason Hayes, and the rest of the team

Summary: Sonny Quinn isn't sick. And he's definitely not too sick to escape the cell he and Clay are trapped in. At least, not yet. Contains Clay whump, Sonny whump, a little torture, and a bit of Savis. Shoutout to @bluenet13 for helping with the title! 

                                         XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sonny Quinn absolutely, positively did not have a cold. Colds were for sissies and kids, not Tier One Operators. What he had was allergies. Or at least that’s what he told Jason when he arrived at the base, coughing and hacking. Because the hell he was being left behind when his brothers were taking off for a mission halfway across the world. He was not staying out of the action for a little cough and runny nose.

“Could you please cough literally anywhere else?” Clay griped, wrinkling his nose as Sonny covered his mouth with his elbow and hacked away.

“You should have stayed home,” Brock grunted.

“Let me look at you.” Trent pulled out a penlight and Sonny swatted him away with a frown. “Get that thing outta my face.”

“I thought you said you were fine,” Jason said, cracking open one eye from in his hammock.

“I am. It’s allergies.”

“To what? Behaving yourself?” Ray asked with a snicker.

Sonny kicked at him. “It’s ragweed. And pollen.”

“Right. Sure it is,” Full Metal grunted.

Sonny stood up and glared at all of them. “If ya’ll are going to be assholes I’m just going to take my charming personality to another part of this transport.”

“Good.”

“Go.”

“Yes please.”

Sonny shot them all a final scowl before trundling himself off to the back of the plane. He honestly felt a little bit like garbage; his head was full, he couldn’t breathe through his nose, and his lungs felt tight. He settled himself against a crate, letting his head drop back as he tried to take a deep breath.

The op was taking them to Morocco to gather intel for Mandy and possibly get to blow things up depending on the results. It wasn’t a Gucci mission by any means, but it was lower risk than some of the other ones they’d been on lately and that was probably good because he was already exhausted and they hadn’t even started yet.

“What are you doing?” 

He cracked open an eye to find Lisa looking down at him. “Sleeping?”

“You should be home.”

“I’m fine,” he told her, even as he felt his breath catch again and tried to unsuccessfully stifle yet another cough.

“You’re sick.”

“Quinns don’t get sick,” he said automatically. 

“Stop saying that!” she snapped at him. “Just because that’s the line your father lived by, it doesn’t mean you have to do it too.”

“It’s not a line. It’s a fact,” he said, sniffing as some snot tried to trickle out of his nose.

“You’re an idiot.”

“You know you keep on saying that to me, it might just hurt my feelings,” he told her with a grin.

She walked away and returned moments later with a bottle of water and an orange packet, both of which she tossed into his lap. “Drink this.”

He wrinkled his nose. “It tastes like piss.”

“Drink it anyway. Might help.”

He grumbled but she just crossed her arms and stared at him so he dumped the powdered Vitamin C into the bottle and chugged it down. “Happy?” he asked when he was finished.

“You should let Trent check you out.”

“You know, last I knew I was a fully grown adult who could make his own damn choices.”

“And last I knew you were a stubborn ass idiot.”

“Agree to disagree then.”

“If you die, it is not on me.”

“Absolutely.”

She was obviously still mad at him as she stalked away, probably to go huff at Mandy about stupid men and their lack of care for themselves. But he was fine. He just needed a couple hours of shuteye and he’d be good to go again.

He didn’t exactly feel worse by the time they landed, but he definitely didn’t feel better either. He sniffed and snorted as they gathered up their gear and headed out for whatever abandoned warehouse/hotel/house they were setting up the TOC in today. 

“Ray and Metal are going high on overwatch,” Jason said as they briefed. “Clay and Sonny will be at the café. Brock, Trent and I will be in the truck. Remember this is surveillance only. As much as a it sucks,” he glanced at Eric who had the good grace not to roll his eyes at his trigger happy team, “do not engage for any reason.”

“Not even if they say something mean?” Sonny asked, then rasped out another cough.

“You’re really going to make me take Typhoid Mary over here on a stakeout?” Clay asked.

“You know, none of you are being very supportive of my decision to come and watch all your asses,” Sonny grumbled.

“All right that’s enough,” Blackburn said. “Everybody has their assignments. You roll out in twenty.”

Jason caught Sonny’s arm on the way out of the room. “You sure you’re good for this?” 

“Yeah Jase. I’m fine.”

“We can do the op without you. Trent can take your spot.”

“I told you I’m fine. Ya’ll need to stop mothering me.”

Jason nodded. “Don’t screw it up.”

“Have I ever?” Sonny grinned and pointed finger guns at him. “Don’t answer that.”

“Drink this,” Clay said later when they were in position. The two of them had taken a corner table in the cafe, backs to the wall so they could keep an eye out for trouble. Both of them were in civvies, caps pulled down low over their faces, backpacks resting on the floor to keep their cover as “American tourists.”

“Why do you all keep trying to make me drink stuff today?” Sonny grumbled, sniffing at the cup Clay had put in front of him.

“It’s tea. It’ll help your throat,” Clay said.

“My throat doesn’t need any help.”

“Sonny shut up and drink the damn tea,” Jason said over the comms.

He did as he was told, sipping the bitter brew and wishing it was coffee or a beer instead. Or better yet NyQuil. 

“Okay those are our guys,” Ray said, static crackling in the background. “Keep it cool and make sure you get that device right.”

Sonny shifted in his seat, angling so that the camera button on his shirt would pick up more of the room, while Clay adjusted the listening device masquerading as a pen, right on the edge of the table.

“Bravo Two we are in position,” Clay muttered.

“Read you loud and clear Bravo Six. Hold steady.”

They got about ten, good minutes before it all went to hell. One second Sonny was sitting with Clay the next he was on the floor, ears ringing and then completely blind as someone threw a bag over his head.

He struggled and kicked his feet, making contact with someone who yelled and the next thing he felt was extreme pain in his skull, likely from the butt of a rifle.

He lost time after that, coming in and out. He was being carried, or rather dragged, and whoever was doing it clearly didn’t care about his health and wellbeing. He was vaguely aware of being put into a vehicle with no idea how long the ride lasted. And when he finally came around for real he wished he’d stayed out, because there was a man spraying him with a hose.

He gasped and struggled to get into a seated position, wincing as he touched the knot on the back of his skull.

Something moved next to him. “You all right?” Clay asked, wiping water from his face. His lip was split and there was a lot of dirt on the front of his shirt.

Sonny nodded as he took a good look at their surroundings. Cement walls and floor. Barred door. No window. A prison cell. Shit.

The man who’d sprayed them growled something in a language Sonny didn’t understand and then walked away. “D’you get that?” he asked Clay.

“His equivalent of ‘Fucking Americans’ I think,” Clay said. “My Tamazight’s rough.”

“What the hell man?” Sonny asked. “Did you see anything?”

Clay shook his head, testing the strength of the bars on the door. “Nah it was all smoke and light and then they hit me in the head. You still got your comm?”

Sonny shook his head. “They must have searched us, knife in my boot’s gone. And that water took out the button cam if it wasn’t damaged already.”

His lungs constricted painfully and he coughed wetly into his hand. “All right listen,” Clay said coming to stand close to him, back to the hall in case anyone was watching. “You’re sick. You need to let me run point on this. I’ll get us out of here.”

Sonny glared at him. “I am perfectly capable of helping us escape this hellhole.”

“I know. I’m just saying let me take point. Let me take the heat.”

“I am not letting you take the heat for anything!”

With a rattling clang the cell door slid open and four men entered. Two of them pointed automatic weapons at their captives, while the other two shoved them out of the cell and down the hall.

“Let me handle it,” Clay muttered to him.

Sonny shot him a dirty look but didn’t have time to respond as they were pushed into a new room. Sonny immediately spotted a tub of water in the corner and several more men, all holding weapons. Double shit.

He and Clay were both forced onto their knees and Sonny felt the barrel of a rifle press into the back of his still aching skull. He gritted his teeth. This was the kind of thing SERE school was made for. But that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.

The man who stepped in front of them looked familiar and Sonny had to work to conceal his surprise. Farhad Mahmoudi wasn’t supposed to be in country. In fact all their intelligence said he was hundreds of miles away at his home in Iran. This whole scouting trip had been about checking into his network and planning his assassination upon arrival. And here he was, six weeks ahead of the supposed schedule. 

“I am so curious,” Farhad said, “as to why two Americans were sitting in a café in a part of town they certainly shouldn’t be visiting.” 

With his neatly trimmed beard, glasses, and Ramones t-shirt he didn’t look like your typical baddie, but Sonny had learned they took all shapes and sizes. It wasn’t fair. Scum of the earth shouldn’t be allowed to like the same things as regular folks.

His English was excellent, slightly accented, and Sonny seemed to remember that he’d schooled somewhere Western, maybe London or Oxford. “Well me and my buddy here, we’re just on a bit of a vacation,” Sonny said quickly, and could feel Clay’s glare without looking. He was the senior team member. If anybody was taking heat, it was him.

“A vacation? To this country? An interesting choice. Some might even say dangerous.” Farhad’s face said he wasn’t fooled.

“Well we like a little danger.” Sonny grinned at him. “Good for a man. Keeps him strong. Ladies love that.”

“I see. This is interesting because all of the American men I have met who look like you, act like you, they are not tourists.” He fixed Sonny with a look of steel. “They are American military.”

Something slammed into Sonny’s back and he choked as he fell face-first into the floor, already sore lungs clenching in his chest as he gasped for air. He heard Clay’s surprised grunt as he hit the floor beside him. 

“So which is it? Air Force? No.” Sonny felt a boot grind into his back, pinning him to the ground and he coughed painfully as his lungs were further constricted. “You are not pretty enough for the Air Force. That one is. But not you. Maybe Army?”

Sonny gasped for air as the boot moved and caught him the ribs, not hard enough to break anything, but enough to make a point. “No, not Army either. Too tough for the Army. Which leaves…” Farhad’s sneakers, black Converse, stopped directly in front of his face. “Navy. Are you Navy?”

“We’re just tourists,” Sonny ground out.

“Not regular Navy then. Regular Navy cracks under pressure. But you, you are trained for this. You are SEAL’s.”

Someone grabbed Sonny’s hair and dragged him painfully off the floor toward the tub in the corner of the room, Farhad’s voice following him as he went. “I hear SEAL’s like the water. Let’s see if this is true.”

Before Sonny could even think his head was shoved under the surface.

There were tricks to water torture. You had to turn off just enough to not really feel it, but stay with it enough to hold your breath. None of that took into account the fact that Sonny’s brush with death in a torpedo tube made water of any kind an instant panic situation. He felt his body start to thrash, tried to lift his head and gulped water instead, burning inside this throat until he thought he couldn’t take it anymore and then he was yanked from the tub, gasping, dripping, and shaking.

“Hmmm, you really can hold your breath quite a long time can’t you? Let’s see for how long.”

Sonny lost count of how many times he went under. Every time he came up he could hear Clay yelling something fierce and he could only hope that they weren’t doing anything nearly as terrible to his buddy. 

His lungs grew tired and it became harder and harder not to inhale water. He was close to blacking out and if that happened he was going to drown. Every ounce of adrenaline he had in him seemed to seep away as water came up his nose and down his throat. And then, mercifully, he was pulled out and dropped onto the floor, gasping and hacking away like a dying fish.

Someone pulled him to his feet and dragged him back to the cell. Clay was tossed in beside him and the door slammed shut. “Sonny!” Clay grabbed his arm and rolled him onto his side. “Sonny talk to me.”

Sonny’s chest felt like it was on fire so it took him a second to gasp out an answer. “I’m…okay,” he finally managed.

“God could you be any more stupid?” Clay asked, his voice shaky. “Next time let me take it.”

“What’d,” Sonny hacked, trying to clear mucus from his throat, “what’d you tell them?”

“Stuck with your story. We’re backpacking. Always wanted to see Morocco. Asked if they knew the best place to get some girls.”

Sonny tried to bark out a laugh but it came out as a cough instead. “Your storytelling is always something.” He managed to heave himself up and back against the wall so he could look at his friend. “They hurt you? You were yelling pretty loud.”

Clay shook his head. “Not really. Couple kicks here and there. I’m fine. I was yelling to try and get them to stop, not that they were listening. Farhad made it pretty clear they only need one of us. And I don’t think he’s particular about which one it is. He’s ready to pit us against each other, see who cracks first.”

Triple shit.

[angrylizardjacket]

and then there was light {Roger Taylor} 5 (finale)

A/N: 4455 words. The end. Presented without commentary.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

You wake up and immediately feel like you’re about to hurl. A shower helps, despite the fact that you spend half an hour in there, curled on the ground beneath the water, cursing your own hubris. The world is a haze of nausea, of light too bright from beneath curtains, and the silence, the isolation is so fucking loud. 

You’re in your hotel room wearing only your underwear, trying to fall back to sleep, hoping a nap would ease the throbbing of your head and the disgusting feeling in your stomach that has your skin crawling at the mere thought of food, when the phone rings. On instinct, you want to throw the phone across the room as the sound jackhammers through your skull, but you push down the reaction in favour of a loud groan before you pick up the phone.

“Y/N?” It’s Roger. You just grunt in response; at this point, you couldn’t care less what he thought of you, whether or not you were ladylike. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No, mum,” you answered, voice icy, and you think he’s just going to be exasperated or dismissive, but he actually laughs, just a quiet chuckle.

“Well I’ll grab you something from the store, I’m getting some smokes,” he tells you, leaves little room for argument. You just huff, trying to recall all the details from the previous night.

“Piss off, dude, I don’t want your charity,” is what you tell him when you can’t seem to come up with much.

“Sorry, love, it’s not charity, it’s bullying; you’re going to rest and recover one way or the other,” his voice has a hard edge to it that has you frowning, mouth set in an angry line, “even if I have to call in Fred and Deaks.” The threat was clear; you couldn’t let them see how badly run down you’d gotten. Your defeated silence was answer enough. “I’ll be over in twenty, do you have a favourite fruit?”

It feels like a sick joke, that Roger Taylor is the one taking care of you on your day off, but in a twisted way, he’s the only one who could. He’s the only one who knows how much strain you’re really under, the only one who you didn’t care if they knew, and now... now here you were. Damn.

He knocks on the door claiming to have food, and calls bullshit when you claim to be too sick to open the door. He then loudly threatens to push the food beneath the crack in the door, and at that stage you’re horrified and mortified at how loud he’s being that you bundle yourself up in a robe and open the door anyways.

“You’re a menace.” You inform him.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” He nods without a trace of irony. “You look awful.” He informs, stepping past you into the room, tossing a sandwich, bottle of water, and an apple at the bed and draping himself on the sofa as you climb back into your fluffy sanctuary.

“I feel awful,” not even a little put out by his blunt assessment, you toe the food through the duvet, wrinkling your nose, “I’m not up for food.”

“Well I’m gonna be here until you eat that sandwich-”

“Don’t you have to go be irritating somewhere else?” You snapped, pulling the blankets up to your nose and turning away from him. There’s a long pause, then the rustling of a sandwich wrapper, and peering over the top of the bed sheets you see Roger eating his own sandwich, pointedly ignoring your question.

“Listen, love-”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Fine, listen, Y/N, you were well nasty to me last night when all I offered was help, so I get it, okay? I get that you don’t want to be friends, that you don’t want to see me, I know, alright?” He huffed, jaw clenched, holding his sandwich tighter than was probably necessary, “but until you tell someone else that you’re working yourself half to death, I’m gonna make damn sure you eat and sleep at a normal rate.” He gave a little ‘cheers’ motion with his sandwich, smile thin as it didn’t reach his eyes, and then he eats in silence.

Out of spite, you go back to sleep.

But... he’s there when you wake up, his shoes off, laying back on the sofa, a newspaper on his face where he’d apparently fallen asleep reading. Something about it, much to your own chagrin, is endearing. He could be anywhere else, doing anything or anyone, but he was here, true to his word. After a brief glance at the clock telling you it’s nearing midday, you have to concede that the apple at the very least is looking enticing.

The thing is, he’s not obvious about it, but he keeps to his word. The interactions you and Roger share are almost painfully clinical; sanitised and professional, but every day he’ll bring you lunch, keeping to himself behind his drums, not bothering you while you work. Sometimes you think you catch him watching you, and in those moments you look to him- and he is. He doesn’t look away, just gives a thoughtful smile, tells you you’re doing a good job, but nothing more. 

He’s not subdued by any stretch of the imagination, not with the band, nor with the rest of the tour group; he’s still loud and boisterous with anyone else, given half a chance, it only seems to be around you that he’s restrained. He’s polite, but cold, and something about it hurts, but you can’t quite articulate what or why.

“You know I can get my own lunch,” there’s actually amusement in your voice as you accept your store bought lunch today, a couple of weeks since you’d woken up with that hangover and your relationship with Roger having been turned on it’s head.

“But will you?” He asks, tone clipped, not looking at you. An emotion you couldn’t quite identify flicked over his face, perhaps a wince- something you weren’t meant to see, but either way his words hurt almost like a physical ache. But he waves away whatever answer you were going to give before you even give it. “Doesn’t matter, I promised I’d help, so I’m helping. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks.” Though your voice is quiet, a little forlorn, you can’t help but reach out and touch his arm in silent, gentle thanks, before taking the food. He looks at the point where your fingers had brushed his arm, blinking a few times before his jaw clenched and he went back to his drumkit.

Weird.

It’s not that you’ve forgiven him for what he’s done, but slowly, achingly slowly, you start to believe that he’s grown, that he’s changed. Maybe he can sense that; it’s gradual, but the interactions the two of you share become warmer, less clinical. They’re still professional, of course, but when you crack a joke at the top of a ladder, more often than not, he’ll actually laugh, rather than trying to repress a smile.

“You have this strange effect on him,” Freddie tells you over breakfast one morning, cradling a cup of tea with Brian nodding emphatically beside him, mouth full of eggs.

“When he sets his mind to something, he’s rather unstoppable,” after swallowing his mouthful, Brian agrees, “and he seems determined to try and mend things with you.” 

“But if you wanted me to, perhaps -” Freddie mused for a moment, but you’re already cutting him off with a wave of your hand.

“No, please no, I’m just trying to enjoy whatever the hell is happening.” But you can’t help but laugh at the situation you’d found yourself in. 

Four years ago you were doing an unpaid internship that would later get you a job with EMI, today you were a sought-after designer and technical officer, favoured personally by one of the biggest bands in the entire world, eating breakfast with them, and discussing your tumultuous relationship with the band themselves. Stranger things have happened, but not by a lot. 

You’re side of stage with your clipboard and headset every night, and you can’t help but beam, watching them all, so vivacious, feeding off the energy of the crowd before them. Sometimes Roger’s gaze will meet yours, and for the barest moment your grin widens, as if you’re sent back in time to that very first tour -

Which is terrible, because then you remember it’s now, and Roger looks away, still smiling, and you tell yourself that your heart is beating to the rhythm of the drums for purely unrelated reasons.

You just want to be able to look at his smile without feeling conflicted.

“Light!” You can hear the smile in Roger’s voice, and the nickname doesn’t grate like it once did, instead, you find yourself smiling where you’re hovering by a milk crate filled with extension cords. “Heads up, love.” He calls, but you don’t turn quick enough, and are just thankful that the sandwich that goes careening past your head is securely plastic wrap. He calls an apology while you go fetch it from where it dropped, but when you turn back, he’s hovering with an amused smile, offering an apple.

“What, you’re not gonna lob that at me too?” You half laughed, obligingly taking the fruit and heading to sit at the edge of the stage. 

“It’s not like you would have caught it either way,” he heads to sit by the drums. Like always, once he was seated, he didn’t tend to move, and as had become commonplace over the past few weeks, you tended to stay away unless you were working. The empty stage between you feels enormous. 

So maybe you sit by the proscenium arch this time.

It’s getting to be the end of American leg of the tour; you’re not worried like you’d been the first time around, all those years ago. This time they’d made it clear you would be accompanying them for the remainder of the tour. It was strange to say, but you felt somehow freer now than you did back then, you weren’t worried you were going to be kicked out at any moment, and you didn’t have to pretend like you didn’t exist to keep management happy. You’re free to be yourself. Which, unfortunately, includes having your anxiety ramp up as you board the flight to Japan.

In the past three years, you’d spent your life on a tour bus, never needing to leave the ground, and you liked it that way. Now, however, in the Queen’s private jet, surrounded by the few other crew members who would be making the international journey, you could feel your heart beating hard enough that it was likely to escape from your ribs.

“Not a fan of flying?” Deaky’s voice is barely reassuring at this moment, especially since he’s standing beside you rather than securing himself to a seat. He crouches beside you, gently taking your hand from it’s tight grip on the armrest.

“They’re- dude, they’re taxi-ing the plane, please sit down.” You implore him as you feel the plane rumbling against the tarmac. Deaky smiles patiently, giving your hand a squeeze, and taking the empty seat in front of you. Once you hear the click of his seatbelt, you frown. “Why are you here? Aren’t the others at the front?”

“I was asked to come check on you, and I see why,” he chuckles softly, and you purse your lips.

“Let me crash and burn in peace,” your nervousness seems to speak for you, but he doesn’t seem perturbed by it. Instead, his voice is calm and gentle as the plane begins to take off, asking you what you requested from the Japanese venues, if knew how the rig would change yet, and giving a quiet thanks for joining the tour in the first place. You give yourself a moment to think, to really consider his words, trying not to let your mind drift to your surrounding, before you answer, the tightness in your chest easing as your focus shifts.

Deaky happily listens, asks you questions here and there, and in turn, when you ask him about the trip, and about his family, he seems delighted to regale you with stories of Veronica and his son Robert, who’s almost one. It’s a long flight, around twelve hours, but once the plane’s at altitude, your anxiety drops, and you stand, stretching your legs, searching for some food. You officially regret not getting food at the departure gate.

“Hey,” John stands too, and you finally ask the question that had been sitting at the back of your mind since he’d sat down, “who asked you to check on me?” John gives you a strange little half-smile.

“Roger;” it’s not the answer you’re expecting, nor is his follow-up of, “he remembered you didn’t do so well last time, thought you should have company.”

It’s... endearing, not to mention easy to read on your face that you’re genuinely touched by the sentiment, but John at least has the decency to keep his thoughts to himself, heading back to the band.

You want to feel like you still have some sense of integrity, that you don’t feel like you’re throwing your past self under the bus because you want him to keep smiling at you because you miss it, miss him. But he won’t; he’s put himself on the end of a very short, proverbial leash, learning from his past mistakes. If he’s friends with you, just friends with you, he won’t hurt you.

And that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

But it’s difficult.

Japan is in many ways, at least in the ways that mattered to you, incredibly familiar; not much differs in terms of arena setups in various parts of the world. But in other ways, almost every other way, you felt like a fish out of water. You were touring with Queen for goodness sakes; when you were with them, it was like you were a celebrity by association, though fans would more often than not just shunt you to the side, but when you’re alone... well it’s always a bit of a shock to be far from home.

So you gravitate to what you know, to the people and places you know, and the drum risers feel ironically like somewhere safe. 

There’s people moving, buzzing about and setting up gymnasium they’re playing at in Nagoya, their second gig in as many days, and you’ve found yourself five minutes to actually take a break before you need to start a lamp check. It feels like it used to, in some sort of strange, not really at all, way, but you’re leaning back on the drum risers, and Roger’s tapping at his cymbal absentmindedly, and Deaky’s doing a sound check a few feet away.

“Spotlight,” it’s Roger, and the tapping has stopped. Looking back, you can’t help but smile up at him through the hardware of the drumkit to hand you a cigarette. You accept it, patting down your pockets for a lighter, before he clears his throat, and holds out his. 

He congratulates you on a quick set-up, to which you laughed, a mostly proud of your team, and you, in turn, make mention of how you’re in awe of his resilience; matinees and night shows every other day, and he still manages to get out almost every night. You’d seen him do it before, but here you’d expected him to slow down, just a little. And on top of that, he was still managing to keep you having at least one meal per day, two if you had the day off, but you don’t feel like you should mention that, no matter how much you appreciated it. You haven’t been tired in weeks; everything’s still getting set up on time, the world has kept spinning. You can concede, albeit silently, that he was right. But right now, he’s smiling back at you, and this did not go unnoticed.

“Well fuck,” Freddie huffed, expression thoughtful as he leaned himself onto Brian’s amp as the guitarist was running a sound check, “they’re pinning over one another again.”

“Freddie, wasn’t that your plan?” Brian, only half listening, asked.

“My plan was to work with Spotlight again, and to get Roger to perhaps admit that he had been wrong once in his life, but that was before I knew what he’d done.” Freddie explains, watching you and Roger actually laughing together, caught up in your own little world.

“And so now... she seems happy again - they both do - and you’re... what? Annoyed? Come on, mate.” Brian pauses, his fingers silencing his strings as he turns to his bandmate.

“Darling, you know I want only the best for them, but pining is just painful for everyone.” He sighed, completely ignoring Brian, who was quietly begging him not to play Cupid, “sometimes we must lock the ones we love in a dressing room until they discuss their situation and stop acting like children.”

“Acting like- Freddie, do you even hear yourself?” Brian’s claims that that might just exacerbate the problem also fall on deaf ears.

He doesn’t, for the record, lock you and Roger in a dressing room, though it takes both Brian and Deaky to convince him not to. Honestly, it seems like he doesn’t even need to.The tension that was there at the start of the tour has all but evaporated, and things between you and Roger are easy comparatively. You try to reason that you’re just searching for familiarity in such an unfamiliar setting, but it’s beginning to feel like old times. 

You try and get the attention of your team by clapping out a rhythm, and he’ll often repeat the rhythm on the drums, which serves to make you grin. Some days they’ll have a matinee show; it’s a pain to set up, means you’re getting up before the sun, but during the show, you give yourself time to slip out, putting one of your subordinates in charge while you steal away to the nearest convenience store to pick up lunch for yourself and Roger. Part of you doesn’t want to break the ritual, even for a day.

You’ll spend lunchtimes sitting side by side on the drum risers, smoking and looking through tabloids, though neither of you care much for the information itself. You don’t even seem to notice how close you are, his shoulder brushing yours, knee leaning against your knee where you’ve got the magazine propped up. Sometimes, when Roger seems to realise, he’ll move like contact burns him, careful to keep his distance, but today, before their third show in Tokyo, he looks over at where you’re intently reading some mis-translated headline, he actually smiles.

Japan comes to an end, and you’re dreading the plane trip to Australia. 

You don’t beat around the bush this time, and sit yourself in the seat beside Roger as soon as you board the plane. He seems bemused, but welcomes you.

“So you don’t have to have Deaky come distract me,” you explained with a wry, if tight smile. Roger snorts, but can’t hide his reddening cheeks.

“No idea what you’re on about.”

It’s just getting into April now, Autumn in Australia that still manages to feel like Summer in certain states in America. The beaches are pristine and the people are beautiful, if rough around the edges. It’s a shock coming from Japan to Australia; curse words are tossed around like they mean nothing, and well, they’re just words, they don’t actually mean anything, but it’s still jarring to hear. 

The tour bus gets cut off in traffic in Perth by a painfully shiny, silver car, and you hear an assistant stage manager mutter under their breath.

“Shit-cunt, of course he’d drive a Holden.” And maybe sixty percent of what he’s said makes any sense to you. At times, it feels a little like an alien planet. The band seems to feel more at home here, however, and that’s all that matters. 

You find you come to like it, the people relaxed yet efficient, the sunset over the ocean like liquid gold when you get to watch it. Most people here are more forgiving of your smoke breaks - smoko, someone had once called it, with a surprising confidence - and brash and loud, with an air of affection. Interns and assistants lean all over each other, pass cigarettes like sharing ‘a dart’ as they would call it, was second nature, that being when they weren’t calling it a ‘ciggie’, both of which were terms you refused to use. Roger told you to relax a little, gently teasing, but wraps a loose arm around you, accepting when one of the dressers offers him a drag on her cigarette. You’re a little stunned at first; it’s as if you can feel every point where he makes contact with you. 

Maybe you should slap him, tell him to get his hands off of you, but instead, you... relax a little. Pulling a box of cigarettes from your pocket, you ask for a light, and several of the techies offer you theirs. 

And you lean into him.

It’s a slippery slope. The land down under, of seafood and wine, has you under some sort of spell, you tell yourself. But you know you felt this way back in Japan, back at the tail end of the American leg.

“Hey Rog,” your heart hammering in your throat, you call him away before he steps into the dressing room, and when he turns to you, he’s grinning, bright and easy, “I- after the show, could I have a word?” 

“‘course!” He nods, and is gone in a flurry, not seeming to pick up on your nervous energy. 

Your heart’s not in the show tonight. It’s all you can do to focus on the technical elements, noting down anything that may need to be looked at before tomorrow’s show. You’re so focused on making sure everything’s ready for the next day, and not on the way your stomach’s twisting itself into knots, that when Roger comes to find you, it comes as something as a shock.

“A word?” He asked, still smiling, still shining with sweat and endorphins, a towel around his neck. Absolutely gorgeous.

“A word.” You agreed. He takes you to the dressing room, which has since been vacated by the others, looking to head back to their hotel rooms, or perhaps a club. All their costumes sat haphazardly around, and you have no idea what you actually want to say. 

“I have to-” the words get caught in your throat. You’re leaning against one of the makeup tables, it’s lights still on by your back, making you sweat, making you more nervous somehow. Roger’s sitting on his hands, on a bench opposite you, waiting expectantly, smiling just a little.

“How do I say I’m tired of being professional, but still have integrity?” The words spill from your lips, staining the space between the two of you. “Because I like you now, just as much as I ever liked you before, but I can’t -” Roger’s smile is fading, darkening. You can’t meet his gaze because - oh fuck, this isn’t what you wanted, not what you wanted at all, “- am I misreading this? Tell me if I am, because I’ll fuck off and leave you alone, we can be friends and I can be happy, because I’ve missed being friends, being -” 

“What are you asking?” He asks quietly, and you finally look up, see his confusion, and you feel it again; the space between you, the few feet, it feels enormous.

“Am I misreading us?”

Silence. 

“What do you want from me, Spotlight?” But he’s smiling now when he breaks the silence, and there’s a relief that comes with it. He looks a little bit amused, taking the towel from around his neck, and scrubbing it over his face as he watches you compose your thoughts.

“You’re not the same person you were then.”

“Do you want him?”

“Absolutely not.” You swallow hard, and Roger gently puts the towel to the side, getting to his feet, actually smirking. “Can we stop holding each other at arm’s length?” You asked, voice gentle, hopeful. Roger beckons you to him, and meets you in the middle. 

“You know,” he mused, taking your face in his hands. His gaze roams your face, as if fixing this moment, your soft expression, in his memory, “I actually missed you, believe it or not.” And it’s as if your heart explodes.

After everything had happened, after only spending a few months with him, he missed you. You’d crammed every day, every moment with activities, just so you’d never had the opportunity to think about, to miss him, though you had, despite your best efforts. Words don’t suffice at this moment, so you kiss him, in the middle of the dressing room, the feeling of his lips against yours both familiar and new all at once. 

Things don’t change much for the tour, though find yourself sharing Roger’s room more often than not, and he’s got his arm around you whenever the opportunity arose. Freddie always seemed rather smug whenever he noticed, but he had the good grace not to say anything smug to you. 

You still work hard, still dedicated to a fault, but when the band comes off stage, Roger wraps you up in a hug, and gives you a small, amused salute before you run on stage to help bump out once the crowd is gone. You don’t care if the rest of the crew stare, you just congratulate him on his show, before ushering one of your assistants to help you move a ladder into position. 

“What happens after the tour?” You ask at one of the last after parties, sitting in a loveseat with his arm around you.

“I think I’ll need a holiday,” Roger admits, half laughing, though it’s not really a joke, and you hear the unspoken, ‘and I think you need one too’. Well, he’s not wrong. It’s been years since you’d taken time for yourself. There’s something to be said for enjoying your job, but you’d been burning out hard before Roger had stepped in to help you get yourself back in order.

“Where would you go?” You ask, shooting for nonchalance. Roger hums for a beat, before turning to you, smiling.

“Feels like I’ve been everywhere by now; where do you wanna go?” 

And you hear it loud and clear; because I’d go to the ends of the Earth for you.

tagging those who showed interest. @tensecondvacation @bohemiansweede @fadingpsychiccopbiscuit @rogahs-drowse @d-r-e-a-m-catchme @fanficsupporter @siriuslymooned @legendsaresooftenwarnings @joemazzellhoe @happycamper72

[amphtaminedreams]

50 Films You’ve Got to Watch

Hi to anyone who’s reading,

I thought I’d take a break from the fashion posts to ramble on about something else that I’m really interested in for a hot minute. And I say ramble with intent, because I do go ON. 

The topic is film and I thought that I’d make a list of my 50 must watches. These are movies that I feel had the biggest impact on me which means, yes, I do have tattoos referring to a couple of them, lol. My genre of choice is usually horror and although there has been a bit of a “horror renaissance” and a shift towards prioritising good quality storylines over jump scares in recent years, on the whole, they typically aren’t the most highbrow films out there, so there aren’t THAT many on this list. Most of the horror films I listed are just genuinely good quality rather than a straight-up gorefest or anything too terrifying, however, I’m not that easily scared so if you did fancy watching any of the films I mentioned, take that with a slight pinch of salt!

Also, this isn’t anything to take too seriously. I really like movies and cinema but I’m also not a movie critic and this is more of a hobby than something I want to pursue. Like, I’m completely aware of how unrealistic working in TV or film is as a career if your family isn’t loaded. Very aware. Painfully aware you could say (imagine me sighing as I’m writing this). That being said, part of me does want to do a ranking of every film I’ve seen in 2019 at some point this year, so if anybody else is interested in this kinda thing let me know! 

Lauren x

50 Films You’ve Got to Watch:

1. Black Swan (2010)

“I felt it. Perfect. It was perfect.”

I watched Black Swan years ago now and I still remember how disturbing I found it and how exciting that was to me. I was probably a bit too young (young enough that my mum felt it necessary to cover my eyes during the Natalie Portman/Mila Kunis sex scene, lol) but even then I could recognise that it was a beautifully haunting film and Darren Aronofsky has gone on to be one of my favourite directors.

2. Jennifer’s Body (2009)

“And now, I'm eating your boyfriend. See? At least I'm consistent.”

Engrave it on my tombstone: JENNIFER’S BODY DESERVED BETTER. I fully believe that if this movie was released in 2019, it wouldn’t have faced half the criticisms it did back in 2009. It genuinely was ahead of its time. Megan Fox? As a boy-eating, demonic cheerleader? And Amanda Seyfried? Some of the most ICONIC DIALOGUE EVER? It should’ve invented a GENRE. Instead it got paid DUST. Yes, when I write in caps lock, my internal voice is YELLING. I feel passionately about this, okay?!

3. La La Land (2016)

“I guess I'll see you in the movies.”

Again, maybe it’s a basic film bitch opinion to have but I adored La La Land. I saw it at the cinema and spent the last 20 minutes of the film sobbing, only to find my mum and sister distinctly underwhelmed. I indignantly ranted back then to them how perfect a film it was and I’m going to do the same thing now so if you are reading and you didn’t like it, then you should probably just move on because I wouldn’t want to read myself banging on about Emma Stone again for several paragraphs either (don’t worry, I’ll try and keep it to one). I can’t help it. This film was just TOO REAL! Like, in every way but the actual plot and characters, La La Land has the dreamlike quality of a fairytale. The colours are rich and thick and always complimentary, the musical sequences are either like Disney songs or lullabies, and Emma and Ryan Gosling are made for each other. But then life and ambitions and resentments get in the way. And that’s the real part! That’s why it’s so bloody good! 

4. Easy A (2010)

“People thought I was a dirty skank? Fine. I’d be the dirtiest skank they’d ever seen.”

And so we arrive at the movie that actually began my love affair with Emma Stone. Iconic. Iconic in every way. The bad reputation montage is cinematic excellence. For real, though, this is so underrated as a coming of age movie. Like don’t get me wrong, Mean Girls is everything (I easily could’ve included it on this list but I feel like it’s just a given that anyone who grew up in the noughties loves that film) but Easy A deserves just as much credit. It has Penn Badgley, one of the few celebrity males I care about! Amanda Bynes! Aly Michalka! Lisa Kudrow! Did I mention Emma Stone?

5. Kill Bill (2003)

“Now, if any of you sons of bitches got anything else to say, now's the fucking time!”

If I had to put any of these films as my singular favourite, it would probably be the first Kill Bill. Controversial, I know; even my dad introduced it to me as the weaker of the two. To list any Quentin Tarantino movie as the one that inspired you to want to be a director is probably a very cliche film student thing to say BUT I’m not a film student and I’ve put my directing pipe dream permanently to one side, thus, coming from me it’s not as hackneyed a statement. Or so I tell myself, lol. Basically, I was in awe of Kill Bill from start to finish. The colourisation is a dream, from the crazy 88 scene to the final fight between The Bridge and O Ren Ishii, and I particularly remember loving the animation sequence despite that not really being my kinda thing. I was just so impressed with how seamlessly something so out of place, considering the live action format of the rest of the film, fit in with everything else; even the scenes that should be absurd instead work with the comic book style narrative. Uma Thurman is of course amazing and iconic af but Lucy Liu as O Ren Ishii is my favourite thing about this film and the line I chose gave me all the bad bitch energy I need to, I think, get me through the rest of my time on this planet. If not, the tattooed version of this still I have on my arm should hopefully do the job. Yep, I truly ascended to a divine level of basic film hoe with that life choice.

6. Marie Antoinette (2006)

“This, Madame, is Versailles.”

The first Sofia Coppola film on this list, I love this woman’s work to death. Regardless of the content she’s working with, the end result always gives me the feeling I’m watching an extended music video. They always have this almost dreamlike quality to them and everything from the colour palette to the camera movements to the soundtrack in Marie Antoinette is tied together perfectly.

7. Mother! (2017)

“You never loved me. You just loved how much I loved you.”

I was tense throughout the entirety of Mother. As a socially anxious, obsessively tidy control freak, this whole film was like something from one of my nightmares; think unwanted house party on crack. I was mentally screaming along with Jennifer Lawrence for all of those people to get out, whilst simultaneously just staring at her face because she is so fucking gorgeous! Even when she’s completely lost it! Totally unrealistic but it makes for some really pretty shots! And then there’s the ending which left me kind of like “what the fuck did I just watch?” Which is what Darren Aronofsky films do best. They’re terrifying but also quite beautiful and Mother is no exception.

8. Gerald’s Game (2017)

“Everybody's got a little corner in there somewhere. A button they won't admit they want pressed.”

I finally got round to watching this for the first time the other day and I absolutely loved it. It probably helps that the last Stephen King adaptation I saw was Pet Sematary, so despite the praise this got at the time, my expectations weren’t super high, but I think this really is a perfect horror film. It’s clever, doesn’t rely on jump scares, and the creepy scenes that are in there really get under your skin. It drags a little in the middle though it’s beautifully shot, acted and has one of the few “body horror” scenes in a horror that’s actually made me cringe.

9. A Beautiful Mind (2001)

“I think that's what it's like with all our dreams and our nightmares, Martin, we've got to keep feeding them for them to stay alive.”

I don’t want to say too much about this film and spoil the plot, so I’ll just say that it’s incredible. Devastatingly sad but also wonderfully hopeful at the same time, and solidified my interest in psychology! I could watch Jennifer Connelly all day.

10. Alien (1979)

“This is Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off.”

As a horror fan, I don’t think I need to explain why this film’s on the list. It’s been raved about and video essayed and called a pioneer of the genre ad nauseam. Again, not that this is really anything new but part of what I love about this movie is the context of its release and success; before Sigourney Weaver’s portrayal of Ellen Ripley, it was a rare occurrence to have a female protagonist in an action-based movie. Alien really paved the way for women to take up space in a previously male-dominated genre.

11. 10 Cloverfield Lane (2016)

“Crazy is building your ark after the flood has already come.”

I saw this for the first time at the cinema and pretty much went in blind. I hadn’t seen Cloverfield but I love Mary Elizabeth Winstead (Final Destination 3 was always my favourite of the franchise, lol) and there wasn’t really anything else on worth seeing, so my sister and I chose this and it was an experience. Like, of all the films on this list, this is probably the one that had me most on edge and I’m not sure watching it on your laptop on Putlocker will do it justice. You need the curtains pulled to, the volume way up and complete silence.

12. American Psycho (2000)

“Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now, you fucking stupid bastard!”

There isn’t a dull moment in American Psycho. Every line is quotable and every scene is straight to the point. I feel like this film is a masterclass in that Stanley Kubrick quote about editing where he says he liked to get rid of everything that was not absolutely vital to advancing the plot or the audience’s understanding of the character in any way. Plus, the ending is trippy af! Or maybe I’m just a bit oblivious to something that was quite obvious throughout, who knows. Either way, what the final scenes really mean are fun to think about.

13. The Descent (2005)

“I'm an English teacher, not fucking Tomb Raider.”

Okay, so I literally just watched this the other day and had to begrudgingly remove Silent Hill to make space for it (I KNOW it was critically panned and I KNOW the video game is better but I liked the visuals, OKAY!?) because The Descent is truly one of the best horror films I’ve ever seen. Before we even get to the supernatural element of the creatures, which are genuinely creepy for once, there’s a party bag of other phobia-inducing sequences that had me emotionally exhausted within the first half hour alone. Claustrophobia, darkness, heights, actual cringeworthy body horror, The Descent has something for everyone. The way it utilises space (or lack of for that matter) and darkness and panicked camera pans makes you feel as if you are really down in the cave with the characters. To add to that, I was actually rooting for all of them too; it probably helped that they were English rather than the typical American slasher cast but I found them to be a believable and likeable group of women. I truly did want them all to get out alive *spoilers*, which only made the ending all the more devastating and although the general narrative is quite predictable, the way in which things get wrapped up left just the right amount of shocks and questions to leave you reeling.

14. Eighth Grade (2018)

“Gucci.”

No film has ever captured what it’s like having social anxiety during “high school” (it’s called secondary school here in England, I know, but you get me) better than Eighth Grade. A tribute to the feeling of never quite fitting in and wishing you knew how to do what everyone else seems to be able to do naturally, it encapsulates that awkwardness with an accuracy that is really impressive considering that 1. it’s Bo Burnham’s first film, and 2. he’s not...like...a 13 year old girl. It is just as funny as it is sad and Elsie Fisher is great and so, so believable. Girl should’ve won some kind of Oscar.

15. American Beauty (1999)

“I don't think that there's anything worse than being ordinary.”

I wavered on whether or not to include this film on the list due to the Kevin Spacey controversy and decided that I had to with the disclaimer that I watched it quite some time before the stories about him came out and won’t ever watch any of the new things he inevitably ends up doing (because Hollywood has a notoriously short memory when it comes to the actions of disgraced male actors, lol). You can’t deny the amount of talent and skill that went into making a film so graceful and elegant and yet in equal parts unnerving, and I don’t think we should refuse to acknowledge the achievements of everyone else on that set because of Spacey’s behaviour. 

16. Bandersnatch (2018)

“The past is immutable, Stefan. No matter how painful it is, we can't change things. We can't choose differently with hindsight. We all have to learn to accept that.”

As I was watching/playing through Bandersnatch, I didn’t necessarily love it. I think I’m echoing a common sentiment when I say that I was kinda confused. I was desperately trying to *spoiler* avoid the option of the protagonist murdering their dad (he seemed like a nice guy!?) but somehow always ended up there by their logic. So I watched most of the endings and then I went on and busied myself for the rest of the evening. AND I COULDN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. One minute I was completely deluding myself into believing the whole parallel universes thing was true and that I should test it out (don’t ask), and then the next I was thinking how disturbing it was that we’d been basically been inside the head of a person experiencing a mental breakdown severe enough for them murdering their dad, who had only ever wanted to help when you think about it objectively, to seem rational. The confusion started making sense within the context of the experience of the protagonist and our role as the audience and though I hadn’t realised it at the time, I’d been completely absorbed in the episode. Maybe the confusion wasn’t intentional, maybe I’m giving Charlie Brooker too much credit based on the recent couple of series of Black Mirror BUT I can’t deny that Bandersnatch left a huge mark on me, and after all, this is the man who wrote White Christmas. 

17. Get Out (2017)

“White girls. They get you every time.”

Going into this film, I was cocky. I’ve gotten pretty good at predicting what’s going to happen in things, probably just because I watch too much TV, but from the trailer I was sure I knew exactly what was going to happen. And then, I was completely blown away. The ending was SO SMART, in terms of both the within universe storytelling and also the metaphorical narrative/commentary on the way our society treats black men and women. Like those early episodes of Black Mirror, it had me like “how the fuck did Jordan Peele think of that!?”. I can only dream of being as creative in my writing one day. Even little plot points like where the “police” car turns up at the end and your stomach sinks and you realise the intention of that is most likely to help you empathise with what the average African-American person feels in their day to day life when police make themselves present, what with institutional police brutality and racial profiling; it’s clear so much thought went into this script.

18. Ghost Stories (2017)

“It's funny, isn't it? How it's always the last key that unlocks everything.”

I don’t have all too much to say about this one apart from that I love a well-constructed English horror. I feel like it’s something we don’t do all too often and to be honest, I’m struggling to think of many English horror films in the first place. Ghost Stories is a great example of why we need more; it’s smart and spooky and folky without hitting you over the head with all those elements and Andy Nyman is a perfect lead. Love a bit of Martin Freeman too.

19. Girl, Interrupted (1999)

“Crazy isn't being broken, or swallowing a dark secret. It's you, or me, amplified.”

Maybe this is the 13 year old black and white Tumblr girl in me jumping out but I still adore this film. I know it’s not necessarily the most critically well received but Winona Ryder, Angelina Jolie and Brittany Murphy are 3 of my favourite actresses and I do love the script. I also like the way that Borderline Personality Disorder was characterised in Winona’s character Susanna (I’m wavering on whether to call her a character as if I recall correctly the book was based on the author’s real experience) in that it was quite subtle and that she wasn’t portrayed as manipulative, or aggressive or basically, as the villain, which I feel is usually the go-to. It focussed more on the mood aspects and the way that people with BPD tend to latch onto and idealise others, as Susanna does with Lisa, and these are both things that I have personally struggled with in the past.

20. Hereditary (2018)

“All I do is worry and slave and defend you, and all I get back is that fucking face on your face!”

It was hard to find a quote that encapsulated what makes Hereditary so great because so much of it is about what isn’t said, if that makes sense. It’s a lot of pained silences and resentful looks and horrified screams, and doesn’t that sound like a fun time? Honestly, it’s not necessarily, lmao. Shocker. It has you feeling like something awful is about to happen the whole time, deep in the pit of your stomach, but I like that in a film, when it does make you properly feel. Ari Aster gets slow-burning dread just right in his exploration of dysfunctional families and grudges, with a few heart-sinking shocks thrown in for good measure all without overdoing the jump scares. There are a lot of deeply unnerving “supernatural” moments but there are just as many horrifically realistic familial conflict scenes that give you that whole “something is wrong” gut instinct in equal measures. It’s been a year and I’m still so angry that Toni Collette didn’t get an Oscar nomination for her performance, because it was really the perfect opportunity to break down the invisible wall between horror and critical recognition. On a more positive note, I loved Midsommar too (not as much as Hereditary but it was still a trip) and I cannot wait to see what Ari Aster does next. Once again, I’ll be in the cinema on opening night.

21. Heathers (1988)

“Dear Diary, my teen-angst bullshit now has a body count.”

Heathers is iconic in every way: the outfits, the cast, the lines. I mean, the acting can be a bit iffy at times but I honestly think that without Heathers, Jennifer’s Body might never have existed and that’s a world I wouldn’t want to live in. There was so much choice when I was picking a line to summarise why I like it so much and of course, “fuck me gently with a chain saw, do I look like Mother Theresa?” deserves an honourable mention. You almost made it bby. The TV remake? We don’t speak of it.

22. Hot Fuzz (2007)

“The way we see it, it’s all for the greater good.”

It might not be the “artiest” movie ever but I’ve seen Hot Fuzz so many times and it never gets old. Though I used to love it when I was younger purely for the PG-13 gore, now I appreciate it for the absurdity and the ridiculousness and to be honest, the total believability of the plot when it comes to towns ruled by low-key hostile, doddery old white people. I should know, I live in one.

23. Inglourious Basterds (2009)

“You probably heard we ain't in the prisoner-takin' business. We in the killin' Nazi business. And cousin, business is a-boomin’.”

I wish I wasn’t a hoe for Quentin Tarantino films (I’ve felt personally attacked by many a poundlandbandit starter pack) but I am. The breakneck pacing, the tongue in cheek dialogue and the gore all make this one of my ultimate favourites. Also, I have a huge crush on Melanie Laurent. Yes, it’s the French accent. No, I don’t know the mechanics of how that works. I hear someone speak French and I want to marry them! I can’t help it!

24. Ingrid Goes West (2017)

“Are you actually insane?”

This seems like a random choice to have on the list seeing as it was never really that hyped up, nor did it receive masses of critical acclaim. It did get positive reviews but that was about it. However, as soon as I saw the trailer, I knew I had to see it. Months, and an £8 purchase from HMV later, I finally got to watch Ingrid Goes West and I loved every moment of it. Whilst Aubrey Plaza’s character, I feel, is an exploration of a lot of young women’s insecurities and self-doubts and fears, blown up to monstrous proportions (or maybe just mine, lol), and a 90 minute film about that doesn’t sound all that revolutionary, this one is as intense as it is stylish and darkly comedic and that’s what puts it on the map for me. 

25. Insidious (2011)

“I like to call them travellers.”

So this film scared the ever-living SHIT out of me when I was younger and though I now consider horror my favourite genre and watch it on the regular with absolutely no qualms, 13 year old me was (not to use the world lightly) mildly traumatised. I genuinely couldn’t be home alone by myself or sleep at night without thinking the old woman ghost from the beginning was outside my room for a good 6 months or so. Like it literally exacerbated an already present sleep disorder to the point where my understandably frustrated-at-being-woken-up-nightly-by-her-panicking-daughter mother got me referred for CBT (to reflect on a time when I didn’t know what CBT or CAMHS was is…blissful, lol). And maybe because of that, in my mind, I still conceptualise it as one of the very few horror movies that has actually scared me, hence its place on the list. That scene where we first see that Star Wars looking red faced devil? I’d probably still nope out even now.

26. It Follows (2014)

“It could look like someone you know or it could be a stranger in a crowd. Whatever helps it get close to you.”

There’s not too much to say about It Follows, other than that it’s a good horror film and more importantly just a really good film. I feel it’s a crucial, early part of this warmly welcomed horror renaissance we are now fully in the thick of where writers are focussing less on making people gasp and more on actual good quality cinema. It’s a simple concept that leaves enough room for you to ask your own questions whilst still feeling somewhat complete, and not annoyingly open-ended. The shots are good, the characters are normal enough to be believable, and the colour palette is Fincher-esque; the muted tones perfectly complement the feelings of dread that run throughout. Whilst you don’t need to be concerned with what the whole thing is a metaphor of in order to enjoy the film, the possibility of there being that second reading of the narrative, for me, elevate it to a higher level. In other words, it’s got *Shrek voice* layers.

27. Juno (2007)

“I'm just gonna go ahead and nip this thing in the bud. Cuz you know, they say pregnancy often leads to…you know...an infant.”

I love Ellen Page. I love Michael Cera. Together they are the best thing ever. See, I’m not really much of a rom-com girl but I see this as less of a rom-com and more of a coming of age film with romantic snippets and great one liners. It’s sweet and whimsical and funny but also really fucking real in parts, and it’s definitely what I would consider a modern classic. If you haven’t watched it already, do!

28. Suspiria (2018)

“Love and manipulation, they share houses very often. They are frequent bedfellows.”

Witches! Ballet dancing! Decapitation! Tilda Swinton! What’s not to love? As soon as I saw the trailer for Suspiria, I knew I had to see it. Creepy but also beautifully shot and scored, it was worth the 8 month wait from the Venice Film Festival and eventual caving and watching on 123Movies after I couldn’t find the DVD on Amazon; I finally got to tick it off my watch list only to like it so much I had to add the original Suspiria back on.

29. Mulholland Drive (2001)

“I hope that I never see that face, ever, outside of a dream.”

Another film which had me like WTF by the end, I really recommend Mulholland Drive for anyone who wants to be vaguely creeped out and extremely confused at the same time. See, I really love a film where you spend the next few hours after watching researching all the different interpretations and reading interviews with the director. That sounds sarcastic, but honestly, I love it. It’s a moody, film-noir style mindfuck of a movie and even after doing my research I’m still quite baffled. That’s the best part. 

30. Requiem for a Dream (2000)

“Purple in the morning, blue in the afternoon, orange in the evening.”

It took me a while to get on board with seeing Marlon Wayans in a serious role (I’ve seen White Chicks far too many times, clearly), but once I did, I was into it. To be totally honest, I don’t think there’s a single happy moment in this film; it comes up quite frequently as one of the most disturbing of all time, which I’m sure Aronofsky probably thinks of as another notch on his belt. Whilst imo, that’s quite a grandiose claim, Requiem for a Dream definitely stuck in my mind after I watched it. Even if you’ve never watched the film, the ending sequence is notorious for how fucked up it is and I do think it’s earned the infamy. What stuck out more to me, though, was how purposeful every shot and sequence felt in terms of trying to let you into the character’s states of mind, the short lived bursts of euphoria and the panicked downwards spirals.  I think it will always be one of the most compelling films about addiction for highlighting how terrifyingly out of one’s control it can be.  

31. Room (2015)

“No one is strong alone.”

This film made me cry buckets. Brie Larson and Jacob Tremblay are wonderful, and everyone involved deserved all the Oscar hype. Every line was so heartfelt and emotive, and I loved Tremblay’s voiceovers. To translate the stream of consciousness of a kid from page to screen in a way that it remains believable in spite of its wisdom (not like those tweets where people try to make out their kid just casually made some off the cuff scathing political jibe at the dinner table) is quite the feat and similarly, I’m in awe of how the director managed to communicate the pain and confusion of the characters on a level that transcended the physical confines of said room. The escape scene had my heart in my mouth. All this being said, I should really read the book because it’s supposed to be even better. 

32. Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World (2010)

‘When I'm around you, I kind of feel like I'm on drugs. Not that I do drugs. Unless you do drugs, in which case I do them all the time. All of them.”

Michael Cera and Mary Elizabeth Winstead are two of my favourite actors and so it’s a given that Scott Pilgrim is one of my favourite films. It’s such a fun, easy watch and the video-game inspired directorial style makes it, in terms of cinematography, probably the most memorable Edgar Wright film on this list imo. The concept, based on the graphic novel, is quite a simple one but that doesn’t stop it being entertaining from start to finish. The rest of the cast is great too: Brie Larson, Anna Kendrick, Mae Whitman, Aubrey Plaza and Alison Pill (Ivy from American Horror Story, anyone?) All make appearances, plus Chris Evans. He’s Captain America or something, right?

33. Scream (1996)

“No, please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!”

The Scream movies were my absolute favourite when I was just getting into “horror” as a 13/14 year old because they were always pretty tame in terms of scares but nonetheless, always a trip. Though, controversially, I’d probably say I enjoyed Scream 4 just as much as the first one (I am a bit of an Emma Roberts stan), I chose the first one purely for how iconic it was and how ahead of its time. It mixed satire and horror in a way that hadn’t really been done in such a mainstream way before and made it possible for films like Cabin in the Woods and The Final Girls to do so well.

34. Shaun of the Dead (2004)

“Take car. Go to Mum's. Kill Phil, sorry, grab Liz, go to the Winchester, have a nice cold pint, and wait for all of this to blow over.”

I’ve seen Shaun of the Dead way, way, way too many times and I’ll still probably watch it again the next time ITV decide to show it too. It makes me laugh, it’s got lots of good gore and it’s easy to follow. The perfect film to put on whilst eating a take away, as long as you’re not too squeamish, lol.

35. Silence of the Lambs (1991)

“Well, Clarice. Have the lambs stopped screaming?”

Jodie Foster’s portrayal of Clarice Starling makes her one of my favourite movie heroines of all time; quietly courageous, she was the type of female lead that really hadn’t cropped up all that much in the films that came before Silence of the Lambs. And despite its problematic handling of certain issues, it’s a fucking incredible film. The thing about Hannibal Lecter is that they don’t have to tell you that he’s always one step ahead, you see it for yourself (the elevator scene!) and so it kinda feels like he’s looking into YOUR soul too. The confrontation at the end between Clarice and Buffalo Bill is one of the most nerve-racking 15 minutes or so of film I’ve ever watched, and if I ever get asked to justify why I’m scared of the dark again, I’m going to point straight to this scene. Yes, I’m a baby but my fears are VALID!

36. Silver Linings Playbook (2012)

“I do this! Time after time after time! I do all this shit for other people! And then I wake up and I'm empty! I have nothing!”

As you can probably tell from my inclusion of Mother! on this list, I love Jennifer Lawrence, and this is probably my favourite drama film of hers. The way that she and Bradley Cooper portray two people struggling with mental illness is refreshingly honest in that it shows it can make you quite an unlikeable person at times, albeit someone who is just trying their best to survive. That being said, in spite of the subject matter it’s still a relatively light and easy-to-watch film. The diner scene in particular is a masterclass in realistic conflict and reaction, and I hate to be “ooo, edgy” but several of the lines did strike a really deep chord.

37. The Babadook (2014)

“Sometimes I just want to smash your head against the brick wall until your fucking brains pop out.”

The best thing that the Babadook does, much like It Follows, is instils a sense of deep seated dread in you before you even see the supernatural forces at work. The washed out colour palette, apparent emotional disconnect of Jennifer Kent’s (who also directs!) character, and the disorienting movements of the camera all help to create a lingering unease that is just as effective as the grossly uncanny appearance of the monster/ghost/creature/whatever-you-want-to-call-it himself. It’s obvious that Kent had a very clear vision of the story she wanted to tell and even more so that she is a very talented woman; I hope to see even more female directed horror films in the future if the Babadook is anything to go by. The way this film blurred the lines between the inner struggles of a grieving family and the outside supposedly paranormal influence was unsettling as fuck and to get into the psychology of a mother left on her own to raise a small child and how terrifying that might feel is something only a immensely intuitive and empathetic woman could do. Props to her.

38. The Craft (1996)

“We are the weirdos, mister.”

Not to sound all halloween-is-the-only-day-of-the-year-I-care-about VSCO girl (although that might actually be quite an accurate description of me to be honest), but if there’s one thing that sticks in my mind about the craft, it’s the aesthetic. It’s kind of what I aim to emulate in every aspect of my life, NBD. Seriously, when I was trying to pick a still, I was spoilt for choice. The rituals, the outfits, the witchy interiors; there’s this one GIF of Nancy, Rochelle, Bonnie (and maybe Sarah?) lighting all these gorgeous candles and if I could walk around with it permanently looping on my forehead, I would. And ignoring my shallow reasons for liking The Craft, it’s just a really good film. Nancy Downs is probably one of the most interesting female villains of all time and I’m obsessed with anything that explores magic and the occult. It’s equal parts dark and girly, not to use that in a derivative way at all, in that not only does it teeter on the line of being scary, it’s also a gritty exploration of female friendship, power and jealousy. If you are a halloween-is-the-only-day-of-the-year-I-care-about VSCO girl, definitely watch it; more power to you.

39. The Favourite (2018)

“All I know is, your carriage awaits and my maid is on her way up with something called a pineapple.”

I’d seen The Favourite twice within, like, a month of it being released in British cinemas and I do not have a single regret about that; well, maybe a minor regret in paying over £12 to see it in the Leicester Square Odeon with the assumption that the extra price meant fancy seats (it didn’t), but on the whole, I’m pretty happy with my life choices. Emma Stone, Olivia Colman, and the period Mean Girls comparison drew me in but I came back the second time for the costumes, the dialogue, the editing and Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough. Or Rachel Weiss, in other words. See, The Favourite is superbly casted in that Yorgos Lanthimos must have known we can’t help but see Emma Stone as the “good girl”/protagonist and so it took me a whole second viewing to see her character for what she really was, and realise The Favourite is in some ways less a story of Abigail Masham’s rise to power and more the tragic disintegration of Sarah and Anne’s relationship. I’m sure you can view the film both ways but to view it as the latter brings a whole new dimension to it and the ending, imo. I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t go into the film expecting some vaguely historical lesbianism and that definitely made for a slightly awkward birthday viewing with my family BUT I wasn’t at all disappointed.

40. The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017)

“If you dig a hole in the yard, better make it a big one.”

This film is slow-moving, weird and the acting can be stiff at the best of times, and yet somehow all these things add to the (take a shot every time I say-) dread that builds throughout. You don’t know exactly how things are going to end, but you do know it’s not well. Like in his latest directorial entry of The Favourite, Yorgos Lanthimos excels in the realm of the strange and vaguely fantastical through his script, score and cinematography, and so even though the settings are quite mundane, The Killing of a Sacred Deer kind of feels like some macabre modern fairytale, the moral of which I can’t quite work out. I can’t imagine anyone playing Martin more unnervingly than Barry Keoghan and I’m never going to complain about Nicole Kidman, but it’s the imagery of the tears of blood, Steven’s children dragging themselves along the floor and the ending scene that stuck with me long after the film had finished. If you’ve got the patience and you enjoyed the style of The Favourite, there’ll definitely be something positive for you to take away from The Killing of a Sacred Deer.

41. The Orphanage (2007)

“Seeing is not believing. It's the other way around. Believe, and you will see.”

When I was first told by my year 11 Spanish teacher that we were going to be watching The Orphanage in class, I definitely didn’t foresee myself including it in a top 50 films list 5 years later and yet here we are. I mean, I shouldn’t have been surprised really as she did tell us it was good and I had frequently seen it included in lists of the best horror films but as with pretty much anything our teachers would put on as an excuse not to teach for a few lessons (I’m really NOT complaining here, they deserve the break and I would definitely do the same, lol), my expectations were definitely low. Side note, I also since found out that Bilbao seems like a pretty cool place and there was a reason she kept banging on about that too, and so moral of the story, teachers do sometimes have some decent recommendations BUT my assumption was that The Orphanage must be pretty tame for her to show it to us. Parents-even of 16 of year olds-love to complain, lol. And to be fair,  it isn’t so much in your face scary so much as it is kind of tragic with an undertone of spooky but I really enjoyed it. I want to say that part of what I enjoyed about it so much was the mystery element but honestly I think a lot of that comes from the fact that it’s in Spanish so I had to work to follow what was actually going on. 

42. The Ring (2002)

“I can't imagine being stuck down a well all alone like that. How long could you survive?”

The Ring does visuals better than any other horror. The contorted faces of Samara’s victims, the infamous tape and the shots of the well all have a staple in pop culture for a reason. Whilst I don’t find Samara herself particularly frightening, the lore and mythology surrounding her feels so authentically creepy; the tape in particular reminds me of the kind of weird YouTube video you might stumble across when you’re supposed to be trying to get to bed late at night and instantly hate yourself for watching. Naomi Watts is a compelling lead and though I was probably rooting for Sarah Michelle Gellar in the American remake of the Grudge more (I still low-key associate her with the live-action Scooby-Doo and I have no shame), to compare other noughties horror classics, on the whole The Ring is definitely the better quality movie.

43. The Shawshank Redemption (1994)

“I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living, or get busy dying.”

The Shawshank Redemption is just an unequivocally good film. On paper, it doesn’t necessarily have any of the things that draw me to a movie in it, but it’s brilliantly acted, written and shot. It’s frequently cited as one of the greatest movies of all time and I think that’s a very fair statement.

44. The Shining (1980)

“Wendy? Darling? Light of my life. I'm not gonna hurt ya. You didn't let me finish my sentence. I said, I'm not gonna hurt ya. I'm just going to bash your brains in!”

I love The Shining. In terms of scares, not all that much happens in it, but what we do see (the corpse in the bath tub is fucking horrifying) undoubtedly leaves an impact. The score is so unnervingly perfect that I can still hear the sound that’s made when we see those 2…puppets? Costumed people? Basically some kind of weird furry activity-which believe me, makes sense if you’ve seen it-going on. And I only need to see a still of the Overlook Hotel and I can immediately feel the sense of claustrophobia and growing tension that Stanley Kubrick so effectively communicated. A lot of people shat on Shelley Duvall’s acting at the time and whilst she obviously didn’t match Jack Nicholson’s energy, she did come across as a woman genuinely traumatised which is sad when you do consider the effect that shooting the film had on her. With that aside, The Shining is a massively pivotal part of horror history and I’m very excited to see Doctor Sleep this year!

45. The Virgin Suicides (1999)

“Obviously, Doctor, you've never been a 13-year-old girl.”

It really is a toss up between Marie Antoinette and The Virgin Suicides when it comes to Sofia Coppola’s best film, and so of course I had to include them both. See, whereas Marie Antoinette could be the visual incarnation of an album like Marina and the Diamonds’ Electra Heart or Charli XCX’s Sucker (if you ignore the less than fortunate ending, lmao), The Virgin Suicides plays out more to the tunes of something less bubblegum pop and more breezy and mellow, maybe LDR’s Ultraviolence or Honeymoon. You could say in a way that this film romanticises suicide and you’d definitely have a point, but I think considering the fact that it’s based on a book and was made in a time when we were less aware of the damage popular media can do (I think there’s a similar point to be made about the way the villain of Silence of the Lambs’s gender is portrayed and linked to his motivation), I give it a pass. It does also kind of make sense for the film to take this approach; the Lisbon girls are viewed through the eyes of a group of boys who are infatuated with them but also ultimately know nothing about them. In a way, it’s almost a critique of the way these boys think and a commentary on just how stifling and confusing young womanhood can be. I think it’s a beautiful film and a perfect adaptation of Jeffrey Eugenides’ novel.

46. The VVitch (2015)

“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

Is it sad that I have this quote tattooed on my back? Is it biased for me to say no? Because for me, just as much as the Virgin Suicides is about how stifling society’s expectations of young women and how they are supposed to think and act, The VVitch is about the demonisation of girls who go against this and how liberation and sexual freedom for so long were perceived as the result of some kind of satanic and deeply disturbing force at work rather than individual expressions of freedom and femininity. The ending is HAPPY, okay, and if you take away the misty, barren landscapes and the isolation and the paranoia and the baby eating witches and the accusations and the demonic goats, it’s kinda a dark feminist fairy tale to go against puritan panic. I mean, let’s be honest, *spoilers* Thomasin’s siblings were annoying AF. Not that I’m condoning child murder on any level, but you know. In a narrative context was it really so much of a loss when those little shits got the chop?

47. Thoroughbreds (2017)

“At the end of the day, I have a perfectly healthy brain. It just doesn't contain feelings. And that doesn't necessarily make me a bad person. It just means I have to work a little harder than everybody else to be good.”

I love Olivia Cooke. I love Anya Taylor-Joy. I love concise, cutting dialogue, the idea of middle class American social politics, and a little bit of (fictional, of course) murder thrown in there for good measure. Thus, I really love Thoroughbreds. If you watched it with the sound off, it’d be a Polo Ralph Lauren promotional film that gets really dark at the end, and what’s not to like about that?

48. We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011)

“What are these people watching, people like me?”

I still haven’t got round to reading the book this film was based on and I feel like that’s something I need to get on top of ASAP, because it’s been sitting on my shelf for a long ass time. However, based on the little I know about how faithful a film adaptation it is, I think Ezra Miller and Tilda Swinton were a wonderful pairing, and this is a film that’s all about the characters, so it’s a good job they were so well cast. Miller does a great job at getting right under your skin and answering a lot of my questions about what leads someone to commit the kind of horrific crime that his character, Kevin, does. Arrogance, done subtly, is hard to pull off but he nails it, and Swinton is very, very believable as a haunted, grief-stricken mother wrestling with the natural question of the part she played in her son’s actions and the scrutiny that comes with it. Not only that but from the offset, every part of the cinematography helps to convey the feeling of impending doom that builds right up until the climax. The colour palette in particular, which for the most part doesn’t stray too far from the mundane greys and bleak washed-out tones perhaps reflective of Eva’s state of mind, does a great job of foreshadowing what to come when it quite purposefully does take a diversion. It’s all about the red, apparently. Take note.

49. Whiplash (2014)

“Any fucking moron can wave his arms and keep people in tempo. I was there to push people beyond what's expected of them. I believe that is an absolute necessity.”

You honestly wouldn’t believe that a film about drumming could feel like a horror and yet here Whiplash is, leaving me on the edge of my seat and wincing for, like, 2 hours straight. Tonally it couldn’t be more different from the other Damien Chazelle film on this list (La La Land), and yet it flows just as seamlessly and has his same impeccable rhythm; every word, yell and snarl slots perfectly into place and every swivel of the camera is flawlessly executed. If you’re looking for an intense and fast-paced drama, I can’t recommend Whiplash enough.

50. Zombieland (2009)

“Twelve's the new twenty. Gun please.”

Zombieland has only one fault: that Jesse Eisenberg’s character wasn’t played by Michael Cera. But it has Emma Stone and Woody Harrelson so I’ll let it slide. Not much to say about this one other than it’s a wild ride from start to finish, but simultaneously easy to watch and probably the most lighthearted zombie film out there. Almost like The Hangover or something along those lines, but with the addition of the undead. It’s a hard film not to enjoy and I’m just really hoping they don’t fuck up the sequel.

DISCLAIMER: 90% of these stills are from Filmgrab, it’s an amazing website!

[joshualunacreations]

While a strong Asian-American presence in the original 1998 animation is what made Mulan so special, Asian-Americans are noticeably absent from the creative team for the 2020 live-action adaptation. An essay on why Fa Mulan is a girl worth fighting for: (Please don't edit or repost my art. Reblogs are always appreciated)

When Disney’s animated Mulan came out in 1998, many Asian-Americans like myself felt seen. The presence of Chinese-American screenwriter Rita Hsiao and a robust cast of Asian-American voice acting talent such as Ming-Na Wen, B.D. Wong, Pat Morita, and James Hong gave us a uniquely Chinese-American story we hadn't had before. Although set in China with Chinese characters, the heart of Fa Mulan's story couldn't be more Asian-American: the pressure of assimilating into the dominant culture, the fear of disappointing her parents by failing to do so, and the struggle of forging her identity on her own.

So when Disney announced its plan for a live-action adaptation, Asian-Americans were thrilled. Yet with each new development, that excitement faded. Our favorite parts—bisexual icon Li Shang, wisecracking Mushu, and rousing hits like "I'll Make a Man Out of You" and Lea Salonga’s “Reflection”—were slowly being removed.

To understand these changes, we must examine the 1998 film's reception in China, which was dismal. Viewers disliked the fact that the film did not adhere to the original Hua Mulan legend from the sixth century ballad, nor depict Chinese values. They felt she was too American.

Now in 2018, Disney is fixated on avoiding this failure in 2020. Like all of Hollywood, it is desperate to profit from China's box office—one of the biggest, with millions in potential revenue—but knows it must meet China's strict censorship and co-production rules to do so. Thus, instead of appreciating the animation's domestic and international success elsewhere ($300 million), Disney is focusing almost exclusively on appeasing China—which is why all of the factors that contributed to the film resonating so deeply with Asian-Americans are now being treated as mistakes.

Seeking China's input directly, Disney has hired Hong Kong-based executive producer Bill Kong and a slew of Chinese cultural consultants to aid the all-white team of writers and white director Niki Caro. Notably, there are no Chinese-Americans in the creative team like in 1998. Perhaps this formula could work if we hadn't seen it fail before, most famously with The Great Wall (2016). With each country secretly fighting for propagandistic dominance, the lack of true collaboration results in ham-fisted narratives that ends up pleasing neither audience.

If Mulan flops like Great Wall did, Hollywood will be quick to blame China's codified censorship rules—not itself. Yet it has its own, less advertised censorship rules. After all, it took 25 years for a major American studio to feature an all-Asian cast with an Asian-American narrative. Despite the fact that statistics show Asian-Americans go to movie theaters disproportionately more than any other racial group in the US (yes, really), we have been systematically censored and excluded by Hollywood in about every way imaginable, constantly told we are of no importance.

Instead, Chinese and Hong Kong films and stars have long been viewed as an acceptable substitute for Asian-Americans because it helps Hollywood propagate the damaging, racist myth of Asian-Americans as perpetual foreigners. That's why we have more films with Jackie Chan, Jet Li, Gong Li, Chow Yun-fat, Michelle Yeoh, Zhang Ziyi, Donnie Yen, etc., than with Asian-Americans. Asian-Americans have a fine-tuned sensitivity to detecting Orientalist, whitewashed, or white savior narratives (including when a leaked spec script replaced Li Shang with a white merchant), but what do we do when there are Asians on screen but they still don't speak to our experiences?

It leaves Asian-Americans where we always are: on the margins, invisible and ignored. Our bifurcated, hyphenated existence means that we're too American for Asia, and too Asian for America. With neither America nor our ancestral homes to claim us, we fall in the crack in between them.

And even when we do finally get an Asian-American story, it’s still Chinese-American or East Asian-centric (Crazy Rich Asians, Joy Luck Club, Fresh Off the Boat), ignoring the vast, diverse Asian diaspora that encompasses Filipino-Americans like myself, and so many others (Southeast Asian, Central Asian, South Asian, etc). That's not to say Chinese or Chinese-American films aren't wanted. They are. But they cannot be substitutes for each other, nor for other Asian-American stories.

And that's why, since Fa Mulan's narrative (not Hua Mulan's) is distinctly Chinese-American, she needs to stay that way.

For Asian-Americans, it's painfully rare to see a reflection of ourselves on screen. Mulan was too important to us in 1998, and she’s too important now. After all, a girl like that “doesn’t come around every dynasty.” Is it really fair to ask Asian-Americans to wait until the next one?

[starksnack]

My best bab @withstarryeyes and I did a fic swap. She wrote the dialogue and I based a story around it. Hope you like it C!! Thanks to @wing-heads for the beta

Starting Over From The End // Stony // 2k //TW: Bullying, Blood mentions, vague mentions to past homophobia // Read it on AO3

Tony Stark was not new to the ‘getting the shit kicked out of him’ club. He lay on the sticky tile by his locker, praying for death and cheeseburgers as Justin Hammer introduced his fancy Louboutin sneakers to Tony’s million-dollar smile. It was just another Thursday he decided as the fluorescent lights blinked in and out of his vision.

“Dude, what the fuck? Get away from him.”

And there was Captain Perfect Ass here to save the day with his earnest blue eyes and coconut-sized biceps. With hair spun of gold like Midas had felt his head up, Steve Rogers yanked Hammer away from Tony, dark brows pulled over his stormy eyes.

“It’s fine!” Tony rolled his eyes, flopping onto his front to push himself up. If Hammer didn’t beat the crap out of him now, he would just come by and do it later. Tony didn’t have time in his plans to reschedule his weekly bullying. There were no fucks left to give. “Just leave it.”

Hammer was just upset that Howard had recently scored a military contract for Stark Enterprises that Hammer Industries had been gunning for. He’d probably get over it within the week and find something else to beat Tony up for. It was a dance that Tony had long since gotten used to considering Hammer’s parents could pay off the school, and Howard didn’t care enough to get involved in Tony’s life.

“You heard the nerd,” Hammer sneered, brave enough to go toe to toe with an absolute unit like Steve. Even Tony didn’t have the balls to face the peak of male perfection. “Just leave it.”

But of course, Mr. Big Blond and Busty refused to relocate himself and his massive rack. Tony sighed, pulling himself to his feet just as Steve was pointedly saying, “I will not just leave it, move away before I make you.”

Wrong thing to say. Tony leaned against his locker, recognizing the fury in Steve’s eyes. He’d had that look directed at him once upon a time. He grabbed his mechanical physics textbook out of his locker, slamming the door shut with a resounding crack that had both Steve and Hammer looking up.

Quick to get back to intimidation mode, Hammer balled his hands into fists, thumb on the inside. Maybe those weak punches would work on a runt like Tony but on someone as bulky as Steve? Hammer was about to end up in the ER with broken bones and split knuckles. Karma was a bitch.

“You’re gonna make me leave?” He taunted before turning and thumping Tony in the chest in what looked passably amicable. “We’re friends, right nerd?”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, pain pulling at his abdomen. He was sure to have a painting of purpling bruises across his pale skin tonight, but he didn’t need Steve fighting his battles for him. They hadn’t been on the same side for a long time. “Right.”

Steve, always quick to be the righteous asshole in the room, planted himself like a tree and stood his ground. “I said leave.”

“Fine.” Hammer rolled his eyes, shooting Tony a dirty look that promised more pain later. Great, maybe Bruce would let him hide out in the supply closet he used as a panic room for the rest of the week. Tony blew Hammer a sarcastic kiss as the asshole left with a “bye, dweebs.”

Steve turned to watch him go and Tony took that as a cue to turn the corner while he was distracted and sprint down the hall. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Steve Rogers, the asshole that broke his heart just as senior year was starting. They were so close to graduating and then Tony could avoid his perfect pale ass like nobody’s business from the comfort of his dorm room at MIT.

The squeaking of shoes down the hall told Tony that Steve was in hot pursuit, but like a gazelle fearing for its life and delicate feelings, Tony sprinted down the hall fearing for his life and delicate feelings. He turned a corner into the stairwell, headed to the parking lot where his car was haphazardly parked in the back of the lot.

Shit, the exterior door was locked. It was part of Principal Fury’s new initiative to cut down on smoking. What a Debbie Downer. Tony thumped his head against the metal door as Steve slowed to a stop beside him.

Double shit. The stairwell was empty. If Steve really were here to break his heart a second time, there would be no one to hear Tony’s screams as he died of embarrassment. It was probably for the best, he was told his screams resembled that of a dying bus fighting a chain-smoking leaf blower.

“Are you hurt?” Concern was not what he expected, but it was better than an all-out yelling match. Tony took a deep breath, trying to slow his breathing as he really thought about if he was hurt or not.

There was a lot to be hurt about. Justin Hammer using him as a punching bag, Steve breaking his heart eight months ago, the impending end of life on earth as they marched closer to oblivion. Tony shrugged. It could be worse, at least he was here, in high school. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Alright, well,” Steve scratched the back of his neck, a hopeful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Tony immediately beat down the butterflies fluttering in his rib cage with a bug zapper. “I have to meet Nat. Would you like to join?”

“Uh… no.” Nat was one of the friends Tony convinced himself he didn’t want to keep in touch with after Steve left him in the dust to pursue popularity and football. Tony didn’t want to be tempted to ask their mutual friends about how Steve was doing so the only person he didn’t push away, on pain of death, was his science bro, Brucie-bear. “I don’t think it would be a good idea. But would you tell her I said hi?”

“No,” Steve said firmly and Tony resisted the urge to flinch back. With a firm hand around his wrist, Steve led him out of the stairwell and further away from freedom. Tony resisted the urge to let out a sad sigh. “But if you come with, you can tell her yourself.”

Tony frowned. This almost seemed like an olive branch. He wiped his wet mouth, feeling a twinge of pain as his fingers came away bloody. He had to look like an absolute mess. “I can’t stay long.”

“Didn’t expect you to.” Steve smiled, blue eyes bright as the sky and deep as the ocean as he passed a glance down Tony’s body. It wasn’t the kind of checking out that Tony wanted though. Steve was looking for injuries. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

“It’s not anything I can’t handle,” Tony shrugged. He passed a hand across his stomach without wincing. He deserved an Oscar for that alone, Hammer was brutal when he was jealous.

“If I take you to meet Nat and you’re bleeding like that she’s gonna think I caused it.” Steve eyed Tony’s split lip pointedly, digging a tissue out of his bookbag. “Can I?”

Wiping blood off his lip was a surprisingly intimate move. Wasn’t Steve worried he would catch cooties or some immature bullshit like that? Tony hesitated, waiting for the punchline. “...Alright?”

“You’ll let me know if I hurt you?” Steve had an earnest expression written across his features, so Tony decided that maybe his ex-best friend wasn’t out to get him today.

“Sure.” Tony sat down at a bench by the bathrooms and Steve sat beside him. He was silent as Steve carefully wiped the blood off his chin, focused in a way Tony had never seen him before.

Without warning, Steve grabbed the hem of his shirt and before Tony could stop him, his AC/DC graphic tee was being lifted to expose his bruised midsection. Steve made an angry noise, almost like a growl, in the back of his throat as he splayed a hand across the hard ridges of Tony’s stomach. “Who was that guy?”

Tony ignored the way Steve was feeling him up, too tired to fight and make a sexual innuendo that would surely have Steve running for the hills. “Didn’t you hear him? A friend.”

Steve’s brows were pulled together, blue eyes almost black with fury as he fixed Tony with a hard glare. “He’s not your friend.”

“No shit…” Tony rolled his eyes, painfully yanking his shirt away from Steve’s grip. He stood up before Steve could reach for him again. “But he’s not much of a bother. I mean, he’s not usually that bad.”

Steve rose to his feet, heading down the hall. He got a couple of steps away, before turning and gesturing for Tony to follow. With nothing better to do, Tony complied, running down the hallway to catch up. Steve’s voice was dark as he asked, “What’s he usually like? Too dumb to hit a moving object?”

“Nah,” Tony shrugged nonchalantly as Steve pulled open the door to the Sports Med room. “Just too large to catch me.”

Steve nodded, grabbing a plastic bag off a shelf and filling it with ice. Dispensing a handful of paper towels, Steve held it to Tony’s stomach, careful not to press too hard and hurt Tony further. They sat together in the comfortable silence of the classroom, looking out the window together at the cars in the parking lot.

Steve smelled the same as always, like Irish soap, bike polish, and the American dream. Sitting in the empty class with him, Tony was reminded of that time they hid in an empty classroom for hours, hiding from their friends and an aggressive game of Would You Rather? They had spent hours sitting together, talking about nothing. The sports on tv, the recent bumfuck election, their futures.

Clearly, Steve’s mind was on the same train of thought because mumbled words were falling past his lips, almost too scared to break the comfortable silence. “I... don’t you miss this?”

“What, getting beat up?” Tony asked sarcastically. Steve was the one who threw their friendship away. All because he got beefy and decided he was too good to hang out with a fairy like Tony.

“No..” Steve’s perfect brow furrowed in frustration as he tried to get all his thoughts together. Tony knew the feeling. “Us getting along. Not having it be so hard all the time to just…”

“Get ourselves into trouble?” Tony suggested, just to be an insufferable asshole. It was nothing compared to how shitty Steve had made him feel.

“Forget it,” Steve sighed, frustrated as he looked toward the door.

“No!” Tony could swallow his pride enough to admit he missed Steve. Missed their late-night adventures in the woods, missed skinny dipping at the community center after hours, missed pizza picnics in the park and truth or dare, and sharing cotton candy at Coney Island. He missed Steve so fucking much it hurt. “I mean, uh, yeah; I miss this. A lot.”

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Steve’s voice was quiet, tentative in a way that Tony had never heard as he looked up at Tony with the biggest puppy dog eyes.

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Is that an apology?” As far as apologies went, Steve honestly could have done a little bit better. Though Tony had already forgiven him. Probably since the moment he stepped up and stood up for him against Hammer.

“No,” Steve stumbled over his words, an admittedly adorable blush spreading across his face as he looked up at Tony through dark blond lashes. “I mean kinda. But there’ll be more.”

Tony grinned at Steve, bright as the sun, heart swelling as Steve hesitated before smiling back at him, just as happy.

“It means… maybe I’m willing to see what the apology is.”

[heiressofnerdiness]

Could you do forced to watch for the bingo? :D

((Of course! One of my fav tropes for sure))

Tony isn’t sure of how they get into this situation. Then again, he doesn’t know how they get into half the situations they do.

Kidnapped after lunch at Denny’s. The true American experience.

Why had they gone to Denny’s of all places? The kid said he wanted variety. Well, he was definitely getting that.

Locked in a room. There’s hardly any light, save for the light coming from the crack of the door bolted so tightly shut even Peter couldn’t make a dent in it.

“What do you think,” Peter starts, his voice only shaking a bit, “What do you think they want?”

Tony rubs Peter’s shoulders from where they’re curled up together on the ground. “I don’t know, kid.”

It’s a while before they have a chance to start figuring it out.

———

“Get up,” a burly man said, kicking Tony in the gut. “Now.”

Tony groans. “You’re fun.”

Another kick. “I won’t tell you again. The boss will be with you momentarily.”

And with that, he left.

“Kid,” Tony said immediately, turning his body painfully to look for the lump that washis kid.

He sat up wearily before leaning against the wall. “I’m never sleeping on concrete again if I can help it.” He rubbed his back. “Never.”

Tony chuckled as he wrapped his arms around the kid’s shoulders. “Notes.”

The door suddenly creaked open again, and the same burly man entered with a crisp looking woman.

“Stark,” she said curtly. “Allow me to cut to the case. We need for you to build us a weapon.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I swear. You people are getting less creative every time. I’m seriously about to smash my head into the wall, you guys are so cliche.”

She smirked. “We have persuasive methods. Trust me, you will comply.”

Tony snorted. “Uh huh. Sure honey.”

“M-Mister Stark?”

F*ck.

He turned around, desperate for there to not be any danger for him, for the kid to be safe, albeit a little scared-

He received no such comfort.

Peter was being held by the burly mans elbow in a choke hold, his face turning a slightly whiter than normal. His arms grasped at the arm around his throat, but since they hadn’t eaten in days, Peter was weak.

Tony was also weak, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do something. He lunged forward to try to help the kid, but a pair of strong arms grabbed his own and twisted them so he was locked where he was. He huffed, not realizing another man had entered the room.

The woman stepped in front of him. “As I said, you will comply. But will it be now, or after we spill blood?”

Tony cursed internally. They were going to make his kid watch as they tortured him? That was a new type of low that most wouldn’t stoop to.

“You can hurt me all you want,” Tony spat. “But I won’t hurt others for you.”

The woman threw back her head as she laughed. “You’re cute, Stark.” She smirked as she brought her nose right in front of his. “Break his arm.”

Tony sucked in a breath, prepared to hold in his scream when the inevitable pain came. But when he heard the crack of bone, he was momentarily confused when he felt nothing.

But then-

A terrible, horrible scream filled his ears, and he knew it wasn’t his own, no, but it couldn’t be-

The woman’s smile grew as she moved out of the way, and Tony saw the source of the scream, clear as day.

Peter’s arm was bent at an awkward angle, and he had tears on his face. His watery eyes met Tony’s, for a split second-

“Break the other one.”

Tony’s eyes widened as he watched Peter’s do the same. “Wait-“

But they didn’t wait to hear what he was going to say. This time Tony watched as Peter’s arm was cracked with the mans bare hands, a sight that made his stomach do a one eighty.

This time, Peter’s scream only lasted a second before it died off into broken sobs.

“It’s gonna be okay, kid,” he said with a shaky voice. “It’s gonna be okay. Hear me? We’re gonna be okay.”

He turned his attention the woman, as hard as it was to turn away from Peter. But he was livid. “What,” he said in a deadly calm voice, “is wrong with you?”

The woman flicked her hair. “Will you make the weapons?”

Tony tasted bile.

“So that’s your big plan, huh?” he choked out. “Hurt the kid and I’ll be your lap dog?”

“Shoot him in the foot.”

A split second where Peter’s eyes got wider than ever - and so full of fear - as the man pulled out his gun. And it was that split second Tony made his decision.

“Fine!” he yelled, voice breaking. “I’ll do it! Put-put the gun away. Please.”

She smiled. “I knew you would comply eventually-“

“Mister,” a choked off sob cut through the words “-Mister Stark. Don’t - don’t d-do it.”

Tony looked into the innocent eyes of his kid. He couldn’t let him get hurt. Not again.

“I’m sorry, kid. But this is non-negotiable.”

“I c-can take it.” He somehow found his footing again, despite how he was practically hanging from the man at this point, standing up straighter in a show of dignity. “You can’t let others get hurt because of m-me.”

Tony sucked in a breath. “Pete, I can’t. I won’t.”

“P-please.” He shook now with sobs. “I w-won’t forgive you.”

Tony knew it was a lie. Of course it was - he knew Peter would forgive him no matter what. He could see it in his eyes. But he knew Peter would never be able to forgive himself if innocent people got hurt at all, his fault or not.

God, Tony thought, I’m going insane.

“I won’t do it,” he said as he turned back to the woman. “Do whatever you want. I won’t be your slave.”

Despite the fact that he had changed his mind, the smile on her face grew maniacally. “You heard him. Whatever we want.”

[giggle-me-this]

[[ INTERMEZZO ]]

(Date: 26 November 2019, American Thanksgiving; Location: Nate and Xi’s Flat, Pinnock Townhouse)

“Isaac is coming over.”

That’s what Xi had said to Nate that morning to convince him to leave the house.

It was early; not that Nate had been keeping very good track of time, but the sun was up, shining slanted light through the windows. Nate had been sitting on the couch, forcing himself to eat a bowl of cereal to stave off the stomach cramps that came along with not eating.

He hadn’t been paying enough attention to notice when exactly her eyes had fluttered open, but he had a spoon halfway to his mouth when Xiomara had turned to him and said, gently but directly, “You should go home, Nate.”

Nate had set the spoon down and said immediately, “I’m not leaving you alone.”

To which Xi had said, in a way that was full of a lot of things that didn’t need saying, “I won’t be alone. Isaac is coming over.”

It shouldn’t have really made Nate feel the way it did, suddenly sick and exceedingly unappetized and with a bitter kind of taste in his mouth like chalk. He knew Xi was just trying to protect him from Isaac’s anger and blame and Nate appreciated that, he did. But he still couldn’t help the sting that came along with knowing that his two closest friends could only be together if he wasn’t around.

Nate knew it wasn’t just about that, either. The weight of guilt was a heavy burden to bear and Nate wasn’t wearing it well. That first night after the night Nate had drifted off to sleep, once, consumed by exhaustion and trauma, and in his dreams he’d seen Xiomara, dead, un-revivable, his fault. Nate had woken up in a cold sweat, his chest seized with panic, and that’s when he’d reached for the cocaine that he’d bought along with all the other drugs and just hadn’t yet touched.

It was very effective; a bump here, a line there, and Nate found himself not distracted by those pointless needs like eating and sleeping and feeling. But after three days the side-effects showed, noticeably; his skin was pale and colorless, his dark eyes sunken with bruise-colored circles beneath them, his curly hair falling in flat, wispy tendrils in front of them. Xiomara even in her recovery state was not oblivious to these things, either, a fact that did make Nate feel something warm and nice, but not enough of that something to overpower the sharp shame of her soft, concerned expression that traipsed dangerously close to pity when she’d further suggested, “You should go home and have a shower, some food, rest. You look tired. I’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” is what Nate had replied, because he was finding it hard to deny her anything she wanted these days, and because he didn’t have the energy to argue when she was clearly right.

And so Nate had left the flat in the cleanest set of clothes he had, which were still laughably wrinkled, with a bag of coke in his pocket and a few bites of cereal plus half a flask of whisky in his stomach for ‘breakfast.’ The sun outside was so bright as to be considered assaulting, and he did find it some small comfort to stumble into the cool, austere darkness of the massive Pinnock townhouse. He leaned heavily against the wall for support as the glass stairs carried him up and up and up to the seventh floor, where the kitchen was.

Nate was halted in his tracks by the sight of his father sitting at the wide, round glass dining table that was set for far more people than just one, knowing the man usually took breakfast at the office, and usually then just coffee. For a moment Nate considered just sneaking back out unnoticed, but his shoe creaked against one of the polished wooden floorboards and Nate’s father was suddenly regarding him sharply, with equal alarm.

“Nathaniel?” He was standing up and walking toward Nate and Nate wished he could sink into the floorboards; he had no escape route. His father was standing before him and eyeing him appraisingly; Nate had grown just as tall as his father and yet never managed the same imposing presence. “What the hell is wrong with you? You look a fucking mess…”

Nate surely must have had a death wish, because before he knew what he was doing he was snickering in his father’s face, an ugly and spiteful sound. “I’m sorry, Dad…” he sneered, bitter and sarcastic, “…it’s just, it seems to me that maybe you took one too many of your Happy Pills this morning and you’re mistaking me for a kid you actually give a shit about.”

Nate heard the sound before he felt it; his father’s open palm connected with the side of Nate’s face and the sound cracked through the lofty room. Nate’s eyes filled up with moisture, an involuntary response to the shooting pain, but he didn’t dare blink it away. He did raise a hand up to gingerly touch his stinging cheek, eyes down, and his father barked a laugh and said, “Well it’s good to see you feel something through whatever it is you’ve fucked yourself up with this time.” Pinnock Sr. turned and walked away from his son; Nate could hear the folding of newspaper and the clinking of china dishes and his father saying in a dismissive, disgusted tone, “For god’s sake, go clean yourself up. And don’t get within my sight until you do.”

His father left and Nate took just a minute to collect himself, straightening his shoulders, inhaling. Nate moved without thinking much down two flights of stairs and down the long hallway that led to his room, but for some reason when he reached the end of it, he turned instead and went into the room across the hall from his own. It was Harriet’s, and it was unlocked as it never would have been if she were home.

It was too still and too tidy, sterile in a way that made it painfully obvious how unlived-in it had been. Nate left the lights off, but even in the low shadowy lighting that peeked through Harriet’s drawn curtains he knew the room well enough to move to her bar cart and pour himself a drink without stumbling over or disrupting anything. He went over to her gaudy vanity and looked at himself in the mirror, and he gave a dark, mirthless laugh; he did look awful. Nate ran his fingers over the prominent red handprint on his cheek, and then feeling pathetic for indulging in such unabashed self-pity, Nate took the bag of drugs out of his pocket and poured some out right on the marble surface of his sister’s vanity. He cut the powder into a straight line and then snorted it all using a rolled-up notecard that he found in a drawer. It stung, visceral and acute and Nate hissed, wiping at the moistury residue beneath his nose, and when he pulled his fingers away and looked at them they were coated with blood.

Nate sighed and he suddenly felt very, very tired, already well past the point of an amphetamine having any effect on his ability to stay awake. He laid down on Harriet’s bed, on top of all the plush dark red bedding, not even taking off his shoes. He pulled one of Harriet’s feathery pillows against his chest and Nate fucking hated himself for blocking up his own sinuses so much that he couldn’t even discern his sister’s scent in her own bed. He tucked his face against the pillow and after a moment he felt moisture there that at first he thought might be more blood but which turned out, very pathetically, to be tears. Nate thought about stopping but he just couldn’t, he was too tired and he hadn’t really, truly cried in many years, and now that the seal on his emotions was opened they flooded out unrestrained like the bursting of a dam, wracking Nate’s whole body with horrible sobs that eventually, after an unknowable amount of time that felt like forever, carried Nate into a dreamless sleep.

[mimzy-writing-online]

A Witch’s Memory, Chapter Two, Anna

I can feel Felix’s stress bleeding into the soul connection. I think that’s what woke me up. It’s seven, which shouldn’t feel as painfully early as it does, but I don’t sleep. Just because classes start tomorrow, doesn’t mean I have my sleep schedule back in rhythm.

Might not ever.

I bet Veronica’s already stressing herself out and it’s bleeding into the rest of the house. That must be why Felix is so stressed. Wonderful. Great.

At least there’s tea and pancakes. Elmsley promised.

I can hear three sets of feet hurrying around downstairs as I leave my room. The door to Emily’s room is closed.

“Felix, I need you to write your name on which boxes are yours. You and Anna both forgot.”

I knock on Emily’s door, avoiding all the glittery drawings taped to it, color on the dingy old wood. “Emmy, are you okay?” She’s an empath, she can probably feel the stress downstairs from up here.

The door opens a crack and Emily peeks through. “I don’t feel good,” she whispers. She’s still in her pajamas and her long braid is falling apart.

“Can I come in?”

The door opens for me.

“How do you feel?” I ask.

She makes a face, nose wrinkled and everything. “Everything in my chest feels like it’s squeezing. Everyone’s too…” She frowns. “I don’t have the right word. It’s like humming but really loud and painful. Everyone’s humming too loud, especially Mummy.”

“I think the word for that is either stressed or anxious, maybe both. It’s okay, Mummy will feel better when we’re in the car and moving in.”

“Which will be when?” she asks with the sort of tired cynicism I usually have but concentrated into one seven-year-old.

“I don’t know, but why don’t you get dressed. Uncle promised pancakes before we drive to school.”

Her eyes widen a little, excitement pouring in.

Some moonchildren, when they’re old enough, can radiate their emotions, like an aura. I wonder if she’ll develop that ability too.

I leave her to it, shutting her door tight and heading downstairs. Veronica’s surrounded by boxes, hunched over a clipboard, pulling at her frizzed out curls and making them an even bigger mess. Felix jumps over a pile of boxes and stands over her shoulder. He’s a giant compared to her, she’s tiny. They look the same though, have the same nervous habits when they’re anxious, the same messy, inky hair and the same pale green eyes.

And sometimes I forget she’s his aunt and not his mom.

The photo Veronica and Felix’s mom together is haunting sometimes.

“Did you make sure all your uniforms were washed before you packed them?”

“Yes Auntie.”

“And all your bedding is packed?”

“Yes Auntie.”

Then she sees me, moves in on me and makes me explain where I packed everything, help her count uniforms, make sure I didn’t forget hygiene stuff, and reorganize my box of magic supplies.

“I definitely have everything, and if I don’t have everything, I’ll be back the next weekend to grab it. It’s boarding school, not war.” The sarcastic edge at the end…

…backfires so bad. Veronica is shaking. Was she always shaking, or did I do that? I don’t know if she’s going to cry or have a panic attack. What was I thinking?

“No, it’s fine Auntie, it’s not that bad. You’re doing a good job,” I say.

Elmsley’s next to her in a second. “Come on dear, let’s go outside for a moment,” he says gently as he takes her hand and leads her away.

I lean against the wall and sink down to the floor, my head in my hands. “I can’t do this.”

Felix walks up and nudges my shoulder with his smelly socked foot. “Chill out dude,” he says. I laugh. Since we moved, he’s been using as much 90’s American movie slang as he can, but there’s no way you can say those words with such a nice English accent and not sound ridiculous.

“Chill,” I mumble back. It sounds better when I say it, with my almost-American accent.

“We can totally chill later, bro,” Felix mumbles, cracking up with laughter.

I press my hand to my face, trying not to laugh. “Fe, no,” I whine.

“What’s wrong bro?”

“Shut up.”

“Just trying to have a chill conversation, bro.”

“Felix, no.”

“Fine,” he agrees, toeing my shoulder again, “but do you at least feel better?”

I look up at him and smirk. “When has you being an idiot failed to make me laugh?”

“Absolutely never,” he says with confidence.

Somehow everything works out. All the boxes and suitcases make it past Veronica’s final inspection and gets loaded into the SUV. Pancakes and tea are obtained through one local diner. Nothing bad happens. We make it to the school. We carry boxes and boxes and bedding and suitcases into two separate dormitories.

“Boarding school looks so fun,” Emily says as she bounds across the large field outside the dormitory buildings. Over small sloped hills and behind trees and over momentarily unattended boxes she goes. She runs to where the rest of us are standing in the shade and plants herself at Veronica’s side. “Mummy, when do I get to go to boarding school?”

“When you’re twelve.”

Emily frowns and starts counting on her fingers. “That’s five years away!”

Felix picks her up. “Trust me Emmy, primary school is far better than secondary school. We don’t even get playtime; we just go to our next class.”

“That’s not good,” she mumbles, rethinking this whole boarding school thing.

“We also have to spend an hour on mathematics every day and then do even more maths homework after class,” I add evilly.

Her frown deepens and she squirms out of Felix’s arms until he puts her down. “No, I’ve decided I’m never going to secondary school. I will drop out and become an actress like Anna?”

“Wait, what?”—Veronica.

“Who told you dropping out was an option?”—Elmsley.

Of course this is the very moment they would decide to tune into the conversation, right when Emily says something incriminating.

Again.

“What is all this about dropping out?” Elmsley asks, looking between the three of us.

“Anna,” Emily chirps. “Last year she told me she was going to drop out of school and become an actress so she wouldn’t have to take those big exams she was freaked out about.”

Everyone stares at me.

“Obviously I was joking!” They stare at me, eyebrows raised. “She takes me literally all the time.”

Emily nudges Felix’s leg. “Mummy and Daddy aren’t very happy with Anna.”

Elmsley sighs and looks at Veronica, having another silent conversation before he says, “we should get going.”

Yes, please. I want to go back to my dorm and unpack.

Emily leaps into a hug, both legs wrapped around one of mine, arms clinging to me. I stumble, clutching her close in case she lets go too soon. “I’m not tall enough for you to Tarzan on. Go Tarzan Felix.”

Emily is, as always, very easy to point onto a path of mischief. Felix yelps and falls back, hitting his back on the grass and dirt as Emily giggles. Elmsley and Veronica give tired parental sighs and collect their monkey daughter off of Felix.

“Bye Anna! Bye Felix! Bye-bye boarding school I’m never, ever going to.”

“You still have to go to secondary school, no matter what nonsense Anna tells you,” Elmsley tells her.

“I was joking!”

But they’re walking away now.

“She’s seven and, unlike you, the rest of us weren’t born automatically understanding sarcasm as a second language.”

“First language, actually.”

Hi, thank you for reading this far. Please feel free to reblog, comment, or like. I would love any of those things. I really want to get myself out there and share my developing story. If you want to join my tag list just comment, I would love to add you!

[Image description: Moodboard banner. Top Left: two lane road in autumn with orange and yellow leaves on the ground and road. Center Left: Bookshelves with old brown hardback books and small bottles with potion ingredients. Bottom Left: A pile of straw broomsticks. Top Center: Table in a cafe with a cup of tea, a red tea pot, and an open book. Center photo: A girl with copper red hair wearing her hair in a loose bun and keeping her back to the camera. Bottom Center: Closed window with decorative window panes and a set of hands pressed against them. Top Right: Three magic wands placed side by side on a wooden table, all three have different styles. Center Right: Two bookshelves filled with old, faded hardback books. Bottom Right: A desk in front of a window with a cup of tea, several books, four lit candles, and a pair of glasses. End of image description]

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[iris-writes-things]

Two Guys and a Baby: Day 4

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read up to 2 chapters ahead as a $1 Patreon patron!

Pining? He wasn’t pining. Ezra Fell hadn’t pined for anyone since secondary school, had he? He and Anthony simply felt comfortable with one another when their lives happened to slot together, except for maybe last night, but it wasn’t like he had felt any unbearable heartache whenever they had to go their separate ways.

Or, Ezra confronts his feelings.

Chapter 6 of 20 Ongoing 2164 words Romance/Humor

It had been just like the last time. Him and Anthony. Alone. Well. Alone-ish. The booth in that bar two years ago wasn’t entirely what one would call ‘alone’, but it was alone enough. Anyway. Him and Anthony. Alone. A bottle of wine split between them. It had been dark. The only light between them had been the flickering of a candle. Anthony had leaned in close, then, but so had he. Back then, he couldn’t help the feeling that something was off. Something was wrong. They had both been intoxicated. To make a move would have been taking advantage. He had done the right thing, then. He’d gotten up, paid the tab and went home.

And then there had been two years of radio silence.

He frowned as his pen scribbled across the page of his journal, rubbing his free hand over his face. He was sitting comfortably on his bed in his comfortable flannel pajamas, but he felt everything but comfortable. Had it really been the right thing to do, though? To leave Anthony alone in his obviously troubled state? To not lean in and close the gap? After all, this had been the second time it happened. Clearly some part of Anthony wanted it.

God knew he wanted it.

He wanted to work together with Anthony, because with him, he felt invincible. Wanted to settle down with Anthony ever since he showed up at the park just outside his bookshop with little Anathema on his arm, and again with little Adam in his stroller. He wanted to bury his fingers in Anthony’s hair, take those silly sunglasses off his face, look deeply into his amber eyes and kiss him until he was breathless.

If only Anthony wanted the same.

Ezra snapped the journal shut and shoved it under his pillow, wrapped himself up in his blanket. He curled up into a tight ball and squeezed his eyes shut in hopes of sleep washing over him. 

Tomorrow, everything would be better.

*

Ezra had slumped down the stairs and into the shop early in the morning the next day. He hadn’t slept well. He had barely slept at all. He’d been too worried about Adam and Anthony. And, perhaps, worried about Anthony in more than one way. The red light of the dawn the bookshop bathed in seemed to set it aflame. He rubbed his eyes and made a beeline for the magazine section he kept on the ground floor of the shop.

'10 signs that he's into you,' the cover of the magazine he was reaching for read. Was he really desperate enough to ask advice from a teen magazine? Well, as it was, yes. Ezra didn't have that many friends, and the internet was something he wasn't quite ready to explore just yet. Besides, there was nothing wrong with just checking, right?

He took a seat behind the counter of the shop and leafed through to the article. Alright, top of the list.

1. He reaches out first.

Well, that had been correct, wasn’t it? Anthony had needed his help with Adam, so that made sense. Though, it hadn’t been for himself, right? It had been for Adam’s sake. Ezra decided it didn’t count. For now.

2. He always seems happy around you.

That wasn’t quite right either. Whenever Anthony was around his nowadays he seemed… nervous, sometimes. Grumpy, other times, but even more reserved. And then there was whatever the heck yesterday was.

The bell over the bookshop’s door jingled.

“W-we’re closed!” Ezra stammered as he rushed to hide the magazine behind the counter.

“Ezra! Is that any way to greet a potential customer?” the man entering the shop said with a jolly tone in his voice. 

“Gabriel!” The magazine flopped to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Gabriel started as he made his way up to the counter. “I was going to meet up with a contact at a major publisher to discuss your book over a bagel and a cup of coffee, but I realized I left my copy of your first draft at home. So, since I was in the area anyway, I figured I’d swing by and ask if I can borrow your copy, maybe?”

Ezra squinted up at the impossibly tall American man, but got up and made his way up to his apartment nonetheless.

“Nice place you got here.” Gabriel noted flatly. “Real quaint.” Footsteps echoed across the empty shop, up to the apartment above where Ezra searched for his first draft, as his agent went behind the counter. 

“Thanks,” Ezra said with a flatness to his tone to rival Gabriel’s.

“Oh, what’s this? ‘10 signs that he’s into you’?”

Ezra nearly dropped his draft once he had it. “It’s nothing!” he called nervously down the stairs, before making his way back to the ground floor.

“Well, unless you suddenly hired yourself a cashier, I’d guess you were the one reading this garbage. Or are you about to tell me there’s some kind of top-grade journalism going into the production of a glossy teen magazine?”

“Surely, a lot more work goes into producing a glossy teen magazine than either of us think, but I swear, it’s nothing.” Ezra said as he snatched the magazine from Gabriel’s fingers and quickly replaced it with his first draft.

“If you say so, buddy,” Gabriel patted Ezra’s head before making his way back to the door.

So patronizing. He ought to say something. “Gabriel!” he called. But when the man turned around to face him, all traces of fierceness left the author. Ezra painfully remembered that he needed his help. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

The man rolled up the stack of paper, stuck it under his arm and folded his arms over each other. “If you’re going to invite me on a date, I’m sorry, but I don’t do that kind of thing with clients. Of either sex.”

“That’s not what I— Look, I just wanted to ask you if maybe I could pick the artist for the cover for the book. I have this friend who’s a fantastic painter, and he already said he’d be interested.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “First, let me try to get through to the publisher, then we’ll talk artists.”

“Oh, alright then…” Ezra stammered. “I just thought it might be nice since he’s a direct descendant Agnes’.”

A single eyebrow raised on the tall man’s face.

“The witch the book is about. His niece actually gave me a treasure trove of information I can use to make the book more accurate.”

“You know what, Ezra. I’ll see what I can do for you,” Gabriel said with a chuckle, turning to leave again. “Oh, and a quick word of advice: if the guy you think is into you won’t take the initiative, maybe you should give it a shot. Pining is all fun and games in romance novels, but in real life, it’s painful to watch.”

The bell over the bookshop’s door jingled as it clicked shut and Gabriel started on his way.

Pining? He wasn’t pining. Ezra Fell hadn’t pined for anyone since secondary school, had he? He and Anthony simply felt comfortable with one another when their lives happened to slot together, except for maybe last night, but it wasn’t like he had felt any unbearable heartache whenever they had to go their separate ways. Not for the first month of Anthony’s avoiding him last time, anyway. After that, Ezra would be lying if he said a deep dread didn’t settle in him that he, perhaps, had done the wrong thing. That he had hurt his friend. That they would never talk again.

And yet, when he’d met him and Adam in the park the other day, they talked like nothing ever happened. Perhaps he was overthinking this.

But perhaps not.

Ezra picked the magazine back up and sat back at his seat behind the counter as he continued reading the article.

3. He cares about your needs.

Ezra glanced up from the magazine when his phone buzzed. It would be one of those days, wouldn’t it? The saying might go ‘no rest for the wicked’, but there was rarely any peace for the virtuous either. Though, everything disappeared when he read the message on the black and white screen of his cell phone.

“Sorry I was an ass yesterday. At the bakery for a peace offering. Will see you soon. -C”

Well… That was alright, then.

*

Three words. Belgian, chocolate, croissants.

“You like it?” Anthony asked him while fed Adam, sitting in the windowsill he’d claimed as his own since Saturday. Perhaps Ezra would keep it cleared of all the books, if Anthony would still like to visit once Adam’s mums were back.

“Are you out of your mind? These are fantastic! Are you sure you don’t want any?”

Anthony shrugged. “I had breakfast before I left.”

“Well, your loss. They are splendid,” Ezra said as he ate another. He swore he saw Anthony smile at him, warm and gentle. But then again, it might have been directed towards Adam.

“That’s good,” Anthony said. “Wouldn’t be much of a peace offering otherwise.”

“Last I checked, we weren’t at war.”

“Last I checked, I was a complete ass to you yesterday and you deserved better.”

“It’s alright, dear. We all have those days,” Ezra smiled.

A shade of pink tinged the other man’s cheeks as he glanced away. 

It made Ezra’s heart leap, and he made a mental note of it to describe it in detail in his journal tonight. He briefly wondered if Anthony had any idea how captivating he was. If he knew how endearing he was.

“And…” he spoke again. “I’m also sorry about that night two years ago.”

“What?”

“I was just… pissed out of my mind. I shouldn’t have gone in to kiss you…” and Ezra had been sure Anthony would have gone on, had Adam not struggled around in his lap. “What’s up, little guy? Are you full already?”

“I think he wants you to put him down,” Ezra suggested.

Crowley gave him a look, but soon cracked a smile.

Ezra rolled his eyes. “On the floor, Anthony dear.”

“Are you sure? He’s been fine with me holding him so far.”

“Just, trust me. There’s nothing dangerous he can get up to in the shop.”

Anthony seemed to think this over as his brows furrowed behind the rims of his sunglasses, but eventually set Adam down on the floor and vigilantly watched the baby as he crawled off.

“You’ve gotten attached, haven’t you?” Ezra asked, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand.

“It’s not like he’s making it very difficult,” Anthony shrugged, still glancing in the direction Adam crawled in. “And I do like children, you know?”

Ezra knew the man must have liked children on some level, of course. He wouldn’t have had the presence he’d had in his niece’s life if he hadn’t. All that theatre Anthony put on to be the cool, tough guy, and yet, he was a big softie.

As the sun started to reach its apex and no longer hid behind the trees in the park outside the shop, its warm rays crashed through the window of the storefront, where Anthony was sitting in the windowsill. The sunlight caught behind his sunglasses, putting his eyes on display for Ezra, and bathed the bespectacled man in an almost ethereal aura. A smile spread across Ezra’s face as he gazed deeply into those amber pools.

“I think your eyes are the most beautiful I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking at. It’s a shame you hide them behind those sunglasses all the time.”

Anthony blushed a deep red and glanced away, and Ezra realized that he hadn’t just thought that to himself.

“I-I’m sorry!” he stammered. His face lit on fire like a matchstick struck at lightspeed. “I didn’t mean to say that, I just…”

A grumble escaped Anthony. Something along the lines of “you could have just asked me,” but against all odds, the man had taken off his sunglasses and tucked them into the inner pocket of his jacket. 

*

Granted, it hadn’t been the finest move on his part, Ezra thought as he scribbled in his journal that night, but it had been so worth it, to watch his eyes sparkle, his eyebrows knitting together, his mouth gaping, his cheeks growing the most beautiful shade of red… 

And he had stayed. They had had lunch and dinner together, Anthony’s treat, as well. They had talked about their respective jobs and crafts and everything and nothing. Anthony had actually managed to relax after letting Adam go and his sunglasses hadn’t rested on his nose again until he went home for the night.

Perhaps he would contact Anathema on the matter. But that would have to wait until the next morning. For now, he shoved his journal under his pillow and went to sleep.

[morebedsidebooks]

Midnight Cowboy

Perry lay back on the bed. He took a long while adjusting himself, and when he was spread out comfortably, ankles crossed, hands behind his head, he said, “You comfortable there, Joe?”

“I’m fine,” Joe said. But suddenly he wasn’t fine at all. Something was wrong and he couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was as if some nameless threat were creeping silently into the room from under the door and through the cracks in the window and he was at a loss to stop it, or even describe it.

“Is there anything you want, Joe?”

“Oh no, no, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not fine, Joe.”

“Huh?”

“You need help.”

“Do I?”

“Oh, yes, definitely. And I, in concert with the Cannabis sativa, am here for just that purpose: to help you find out what you want and show you how to take it.”

Joe felt as if his heart were filled with air; it might burst, and painfully, dangerously; he pressed on it with the palm of his hand. That didn’t help at all. He picked up a book of matches and began to fool with it, trying to distract himself from the anxiety he felt. The matches were very real and definitely a relief; he bent them and twisted them and put them down and picked them up. Perry was still talking:

“It’s not just tonight you don’t know what to do with.

Your whole life is a burden to you. You frown a lot, Joe. And you pick things up and put them down.” He looked pointedly at the book of matches.

“You have plans for burning down the world. But you’re losing a lot of motion, a lot of time. You’ve got to get cool. Find out what you want and rule out everything else, and then you’ll be cool as can be. Now: What have you got to do?”

“Find out what I want?”

“Correct. And then?”

“Ummrn.”

“Rule out …” Perry coached.

“Rule out everything else.”

“Right. Now again.”

“Find out what I want, and rule out everything else.”

“You’re getting tuned in, Joe. That was lesson one. Here’s exercise one: this room. What is there in it that you want? Just name it, anything at all, and I’ll see to it you get it.”

Joe started to scan the room with his eyes, and Perry said: “Look at me. Maybe that will help you, Joe. That’s it. Now I’ll ask you again: Is there anything at all you want?”

Joe studied Perry’s face, straining to find a clue in it. But he found none.

“You know, Joe, there are people and quite a few hundred of them at that who would pay out considerable sums of money to be in your position right now: locked in a room with me and being asked what they want.”

  Coming at quite a point of sociopolitical upheaval and subsequently recognised for its cultural, historical and aesthetic significance, the 1969 Academy Award winning movie Midnight Cowboy is based on an American novel that otherwise wrongly may have faded from public consciousness.

At least I don’t think an Avon cover like this one was going to preserve it anyway. But while there may have been a BAD COVER or two over the years, it is quite a GOOD BOOK. Originally created by a gay writer named James Leo Herlihy in 1965, the main protagonist of Midnight Cowboy is Joe Buck (played by John Voight).

Let’s just say Joe had a somewhat confusing early life and as he got older also experienced more adversity. The movie adaptation has some differences (like the passage I chose to quote with a Houston hustler Joe is friendly with isn’t in the film) but, presents the issues of loneliness, loss, attraction, sex and rape in piecemeal flashbacks though; they may fittingly be a little difficult to make full sense of for the audience. In any event Joe gets away from Albuquerque, then Houston believing he could make it in NYC on the words of a Madam but is the poorest hustler. Eventually he finds a companion in Rizzo (played by Dustin Hoffman), a disabled thief and conman from an impoverished immigrant background.

The director of the film John Schlesinger “saw it as an oddball love story” but, wasn’t shooting for a gay movie either despite being gay himself. Of course, on my most recent rewatch a male viewing companion for the film commented during a dream sequence of Rizzo’s about living in Florida: “That’s so porny.”

I’m guessing that is some of the homoerotic psychological reasons Midnight Cowboy had an MPAA rating of X in 1969. It’s no secret anything depicting something outside “mainstream” can get harshly relegated in the name of morality and children (i.e. anxieties around innocence). But hey we got a nice history tidbit of the only X-Rated film to win the Best Picture Oscar out if it, and maybe more respect for films with sexual aspects and that door creaking open wider for LGBTQ+ ones. Eventually the film was downgraded to simply Restricted. Today despite containing its share of mature content the film probably comes off as rather tame. (Depending on the country where you are it can be suggested for viewers starting anywhere from age 12-18+.) Though, the themes are quite timeless. The story’s characters are in many ways outsiders— Joe whose body is what people value choosing to try his hand at sex work, a livelihood people are suspicious and derogatory about and Rizzo who has many skills he could use to live a non-criminal life with but, deals with internal and external disdain in an ableist society. They’re two twenty-somethings living in a grim world that come to depend on each other and form a family.

Which is why despite the heartbreak (and that word feels rather inadequate when I’ve yet to come across a person who doesn’t know the ending even if they’ve never touched a page or seen the film) Midnight Cowboy always leaves me feeling a bit more warm inside, than a tearful mess it can cause too. Here are two people that found something, understanding, support, acceptance on the fringes of an otherwise cold world, if even for a short time. How that changes you. It’s a story that has stuck with me, and many more people.

In fact, Japanese comic artist Akimi Yoshida, whose work I quite like, saw the Midnight Cowboy film when she was young and credits it as an inspiration to her. Though I suppose people can also fault the movie for some elements they might dislike or question about one of her works, Banana Fish. That story is also set primarily in NYC, also full of tragedy and also a love story. However, a good deal of contention over Banana Fish is wrapped up in agendas or, psychology and longstanding issues I’m not enthused to step into. Midnight Cowboy always brings up some debates too. Still discussing influential works across cultures and the exchange that happens is intriguing to me. I find it exciting someone might search out an older title because of it and when adaptations raise the profile of such works.

The film of Midnight Cowboy raised the novel right back into print, and it is still there today. Fortunate because such a piece of fiction despite the changes time has brought, is in my view quintessentially America. Hailed as propitious but, often dogged by the past, unsure, putting up fronts, tough, alarming, weird, arbitrary. Yet, someplace you just might find what you’re after, if you can make it.