#( also just in general about the setting if it's not ic for Richard )

[cabbxges-and-kings]

( A.braham W.oodhull ; continued )

THE-1890S-RUNAWAY SAID: “was this whole cloak and dagger thing really necessary?” ( Abe! // cabbxges-and-kings btw happy bday Richard )

“Look, I’m not used to this whole spyin’ thing, a'righ’? I was told to come prepared,” hissed the clergyman, under the quietest of breaths as he walked out of the shadows, revealing himself to Abe, literally wearing a cloak and concealed dagger. “And if ye’ have any complaints, save it for Major Tallmadge. He as the one who ordered me to keep an eye on ye’ with this whole business in New York.– Speakin’ of which, wha’ exactly do ye’ aim to accomplish in New York?”

        𝐀 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 “𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥'' 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬. A heavy cloak laid upon his soldiers and in the alleyway lamp, he could see the shine of a sharp dagger just in reach. 

        Abraham was accustomed to strangers in the city. This man and his unique accent were no different. Men looking for extra shillings would call out to him on street corners and he passed by the rather forgettable faces of young boys in red coats every day. As long as Abe’s face and voice remained as unknown as everyone else was to him--a man in a crowd of many--he was fine with keeping his identity close to his chest in the city. He could manage only speaking to a person here and there to keep a suspicious eye off him and alight the sweet accomplished feeling he gained when he gathered sufficient intelligence that he could pass over to Caleb. 

        With this man’s unfamiliarity came suspicion and Abraham kept his stance guarded, his foot rooted to the ground as he kept his hands on his hips. He could feel the weight of his concealed knife under his sleeve. Even with the man’s unfamiliarity in Abe’s mind, he did remember the piece of intel that was passed onto him in his last meeting with Caleb: they found someone in York City, a clergyman, but the details were sparse and the information nested in the back of his mind, only to resurface when the man escaped the shadowy depths of the alleyway. Abraham cast a wary glance towards the open mouth of the alleyway, watching for any lingering citizens that could've been listening in on their conversation. In the dead of night, in an alleyway, Abe knew their current predicament would sway suspicion their way if any redcoat caught onto them with the rumors of spies infiltrating the city. The man’s cape and clutched dagger didn’t help either to avoid skepticism.

        His eyebrows furrowed at the man’s admittance and his voice was quick to grow fiery. ❝ Ben? He- he sent you to watch me? ❞ The previous instances where Abe tried to cut himself loose from the ring were out of mind when it came to the idea of Ben sending someone else to watch over him. Abraham had a man in York City who could get them information without the need for Abe to cough up excuses for why he was traveling away from his hometown for a few days. He just had to persuade him, but he believed it was possible. The farmer scoffed at the idea of Ben employing someone else to watch over him. It wasn’t required and frankly, it showed what little trust Ben had for him.

        His lips thinned as he shook his head. ❝ No, no, this isn’t going to work. ❞ He paced a little in his place and then finally stood still, looking up at the man before him. ❝ My business in York City is none of your business. Whatever Ben told you, forget it. ❞

@richardxoliverxmayhew

[mrdarcygenderenvy]

Recent Austen adaptations yelling

Ok I DID make this blog to review historical-set Pride & Prejudice adaptations (with an exception made for iconic B&P). But for everyone who was DEFINITELY WONDERING, yes I have also been storing away a lot of opinions about other recent Austen adaptations that I Must Tell Someone.

.

Fire island (2022)

A modern gay party cheesy rom-com P&P that genuinely made me laugh. Having seen some other (whiter) cheesy gay romcoms that were extreeeemely PG & playing it safe, I was pleasantly surprised.

Also Bowen Yang and his story just came across really earnest in a way I was into - would watch this man cry again, 10/10.

Personally as an extremely disabled british nerd (now tragically unable to travel and/or go to the club...) this gay scene is a long way from my queer scene. But I still had emotions, you know?

Kinda wanted more of the Mary analogue and generally just normal looking people (almost everyone is so ripped) but I appreciate that's how beautiful smooth people often look in mainstream american films, we can't have everything.

DARCY WATCH: I do not want to dress like this adaptation's chinos Mr Darcy. But Conrad Ricamora was generally great and very hot and awkward and understood the assignment. Good ice cream throw.

.

Emma (2020)

I know I know, it's pretty... but I don't think that's enough!!!!!

Lovely production, beautiful costumes, a candy wes-anderson cinematography that really suits the story, and it's fun to notice references to actual outfits and prints from the time but lads. LADS. UNPOPULAR OPINION TIME: Where is the chemistry???

You can’t make Mr Knightley a nice sweet boy (so funny to have cast a posh folksy singing man) and leave the plot the same and expect it to work!! Also I was personally pissed off that a lot of the promo/ ads for this made it look like ~forbidden love~ when it's the 2 richest white people in town getting together?? ? There's actually not even a class difference in this one, guys.

Basically this romance was nothing to me!!! I felt nothing!!!!!!!! WHERE'S THE DEPTH

I did like the bit where he lies down though. Relatable.

Also why are you drawing so much attention to the servants when you don’t seem to have anything to say about class...? 'Wow look how many servants they had! Anyway, they don't get any speaking lines'... it's 2020 guys!!! like what are we saying here. 'isn't it cool to think about how people were rich'??

kind of the point of Emma (character) is she's pretty superficial, but the story does not, in fact, have to be

.

Persuasion (2022)

Weeping softly into a pillow........ did you know this version meant a version with Sarah Snook and Joel Fry got cancelled?? we could have had it all

(standing on a table yelling) THE MODERNISATION WAS NOT THE PROBLEM WITH THIS FILM!!!

Honestly I actively liked all the entire secondary cast in this. Louisa and Mary were extremely charming fun takes to watch. ('I'm an empath' IS right for the character if you're doing modern jokes!!!) And nobody can deny this was a correct and powerful use of Richard E Grant.

Henry Golding was naturally great. Apparently he got offered the lead and took the villain instead, which DOES mean the villain is super charming and fun to watch which is... hard to match and.... kind of shows up.... the main man.

It's been said before but the main two were WOEFUL imo. I have no beef with the actors I just question the DIRECTION and whether anyone making this knew (or cared) why people... enjoy things.

Book Anne is the quietest gentlest loser and I LOVE HER and so does basically every Austen nerd. Making her a quirky wine-bath girl who's honestly just cruel sometimes fully stops the main romance chemistry and plot from working.

And it means the main boy is still like 'god I'm so horny for how KIND AND CAPABLE YOU ARE' which is just 100% no longer true. You can't transplant a personality in a romance but leave the plot the exact same and expect it to work. The chemistry IS the plot in a romance..........

you can't act morally superior to your siblings and still rate people out of ten.... also so funny to me that everyone else gets period outfits and hair whereas this protagonist looks like she just glanced at a picture of any time in the past and grabbed a couple shirts from primark. it doen't even look good or build character!!!!!

Anyway, not to be an elderly man like 'ohhh why does nobody care about character these days' but the reason something like Clueless works is because it has the heart of the story right, instead of just copying the surface level stuff.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Thoughts after finishing a re-watch of Taskmaster season 2:

- You can see this a lot throughout seasons 1 and 2, that in the early season they had a lot more time for the tasks. The average seemed to be an hour, while these days 20 minutes would be a long time. I can why there would be very good budgetary reasons to shorten the timeframe once they were doing 10 episodes instead of 5 or 6, if they gave them an hour for each task they’d be there forever. But still, an hour is enough time for the contestants to come up with some cool stuff that just can’t be done in 20 minutes. I enjoyed watching that.

- I still think Impress the Mayor is one of the best tasks in Taskmaster history. I see why they don’t do stuff with the general public anymore (like high fiving a 55-year-old in season 1, and season 2 had a bit of that with ordering a pizza), but I think they should bring on more authority figures and make Taskmaster people entertain them. I don’t think they’ve done that since with someone of that stature, and actually, it’s been a long time since they’ve brought in an outside person of any stature (ie. the woman they had find things in common with in season 6, the guy they cheered up in season 7, Rosalind the nightmare, even Fred). Those are fun.

- The was a very potato-heavy season, even by Taskmaster standards. The potato throw. The potato bridge. The cat named Patatas. The potato live task. The bandstand potato team task. The stop motion potato team task. That’s a lot of potatoes for a five-episode season.

- On the subject of the bandstand potato team task, it was jarring to see them bring in Josh, as they’ve now more firmly established the rules of Taskmaster and they don’t include just throwing in ex-contestants to make a team task fairer.

- I had it in my head, for some reason, that season 2 was slightly better than season 1. On a re-watch, I’d say it was the other way around. Season 2 was very good, but season 1 hit some highs it couldn’t quite match. Possibly due to the cast not seeming to get along quite as well.

- Every time I have to do one of those “prove you’re a human” things that ask me to click on every picture with a bridge, I mutter the Greg Davies quote “Sometimes you don’t see bridges” under my breath. It was fun to see that one in context again.

- I also have a kid at work who likes to name farm animals, so sometimes I sing Old McDonald to him. Every time I do, I picture Joe Wilkinson standing there in his suit looking blank, and I sing the song in his disinterested voice, and the kid giggles, it’s great.

- Jon Richardson is, as I’ve said before, absolutely right to be upset that he got robbed of a season victory by one live task in which it was possible to get fifteen actual points, especially when the scoring system wasn’t made particularly clear in the instructions. Having said that, I am please that Katherine Ryan has given us Canada’s 100% winning record on UK Taskmaster (with Mae Martin).

- The good old bandstand. I like the increasingly elaborate sets, but the bandstand was fun. Someone on Reddit posted a map recently that shows how you can walk from the Taskmaster house to the Taskmaster bandstand in about half an hour, I have saved that map and intend to do that walk when I go to London this summer. Along the Thames and see if I can catch sight of Tim Key’s ice block.

- The task where they threw groceries across the river, was also very strong. Richard Osman just fucking going for it with all his might to launch a shopping cart into the water is one of my favourite shots of Taskmaster, for similar reasons to Romesh Ranganathan throwing the watermelon on the floor. I like watching people really go for things. Richard Osman eating that egg with no hesitation whatsoever and then casually picking up his tea and walking away like a movie star was pretty fucking cool too. God Richard Osman is cool.

- I now think of Joe Wilkinson’s ass whenever I see a pineapple, so that’s a fun effect Taskmaster has had on my life.

- I don’t often think of Jon Richardson doing the four one-minute tasks when I think of tasks that have been set just for one person. But I should, because that was a lot of fun. I like how they upped the ante a bit from the previous season with Josh just doing it on his own, getting others involved in setting the tasks. That was very funny. Also, the makeup tutorial one reminded me of a particularly intense/harrowing bit from the Russell Howard/Jon Richardson BBC 6 Music Show, and Jon looked quite upset while doing it, I think Katherine Ryan may have inadvertently given Jon some flashbacks.

- I said after episode 1 that Katherine Ryan was really funny in that episode, I think she may have remained the most consistently funny contestant throughout the season. The perfect mix of confidence and ability to laugh at herself.

- The final live task was excellent.

- I see why they didn't keep making them buy gifts for Greg for 17 seasons straight, but I think they should bring that one back in some future season, just once, as a treat.

[bananacorn-limeade]

1961's The WORLD of ICE and FIRE

I'm going to do it. I'm going to self-indulge!

The Roger Corman ASOIAF production post is mostly just a novelty, but since I'm me, I have a lot of FEELINGS and OPINIONS about this cast. Naturally.

Anyway. Here's how well I think the actors in my post would play their roles, from worst to best.

#19, Worst: John Ashley as Robb Stark

You know how Ben Affleck has a face that knows about emails? John Ashley has a face that knows about sock hops. Woefully miscast.

#18: Tor Johnson as Gregor Clegane

God love the big guy, but I've only ever seen him make this face. Also, despite his repertoire of roles suggesting otherwise on paper, he just doesn't seem like a mean guy.

#17: John Agar as Jaime Lannister

Another terrible choice. The only reason he's not ranked as worst is because his soulless performance would make viewers interpret Jaime as an absolutely irredeemable sociopath, which at least would be... uh, interesting, I guess.

#16 Robert Reed as Renly Baratheon

Renly, but only if he was the most boring Baratheon. Go ahead, try to picture Reed eating a peach. You can't.

#15 Dawn Bender as Arya Stark

Aw, she'd try. But I feel like her attempts at Arya's fire would mostly come off as petulance.

#14 Richard Carlson as Ned Stark

Sorry, what? I fell asleep for a minute there.

#13 June Kenney as Daenerys Targaryen

Kenney would try her level best, but you know Corman would do a terrible job incorporating her storyline with the main plot, so she wouldn't have much to do except lounge around on mildly offensive orientalist sets and talk to her force-perspective dragon puppets. (Stop-motion you say? What, you think American International is made of money?)

#12 Dolores Faith as Sansa Stark

Again, no knock to Faith, but as with Daenerys, I think a 1961 production would flatten Sansa's character away to nothing. She'd get to pine and wear some nice dresses.

#11 Anthony Dexter as Petyr Baelish

This guy can play oily like nobody's business (check him out in 1962's Married Too Young), but 5D-chess-level deviousness might be beyond him.

#10 Michael Dunn as Tyrion Lannister

Full disclosure: I'm plopping him in the middle because I've never seen him in anything! The only little person I've personally seen in Corman's movies is Billy Barty (playing an actual, literal imp), and Dunn was someone I found who was said to play much meatier roles. In general, I think the depth of Tyrion's character would seriously challenge 1960s casting directors who were used to casting little people in jokey roles or as something less than human. One of many problems they'd have with the source material, no doubt.

#9 Lon Cheney Jr. as Sandor Clegane

Here's another actor who would do the best with what he was given - which would be an essentially empty role. This Sandor would be a beast used only for jump scares, with too much rubber over his face to ever show an emotion.

#8 Glen Langan as Stannis Baratheon

Langan would be serious, but dull, with lots of droning sermonizing. In other words, perfect. Still boring though.

#7 Basil Rathbone as Tywin Lannister

Who better to play a role totally owned by Charles Dance than an actor who's even Charles Dancier? The only reason I'm not ranking this legend higher is because I do think he'd kind of sleepwalk through this role, especially at this stage in his career.

#6 Raymond Burr as Robert Baratheon

The future Mr. Perry Mason was damn good at playing hard-drinking, prowly, "beastly" men. See him in this fabulous trailer for 1951's Bride of the Gorilla (spoiler: Burr is the gorilla). Of course, for this production, he'd be about 10 years on from that virile role, but that's perfectly on brand for Bobby B.

#5 Michael Landon as Jon Snow

Landon's tortured James Dean era would be a great fit for angsty goth teen Jon, though he might have trouble keeping his feelings as hidden as Jon does.

#4 Allison Hayes as Melisandre

Should she be ranked this high? Eh, maybe not, but this woman is a goddamn B-movie bombshell goddess. Her Red Woman would be a little less mysterious, sure, but her perfectly arched eyebrows and bullet bra would do R'hllor proud all the same.

#3 Marie Windsor as Catelyn Stark

They didn't call her Queen of the B's for nothing. Windsor always did great with roles that call for strength and verve. She'd be a fantastic Cat, and - dare I dream it - an even better Lady Stoneheart.

#2 Jack Nicholson as Theon Greyjoy

Now this would be fun. If baby Jack Nicholson had half the presence and charisma he would show in later movies, his Theon would be legendary.

#1 Coleen Gray as Cersei Lannister

If I can get Tumblr to understand one thing, it's how much Coleen Gray would absolutely eat in the role of Cersei. She's beautiful. She's a schemer. She's a helpless victim. She's back for revenge. I challenge anyone to watch her insane, murderous, fierce, gorgeous, duplicitous performance in 1960's otherwise pretty terrible The Leech Woman and not come to the same conclusion. I'm serious. There would be no survivors. 👑

[all-souls-matinee]

A Ghost Story for Christmas

Throughout the 1970s the BBC ran a holiday special that adapted the works of M.R. James into made-for-TV-movies; celebrating the ‘tradition’ of telling scary ghost stories at Christmastime. They later included a few exceptions to the James rule, and then rebooted it for limited releases in 2005. James is a horror staple; even if you haven’t read his stuff you would recognize the setups and themes of his stories because he was widely publicized in 1910s Cambridge and came to have a ton of influence on the genre. I’ve always been pretty indifferent towards his writing, only familiar with ‘Casting the Runes’ and ‘Rats’ (neither adapted here), but was so charmed by this thing’s existence that I picked out seven episodes that sounded the most interesting and watched in a randomly generated order. All of them are available for free on YouTube/Tubi and run from 30-60 minutes if you’d like to check it out for yourself.

A View from a Hill (2005), story by M.R. James

An archeologist visits a bankrupt squire at a country estate to assess his family’s collection of local archeological finds. Against the protests of his servant, the squire lends our protag a pair of binoculars from the collection.

The editing on this one sucks so hard. There’s a ton of potential in using binoculars as a kind of adder stone that allows you see both shadowy figures and an entire building that isn’t there, and it’s too bad that it’s just flashing images and jump-cut edits. We do get a taste of James’ penchant for stories within stories, usually conveyed by a wise old man, which I love. A certain je ne sais quoi in inviting the unpaid manservant to sit down and talk about how the local weird guy was gallows-robbing and boiling skeletons in a big pot and then went crazy, made a pair of magic binoculars, and got killed by ghosts. Respective reactions to this were to take a long drag on a cigarette say “that didn’t happen” and take a sip of wine and say “it’s an interesting story.” Thank you British people for my life.

The Ice House (1978), original teleplay by John Bowen

A man vacationing to cope with the death of his wife begins to suspect brother-and-sister resort owners are up to something when they show him a mysterious vine growing on their property.

The concept of gothic horror set at one of the country health clubs that were popular in 70s England is honestly very clever. A forbidden room, a mysterious object, the image of a middle aged man wandering around at night with a candle instead of a young woman, it all mostly works, but doesn’t ever quite get anywhere. These are simple stories intended for sharing around a hearth or at a sleepover so shouldn’t want for things like character development or complex filming, but because this one was so ambitious you can feel how lacking it is. Gothic horror also isn’t my thing even at its best, and here its definitely... not (tw for incest.) The biggest point in its favor is the ending, which is at least a natural resolution to the story Bowen was trying to tell.

The Ash Tree (1975), story by M.R. James

Squire Richard inherits a beautiful estate from his distant uncle Matthew, only to be troubled by the sins of Matthew’s past as a ruthless employer of witch hunters. 

The framing of Richard-as-Matthew was confusing, the lighting and editing off, and I really dislike the witch genre so was predisposed against this one. I did like the wise old man character (the mild affect he has while explaining that anyone who touched Matthew’s body was physically wounded in bizarre ways??), and will give it credit for going from the most boring to the most insane one of the bunch. All of these are pretty tame so it was kind of a shock to have them cut to a topless witch torture scene and then to have an ending where he’s mauled by, um, spiders made from human baby heads. The titular cursed tree does burn down at the end, so that’s all good then.

Whistle and I’ll Come to You (2010), story by M.R. James

Pressured to take space from his wife’s care home, an old man goes to stay at a seaside hotel and finds a mysterious object™ while beach combing.

John Hurt is putting in such a powerhouse performance that it almost feels unfair to compare this to the cheaper 70s stuff. Cinematography and set dressing convey a subtype of loneliness that feels like scum on glass, and tension is built up wonderfully with nasty audio, a scary statue, the image of a pillow slowly dragged under a door. A figure on the beach is made frightening only through film techniques. It also strays much further from the source material than other adaptations, but that’s not without purpose. Hurt’s aside that losing someone to dementia is the opposite of our concept of a ‘ghost’ is more chilling than any of these goofy little vignettes have a right to be; no wonder they replaced the whistle with a wedding ring.

Stigma (1977), original teleplay by Clive Exton

Katherine and her teenage daughter take a trip out to their summer cottage, stopping to watch a team of workers attempt to remove a boulder from the property. Katherine is exasperated with her family, distracted by the workmen, and while cooking dinner finds her hand covered in blood. Only problem is she hasn’t cut herself.

This one was so fucked up and bizarre and I really liked it. As a kid one of my favorite ‘true’ stories was about a house in the Southern U.S. that inexplicably dripped blood from its walls, and this reminded me of that with an added human element. There’s a lot packed into the runtime and characterization considering how simple the plot is. Something both very charming and very chilling about amateur acting and grainy film stock that’s then transformed by moments of pure pathos and truly beautiful shots. The image of blood welling from skin with no visible wounds made me physically shudder; my only issue is that it over-explains itself at the end. So close.

Lost Hearts (1973), story by M.R. James

A preteen named Steven is sent off to live with a distant relation, an eccentric, kindhearted old man obsessed with the occult, and keeps seeing mysterious children around the grounds of his estate.

This one surprised me because I can’t stand the premise, but it really grew on me with time. Even though there’s no mystery (’those children you’re seeing definitely Aren’t little dead ghost children, why, the old man loves kids he adopted two orphans that mysteriously vanished’), it had the best pacing out of any episode I watched. There are some truly arresting and memorable shots like Steven’s benefactor clipping a flower with garden shears and grazing over a cherub statue, or his untimely demise filmed entirely in silhouette. The ghost children’s makeup has them in grey body paint with long vampire fingernails (and, later, open rib cages), which would have terrified me as a child. Even as an adult the image of them tapping on glass windows and humming a leitmotif is memorably creepy.

The Mezzotint (2021), story by M.R. James

Curator Edward Williams comes into possession of a print, a mezzotint, depicting a country estate. When a friend takes a look at it there’s something ever-so-slightly different about the image. Maybe Williams simply missed the moon peeking between the clouds and the figure stepping onto the lawn (spoiler alert: he didn’t.)

The prosthetics that traumatized so many kids who watched The Witches in the 90s never bothered me growing up, but that painting in the beginning gave me nightmares for months, ergo The Mezzotint is the most compelling of any James story. A deep-seated fear of something moving when you can’t see it is just so deliciously scary; I wish it hadn’t had such an unimpressive filming style (Mark Gatiss wrote/directed, and you may remember him from another show), but the pacing, the acting, and the mezzotint itself were great. The wise old man in this one is even played by an old woman- #feminism!

[alinaandalion]

Top 10 Books of 2022

this was actually a pretty great reading year even if I fell short of some of my goals but these were the top 10 books I’ve read in 2022. 

1. Tender Is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica - it might be because it was something I picked up very late in the year, but this book has been burned into my brain since I read it.  it’s deeply disturbing, since the plot revolves around legalized cannibalism and the main character works at a processing plant, but it takes an unflinching look at what that reality would like without absolutely reveling it.  every time I said “this can’t get worse,” it did and there was another awful layer to peel back. but even beyond the general horror, what this book has to say about how systems swallow us all up but also the justifications we feed ourselves to continue to live in the world as it is was an absolute gut punch and an uncomfortable confrontation.  I remain absolutely obsessed.

2. The Liar’s Knot by M.A. Carrick - complete tone change from the previous book.  this one is fun.  what I find most enjoyable about this trilogy is that it loves fantasy and telling stories and leans into the setting.  so much of the conflict is based solely in decisions characters make, the secrets they keep, the ones they reveal.  anyway, if you like con artists, tarot readings mixed with magic, swashbuckling romance, sword fights with mysterious masked heroes, this is worth checking out.

3. The Justice of Kings by Richard Swan - this book was the surprise of the year for me.  I added it to my to-read list as something to try out but based on the cover, it felt like it might be trying to copy A Song of Ice and Fire (not a diss to G.R.R Martin, I love those books; not the pale imitators).  and while the book is grim, it’s definitely not trying to be a copy.  it’s written from the perspective of the main female character but from the POV of her telling her own history.  Also, Sir Konrad is amazing and a dad-shaped character.

4. Babel, Or the Necessity of Violence:  An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators’ Revolution by R.F. Kuang - I mean, this one isn’t a surprise.  I love Kuang’s writing, especially how keenly she understands the nature of violence.  if anything, I wish this book had been longer and more self-indulgent.  still, a really great book and I continue to think about it today.

5. Wrath Goddess Sing by Maya Deane - if you have gotten a little bored with all the Greek myth retellings out there, read this.  even if you haven’t, read this.  I’ve never read any retelling that is this bold and fascinating.  it did fall apart for me a little at the end, but the ride there was beyond worth it and it blew my mind. 

6. The Mothers by Brit Bennett - definitely a new favorite author.  it stayed with me long after I finished the actual book.  it grapples with a lot of difficult topics and definitely had an impact beyond just reading it and has made me think about how to tackle some things in my own writing.  and I’ll always love a book that is able to do that.

7. The Hellbound Heart by Clive Barker - what can I say, I watched the first two Hellraiser movies for the first time this year, lost my mind a bit over them, then checked this out from the library and read it in almost one sitting.  new favorite horror author, I remain obsessed and think about this book on a regular basis.

8. Calling a Wolf a Wolf by Kaveh Akbar - I still don’t know what to say about this book of poetry but I regularly find myself turning over pieces of the poems within it in my head.  it talks a lot about addiction but it doesn’t skate over the surface.  it’s amazing.  please read it.

9. A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine - so many books about empire are weirdly uncomplicated in the main character’s mind.  the empire is bad, their side is good, the end.  so I really loved how complicated this book made it, where the main character genuinely loves so much about the empire even as it threatens to destroy her home and consume her in the process.  very much looking forward to reading the next book in 2023.

10. Please by Jericho Brown - Jericho Brown is one of my favorite poets writing today.  The language is astounding and you have to sit with his work to fully take it in.  if you’re going to read a poet currently writing, definitely pick up one of his books of poetry.  it’s absolutely worth it.

[theasstour]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟎.𝟏𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

Monday, 25 September 2017

It was strange to Y/N that she was enjoying herself as much as she was just then in an educational setting. In school, she had never really liked any of the subjects besides English, and here at uni, she got to sit and listen to professors who were truly experts on English literature ramble on about Othello and specific analysis on act 3 scene 3. She loved every single second of it, and was sure she could sit there for hours on end just listening to her professors. At one point she was sure this would all get tiring and she’d hate University, but in that moment, hearing her professor, Richard, talk about things that truly interested her, was such a breath of fresh air compared to what she had experienced previously.

The door to the lecture hall opened, and since the doors were right by the blackboard where Richard stood talking about Othello and the ‘temptation’ scene, all eyes landed on the blonde girl in pink shorts and a white jumper. She smiled at Richard, mouthing a “sorry” before taking the first free seat she could find, which was conveniently right beside Y/N. The two girls shared a small smile themselves before Y/N went back to focusing on the lecture happening in front of her. Y/N was hunched over her notebook, writing something off from the PowerPoint slide displayed on the wall in front of her. She did not know how much time went by, she was listening too intently to care about that, but suddenly, the blonde beside her rested her back against the seat and leaned a little closer to Y/N.

“This is quite boring, innit?”

Y/N looked to her left, and to her surprise, realised that the girl who had walked in late was Chloe. The same Chloe who she had met when she registered a week and some ago. She must have been too caught up in the lecture to pay proper attention to her surroundings.

Chloe let out a small chuckle, nodding in the direction of the PowerPoint before she continued to whisper. “The lecture. I knew we’d be discussing Shakespeare in Introduction to English Studies, but Othello’s just fucking boring, innit?”

“I…” Y/N looked at the PowerPoint for a few seconds, then back at Chloe. “Sure.”

They were quiet for a few seconds, Chloe just studying Y/N, eyes searching her face. “You like Othello.”

Y/N felt a sudden urge to relate to Chloe. Since they had met earlier and since she hadn’t made tons of friends on her course yet, she wanted Chloe to be her mate. If they got off on the wrong foot today, they might never sit next to each other again.

“It’s not as good as Twelfth Night, not as bad as Julius Caesar.”

Chloe continued to just look at Y/N, but suddenly, a smile came creeping over her lips. “Take it you like Shakespeare.”

“I like analysing his work, yeah.”

“More of a Modernism, and sometimes Postmodernism, girl myself.”

“I’m not big on either of those.”

Chloe let out a small chuckle again. “You won’t be taking Postmodernism next year then?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Chloe only crossed her arms and stared ahead, still smiling. For a second Y/N was afraid she might have said something to make Chloe detest her, but the next, she reminded herself that she had to live her truth regardless of what anyone said about it. “Guess we’ll just have to enjoy each other’s company in the core modules then.”

Y/N felt a few butterflies in her stomach at that and could not help smiling back at Chloe when their eyes met again.

“How come I haven’t seen you at any Freshers parties yet?” Chloe asked.

“Been busy applying to jobs and such,” Y/N explained. “Gotta get one as fast as possible ‘cause I need money to live.”

“Ahh, fair.” Chloe nodded. “One of my course mates, Hayden – think they’re up there somewhere –“ Chloe pointed with her thumb over her shoulder, indicating further up the lecture hall. “Has decided they’re going to start an Uno society.”

“Uno?” Y/N frowned. “As in the card game?”

“Yeah,” Chloe laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be nice and all, but they’re very passionate about it. Have yet to come out with me, Thian, and Annalise. Those are my other course mates, by the way.”

Y/N nodded. Was she just incompetent at making friends or was Chloe just very good at it? How had she made so many friends, made a small group by the sounds of it, and Y/N had barely talked to anyone on her course yet?

“Hayden promised to come out this Friday, though,” Chloe smiled. “You should come, too.”

For some reason, both nerves and excitement rushed through Y/N at that. She smiled back. “I’d love that.”

“Wicked. It’s at my Dinwiddy flat.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Uni accommodation at Helmond is a huge piss take, I tell you. I feel like there’s mould everywhere.”

“That’s just UK houses in general. We’ll all die from it one day.”

“It’s literally disgusting,” Chloe said. “Also, one of my flatmates never does his dishes. It’s minging. And it’s started smelling, too.”

“Oh, my days.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad I just immediately moved in with my best mate instead of going through the whole uni accommodation thing. At least I can be assured that they do their dishes and no food’s left on the kitchen counter for too long.”

“Oh, that sounds lush.”

The people around Y/N and Chloe were all starting to pack their things and get out of their seats. Seeing as the two of them were sat by the edge of the row, they had to get up rather fast and let people through. So, that’s what they did. Y/N put her notebook and pencil case in her rucksack and slung it onto her back before she and Chloe made their way out of the lecture hall and out into the hallway beyond.

“There they are,” Chloe grinned, waving as she saw a small group of three standing by the wall a bit further down. “Come say hi.” Though Chloe wasn’t looking at her, Y/N assumed she was talking to her, so she followed her over to the rest. “Gang, this is Y/N, the one I met while we were both registering.”

“Ah, you’ll be Y/N, then,” a man with protruding cheekbones, a strong jawline, and deep set, brown eyes said. The Viet man’s smile lit up the room they were standing in, and it made Y/N’s overthinking ebb. “I’m Thian, pleasure to meet you. Chloe told us she met you, but never saw you since.”

“Proper rude of the universe to keep us away from each other for so long,” Chloe said.

“I’m Hayden,” a smaller person said with the greenest eyes and long brown hair. They too had a smile like Thian’s, but this one displayed crooked teeth, which made Y/N more at ease with her own bottom teeth that were the same.

“And I’m Annalise,” the last one said, her hair dyed an unnatural dark red colour that Y/N absolutely loved. “I think I saw you in a Critical Reading seminar.”

“Oh, yeah, I think we might be.”

“We’ll have to sit next to each other next time!”

Y/N could detect a slight accent, but she could not tell where Annalise was originally from. She suspected Germany, there were tons of international students here after all, but Y/N did not want to assume.

“Guys, we have to plan the first Uno society meeting,” Hayden said, looking at the time on their phone. “It was so nice to meet you, Y/N, but we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

She just smiled. “No, totes get that. I need to get back to my flat, anyway.”

“See you around, then,” Chloe smiled, waving as the four of them walked off.

Y/N walked home to Orsman Road. Though she knew there would be less walking if they took the tube, it would also mean that she had to walk on and off boiling hot tube trains and stations, and she was not about to do that. She was sweating enough in the late September sun as it was, she did not need the tube to contribute to her sweat moustache as well. Instead, she plugged her earbuds in and listened to her most recent playlist on Spotify, humming along to her favourite tunes as she walked.

She stopped by Gregg’s by Dalston Kingsland station, buying herself a sausage roll and an iced latte before walking the rest of the stretch home. Hackney bustled around her, with tons of cars, double deckers, and mopeds driving by, as well as all types of people milling to and from work. The early autumn sun was still a little too hot, but it seemed like most Londoners were soaking up the sun while they could. They were walking by in shorts, tee shirts, and summer dresses, while the only reason why Y/N was dressed in her tee shirt and trousers, was so she would not quite literally go up in flames on the way home.

Y/N arrived at Orsman Road not long after her trip to Gregg’s, and walked up to the flat. She locked the door once she was indoors, checking the kitchen and the living room to see if anyone was there. To no one’s surprise, none of her three other student flatmates were home in the middle of the day on a Monday. She walked up the stairs and to her room, letting her door be open so she could air out a bit more. Her windows had been open all day, so her room smelled fresher than normal as she entered. That just reminded her that she had to buy some scented candles or air fresheners to liven up her room.

Putting her rucksack down by her door, Y/N started looking through the two bags that she had yet to pack out from. In one was most of the stuff she’d put on her desk when she finally bought that, and in the other were loads of decorations that she had yet to bring forth. She started pulling out fairylights that she wanted to hang across her room or over her wall, when she heard footsteps. Out of the door directly to the right once you came up the stairs, came a man with short dark hair and a strong build, thin lips and pale skin. He must have heard movements outside his door, because his eyes landed on Y/N almost right away. However, he smiled at her and Y/N immediately knew who this was.

“You’re Y/N, then,” Mason said, walking over to stand in the doorway of her room. “Mason, your third flatmate.”

“Thought I’d never run into you,” Y/N smiled, making his smile grow.

“Yeah, got here like two days ago, and have been all over the place since. Helped some of my mates move into their flats, been at work, and at rugby practice.”

She nodded. “Busy man.”

“Very busy.”

“Lucky I caught you now, then.”

Mason nodded his head. “Would have eventually. Knowing Nath, he’ll probably end up forcing us all to bond as a flat at one point.”

“Sounds horrific.”

“It was. It will be,” Mason laughed, leaning against the doorframe and pushing his hands into his grey joggers.

Y/N furrowed her brows. “It was? He’s done it before?”

“Yeah, our first year. He made everyone in our flat bond, he especially talked about flat yoga sessions and shopping trips when he was drunk or high as a kite.”

She dropped the fairylights and turned her full attention on Mason. “You lived together your first year?”

Mason just looked at Y/N, blinking a few times. “Yeah.”

“All three of you?”

“All three of us. Me, Nathan, Harry, and like five girls.”

Y/N felt like screaming, but lucky for her dignity and Mason’s ears, the front door opened and closed. Nathan’s singing could be heard all the way upstairs. Instead of screaming, Y/N called Nathan’s name, not caring that Mason saw just how annoyed she was now. Poor bloke had no idea what he’d just said. Nathan strolled up the stairs and looked in Y/N’s room’s direction, his face lit up at the sight of Mason and Y/N together.

“What a view!” he grinned. “What’re you two bonding over?”

“Right now we’re bonding over being your friend,” Y/N said.

“Which I’m sure you’re both honoured to be, yes.”

“And I just heard you’ve lived with Mason and Harry for the last year, but have not told me,” Y/N said, ignoring Nathan’s previous comment.

Nathan looked to Mason, and then back at Y/N. “No, Harry moved in later. He lived in another flat first, hated it, and since him and Mason were good mates, he got to move into our place since one of our flatmates dropped out our first week.”

Not caring that she would smudge her makeup, Y/N ran her hands over her face. “How long did he live there, Nate?”

Silence for a second or two. “Start of second semester till we moved out.”

Y/N let go of a heavy sigh. “Nathan, why didn’t you just tell me?-“

“-I know, I know, I know,” Nathan started, walking into Y/N’s room and sitting down on the floor beside her. “I’m a shite friend.”

“You really fucking are,” Y/N said, swatting Nathan’s hand away when he tried to take hers. “Harry was both of our friend when he lived in Notts those months, and I literally had sex with him.”

Mason took a small step back in pure shock, blinking rapidly as if an eyelash fell onto his eye.

“Don’t I have a right to know you’re living with him?” Y/N asked.

“You do. Of course, you do. I just… I thought I told you at one point, and when I got home and I found out I hadn’t told you… I didn’t know how to break the news.”

“How about just telling me?” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “Instead of hiding it from me like that.”

“Technically, I didn’t hide anything ‘cause I thought I-“

“-Nathan, I’ll literally skin you alive-“

“-Fine, I should have told you,” he groaned, taking her hand this time and holding it tight in his. “How can I make it up to you?”

Y/N thought for a moment, but came up with the perfect solution. “By coming with me when I go out with my course mates on Friday?”

Nathan just looked at her, blinking once. “My punishment is to… go out with you and your mates?”

“Yes. I barely know them, I need moral support. No matter how bad the person giving me said support actually is.”

Nathan looked down at their hands, patting hers slightly. “I’ll come.”

“Thanks.”

He continued to look down at their hands as Mason’s quiet footsteps back to his room sounded throughout the first floor. “I do have a lecture that finishes at 7pm-“

“-You’ll skip that lecture if you so have to.-”

“-Yes, ma’am,” Nathan answered without hesitation, kissing her hand and getting up from the floor. He gave her a small smile. “And I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you.”

Y/N nodded. “Is there… Is there more you haven’t told me? In regards to Harry?”

Nathan pretended to think for a few seconds, eyes getting big as if he remembered something.

“Nath?”

He chuckled. “No, nothing.”

Y/N hit him on his calf before he walked away. “You’re bloody buying the first round of drinks on Friday.”

“As I should,” was all Nathan said before he danced off to his room. Y/N picked up her fairylights again, trying to get them out of the messy tangle they were currently in so she could finally make this room look like her and her new home.

Friday, 29 September 2017

Y/N was nervous. She was usually nervous before going someplace she had never been before, or to meet people she had never met, but it was never like this. Her nerves were almost always drowned by her natural eagerness to be around people, to be surrounded by friends and strangers. However, this, her first pre-drinks at uni with other people, had her feeling a little too nervous for her own tastes.

She loved parties. Fuck, if she could party every single day, she would. She did not care about the hangover that came the following day, as long as she had a good time the night before. At home in Nottingham, she would have loved to party as much as she had in London, but for some reason, meeting as many new people as she had, made her nervous for some reason. It was weird to Y/N because she loved making friends, but it was different here. She had yet to figure out what about University that triggered this reaction out of her.

A knock sounded at her door and she grunted, which Nathan took as a good enough sign for him to be allowed entrance. He grinned, sitting down on Y/N’s fluffy dark blue duvet cover and looked his best friend up and down.

“Lush,” he said.

Y/N glanced at the mirror in front of her again, running her hands down her sides. Her black ruched detail ribbed crop top fit her perfectly, making her tits look exceptionally good, and the gold necklace and earrings topped it all off. The crop jeans in light wash blue were tightened at the waist by a black belt with silver eyelets, the black lace up boots made her almost as tall as Nathan. Though Y/N had been out on town in Nottingham with this very same outfit, she was unsure about it now. There was a familiar fear in the back of her head; one that had not visited in a while, one that would lay low until it saw fit to paralyse her. Y/N was experiencing only the tip of the iceberg now. The rest would reveal itself later, it would all melt and drown her in nervous ticks and anxious tendencies.

God, she hated how nervous she was. This was not like her at all. Nathan knew this, which was why he picked up on how unusually quiet his best friend was. He got up from where he was seated on the bed, walking over to Y/N and placing his hands on her shoulders.

“What’s up?”

She took a deep breath, looking at him in the mirror. “You remember the party at Jack Lloyd’s?”

“When we were 17?”

“Yeah, and I was nervous to wear that tight-fitting dress? ‘Cause of my stomach?”

“Yes, even though you had no reason to be nervous.”

She sighed. “Well, I’m feeling like that now,” she admitted. “Not as intensely, but it’s there and… I haven’t felt this nervous about being seen in a long time.”

“What do you mean ‘being seen’?”

“When… When you’ve had and still have a hard time accepting yourself, it’s hard to let others look at your body ‘cause you don’t want to exist outside your own head, if that makes sense? Being seen means people will have an opinion, it means they’ll piece together this image of you before even getting to know you. It means them judging you on your looks alone before they get to actually know you.” Y/N shrugged her shoulders a little, Nathan squeezing them ever so slightly. “My confidence is much better now, but I still have those moments every so often when that 17-year-old girl I used to be will come back and whisper something discouraging into my ear.”

Nathan nodded, wrapping his arms around her neck and bringing her to him. She melted into her best friend, taking a grip of his forearms. “I know it’s much easier said than done, but focus on now. You’ve come so far, and though that 17-year-old is part of the reason why you are who you are today, she’s got nothing to do here. 19-year-old Y/N has come so far, she has no time revisiting the past ‘cause she’s going to a party tonight, and it’ll be fucking fantastic, yeah?”

Y/N chuckled, closing her eyes as Nathan planted an encouraging kiss to her cheek. “Guess you’re right.”

“Of course I fucking am.”

She laughed.

“Now, get your vodka, tequila, sourz, or whatever the fuck you’re drinking, and let’s go.” Nathan let go of her and walked to the door, opening it. “You got Chloe’s address?”

“Yeah, it’s Dinwiddy, flat 10.”

“Uni accommodation?”

Y/N huffed, reaching for her purse and putting it over her shoulder. “Did you expect my first-year mates to live anywhere else?”

“Not really. Dunno why I’m shocked.”

Y/N searched through her purse, checking she had everything she needed before reaching for her plastic bag where her drinks were.

“Still remember when I lived in Coopers Court with Harry and Mason. Oh, how time flies.”

Y/N stopped short, narrowing her eyes. “I still cannot believe you didn’t tell me anything about you living in the same flat as Harry your first year at uni.”

Nathan sighed.

“Cannot believe you didn’t tell me he went to Helmond. Cannot believe you wanted us to live together without at least informing me-“

“-Mate, are we done with this?”

“Don’t think I’ll ever be done. You tricked me into this.”

“I did not.”

“What did you think was gonna happen when I found out?”

“We’ve been over this,” Nathan said. “I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. Harry did not react like this when I told him I promised to live with you my second year, your first year.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, having already heard this.

“In fact, he did not mind one bit living with you.”

“I mind living with him.”

“Clearly, or else we wouldn’t still be having this conversation.”

Y/N tutted, walking past Nathan and down the stairs. “I’ll let this argument be for the time being, but expect me to pick it back up again tomorrow when my mind’s not all over the place. I want to be able to fucking destroy you.”

“Great. Can’t wait.”

Y/N and Nathan started walking in the direction of Dinwiddy, the biggest uni accommodation at Helmond, where most students ended up staying. Parmiter Street was a mere 30-minute walk away, and though they could have easily taken the tube, they both knew that it would be best for them to get some fresh air before drinking. Y/N also wanted to walk off some of her anxiety, though she was fairly certain that would not happen. On one hand she was looking forward to meeting Chloe and the rest of her English Lit gang, on the other, she was nervous. Her nerves came more from fear of experiencing the same blinding anxiety she had when she was younger, for that same feeling of helplessness and bottomlessness that it had brought her. What if it appeared when she was drinking? What if it got worse as she got drunk?

She hated how moving away to London and to University had brought her so much doubt. It was like she had to figure out who she was all over again. Here, it was only Nathan who knew her. Well… him and Harry, but the latter did not count. If Y/N so wanted, she could become a new version of herself. She knew that was something uni offered; finding a new you and shaping it into a person you want to be. There were several things Y/N wished she could change about herself. She had a horrible temper, was a little too loud at times, took many things far too personal, and more. She was unsure how much independence and a new environment could help make her a better version of herself, but she hoped Helmond and London could help her to some degree.

Once they arrived at Parmiter Street, Nathan walked straight onto Dinwiddy campus grounds and showed them the way to flat 10. The brown brick buildings rose five storeys high around them, shaping a small T formation with some benches along the stone path where people could sit on the few occasions when the weather would allow it. Nathan had been there the year before, loads of his friends from his Criminology course had lived at Dinwiddy accommodation and therefore hosted pre-drinks there. Nathan knew his way around, and, sure enough, he showed them right to flat 10. On the right hand-side, the first building, Nathan strolled over to the entrance.

He met Y/N’s eyes, trying to get a picture of just how nervous she was. After all, these were her friends, and had they been home in Nottingham, she would not have been this nervous at all. Nathan was not anxious at all, and he had never talked to – never met – Chloe or any of Y/N’s course mates.

“Listen,” Nathan said, giving Y/N a small smile. “If it gets too much, we’ll just go home, yeah? I won’t leave your side.”

Y/N smiled back, nodding her head. “Yeah. I’ll send Chloe a text saying we’re here.”

“We could just ring the doorbell.”

She looked at him. “Nath.”

“Y/N.”

“What were phones invented for if we’re just gonna ring people’s doorbells? I’m sending her a text.”

Nathan reached forward and rang the doorbell, making Y/N raise her eyebrows at him and take a deep breath as not to throw him against the brick building.

“Yes?” came from the speakers beside the doorbells. It was Chloe.

Nathan nudged Y/N, nodding in the direction of the speakers. She glared at him. “It’s Y/N.”

“Ahh, brill!” Chloe unlocked the door for them and Nathan opened it, letting Y/N enter first. They walked over to the stairs, looking at a sign there that showed them flat 10 at the topmost storey.

“They don’t even have a bloody lift, do they?” Y/N asked Nathan as she looked around.

“Gotta walk, mate.”

“Fuck me,” Y/N groaned as they began their ascent.

“I’d rather not.”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed a bit. They made it to the fourth floor, and Y/N knocked on the door as Nathan breathed heavily beside her.

“Hi,” Chloe smiled as she opened the door, stepping aside to let Y/N and Nathan in.

“Hiya,” Y/N smiled back, feeling her heart beat hard inside her chest. Something about Chloe’s smile, the reminder that she had invited Y/N over, that she wanted her there, settled atop Y/N’s shoulders, making them sag to a comfortable level. “Brought my housemate, hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!” Chloe said, turning to Nathan.

“Nathan,” he smiled. “Thanks for letting me come here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Chloe said, closing the door and showing them the way down a corridor towards the shared living space where a heavy bass was throbbing. The fluorescent lights overhead in the hallway resembled those at a petrol station, making Y/N squint as she entered the living room. There sat everyone she had the pleasure of meeting earlier that week. Hayden, Annalise, and Thian were all  around the table with a glass each to drink. Y/N smiled at them, waving her hand as they all grinned back at her. She still felt like she was intruding.

“Y/N, Nathan, do you like sambuca?” Chloe asked, walking over to the kitchen bench to fetch plastic shot glasses.

“Never say no to sambuca, ey?” Nathan grinned, nodding for Y/N to go sit down so he could follow her lead. “We’ll have a shot each of you’re handing out.”

“I am, indeed,” Chloe said, getting two shot glasses and walking over to the table, placing the glasses in front of Nathan who looked absolutely ecstatic.

“Thanks, babe,” Y/N said.

“You lot playing a drinking game?” Nathan asked, getting his drinks out to mix them all together into his paper cup.

“Yeah, we’re playing Never Have I Ever,” Hayden answered. “However, if no one drinks, everyone’s got to take a sip except for the person asking, but the person asking’s gotta take two if no one drinks.”

“Ahh, alright,” Nathan said. “Creative. Love it.”

“This is Y/N’s friend, Nathan, by the way, guys,” Chloe said as she came back over with shots for everyone.

“Oh, yeah, this is Nathan. He’s a second-year, we live in a flat together in Haggerston.” Y/N suddenly felt stupid for not introducing him right away so that Chloe had to. She felt her cheeks heat up, but she refused to look like she felt headless. Instead, she got her vodka and cranberry juice out, mixing it as Nathan spoke beside her.

“We’ve known each other forever, so she moved in with me and my flatmates this year instead of moving into uni accommodation,” he elaborated.

“You knew each other in Nottingham?” Chloe asked, and, for some reason, the fact that Chloe remembered that made Y/N feel all kinds of warm.

“Yeah, been best friends for years.”

“How nice that you got to live together here,” Chloe smiled in Nathan’s direction, then at Y/N.

“It is, isn’t it?” Nathan said, looking at Y/N and giving her a small wink before going back to his drink.

“Right, we need to take advantage of being first-years and get drunk as often as possible,” Thian said. “So, tonight needs to be good.”

“It’ll be good regardless,” Annalise retorted, taking one of the shots from the tray Chloe had brought to the table.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Hayden asked.

Thian nodded. “Pub or club?”

“Don’t really feel like clubbing tonight, you know what I mean?” Chloe asked, the other three coming with exclamations of agreement or nodding slightly. “Pub then?”

“We have a pub right by us,” Nathan said. “Only 30 minutes away and it’s the best one in Haggerston, in my opinion anyway.”

Y/N wrinkled her nose some. “The Stag’s Head?”

“Yeah, it’s always full and they sometimes got live music and everything.”

“We could go there, yeah,” Chloe said. “If everyone’s in.”

“Could we take a bus there?” Hayden asked.

“30 minutes isn’t a long walk, though,” Chloe chuckled. “As long as Nathan and Y/N show the way, we won’t get lost.”

“Don’t count on my navigational skills when I’m under the influence, babes,” Nathan said, making the others laugh.

“We’re better off using Google Maps, he might just show the way to the Gregg’s by Dalston Kingsland where he thinks the entire staff’s got a crush on him,” Y/N said before taking a sip of her drink, laughter erupting again. It felt good, like a pat on the shoulder, and Y/N instantly eased. Maybe she had not lost her old self at all, maybe she could still feel at ease, even around new people.

“They all flirt with me, and who can blame them?” Nathan shrugged his shoulders, whipping his head to the side so his lush, curly red hair dangled at the top of his head, grinning his wide smile and making the lip piercing shine in the fluorescent lights overhead.

The rest of the night went on, and it was easier to talk to everyone as time progressed. Not only because Y/N got more and more intoxicated, but she also just felt better after getting to know them all. Hayden always laughed the loudest, and their laughter was also very infectious, making it hard not to chuckle along with them. Annalise, though she sometimes stuttered over a few English words, was incredibly considerate and would urge Y/N to continue on with her story when others did not hear her. Thian offered Y/N tons of shots and complimented her on her outfit, making it easier for Y/N to feel good and seen, as she had been terrified of back at the flat. Chloe was easily the boss, and did most of the talking, though no one seemed to mind. After all, Chloe had introduced everyone to everyone, so people knew her the best out of everyone.

As time went on, Y/N just felt better. It was easier to talk to everyone and, at one point, she thought she was back at home in Nottingham, introducing herself to strangers at a party. They all made it easy to forget just how nervous she had been. It made her look forward to seeing them in her other lectures and seminars the coming week and all those weeks after that. Maybe these were the people she would spend her time at University with, and that excited her.

Bottles emptied and the volume inside the uni flat had increased massively. It was close to 9 when Chloe suggested they leave, and assured Y/N that she could leave the little she had left of her vodka at her place to pick up another day. Y/N took her up on the offer, insides warm from both alcohol and Chloe’s hospitality.

Nathan showed the way towards Haggerston and The Stag’s Head, arm entwined with Y/N’s for most of the way there. At one point however, Y/N let go of him and ended up walking beside Annalise and Thian, talking about one of the texts they had to read by Tuesday. It was such a mundane conversation, complaining about course work and talking about coming deadlines, that it felt like they had been mates for ages. The chat flowed so easily, the laughter rolled off their tongues, and it just made sense for all of them to be together, walking along the dark London streets in their tipsy states, making their way towards what would hopefully be the first of many trips to a pub.

They arrived at Orsman Road and they could hear The Stag’s Head before they saw it. Y/N had never paid it much attention. She knew she would end up popping by once or twice during her time at uni, but she had not envisioned her checking it out that first week. Nathan held the door open for everyone, resting a hand at Y/N’s back as he followed her indoors last.

The pub was small, but Y/N was sure that it was bigger than it appeared late on a Friday evening. Straight ahead, in a V formation, stood the bar, a wall filled with bottles of all alcohol imaginable behind it, lit up by red light which fit the dark red of the counter surrounding it. Far down to the left, it seemed the rest of the pub disappeared from view, but judging by the stairs Y/N could see, she supposed there was a loo somewhere in that direction, and it also looked to be where one could go to reach the smoking area. People were both sat and stood by the bar as well as booths along the walls. What appeared to be the stage further down to the right was unoccupied by any performers, though a few lads stood there with a pint each. There were no free tables, and this put a damper on the mood quite quickly.

Nathan, however, pulled them all towards the smoking area and they were all pleasantly surprised to see a free table and two benches untouched. Fairylights hung over the outdoor space, from the house and over to the fence on the other side. It lit up just enough, made it possible to see, but not too bright for people to squint when walking out into the night. A few empty pints and a smoky ash tray stood in the middle of the table, but Nathan put the glasses on the brick fence before everyone sat down.

“Alright, I’ll pay for your drink,” Nathan said, smiling at Y/N. “Anyone wanna come to the bar? Y/N’ll watch the table.”

“Ah, yes.” Chloe got up, the rest of the gang following along and walking towards one of the two entrances to the pub. Y/N got her phone out, looking to see if she had any notifications she had to check out, but there were none. She was about to resolve to scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, when she heard a slightly familiar voice.

“Hi there.” Mason sat down on the edge of the opposite bench, a cigarette in hand and a small smile on his lips. “Didn’t know you and Nath would come here tonight.”

“Oh, hiya,” Y/N smiled. “No, we didn’t know where we’d go after pre-drinks. He suggested this place, so we brought some of my course mates with us here.”

“You going out later?”

“No, think we’re just gonna stay here.”

“Yeah, this is a chill place,” Mason said, puffing out some smoke.

“This is my first time here.”

Mason raised his eyebrows. “Is it?”

Y/N smiled. “You think I should’ve come here earlier?”

“More to do with the fact that our flat just loves this place, thought Nathan would’ve at least taken you here already.”

“He did now.”

“It’s my favourite pub around here, and Harry-“

“-Mase!” Nathan exclaimed, grinning as he came over with two gin and tonics. “You’re here as well!”

“Yeah, it’s a Friday night, innit?”

“Hi,” Chloe said, sitting down beside Mason with a wide grin on her face. It seemed like she wanted to introduce herself or to be introduced, but before Y/N could say anything, the conversation resumed.

“Hey,” Mason answered, looking back to Nathan who seemed to be ecstatic to see one of his flatmates. “Hear you haven’t taken Y/N here till now.”

Nathan sighed. “Not like I didn’t want to, just haven’t gotten the opportunity.”

“What’s so good about this place?” Y/N asked, looking from Nathan to Mason.

“Just close, innit? Also, it’s crowded, but it’s not as crowded as most pubs down by Kingsland Road,” Nathan elaborated.

“You lot have a good night, yeah? Need to get back to my mates.” Mason leaned past Chloe, stumping the rest of his cigarette into the ashtray before he got up, walking over to a big group of lads. Chloe stared after him as the rest of the conversation around the table started back up again, Y/N pretended to not see how she was checking him out. It felt like she was intruding on a moment that was not meant for anyone but Mason to see.

“You’re living with him?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah.”

“He’s well fit.”

“Guess.”

Chloe giggled. “You’re taking the rule to not shag one of your flatmates seriously, then?”

“Shouldn’t everyone?” Thian asked, furrowing his brows. “It only complicates everything.”

“How? It’s only a shag. It’s not like you’re gonna fall in love with them,” Chloe said.

“Can’t really control your emotions, though.” Nathan shrugged. “Two of my flatmates last year shagged. He had feelings for her, she just wanted a one night stand. Didn’t end well.”

Y/N put her drink back down on the table after a long sip. “Well, if you’re clear beforehand and make it clear that it’s only for this night and there’s no emotions behind it other than temporary bliss, then that’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Nah,” Hayden said, shaking their head. “It’s an unwritten rule. Don’t shag your flatmates.”

“Is it a serious rule?” Annelise asked, furrowing her brows.

“It’s got serious consequences,” Hayden answered.

“But if you’re both aware it’s only a one time thing, then is it serious?” Y/N asked.

“Babe, sex is complicated. You’re always just gonna be connected in a way, you know?” Nathan said.

“I can promise you I’m not connected to Ollie Lee in any way, shape, or form,” Y/N huffed, sipping her drink again as Nathan laughed, the other joining in because of Y/N’s obvious distaste in this Ollie Lee.

“Was he awful in bed?” Chloe asked, smiling as she looked between Nathan and Y/N.

“No, I was just desperate one night last year.” Y/N rolled her eyes at herself. “Let’s just say that mid-shag he asked me if I had to go to the toilet, and when I said no, he told me that whenever I felt like I had to, just pee on him instead.”

Gasps erupted around the table, and a second later, everyone started howling with laughter. Nathan kept on hitting his thigh, leaning into Y/N and laughing. Though it was a fairly embarrassing story on Y/N’s part, her definite lowest of low, she could not help feeling good about making everyone laugh like this. Looking around at everyone, she suddenly felt very good about herself, despite this being her worst sex story ever.

It was not like Y/N had fucked her way through Nottingham and had tons of stories to tell. In fact, she hadn’t shagged that many. She had had sex with eight people, three of them being women, one non-binary, and the other four men. She had been very vocal about the fact that the best sexual encounters she had had, were with women. They had all been so nice, and though it had never escalated to anything romantic beyond that one night together, they had made Y/N feel the best she’d ever felt. She suspected women just knew what to do, that they cared how she felt and did not solely care about their own release.

The group ended up just sitting around and talking for a while. It was nice to go somewhere outside of the uni setting and get to know some people, this was what uni was all about, or so Nathan had told her countless times. These people were as anxious about making friends and being liked as she was, but there they all were, making friends and going outside their own comfort zone.

At one point, Y/N had finished her drink and went to get another round for her and Nathan. The pub seemed to be even more packed now that it was closer to midnight. Everyone wanted to drink the week away, to forget about their lives for a little while and just spend time in good company. Y/N strolled over to the bar, looking up and down the counter to see if any of the bartenders were free to help her. The second her eyes landed on a familiar figure, she halted.

Harry’s eyes were already on hers as he stood almost right opposite her mixing a drink. He let go of a sigh, looking down at whatever he was mixing.

“You…” she started, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve got to be fucking everywhere.”

“Only ‘cause you’re every single place I usually am,” he said, continuing to make whatever drink he was making.

“Do you work here then?”

He looked over at her, raising one of his eyebrows. “I’m not a hallucination now?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Can’t believe you thought I was a bloody hallucination.”

“Believe it. It’s all Nathan’s fault anyway. I’ll never forgive him for forcing me to live with you for a year.”

Harry let out a dry laugh. “To answer your question: no, thought I’d help out behind the bar to get me adrenaline going.”

“Well funny,” Y/N said. “You got me cracking up, can you tell?”

“Last time I checked, I got you laughing pretty hard, yeah.”

“That’s literally two years ago now.”

Harry finished the drink, putting it in a glass and placing it in front of the person standing just beside Y/N. Her eyes first landed on the watch on his wrist, the nice brown leather, and then her gaze travelled upward. She looked up at the man who was already staring at her, giving him a smile when she smiled at him. Their eye contact was put to an abrupt end when Harry poked the man’s hand holding the drink with the card machine. Y/N looked back at Harry, and then at another man with strong build and big, curly hair who stepped into view beside Harry.

“I’ll take care of her, Kai,” Harry said.

This Kai looked at Harry, blinking once before he met Y/N’s eyes again.

“She’s my flatmate,” Harry elaborated, making Kai study Y/N a bit more closely before he nodded once. He was very good looking, with a broad nose, almond-shaped eyes, and full lips, his brown skin glowed in the dim lights of the pub.

“That new one,” Kai said.

“Yeah.”

Kai smiled then, nodding in Y/N’s direction. “Nice of you to come check on Hazza. It’s always hectic on Fridays.”

“Oh, our other flatmate took me here, I didn’t come by choice.”

Kai’s eyebrows rose on his face and he looked at Harry who barked out a laugh, shrugging his shoulders at Kai as they exchanged a look. Harry walked over to stand right in front of her, signalling to Kai that he could take care of this one. Kai walked off, taking someone else’s order.

“Even feistier than I remember, you are,” Harry said.

She cocked her head to the side as Harry gathered a glass for her drink, already assuming that was what she was going to get. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it before.”

It left her lips before she even registered she was thinking it. Harry only took a deep breath before meeting Y/N’s eyes again, clearly choosing to ignore her statement. “What can I get you, Y/N?”

“Sex on the Beach, please,” she said. “Two of them.”

“Alright.” Harry started making them right away, signalling to someone that he’d be right with them after this. Y/N looked around her, meeting the gaze of the man who had just stood by her at the bar. He raised his glass in her direction and she smiled back. She definitely had to go talk to him after this. He seemed to be a bit older, maybe five years older than her, but just for tonight, she did not care.

Y/N glanced back at Harry and watched him, fascinated by how fast he managed to make the drinks. “How long have you worked here, then?”

“A year abouts,” Harry said. “Worked in a hotel when we moved to Brum. Tended to work at the bar when the bartender was out.”

Y/N nodded, eyes on his hands as he poured ice, shots, and all types of alcohol and liquids into her drink. “You lived there till you moved to London?”

“Yeah.” They were quiet for a moment, both of them remembering all of the things that were left unsaid between them. All of those words, moments, and memories they had created during those months the two of them had crossed paths in Nottingham.

He cleared his throat as he put the drinks down in front of her. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t much like Brum.”

Y/N took a grip of the glasses. “And why’s that?”

“Dunno. Just didn’t find my footing proper.”

“In the two years you lived there?”

He shrugged. “Guess not.”

Y/N clicked her tongue. “Was it that bad?”

“Nah, I met tons of ace people and Birmingham’s a decent place, but…” He shrugged again. “Dunno.”

“Hmm,” she said, trying to decipher his words and if he was being truthful or not.

“Anyway,” Harry said, nodding to the drinks. “Take that other drink to Nathan – as I’m sure it’s for him – and when you bring that middle-aged man home later: please, be quiet. I have rugby at 11 tomorrow morning.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open. “How dare-“

“-Y/N, what’s taking so fucking long?” Nathan shouted as he came up next to her. His eyes fell on Harry behind the bar. “Oh… forgot to tell you Harry works here.”

“Nath, shut the fuck up,” Y/N said, looking from Nathan and back at Harry.

Harry nodded towards the door, silently telling them to fuck off, and they did. They walked back to the rest who were still sitting by the same table outside. Nathan took his drink from Y/N and sat down, but just as Y/N was about to sit down, she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She looked over her shoulder rather fast, blinking a few too many times when she locked eyes with the same man who had been standing beside her by the bar.

“Hi,” he said, giving her a broad smile.

Y/N almost felt herself blush. “Hey.”

“I’m George.”

She smiled. “Y/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, he gestured at the bench where she had just been about to sit down. “Mind if I sit down with you?”

Her smile widened. “Not at all.”

Y/N felt fucking terrible. Her room was too hot, too humid. Body sticky with sweat, limbs aching, throat burning with yesterday’s alcohol, and head throbbing, she opened her eyes slowly before shutting them again, groaning into her pillow. She hated herself for not drinking as much water before bed as she usually did when coming home from a night out. Sitting up, she looked down at the man beside her, racking her brain to remember what his name was. She ran her hands over her face, reaching for her glasses so she could see something, but quickly realising she left her contact lenses in the night before. Her eyes were so dry it hurt to blink and she suddenly realised why her head was hurting more than normal. Cursing herself, Y/N got out of bed with her glasses perched at the top of her head, picking up a tee shirt and some tights, pulling on her fluffy dressing gown before she made her way out of her room as soundlessly as possible.

She stumbled her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. First thing she did was take her contacts out, struggling to do so as the contacts were so dry, her eyes having dried out with them. She splashed water in her face next, then drank the equivalent to the Atlantic Ocean before splashing even more water on her face. She then put her glasses on, realising that she had to let her eyes relax some after what she had just put them through. It took her awhile to gather up the courage to go to the toilet, where she made herself throw up the nausea she was feeling before having a very long peeing session.

Moments of the night before came rushing back to her, and as she sat there on the toilet, she remembered more and more. The name George came to her like out of a fog, and then the details started falling into place. She remembered how he’d bought her more drinks, how the two of them had sat talking all night about nothing in particular. She remembered his hand on her thigh and him leaning into her to whisper in her ear. Then they were in her room, her front against the mattress and his weight on her back. It was all hazy after that, most of it just a mess of limbs and chasing a release that she had never caught up with. Though Y/N usually made it clear that she hadn’t come, she was too worn out to tell George. She remembered falling asleep almost the second they were done. To say she had been underwhelmed was an understatement.

When she was done, she walked down the stairs for the kitchen. Once again, she was left stopping right in her tracks as she walked in. Harry stood by the stove, eyes on the pan in front of him where he was making eggs, a few asparagus and peppers cooking beside the two frying eggs. For a moment, she debated walking back upstairs and leaving Harry to it, but then he glanced over at the door to his right, meeting her eyes right away. He gave her a tight-lipped smile before turning back to his breakfast. God… Y/N wanted to set herself on fire. It’d be better than staying inside a room with Harry alone after years apart.

He wore rugby shorts that reached mid-thigh, a white tee shirt to go with it, and a hairband to keep his hair out of his face. Y/N realised just then that he was getting ready to leave for rugby as he had told her yesterday he would. She could remember him doing rugby when they knew each other three years ago as well, but she didn’t think he’d still be doing it.

The small conversation they had in The Stag’s Head the night before lingered in the air between and around them. That was reason enough to turn and walk upstairs again. But as Y/N remembered who was waiting for her in her room, she stepped into the kitchen. She got two slices of bread and put them in the toaster, getting some butter and milk out of the fridge as she waited. She watched Harry’s back as she filled the kettle with enough water, quickly looking away when he moved to put his eggs on the two slices of bread on his plate. Biting her lip, Y/N got a mug and a teabag, looking back over at Harry as he stood holding his breakfast plate. Y/N took a deep breath, knowing exactly what she had to do.

“Okay,” she said only a second before Harry turned around to face her, mouth open as if to say something. He must have noticed the tension as well. “We need to talk this through. We can’t live together for the next year if it’s gonna be like this. Just gonna put that out there right away.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

Y/N leaned her hip against the counter, feeling relieved that she was not the only one out of the two that had thought about how incredibly awkward this was. “You’ve thought about it too?”

“Of course. I’ve been fuming ‘cause Nathan didn’t tell you sooner, and I’ve also found it annoying how I’m the bad guy in your eyes when this wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for Nate.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I haven’t thought of you as the bad guy-“

“-Y/N,” Harry said, putting his plate down on the counter again. “You’ve been angry at me this whole time. I can tell.”

“My frustration with you has got nothing to do with this situation, but all to do with how you just left without even saying goodbye before you moved away.” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m trying to not blame you for this as well, but you’re right, Nathan’s the one that made this happen, we should be angry with him.”

“So you have been mad at me.”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t it just easier, no matter how stupid the reason, to just find more things to make you angry at a person? To make you hate them even more? Isn’t it just satisfying to find other ways to be frustrated with them?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I am.”

“Anyway,” Y/N continued, getting her bread slices out of the toaster to put butter on them. “Why didn’t we say anything? If we’ve both thought it’s been awkward, I mean.”

“You’ve been busy shagging men 10 years older than you, I didn’t get the chance.”

“Look at you not being frustrated or annoyed with me.”

“I told you to be quiet last night,” Harry said, getting a fork and putting some asparagus and paprika in his mouth. “You weren’t.”

Y/N got the kettle as it finished, pouring some hot water into her mug. “So, what you’re saying is that you’ve been angry with me.”

“Not angry, just…” Harry sighed. “Fine. A little angry last night, yes.”

Y/N smiled. “And he wasn’t 10 years older than me, he’s five years older.” She paused. “I think.”

“Right,” Harry said, eating more of his breakfast. “Listen…” He swallowed. “I think we should just… We should just address it.”

“Yeah.”

They were both quiet, looking at the other and waiting for them to say what they were both thinking. Though it looked like he was about to reach for his bread to take a bite, Harry stopped himself. Instead, he took a deep breath, and said, “It was fucking terrible. That first time…” He trailed off, narrowing his eyes before he ran a hand over his face, remembering it all over again. “I didn’t even last a minute. It was mortifying.”

“It wasn’t half as mortifying as you trying to go down on me afterwards.”

Harry let out a small laugh. “Yeah, that wasn’t really…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, we were both part of it. You don’t have to apologise for that.”

“You hear all these stories about how losing your virginity is supposed to be so beautiful, but it’s not. It’s really fucking not. Especially if you lose it to someone else who hasn’t had sex before, it just makes it double as awkward.”

Y/N nodded. “It was shit. Both of us were shit.”

“Exactly.”

“But I hope you know the reason I’m frustrated with you isn’t because of that.”

Harry looked away, biting at his bottom lip before he said, “Yeah, I know why.”

“Good, just wanted that to be clear.”

Harry nodded, taking his bread slice in his hand, making sure the egg wouldn’t fall off before he brought it to his mouth. “Well, now that we’ve addressed that, let’s just move on.”

“Let’s.”

She gave him a small smile before taking her teabag out of her mug and throwing it in the bin. There was still some tension in the room, but not enough for Y/N to want to set herself on fire like she had wanted to before. Just as she was about to take a grip of her plate and cuppa, the sounds of footsteps made her look up. George, who had been asleep last time Y/N checked, walked by the kitchen, halting as he saw Y/N and Harry standing there in the kitchen. He gave them both a smile Y/N could tell was forced, and then walked straight for the door without a single word or a second glance. Y/N and Harry looked at one another, sharing a look before they both chuckled ever so slightly.

“Cracking bloke,” Harry mumbled.

“Innit,” Y/N huffed, picking up her breakfast. “Have fun at rugby practice.”

“Cheers.”

She walked by him, hoping that her room did not smell of George or anything resembling alcohol or sweat. If it did, she would hit her head against the wall. But, lucky for her, George had left the door open, which had given the room a little bit of time to get the smell of last night out. After putting on her fluffy duvet cover, she opened the windows to let some fresh air in, and left her door open as she sat down in bed with her laptop, tea, and breakfast.

Just as she was about to put her plate down on the nightstand, she noticed something already laying there on top of her books. Adjusting her glasses, Y/N squinted at the object. She put her plate down on her duvet cover and reached for the wristwatch George had left. It was the nice leather one she had seen last night by the bar, the one that had caught her attention first. The digital clock seemed to have stopped working, displaying a random time that Y/N in her hangover state could not tell anyone what was. She was too fucked to even try and understand the numbers in front of her.

She put the clock back on her desk, hoping that she’d run into George soon so she could give it back to him. Or maybe Nathan could stalk Facebook and find him so she could message him there to tell him. She was glad she hadn’t exchanged phone numbers with George as she did not want to meet him again, but right now, she wanted to give him his watch back.

Y/N heard the front door open and then close, indicating that Harry had just left for rugby, and, as far as she could tell, she was the only one currently awake in her flat. The morning was quiet, she felt oddly at peace as she put on Fleabag and sipped her cuppa, and little did she know, this would be one of those rare moments over the last three years that this emotion inhabited her body.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 7th March, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta reader! 🏛️ @aileenacoustic 🏛️ @devil-in-bw-the-sheets 🏛️ @sunflowerstache​ 🏛️ @fromyourstrulyh​ 🏛️

FIC PAGE | COME TALK !!!

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Light’s Out

Alright! I am here with my next installment for D&d week! I hope you guys don’t mind a quieter, fluffier one. 

Day 3: Trust / Adoption Papers / “You’re shaking”

Summary: Damian Wayne hates the cold. Dick knows this, and when a snow storm knocks the power out at the penthouse it's up to him to both warm his brother up and find a way to help him enjoy their unexpected snow day.

AO3 Link

~

“This is absurd.” Damian grumbled, tightening his hold on the blanket around his shoulders.

Dick had to hold back laughter at his little brother. Damian was coated head to toe in an attempt at keeping warm. He wore a sweater, coat, sweatpants --stolen from Dick’s dresser-- the thickest socks in the Penthouse, and to top it all off had encased himself in a blanket.

His nose was shaded a little red, and his face puckered in a furious scowl, “I do not understand why we cannot do anything to stop this--” he stopped speaking to wave a blanket covered hand at the window, “ nonsense. ”

Dick crossed his arms and grinned at his brother, “If you can tell me how you expect us to stop a natural weather phenomenon then I’d be happy to help.”

“Tt.” Damian spun on his heel, presumably to glare at the weather outside.

Outside the penthouse windows the site was gorgeous. Snow drifted past in huge fluffy flakes that piled against the windows and built up on the ground. It had been doing this for days now, and honestly Dick was kind of enjoying it. Gotham was cold, and often plagued by rain, ice, and snow, but rarely did it snow quite like this unless instigated by someone like Freeze.

But this? This was all mother nature. Come to give Dick and Damian a much needed break from patrol and work.

They’d gone out the first couple nights, but Damian’s obvious total distaste for the “dreadful cold” and the conditions growing more and more dangerous had pushed them inside. If Batman and Robin weren’t out, then Dick doubted too much crime was going on. They were all as snowed in as Damian and he.

“I think you’re overreacting a bit. We do have the heat on you know.” Dick said, moving over to stand beside Damian.

He shook his head, “Not nearly high enough. I do not understand how you two are not frozen through.”

Dick glanced towards Alfred’s room. The butler had taken an actual pot of tea and a book into his room earlier that day declaring a reading day and requesting they refrain from doing anything too catastrophic to the penthouse.

He was a bit jealous of the older man, Dick would like to settle in with a book or some knitting, maybe to do a puzzle. Cold like this stilled something in him, at least for a bit. But Damian had him on edge. He’d been wandering around the penthouse, piling on more layers and shuffling from room to room aimless and ornery.

He bounced on the balls of his feet, “We make do. You get used to Gotham’s cold. Especially with Freeze about.”

Damian slid his gaze towards Dick, “Are we certain it is not Freeze?”

“I’ve told you six and a half times, that it’s just weather. Freeze is snug in Arkham wishing this was him.”

“Tt.” Damian tugged the blanket a bit tighter around his shoulders, spun on a heel and stomped off.

Dick watched him for a few more minutes as Damian paced. He wandered from the living area over to the kitchen, stared at the fridge, turned and trudged down the hall. Dick could hear his socked feet scuff against the wood floor, then the carpet of his room, and back onto wood.

When he returned to the living room Dick stepped in front of him to stop his continued pacing.

“Dames.”

“What?”

“Why don’t we sit down and do a puzzle? Or we could get out those coloring books Stephanie dropped off a couple days ago, I saw you eyeing the forest animal one.”

His brother’s scowl deepened, “If I become stationary I will freeze.”

Dick sighed, unable to stop himself, “Damian, stop. The thermostat is set to the same it always is. You won’t freeze if you sit with me for a bit.”

Just then, the lights around them flickered then clicked off altogether. Dick and Damian were blanketed in darkness in a moment, with the only light inside that from the clouded sky outside the windows. The room was strangely silent without the heater running.

“This is your fault.” Damian snapped, and turned again to leave Dick alone in the room.

“Well.” Dick said, to the dark, “I guess that  happened.”

He sighed, and with a forlorn glance out the windows at the snow still gently drifting down, he got busy getting the penthouse ready for a blackout.

After about fifteen minutes Dick had successfully dug out a number of candles, and a few of their big flashlights. He lit a few candles to add to the dim lighting in the room, then rolled up his sleeves to get started on the fire.

The fireplace was traditional. Bruce had insisted on it, in case of events just like this. Electric or gas just couldn’t be relied on in the case of bad weather or a Rogue attack. They stocked plenty of logs and starters in the penthouse, making it quick and easy for Dick to get the fire set up and started.

Soon it was crackling away and adding its own light and warmth to the room.

Dick stood and grinned at it for a moment, then moved to check on Alfred and Damian.

He knocked on Alfred’s door first, sure his welcome would be better received here than at Damian’s door. After a moment he cracked the door open.

“Hey, Al. I got a fire going if you’d like to move to the living room.”

Alfred’s room was already lit with candles, and Alfred was snuggled in his bed. He folded a book closed around his index finger and smiled, “If I get too cold I will gladly join you, but for now I am fine. Have you checked the bunker yet?”

Dick shook his head, “Not yet, I figured I’d get upstairs livable first. Plus it’s got emergency generators. It should be fine for a while. And--” he grinned, “If it really gets too cold up here we can always head down there.”

Alfred nodded, “Excellent. If the blackout persists we will have to consider alternatives to dinner.”

Dick nodded, “Yeah, but I’m sure you can figure out something. You are a wizard in the kitchen.”

Alfred waved him off, “Is your next stop Master Damian? I doubt he has experienced this kind of outage before.”

“He told me last week he spent a week in the mountains of--somewhere without power.” Dick pointed out, a little joking, but also serious.

He wasn’t sure how true Damian’s story had even been, but he had a feeling there was at least a grain of truth to it. Just imagining a milder version of the story had set off Dick's desire to tug the kid into a tight hug.  

“Which was an expected situation. This is anything but that. Have patience with him, Gotham is something entirely new.”

Dick nodded, “I hate that it was ever a situation for him, but you’re right. I was going to see him next.”

Alfred nodded, “Be off then. I will let you know if I need anything.”

“Be sure you do, I know you’re enjoying the quiet but if it gets too cold please join us.”

With that Dick left Alfred to his reading and moved to Damian’s room. He stood at the door for a moment, considering what his brother’s reaction might be to being interrupted.

As dramatic as Damian was being over a little cold weather, Dick knew he was shaken. He’d been obvious about his distaste for the cold, which had surprised Dick more than anything. Damian never admitted to things that might seem like a weakness. The power going out had probably made everything worse.

He knocked on the door, his knuckles rapping lightly, “Dames?”

“Go away.” came the muffled answer, “Unless you have devised a way to change the weather.”

“I haven’t, but I did get a fire started. It’s really warm to sit by, and probably better than hiding in your room.”

“I am not hiding.”

Dick tried the handle. To his relief it turned. If Damian was really angry with him he’d have locked it tight.

Inside, he found a bundled Damian sitting on his bed. He was glowering out from his blanket, now pulled up over his head. He hadn’t even bothered to dig out a flashlight or candle, so the only light in the room came from the window.

“What?” he snapped.

Dick leaned against the doorframe and grinned at Damian, “You sure you’re not hiding? Bundled up in here in the dark?”

“Tt. And who’s fault is it that I am in the dark?”

“Yours?” Dick raised an eyebrow.

The boy shook his head, knocking the blanket off and revealing tousled hair.

Dick shifted, crossing his arms, “You can’t possibly blame me for the weather or the power?”

He looked over Damian. His brother still didn’t look happy, but the stubbornness dropped off his face. He shrugged, tugging the blanket a bit closer. Dick sighed, and pushed off the frame to move into the room.

“Come on, Kiddo. You can’t just stay in here all day.” He said.

Damian straightened,  his expression set, “I can and will.”

Closer now, Dick could see Damian was shivering. Really, his stubbornness was just as bad as Bruce’s sometimes. Dick shook his head.

“You’re shaking. There’s no way I’m leaving you in here alone.” He nodded to himself, “No, there’s only one thing to do.”

With that, he closed the distance between himself and Damian. In a movement he scooped his brother up into his arms. Damian immediately started to squirm and kick.

“Release me, Richard!”

Dick adjusted his hold, Damian was slippery on a normal day, and cocooned in a blanket it was even harder to hold him. He ignored Damian’s protests, tucking his bundled brother under his arm and strolled out of the room.

“Put me down!” Damian yelled, kicking his legs.

It was funny to watch, with them wrapped up in his blanket and partially restricted. However, Dick didn’t laugh. The goal was to get him comfortable, and laughing at Damian was the opposite of that, no matter how adorable he was.

“Here you go.” he said, reaching the living room.

There, he plopped Damian down onto the carpet in front of the fireplace. Dick left Damian there and moved to the kitchen. Ever practical and overly prepared, Bruce had set the fireplace up so if needed, they could hang a pot or kettle over it. Some hot tea would be just the thing to soothe Damian. Well, Dick hoped it would at least help.

He tested the water, happy to find it running still, and filled a kettle with enough water to make a few cups, but not take forever to heat over the fire. When he returned, Damian hadn’t moved from the spot he’d been dropped in. He had adjusted his blanket, and was leaned against the brickwork.

“Careful or you’ll set your blanket on fire.”

“Doubtful.” Damian said, eyes on the kettle, “This is not my first time being settled by a fire.”

Dick hummed, and hung the kettle. He plopped down next to Damian, kicking a foot close to one of his brother’s hidden beneath the blanket.

“Is it helping you warm up?”

“It is doing an adequate job.”

Adequate was about as good a descriptor as Dick could expect to get from his brother, and he accepted it. He nodded, leaning back on his palms.

“Good, now I guess we just wait on the lights to come back on.”

Damian hummed, his attention on the fire.

This close, Dick could see the light flickering against the green of Damian’s irises, and the way the heat was already warming his cheeks. He should probably tell the kid to scoot back a bit, but it was the first time all day he hadn’t complained of feeling cold, so he left him be.

“I’m going to grab a couple things to do, you want something to read, maybe your sketchbook?” Dick asked, pushing himself to his feet.

The dark and Damian were making him antsy again. He’d feel better with a goal. A book to read, a page in a coloring book to fill in. Anything. The idea of waiting had his feet almost physically itching in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid, learning how to sit quiet for his first stakeout next to Batman.

Damian shook his head, still watching the fire.

“Ohh-kay.” Dick said with a clap, “I’ll just get a little of everything then.”

He used his phone to look into the closet where they kept games for infrequent hang outs with Steph and Tim, and any of Dick’s old friends who might show up at random. He considered for a moment actually grabbing a board game, then decided against it. Damian didn’t seem in the mood to get trounced at Twister or to totally defeat Dick at Monopoly. Instead he scooped up a puzzle featuring a kitten playing with a ball of yarn and moved on.

From there he stacked a couple books from his bookshelf on top. One he’d been looking forward to reading, and Howl’s Moving Castle. He kept seeing Damian linger by, but he’d never picked up. Dick figured it was because he’d probably thought it was childish to pursue fantasy.

Coloring books and a box of garishly shaded colored pencils were balanced atop the stack, and with that Dick made his way back into the living room.

It was cozy, the fire having warmed the area considerably in his short time away. Snow still drifted lazily down outside their windows, and Damian was still perched by the fire. He didn’t look like he’d really moved at all.

Dick returned to his seat on the floor and dropped the stack of ‘things to do’ between him and Damian. When his brother didn’t so much as glance at it or Dick, he opted for selecting his own book and waiting the kid out. Damian would get bored eventually and the temptation of books and art was too strong for any ten year old. Even one supposedly trained out of being a kid.

For a long time they sat there together, with only the crackle of the fire and the wind outside to keep them company. Dick’s attention kept drifting over to the fire as well, his mind wandering onto his dad.

If only Bruce were still alive. He’d be secretly delighted to finally get to use all the fail-safes he built into the penthouse. Then again, if Bruce were alive they’d be at the Manor, with its own generators, and back up energy pulled from solar power and not facing the blackout at all.

Still, Dick thought Bruce would enjoy this. Gotham quieted by snow, all real distractions pulled away from them along with the power. All they could do was read or write, or talk. Dick would have pestered his dad with a million words, a flood of conversation that could have easily made the time fly by.

But he wasn’t here. And he’d never experience this strange sort of twilight quiet with them. Dick’s heart twisted a bit. A sharp tug of grief he hadn’t been expecting. But then again, he never really expected the way it washed over him. It was always something little. Bruce’s contact still in his favorites on his phone, the scent of his cologne on someone else passing Dick in the street. And now this. A missed moment.

Tears wanted to prick at his eyes, but Damian was right there. Dick couldn’t just randomly start crying in front of him. And getting up to leave suddenly would only draw his attention. Instead he blinked them back, and tried turning his attention to his book.

It took a few tries, as he had to re-read a page almost four times before it sank in, but eventually Dick got back into the narrative.

When the kettle started whistling Dick moved to get mugs and tea bags, one for each of them.

Damian watched him, his attention moved for the moment on Dick as he went about his task. He seemed a bit more relaxed, even if he hadn’t risen to Dick’s bait yet. Still, he was confident Damian would enjoy this unexpected free time with him at some point.

“Thank you.” Damian said, when Dick handed him a steaming mug, fitted with a bag of green tea already seeping color into the water.

“No problem.” Dick answered, “Want to do a puzzle?”

Damian shrugged, and Dick bit back a smile. See, a little time was all the kid needed.

He shifted the mess he’d brought in to the side and promptly dumped out the puzzle pieces onto the floor in a heap. Almost automatically, Damian started shifting end pieces away from middle ones. Dick followed suit, and soon they were slowly but methodically putting the puzzle together.

“I hate the cold.” Damian said, the statement so sudden and surprising Dick actually dropped his puzzle piece.

He bit back an immediate response of ‘You don’t say.’ and instead picked the piece back up and nodded at his brother.

Damian fiddled with a puzzle piece, turning it over between fingers in his hand, “It makes me slow.” he continued, careful with his words, “It makes my fingers feel dumb and my body tired when I’ve worked so hard to make it anything but. I can catch an arrow shot at me, and climb a mountain with a broken wrist. And yet--the cold seems to step in and say that all of that work is for naught.”

He pressed the piece down into its spot, fingers lingering on it for a moment, “It makes me feel powerless in a way only Grandfather’s stare could.” his voice was so soft at this point it was almost like the whisper of the wind outside their window.

“It is not that I am unused to the cold. I trained in it, and we had winter. I simply have never been able to acclimate to it.”

Damian pulled his legs towards him and turned his gaze back to the fire, “What does that make me?”

“It makes you Damian.” Dick said, “Human. A child. One of many people who prefer warm sunny days to cold cloudy ones.”

Damian’s arms tightened around his legs, and Dick could practically read his mind. He could almost hear the list of people in Damian’s family who would disagree with that statement. Who would call him weak and a failure and unworthy of his title.

“Plus, that’s why you have me. And Stephanie, and Cass, and even Tim.” Dick added, “Though, don’t tell anyone but I’m pretty sure Steph hates the cold about as much as you do. My point is, we’re here to help. To have your back if you want to go out, and to be by your side if you want to stay in. And to remind you that being yourself means liking, hating, excelling, and failing at all kinds of things. You are not defined simply by your failures or successes. You are every bit of Damian.”

His brother’s gaze flickered back over to him, and after a moment he nodded, “Perhaps.” he said.

“You have done a good job making it bearable. Even prior to the power failing.” Damian added, uncoiling a little, to let his legs slip forward, “Though, your taste in puzzles is questionable.”

“Hey!” Dick protested, “It was this or the totally impossible all black one.”

“It is only one color?” Damian asked.

Dick nodded, “Bruce got it thinking it would be a good Robin challenge. Only even he got so frustrated he gave up on it after a while.”

A flicker of competition lit behind Damian’s eyes, “Get it. We will accomplish together what Father refused to. And if we fail, it will at least be a better challenge than this kitten.”

It was a request Dick couldn’t say no to.

They worked on the puzzle through the rest of the day. Into Alfred joining them by the fire, through a simple dinner of sandwiches, and into the evening.

When the power at last kicked back on with a gentle hum that was the heater, Damian was leaned against Dick, his blanket drooped off his shoulders, snoring slightly. The puzzle was half finished. And the sun was just peeking over the horizon.

[pollylynn]

Title: Made of Ticky Tacky WC: 900 Episode: One Life to Lose (3 x 18)

If she thought of what she does as hiding, she would have to wonder who she was hiding from. But she didn’t spend better than a year in therapy and come away with nothing. She doesn’t think of what she does as hiding. She thinks of it as compartmentalizing, and everything sounds more convincing if you slap a four-dollar word on it. So that’s what she does: She slaps, she calls, she declares. Kate Beckett is not hiding, she is compartmentalizing.

And it really is just a four-dollar word for something everyone does. She gets up in the morning. She clips on her badge and she holsters her gun. She chooses her jacket, her shoes with the focus of a general on the very brink of decisive victory. She becomes Detective Kate Beckett, and there are a lot of things DKB simply cannot do.

She cannot demonstrate exactly how deep her back-pocket knowledge of outlandish soap opera plots actually runs. She cannot, with a positively withering glare, let it be known that she could—in her sleep—name that weather machine, that deranged billionaire, that unlikely ice-age-averting anti-hero with strawberry-blonde afro.

No. DKB is on the job, and DKB cannot do any of that.

Never mind that Lanie does it. Lanie—who does not compartmentalize—gets deep into her rage about the unceremonious murder of the fictional Ashley Conrad. Lanie—who does not compartmentalize—does this right there over the body of the real-life woman responsible for the fictional murder.

But Lanie is a force of nature. If Lanie has done any time in therapy, Kate—all the Kates there are—is pretty sure the therapist would have been the one ultimately taking a long, hard look at themselves.

DKB is just one compartment. She’s the job compartment, and most days that’s not a problem. But today is not most days.

There's the husband to interview. DKB has thoughts about workplace relationships. Or she would have thoughts if that weren’t the purview of Kate, the version of her that’s at least three or four compartments owner on any given workday. But today isn’t any given workday, either.

The husband is spinning a line about the set being one big, happy family, with he and Sarah in the role of Ma and Pa Walton. DKB doesn't need Kate to tell her that this is nonsense. Suddenly the husband remembers an unwelcome visit to their happy family. He remembers FoxCanLover, and suddenly DKB is pounding on the walls of her carefully boarded up compartment. She’s shouting out for little Katie, who’s stuck in some compartment in the way, way back.

DKB cannot blurt out the obvious motive that any self-respecting member of Team FoxCan would have had to kill Sarah Cutler. Little Katie can. She could if that’s how any of this worked. As it is, she slips. She follows Vince’s story far too easily and he notices. Richard Castle, an anthropomorphic silver pinball who personally and professionally hurls himself against the walls of any and all compartments he comes across, absolutely notice that she knows the characters’ names, she knows the lingo.

He notices, and that means he knows. But he interrogates her anyway. He’s absolute pro in his first pass at her, and she loses her cool. She snaps that she does read, and he so obviously knows that he doesn't even bother to ask where, exactly, it is that she’s been brushing up on pop culture phenomena like shippers. He doesn’t ask, positively dripping with mock innocence, if she saw that three-thousand-word piece on shippers in the Atlantic, or was it the New Yorker?

No, he knows better than to go for the kill right then.

He waits for her certainty that FoxCanLover is their culprit to spool back up again. He twitches the hook every so slightly, and the compartment walls come tumbling down and there is her encyclopedic knowledge of Marguerite’s cancer scare, right out in the open.

And there he is crowing about it, yes, because he does not have smug locked away in some not-on-the-job compartment. But he’s also delighted—genuinely delighted—by the not her he’s glimpsed through the keyholes.

He’s delighted, and she is . . . better for the pinprick that lets loose some of the tension she carries in her body, all day, every day, from the strain of being DKB, the strain of hanging her in the closet with the day’s coat, the days shoes, and now that there’s Josh, the strain of obligately being Kate when she’s off the clock.

They hide from Esposito together. They duck into a compartment built for two by mutual, split-second agreement, and that’s not a strain somehow.

It’s not a strain to let the walls tumble down for a moment. It's not a strain to tell him about her tonsils, her mom, her cherished afternoons on the couch and the way she calls that feeling up to this very day by tucking her feet up under her body and switching on the television.

It’s an easy thing to do, and when he’s says he’s glad to know, the warmth of it suffuses every one of the compartments inside her. It lights them all up and makes her wonder what this is, why she does it, who it is she’s hiding form.

A/N: You know what's in those compartments? Not morphousness, I tellyawhut

images via homeofthenutty

[tabloidtoc]

Us, May 3

You can buy a brand new copy of this issue without the mailing label for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Pregnant Meghan Markle: My Baby, My Way

Page 2: Red Carpet -- rufflemania -- Hollywood style stars are tier-ing it up in this flattering design with feminine flair -- Tracee Ellis Ross, Kaitlyn Dever, Margot Robbie, Logan Browning, Nicola Coughlan

Page 3: Lizzo, Maude Apatow, Lucy Boynton, Jessica Alba, Lily Collins

Page 4: Who Wore It Best? Anya Taylor-Joy vs. Isla Fisher vs. Regina King in Stuart Weitzman Nudist sandal

Page 6: Loose Talk -- Shonda Rhimes on the intense backlash she received over Rege-Jean Page's exit from Bridgerton, Kelly Ripa on her most embarrassing interview, Luke Bryan on his mother LeClaire's Instagram fame, Blake Shelton on The Voice's new coach Ariana Grande, Reese Witherspoon joking about wearing bottoms that aren't sweatpants

Page 8: Contents

Page 10: A Final Farewell to Prince Philip, his four children Prince Charles and Princess Anne and Prince Andrew and Prince Edward were among the loved ones who participated in the emotional ceremony, feuding brothers Prince Harry and Prince William (and his wife Duchess Kate) put their differences aside after the intimate service, due to Covid-19 protocols the grieving Queen Elizabeth stayed socially distant from the other 29 people who attended the funeral for her husband of 73 years

Page 11: ACM Awards 2021 -- Maren Morris teamed up with her husband Ryan Hurd and won Female Artist of the Year, Thomas Rhett won Male Artist of the Year, Carrie Underwood took the stage

Page 12: Hot Pics -- Rosie Huntington-Whiteley wore an orange coat during a visit to NYC, John Stamos plays a coach on the TV show Big Shot, Zach Braff goofed around on the set of Cheaper by the Dozen in L.A.

Page 13: Eva Longoria on her trampoline while aboard a yacht in Miami, Howie Mandel arrived to the set of America's Got Talent dressed as a bug in Pasadena

Page 14: Jon Hamm and his rescue dog Splash strolled around the neighborhood in L.A., Heidi Klum in all white in Pasadena, Sara Gilbert and Linda Perry take a stroll in L.A.

Page 15: Eddie Cibrian and LeAnn Rimes held hands after dinner at Il Segreto in L.A., Patrick Dempsey shot a scene for his show Devils in Rome

Page 16: Rachel Brosnahan in a blue dress and carrying a clear umbrella on the set of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel in NYC, Lin-Manuel Miranda at the opening of a vaccination center for Broadway workers in Times Square, Trisha Yearwood feeds one of her rescue pups

Page 18: Gen Z Has Spoken -- these celebs are making the young kids proud -- Baggy Jeans -- Hailey Bieber, Tracee Ellis Ross, Bella Hadid

Page 19: Middle Parts -- Busy Philipps, Lizzo, Jennifer Lopez, Kourtney Kardashian, baguette bags -- Dua Lipa, Elsa Hosk, Irina Shayk, Kendall Jenner

Page 20: Seeing Double -- stars bear a striking resemblance to their famous counterparts -- Elizabeth Banks and Chelsea Handler, Emmanuelle Chriqui and Nina Dobrev, Betty Gilpin and Jodie Comer

Page 21: Rob Lowe and Ian Somerhalder, Jaime Pressly and Margot Robbie, Isla Fisher and Amy Adams, Rupert Grint and Ed Sheeran, Kyle Richards and Kacey Musgraves

Page 22: Clueless Crew -- stars are totally buggin' over Cher Horowitz's style in yellow plaid -- Robin Roberts on Good Morning America, Katie Holmes was rollin' with her homie beau Emilio Vitolo Jr. in NYC, Vanessa Hudgens, Dianna Agron

Page 23: Gabrielle Union

Page 24: Stars They're Not Like Us -- Jay Leno took one of his vintage automobiles out for a spin in L.A., Chrissy Teigen and John Legend took a selfie with a fan while grocery shopping in Beverly Hills, Kylie Jenner has custom vending machines

Page 25: Carrie Underwood in her massive walk-in closet, Denzel Washington signs autographs for fans in NYC, Megan Thee Stallion on a private plane, Drake and his bodyguard in Beverly Hills

Page 26: Stars They're Just Like Us -- Sarah Jessica Parker catches a yellow cab after working at her shoe store in NYC, Brad Paisley picked up five pizzas to go in Montecito

Page 27: Kelly Osbourne handed out goods at a drive-thru food distribution event at the Islamic Center of Southern California, HGTV's Egypt Sherrod transformed her closet into a meditation space in Atlanta, in between filming Law & Order: SVU's Mariska Hargitay and Ice-T take a selfie

Page 28: Hollywood Dads -- Scott Porter on parenting his two kids McCoy and Clover

Page 29: Jonathan Tucker on life with twins Hayes and India, parenthood is a lot tougher than Jovi Dufren imagined, Maksim Chmerkovskiy can't wait to show son Shai his work

Page 30: Love Lives -- Rihanna and A$AP Rocky are showing no signs of slowing down -- the pair enjoyed a night out in L.A. hotspot Delilah where they were holding hands and laughing and they're not hiding the fact that they're dating but they just don't want people in their business -- they're a good match and are each other's best friend

Page 31: Justin Bieber and Hailey Bieber may look like the picture-perfect couple, but Justin admits that their first year of marriage wasn't what he expected, saying it was really tough and there was just a lack of trust and he blamed the strain on his own personal struggles and said before he didn't have someone to love or someone to pour into but now, more than two years after exchanging vows with Hailey, he has that

* Kacey Musgraves' romance with Dr. Gerald Onuoha is giving her butterflies -- the pair are so happy they found each other and while Kacey, who split from her husband Ruston Kelly last summer, is trying not to get too ahead of herself, her connection to the Nashville-based doc is off the charts and it's got the potential to go a very long way

* Today's Savannah Guthrie is thankful to have husband Michael Feldman in her life, especially given the demands of her early morning work schedule

Page 32: Kourtney Kardashian and Travis Barker are getting serious -- all the details on their whirlwind romance

Page 33: Adapting to parenthood has been a breeze for Emma Stone and she's soaking in all the precious moments of being a mom for the first time -- she and husband Dave McCary welcomed their baby daughter in March and Emma is super protective and a very hands-on mom and Dave is also hands-on and helps with their daughter -- thanks to the little one, Emma's marriage with the comedian has also gotten stronger and having a baby has brought them closer in a way they never expected -- Emma is looking forward to getting back to work; she's taken this time off to embrace motherhood and her number one priority is to raise a healthy baby so that's what she's focused on right now

* Britney Spears is setting the record straight -- despite her ongoing conservatorship battle with her dad, Jamie Spears, she is doing totally fine, assuring fans that she's extremely happy and she has a beautiful home, beautiful children and she's taking a break right now because she's enjoying herself -- although the legal drama with her father is heating up, Britney is staying strong and she has this wonderful ability to see the positive even when the odds are against her

* Keeping Up With Us -- production for the Downton Abbey sequel is underway, Mossimo Giannulli is a free man, Chrissy Teigen returned to Twitter 23 days after announcing that she was leaving the platform, Vanessa Bryant remembered her late husband Kobe Bryant on what would have been their 20th wedding anniversary, Helen McCrory lost her battle with cancer at age 52 according to her husband Damian Lewis

Page 34: A Day in My Life -- Whitney Port

Page 35: Colton Underwood is ready to live his truth -- during an interview on Good Morning America, the former Bachelor came out as gay, saying he's run from himself for a long time and he came to terms with his sexuality earlier this year and he's the happiest and healthiest he's ever been -- now that he feels like he can finally breathe, Colton is excited for his next chapter, which fans will get to see on an upcoming reality show with Olympian Gus Kenworthy -- a huge weight has been lifted off of Colton's shoulders and he is looking forward to being his authentic self

Page 36: Moms Tell All -- Happy Mother's Day! From milestones and manners to rules and nanny-bans, celebs and insiders talk about raising kids in Hollywood

Page 37: Bindi Irwin says life at home with her daughter Grace Warrior has been positively blissful and her family with dad Chandler Powell is so full of love, adding that the newborn has already met some of the wildlife at the Australia Zoo where Bindi and Chandler live and work and of course she's seen some crocs and really lit up when she saw them -- while the Aussie conservationist is sad Grace won't get to meet her late dad Steve Irwin, Bindi's brother Robert Irwin and mom Terri Irwin have been by her side constantly and Robert is obsessed with Grace and has been helping out so much and her mom has been the biggest guiding light and she's already taught Bindi so much about being a mother, both in how she raised her and by showing her things day by day and Terri is quite the baby whisperer and she's so great a calming Grace down when she's crying -- first-time father Chandler is also a natural with Grace and he's been the most supportive and involved dad and together, he and Bindi make such a great team -- for now, Bindi, who stars with Chandler in Crikey! It's a Baby!, is hoping Grace will follow in her animal-activist footsteps, saying having three generations of strong women working as conservationists is a dream come true

* Jennifer Garner said teaching your kids is a lifelong job, and certainly values are something you have to show them -- Jennifer, who shares kids Violet, Seraphina and Samuel with ex Ben Affleck, is staying true to her word and has led by example when it comes to things like kindness and patience and she won't let anyone in the house to judge or speak ill of people, and she enforces the same wholesome, traditional values that she was raised with and the kids have been taught to be loving, hardworking and fair -- Jennifer has always taken a kids-come-first approach to parenting, and it shows as they bake together, enjoy movie nights, read books and have very active lives and it's a very healthy, happy household filled with laughter and love

Page 38: Gwen Stefani has her hands full with her sons Kingston, Zuma and Apollo with ex-husband Gavin Rossdale, but she wouldn't want it any other way -- Gwen's a tomboy, so having three boys wasn't daunting for her at all, plus she has fiance Blake Shelton by her side to pitch in with parenting duties and Gwen and the boys have a blast at Blake's ranch in Oklahoma where they enjoy riding their ATVs, and they play baseball and football -- it's not all fun and games, though because Gwen is big on boundaries and manners and she doesn't want to raise Hollywood brats and it's important to her that her sons be gentlemen

* Meghan Markle's pregnancy with Archie was no walk in the park, as she revealed during her bombshell TV interview with husband Prince Harry, the couple had concerns over whether or not the royal family would provide security for their son and claimed there were conversations about his skin color -- but this time around, as Meghan and Harry gear up for baby No. 2 at home in L.A., she's doing everything her way, without the royals and Meghan and Harry feel blessed that they're able to raise their daughter in the U.S. and can live by their own rules and make the decisions they feel are best for their children; having independence is the most important thing for Meghan and she's got free rein to be exactly the kind of mom she wants to be -- her parenting style is really like most mothers out there, and she's been craving pasta and doing yoga two times a day as her due date nears and she keeps a lot of art supplies out to foster creativity and healthy snacks around and she's a devoted mom and wants the best for her kids

Page 39: Kate Hudson has a lot on her plate, so the mom of three, who shares son Ryder with former husband Chris Robinson and son Bingham with ex Matt Bellamy and daughter Rani with boyfriend Danny Fujikawa, knows when to put her foot down as things can get a little overwhelming at times for Kate, but when she says no, it absolutely means no, and the kids respect her very much because of that

* Gigi Hadid, who shares daughter Khai with boyfriend Zayn Malik, wants to spend every waking moment with her precious little girl -- Gigi could easily afford to employ a team of nannies but chooses not to and she prefers to do everything herself and besides, she can't bear to be away from Khai for more than a few hours

* Candace Cameron Bure's three grown kids are flying the coop, but she's still super involved in their lives, despite slowly becoming an empty nester -- the mom of Natasha, Lev, and Maksim with former hockey player Valeri Bure says it's been a very transitional time and she's been trying to help them make decisions they feel good about and it's challenging, but they're figuring it out

Page 40: Oh, Baby! Meghan Markle's due date is just around the corner, and here are all the details

* Bump Brigade -- Halsey, Gal Gadot, Shawn Johnson East

Page 42: 10 Years of the Cambridges -- a look back at Prince William and Duchess Kate Middleton's solid marriage for their anniversary

Page 44: Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez: What Really Happened -- cheating and lies? The truth behind J.Lo's split from fiance A-Rod

Page 45: Friendliest Exes -- these former couples managed to stay close after going their separate ways -- Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin, Jennifer Aniston and Justin Theroux, Orlando Bloom and Miranda Kerr, Demi Moore and Bruce Willis, Lisa Bonet and Lenny Kravitz

Page 48: Gifts for Mother's Day

Page 54: Entertainment -- Ben Barnes on Shadow and Bone

Page 58: Fashion Police -- the most daring Oscars looks -- Bjork, Whoopi Goldberg, Charlize Theron

Page 59: Rachel Weisz, Gwyneth Paltrow, Lady Gaga

Page 60: 25 Things You Don't Know About Me -- Julia Michaels

[rosesgonerogue]

I didn’t so much fall in love- It kicked me in the face Chapter Three

The Wayne Manor was exactly what Marinette had come to expect after years of knowing famous people. It was expertly decorated, but it had an almost somber feel to it - it matched Gotham’s general aesthetic. 

Also meeting expectations was the Wayne family itself. Marinette had done her homework, taking hours to research each member long before setting foot in Gotham. It was clear that they had been warned to behave, but chaos still bubbled beneath their calm facades, she could see it in their eyes. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, allow me to introduce you to Masters Bruce, Richard, Jason, Timothy, and Damian.” 

Marinette nodded to each in turn, her hand unconsciously tightening on Leo’s. She took a steadying breath. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and this is my son Leo. If you’re interested, I made some macarons for you, as I do for most meetings with my clients.” She set the box on the coffee table. “I would recommend eating them in the next day or so.” 

Tim looked like he was going to faint, and it was then that Marinette noticed the harsh bruise on his jaw - almost like he’d gotten kicked. Surely it had to be a coincidence, there was no way… 

Damian huffed, and the entire family seemed to stiffen. When he spoke, his words were sharp, acidic. “You’re meant to be a seamstress, not a baker. Besides, what kind of professional brings a child to a business meeting? Is his father too worthless to watch him?” 

Everyone in the room froze, and Marinette could feel the warmth drain out of her. She felt eerily similar to when Tikki used ice powers, in fact. There was no way for her to know, but when she spoke, Marinette’s words carried the weight of an avalanche. 

“You yourself are legally a child sitting in on a business meeting, Monsieur Wayne, and I did not object to it because I trust your father to parent you how he sees fit. I could explain to you that other than myself, my only options for Leo’s care are my parents, who are busy preparing for my mother’s surgery while running the most successful bakery in Paris, or my friends, who are all dealing with professional lives of their own. I could explain that, but I shouldn’t have to, because he is my son, and I will raise him as I see fit. And I’m a fashion designer, not a seamstress. This isn’t the seventeenth century.” She paused, staring the offender down. “Do you have any further objections, Monsieur Wayne?” 

A small part of her glowed in satisfaction when Damian ducked his head. “Do as you must.” She missed the way that Tim blinked owlishly, exchanging surprised looks with Dick.

Instead she straightened her jacket, murmuring a few comforting words to Leo before finally letting his hand go. “I prefer getting to know my clients before I actually begin, it helps me make the perfect piece. Does some-”

“I’ll be first,” Jason said, shoving Dick out of the way.

“Perfect. If you’ll come this way, Monsieur Todd, we can sit…”

*************

The satisfied look on Jason’s face was more than a little disconcerting to Tim. He didn’t really feel like hearing the woman who’d occupied his mind for the past day, so he turned his attention elsewhere. He still needed to come to terms with the fact that she had gone head to head with Damian and come out on top after all.

Leo was scrutinizing one of the paintings on the wall, a tiny version of MDC herself. He had the same dark hair, light freckles on pale skin, and wide blue eyes…

No. Please no. Tim glanced subtly at Bruce. Surely he wouldn’t try to adopt either parts. Marinette was an adult with two living parents, and Leo had Marinette, so they were safe, right? 

Regardless, that would be an issue for another time. Tim found himself crouching next to Leo. “That painting is of Monsieur Bruce’s parents,” he said in French. 

The child switched his soulful eyes to Tim’s face, his expression serious. “You know French.” 

“Yes, I really like languages, so I learned as many as I could,” Tim said, resisting the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Your name is Leo, right?” 

“Yes, Monsieur.” 

“You can call me Tim. Are you enjoying Gotham so far?” 

Leo thought hard for a moment. “Maman and I had a lot of fun today, but yesterday was a little scary, the way it sometimes gets in Paris.” 

He desperately wanted to ask Leo more about the scary things in Paris, but it wasn’t fair to ask a child. Instead, Tim let the boy pull him around the parlor, asking questions about anything he found even remotely interesting. 

“And that is the trophy Dick, my oldest brother, got for gymnastics in seventh grade,” Tim explained, hefting the boy higher up so he could see the object in question more clearly. “That’s the ribbon Jason got for a creative writing contest, and Damian’s martial arts trophy. A couple of these belong to Bruce…” 

Leo stared at the glass case like it would afford him the answers to the universe before looking up to Tim’s face. “Where are your trophies?” 

“What?” 

“Everyone else has trophies. Where are yours?” 

“That’s… I mean, I have some, I just didn’t think they were very important,” Tim said with a shrug. 

“But families should be together,” Leo said with wide, unblinking eyes. “That’s why I wanted to come with Maman, even though it made your brother be mean to her.” 

Tim smiled, pushing down the barrage of emotions fighting within him. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. Your Maman is a very smart lady.” 

“Maman is the smartest,” Leo said solemnly. 

“You must be right again,” Tim said conspiratorially. “She’s also the best at making clothes.” 

The boy’s face didn’t change in the least, there wasn’t a trace of a smile, but he slowly patted Tim’s cheek. “I like you.” 

“That’s high praise.” 

TIm golted, his cheeks flooding with color when he found himself next to Marinettte. She was smiling kindly when she said, “Thank you for watching Leo, that really wasn’t necessary. But I didn’t know you spoke French. That’s very impressive, Mr. Drake.”

“Call me Tim, please. And you’ve caught me, I have a deep love of languages. It’s helped in this position, though,” he said with a smile. “Business transactions are a lot easier when you don’t need a translator.” 

“I’ve also found that to be true,” Marinette said, lips quirked. “It’s finally your turn for your consultation. We can do it with or without Leo, whatever you would prefer.” 

“Leo and I are friends now, of course I would need his opinion!” Tim said, just barely noticing that he was still holding the child. “After all, I need his help making sure that I have the best suit at the entire Wayne Gala.” 

That actually coaxed a smile out of the boy, and the resemblance between him and his mother had never been stronger. Marinette looked surprised, but her eyes were warm. “A lot of designers despair over men’s fashion, you know. People lash out whenever you stray too far from the traditional designs, and no one can really reinvent the suit. While it doesn’t let us exercise as much creativity and freedom as women’s fashion, I actually love things like this. Men’s suits are all about attention to detail - how I can work to show your personality in an appropriate but memorable manner. Do you have any specific requests?” 

Against his will, Tim felt his face heat up, doubtlessly turning as red as his vigilante suit. “I fully admit that I was the one who originally commissioned you. I even had to fight Damian. And yet, I haven’t thought about the specifics of what I might want until now.” 

Thankfully, Marinette laughed. “You’d be surprised at how often that happens. That’s perfectly fine. I just didn’t want to leave out anything you desperately wanted. Do you have a specific color for your suit in mind?” 

“Black?” Tim asked helplessly. “I’ve followed your career for a long time, Mademoiselle, but that doesn’t mean that I know anything about fashion. I just know that your fashion seems… magical.” 

Marinette’s lips quirked upwards, a knowing sparkle in her eyes. “That’s an interesting comment. I have a proposal for you, Timothy Drake. If you have any pressing requests I will include them, but I want to keep yours a surprise.” 

Tim swallowed, completely unprepared to deal with the sparkle in her eyes. “I trust you.”

“The exterior is going to be a neutral color because you’re a business man who needs to keep up appearances. That means the most fun we’ll get to have is with the lining. Any opinions?” Marinette asked. “I only bring it up because it’s the most flexible part.” 

“I don’t know, I think all of my suit linings are black or gray,” Tim said, slightly distressed. 

Leo stared him down with serious eyes before saying, “Maman, the inside needs to be red. Ladybug red.” 

“Ladybug? You want me to look like a beetle?” Tim asked. 

Marinette smiled slightly at his comment, but her eyes were fixed on her son. “Are you sure, mon cher? Ladybug red?”

“That’s what he needs,” Leo confirmed. 

Thinking about his brothers’ laughter if he showed up in a polka-dot suit, Tim asked again, “Ladybugs? Are you sure, Leo?” 

“Oh, not the bug,” the fashion designer assured him, finally breaking eye contact with her son. “She tries to keep her existence quiet, but Ladybug is one of Paris’s heroes.” 

“She’s the best hero,” Leo said solemnly. “But you’re nice like she is. You need to have red like she does.” 

There was a strange look in Marinette’s eye that Tim couldn’t quite decipher, but she smiled nonetheless. “You should feel honored. Once someone back in Paris asked me to make something in Ladybug red, and Leo hid the fabric so I had to make it in a slightly different shade. He must really like you.” 

He wanted to say something, anything. Tim had never felt so… he didn’t even know how to describe it. He had spent his life building it into what he had wanted it to be, propping himself up with his accomplishments. He stood alone in his skyscraper, trying to catch up to Bruce and his brothers, but Marinette and Leo had violently dragged him down to the ground, standing outside with everyone. Maybe his family had never been as distant as he thought. 

Or maybe the caffeine withdrawal was finally getting to him.

Taglist: 

@ii-fox-demon @queen-in-a-flower-crown @novaloptr @saphiraazure2708 @iamabrownfox @smolplantmum @redhoodedtoad @loysydark @slytheringinger300 @finallyaniguana @brokenwordsarehard2 @abrx2002 @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @moonlightstar64  @marinettepotterandplagg @black-streak @purplesundaze @maribat-is-lifeblood

Note: 

Damian’s going to be a jerk in this. Beware. 

[winchester-purgatory]

Fake marriage, snobby mother and booty calls | Dean Winchester x OC

Summary: Awsten’ sister tells their parents she’s married - she isn’t. Dean accepts to play along when her parents comes to visit for dinner

Word count: 1670

Notes: I wrote this for the Christmas bingo I participated back in December but only now got to finish it

-

Dean Winchester wasn't husband material. He liked old cars, 80s rock music, had a bit of a drinking problem and had been in jail. He hated to wear ties, being more of a flannel kind of guy, and always had oil or grease stained hands from fixing cars.

Her mom was going to hate him.

He was also a bit of a ladies man, but that part didn't need to be mentioned at the Christmas gathering.

''Are you sure this is a good idea?’’

''You gotta be there,'' Awsten insisted, looking at Dean over the island countertop where they were having breakfast. ''My sister already told everyone I was married. I would be the family’s laughingstock if I they show up for dinner and there is no man in my apartment after such a big news.''

''I still don't get why you couldn't tell them it was a misunderstanding. Why make things complicated when they were initially simple?''

''Because they're from another generation and won't understand. They won't find it funny that we played the 'just married' card to get free alcohol. Or that we only hook up on the daily.'' The redhead sighed, taking a sip of her hot coffee. ''If Charlie hadn't tagged us on social media, my sister would've never seen the picture and caption...''

Dean reached out, squeezing Awsten’s bare thigh on the bar stool, and looked at her with apologetic eyes. ''Charlie’s really sorry. She didn’t think the picture would get to your family.''

''I know. It’s okay. I made my peace with it. Now, we just have to play pretend.'' She stood, taking her empty plate and putting it in the sink to wash later.

Today was going to be a long day and Awsten was dreading all of it. Having her parents and sister over for Christmas wasn’t part of her December plans. For the last two years, she had escaped the family reunions and had intended to do it again this year. She didn't hate her family, they were just so strict, judgemental and draining to be around.

She'd rather rent a cabin in the mountains with a couple friends - Charlie and Dean included. At least, that promised a lot of fun.

Dean joined her by the sink, doing the same with his dishes.

''Thank you for doing this, Dean.''

As insane as the situation was, Awsten was glad to have someone like Dean. Not everyone would have agreed to partake in her crazy plan and play married couple for the holidays, even for one night. And, he will definitely add some spice to her family's Christmas dinner.

''It was my idea in the first place to get the alcohol. And, I wasn’t going to say no to free turkey.''

Awsten scoffed. ''The turkey might be free, but you are helping me. I’m not gonna do all the hard work by myself, Winchester.''

''I would try to eclipse myself, but since you did most of the work last night, I guess I could help you for today,'' he said as he slid a hand under Awsten's tee shirt to cup one of her cheeks and gave it a small squeeze.

.

After six hours of chopping, whisking and seasoning, the faux-married couple were finally ready to receive Awsten’s family.

The redhead has put a red tablecloth to mask the chips on the wooden table, something that would've definitely not gone unnoticed by her mother, and pulled out the pretty candle set she had received three Christmases ago to decorate the center.

Dean lit up the Christmas tree filled with miscandellous, non-traditional ornaments and hoped no one would point out the missing Christmas crib under the tree. It was somewhere in the storage closet and Awsten didn't feel like fetching it.

As they were setting the table, Dean caught the silver ring on the redhead’s finger. ''Just so you know, I would've never offered you this cheap ass looking ring. My wife deserves something better than a plastic rock.''

Awsten narrowed her eyes. ''I did with what I had and with the time I had, Dean! I couldn't get myself a real wedding ring. Diamonds are hella expensive.''

''You didn’t even get me one.''

''I forgot. But, knowing my family, they won't even notice. They'll be too occupied looking elsewhere,'' she promised.

''You mean my charming smile?''

She glanced at his flannel and stubbles, both red flags in her mother's book. ''Among others.''

It was around six o’clock when the doorbell rang. Awsten smoothed her velvet dress and checked her lipstick in the hallway mirror before opening the door.

''How can you get married and not tell us? I didn't raise you like this,'' her mom asked, skipping the greetings and walking in like it was her own place.

Awsten contained herself, forcing a smile. ''Hello to you too, Mom…''

Richard and Emilie, Awsten’s dad and sister, followed inside, shutting the door behind. They shed peeled off their winter layers and hung them on the overflowing coat hanger.

The elder woman peered into the apartment, looking for the handsome man her daughter had married. ''Now, where is that husband of yours? We didn't make all that travel for nothing.''

''I’m right here, Mrs. Torres,'' Dean replied, coming to the entrance to greet the guests. He kissed both her mom and sister’s cheeks and shook hands with Richard, his politeness surprising the Torres.

Although he had succeeded to impress her with his politeness, Dean didn't earn Cecelia's approval. She gave him an up and down look, disapproval casting itself on her face almost immediately.

''Shall we move to the kitchen? Dinner is ready.''

.

''What's your career, Dean?'' Cecelia asked, attacking him with questions as soon as they sat down around the table.

The redhead gave her mother a dirty look, knowing exactly what she was doing. To most, it looked like Cecelia was being nice and trying to get to know Dean, but she was being a snake and trying to find valid reasons to not like Dean to back herself with when she’ll later confront Awsten.

Dean swallowed his bite before responding. ‘’I'm a mecanicien, ma'am. I work at my uncle's auto-shop.''

''Ah.'' She glanced at her cadet daughter and back to Dean, disapproval in her eyes. ''Are you planning on taking over the business?''

''I love cars, but owning an auto-shop isn’t in my plans for the future.''

''What is, then?''

''Owning a bar. Commercializing my own beer...or whiskey, perhaps. Something along those lines.''

''I assume you are studying business?'' Mr. Torres asked, suddenly taking interest in the conversation, owning himself a business.

Dean shook his head. ''No. I’m not in college, Sir. College isn’t for me.''

''How did you meet?''

''Was it like the movies? Your car broke and he repaired it?'' Emilie asked with a snicker, making fun of her sister.

Awsten glared at her. ''No. We met through Charlie, my roommate. You remember her? She and Dean are long date friends.''

As the dinner progressed, Cecelia’s disdain toward Dean was getting more and more apparent - and she made little efforts to hide her feelings.

''If you'll excuse us, I need a drink. Awsten, darling, will you come help me in the kitchen?'' She flashed Dean a forced, bitter smile and stood, heading to the kitchen for some privacy.

.

''You don't like him.'' taking a glass out of the cabinet to

''With reasons! Have you seen this guy? I don't know what you find in him. He looks like...a lumberjack. You are worth so much more than him, Awsten. Guys like him don't go far in life,'' she said in true Cecelia Torres fashion, always quick to judge others.

''Well, we're already married, Mom. What can you do?''

''Is this why you got married in secret? Because you knew we wouldn't approve.''

An unsurprised laugh left the redhead's lips. ''Of course you would think that… Yes, Mom, I married a guy solely to spite you.'' Awsten poured the strong alcohol in the glass, the amber liquid gliding over the baby Yoda shaped ice cubes. ''Is it so difficult for you to believe that I love Dean? Just because I was raised in high society doesn't mean I wish to follow that kind of life.''

Cecelia huffed. ''You say that now, but you'll change your mind.''

''I doubt it.''

''Did he...force you into this? Marrying him.''

Awsten's eyes widened. She couldn't believe the words that left her mother's mouth. ''I'm leaving. You're being crazy.'' She took the drink she had prepared for her mother and left the kitchen, needing it.

''What about my drink?''

.

''Congratulation, Mom hates you. You’re everything she didn’t want for me.''

''Aw, damn,'' Dean said with sarcasm, helping Awsten clean up. ''I thought I had made a good impression.''

The redhead bit back a smile. ''I’m sorry for how she behaved toward you. For the way she talked about you. She’s insufferable sometimes.''

Dean shook his head. ''Don't apologize for her. I don't care what she says about me.'' He brought the leftovers to the fridge, trying to control his grin at the thought of stealing a tupperware of turkey for his lunch tomorrow. ''And it's not like we really are married - not that I'd care more then.''

''Now you get why I never visit my family. They're all similar variants of my mother.''

''They say family wants the best for you, but it's not always the case. I've stopped caring about others' opinion of me long ago. I can take a snobby mother who believes I forced her daughter into marrying me.''

Awsten stopped washing the plate, her stomach dropping. ''Oh no... You heard that?''

Out of all the disgusting things her mother had said tonight, this took the crown. Awsten had hoped Dean hadn't heard, but the kitchen wasn't very soundproof.

She opened her mouth to apologize once again, but Dean beat her.

''Don't say it.'' He turned around to face the redhead, eyes soft on her. ''She can assume whatever she want of me, but I'm still your main booty call,'' Dean added with a smirk.

''Dean!'' She hit his shoulder at his crude words, holding back a smile.

He shrugged and continued what he was doing.

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - When the Angels Cry

T/W Descriptions of death and bodies, grief, funerals, child loss/loss, war trauma, etc.

September 30, 1945

Corbyn paid for Richard’s body to be brought back home. He was returned home to England on a cloudy autumn Sunday. Most of the fallen soldiers – especially those who were unrecognizable or unnamed – were simply buried in rows just off the battlefields but when the war was over, families could either allow their sons and brothers to be buried in a British cemetery overseas or brought home for an official funeral and burial. Corbyn wanted his boy home.

Richard’s body was brought back to England on a ship with dozens of other fallen men all in simply wooden caskets nailed shut after almost a year of the bodies being buried. The families were not permitted to open them – most likely to avoid seeing their son or brother or loved one’s decomposing. The loss was painful enough. Corbyn and Christine went to the harbour to meet the ship along with the other parents or relatives of the fallen.

The sky was grey. The crowd was donned in black.

As the ship anchored and the gangplank was set up for the crew to start to empty the coffins onto the tarmac, mother’s shed tears. Each wooden box looked the same and, in a way, Corbyn felt guilty he couldn’t tell which one was his son. He was always so good at picking Richie out of a crowd – especially since he was always a little smaller than his peers during elementary school. He held onto Christine’s gloved hand tightly and she kept her head bowed as the crew worked quietly. The weeping mothers around them didn’t make it any easier.

The officer of the ship had the list of the fallen in his hand that corresponded with plates on the coffins and stepped up on the end of the gangplank to address the crowd. He offered brief general sympathies but got right to work, calling out each soldier’s name alphabetically by last name. One of the first couples to be called to retrieve their son was in near hysterics and the mother threw herself on the coffin and sobbed until she nearly fainted. Corbyn looked away flatly.

“Lance Corporal Richard Z. Besson.”

Corbyn glanced at his wife who held her handkerchief over her mouth and he set a hand on her back, “Come on.”

They walked quietly across the dock to the rows of wooden coffins and a few of the crewmen offered their quiet condolences. Corbyn set a gentle hand on the edge of the box and swallowed back his tears but anyone could see them shimmering in his light eyes. Four crewmen helped to carry the body to the motorcar waiting in the parking lot behind one of the buildings and Corbyn and Christine walked silently behind it, the quietest of the couples that day.

They were finally able to welcome their son home…to meet him at the docks…but not in the way they had hoped.

It wasn’t until the crewmen offered well-wishes to the couple and blandly told them that their son died a hero and walked back off towards the ship that Christine broke into tears. With the wooden coffin resting in the back of their family car to head right to the church for the funeral, it felt much more real now. Corbyn held his wife for a moment, each of his breaths shuttering in his chest as he tried to breathe.

When they finally got themselves into the front seat, they took a moment to just stare out the windshield in the grey weather surrounding them. It was a lot to take in. It wasn’t raining yet – although the clouds seriously threatened it – but Corbyn’s silent tears that fell down his cheeks made up for it, streaking down his flushed skin and dripping onto the black fabric of his dress pants and suit jacket. He turned slowly over his shoulder to the backseat, the wooden box blurred slightly through his tears.

September 2, 1923

Corbyn glanced over his shoulder to the backseat, catching a glimpse of his son sitting there quietly and staring out the window at the rain. It had been a quiet few moments at the beginning of the car ride…usually five-year-old Richard was quite talkative to his father, going on about whatever little stories were playing in his head. He held a small toy plane in his hands, rolling it against his thigh lazily although his wide eyes followed each tree they passed.

“What are you thinking about, Richie?” Corbyn asked, looking back to the road.

“Why does it rain, Daddy?” Richard asked quietly, leaning closer to the window to look up to the grey sky.

Corbyn cracked a small smile at the sweet innocence of his son, “Because an angel’s crying.”

“Crying?” Richie gasped, looking to his father in concern. “Why?”

“Not sure, little man. That’s just what my Mama used to tell me when I was a boy. Why do you think they’re crying?”

Richie hummed quietly in thought and leaned his head against the window, bumping slightly against the glass as they navigated over the bumpy roads of their town. Corbyn glanced back at him again, watching as he traced a raindrop down the window with a small finger.

“Maybe they’re crying happy tears, Daddy.” Richie mumbled.

“Maybe so, Rich.” Corbyn agreed.

“Maybe God made a chocolate cake for them and they were so happy.”

“With ice cream?”

“Yes.” Richard smiled, resting back against the seat.

There was a pause in conversation and Corbyn drove on over the dirt road, the two Besson boys just listening to the rain pattering down on the roof and windows of the car. Richard looked so cute in his school uniform and he kicked his little lace up boots against the seat in front of him lazily. His chubby cheek that was still proof of his youth was squished up against the window and he puffed out a bit of air to steam up the glass and he ran his finger through it in a squiggle.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Will God make me a chocolate cake one day?”

Corbyn’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, and he replied with a gentle but serious, “Don’t say that, Richie.”

“Why?” Richie pouted. “I’m a good boy.”

“You’re a very good boy, Rich. But you do not have to worry about God’s baking skills for a long, long time, alright?”

“Alright.” Richard nodded with a sigh and raised his eyes back up to the grey clouds. His hand pressed flatly against the window and he tapped his fingers there gently, “They sure are cryin’ up there, Dad.”

He held up his toy plane and closed one eye so it could look like his plane was flying through the grey skies along with the car. Corbyn took a second to admire his son and his pure innocence that always made his heart warm. It was refreshing. He was born near the end of the Great War, Corbyn’s very own peace offering after months and years of hell, and there was no one gentler than Richard. No one who deserved a life of happiness more than Richard.

Corbyn didn’t know how he got to the church but soon he was staring up at the white paneled chapel with his once little boy laying in a box in the backseat. The funeral was to be a small event for just the Besson’s and the Seavey’s – including Corbyn’s brother and sister and a bit of their extended family.

They all wore black. The grey sky held off the rain.

The first while was a bit hazy as Corbyn and Christine got out of the car and greeted their family with hugs and kisses and handshakes and the priest joined the group in his robes with a bible in hand. He offered the usual condolences and invited the procession to follow him to the cemetery where the grave had been dug early that morning.

The plain wooden coffin was taken from the Besson’s car and carried slowly to the cemetery by Charlie, Daniel, Corbyn’s brother, Jordan, and Christine’s brother, James. Corbyn walked behind it with his wife and daughter followed by the rest of their family. When they reached the plot, the two gravediggers helped to lower the coffin into the six-foot-deep hole and the priest began the funeral.

Daniel found his spot beside Elizabeth and she tucked her arm in his and rested her head on his shoulder gently. Evelyn did the same with Charlie.

Corbyn didn’t process anything the priest said although he tried to pay attention the best he could. He stood between his wife and his daughter and stared at the sealed wooden box laying underground. Part of him yearned to open it. Part of him dreaded the thought of opening it.

The last time he saw his son was six-and-a-half years prior. The last time he looked at him Richie was barely twenty-one. He left as barely more than a boy and he was now laying underground as a man. Corbyn never got to see his son grow into a man. He didn’t even have a good photograph of him from his time in the air force. He felt like he was burying a stranger but it also felt like the sickening exaggerated reality that he was buying his infant son.

When the prayers coming to a conclusion, the immediate family was given the opportunity to throw in the first handfuls of soil. Christine went first with Corbyn’s protective hand on her back, tossing down a sprinkle of dark soil onto the top of the casket. Frances was next and she had tears streaking down her cheeks as she threw in her handful. Corbyn hesitated a moment, staring down at the two small piles of dirt sprinkled on top of the wooden box below ground and he turned behind him slightly and locked eyes with Charlie.

Corbyn nodded him over.

“Have your closure.” Corbyn whispered just to him.

Charlie nodded thankfully and bent down to take a handful of soil from the pile beside the grave. He stayed crouched, eyeing the unfamiliar wooden coffin below him, still hearing the agonizing cries of Richard’s final minutes as he tried to pull him from the plane. He was now silent. Charlie stumbled over his breath as he tried to keep himself from crying and held out his hand over the deep hole that now housed his brother.

“Alright, Richie.” he breathed and let the soil fall.

Then it was Corbyn’s turn. He took his handful of soil and stood at the side of the grave, staring down at the last of his son. He said a quiet prayer, kissed his hand, and then tossed the handful onto the top of the wooden coffin.

Corbyn stood a few metres away as the family members started to leave and the gravediggers filled in the hole. The sound of the metal shovels in the mound of dirt and the sound of it dropping dully onto the wood almost made Corbyn sick. But still, he stood and watched his son be buried until the grey sky finally opened up and angles wept down onto them.

Corbyn only hoped Richie got his chocolate cake.

[smediumsmeatbae]

Just a Little Taste

PAIRING: Landlord!Robert Pronge x Reader 

SUMMARY: You just wanted a little ice cream

WORDS: 1005

WARNINGS: mentions of death, murder, confinement, swearing, general creepiness. This would probably get a TV-14, like a Law and Order episode rating so nothing is too bad, I just want everyone warned. 

A/N: Whew! This was my first time writing Robert Pronge and I have to say, I really enjoyed writing this creepy little fic. The last half really wrote itself. I’d love to get him out to play a little more if you guys like this fic. 

I also took a few liberties with the story. I know that the killings mostly took place in New Jersey, but I couldn't really give Reader a good enough reason to move there, so we went a little more north to New York City for the setting. I did, however, make the reader from Dumont, NJ, which is where Richard Kuklinski, from the iceman murders, was based in the movie. And obviously, Robert was never a landlord (that we know of) but he would be the perfect creepy one. 

This is also another entry for the #shamelesshoesforchris challenge by @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18. I used the prompts: creepy landlord and “shhh, be good for me.” 

Please do not post my work elsewhere without my permission

Likes are amazing. Comments and reblogs are better. 

Tags will be in the reblog because tumblr suuuuucks. 🤣

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It wasn’t that long ago that you moved into the Gallant Apartments in New York City, but you could tell that something was… off. It wasn’t that the building was old. Buildings aged and you liked the 1960′s characteristics that the complex held; it had a retro appeal. It may have been the surrounding block that the building was on. It seemed that every time you left the area, everything seemed… lighter. It sounded delusional but you swore there was a dark cloud that hung over the place. Then, there was the landlord, Robert Pronge. He seemed like one of those guys who tried to seem nice on the surface, but he was shifty. He insisted that everyone call him Mr Freezy on account of the ice cream truck he drove part time. He had stringy dirty brown hair, glasses that practically covered his own face, and a goatee. Every time you passed him in the hallway, you got this feeling from him, like he was watching you.  

Still, you had just uprooted your entire life from a small town in Dumont, New Jersey. You had said goodbye to everyone and came to New York City on the promise of a new writing career. You weren't about to let a creepy landlord with too much time on his hands get in the way of you living your dream. He could be creepy and sell his creepy little popsicles by himself. You were going to keep to yourself, mind your manners, and pay rent on time. 

A few months went by without you all talking that much except for the occasional maintenance issues. You seemed to get on his nerves just talking to him, like every question or concern you had for him ripped an invisible hole in his body. It truly baffled you why he was even in tenant leasing if it was going to be so annoying to him. 

Then, July came. It was sweltering hot, hotter than you could remember it in a long time. Sweat would bead on your forehead just from walking outside to dump your garbage. As you walked home from work, you felt like your insides were barbecuing. The sunburn you were going to have on your pale skin was going to be brutal. You needed relief, you needed the cold. 

That’s when you spotted the truck. 

The Mr. Freezy truck, that damn white and blue beauty. It was parked there like it was waiting for you, having an angelic glow for you, asking you, pleading with you to come in and get some delicious ice cream. Robert wouldn’t mind one, you reasoned with yourself. You would tell him later and pay him back.   

You walked towards the truck, taking care to be cautious with the locks and opening of the back door. The smell was different than you'd expected. You'd thought it would smell of ice cream and coolant from the freezers but there was something else there just under the surface. Something surgical smelling. Maybe bleach? You brushed the thought aside as you stepped into the truck, in search of your delicious treat. 

You opened the first freezer on the right and saw just a few things, nothing that grabbed you right off. You did like the bomb pops but you were looking for one of those lemon ice things. You closed the freezer and went to the one on the left, casually opening it. 

You weren't sure what you were looking at when you first opened it. It took your mind a second to process that there were eyes staring back at you instead of what should have been frozen treats.  What… What the hell. What. The. HELL!?! There was a body in the freezer. A DEAD BODY WAS STARING AT YOU. You shrieked out in terror and backed away from the freezer, your body slamming with the freezer on the other side. Your heart was slamming out of your chest, you were trying to remember how to breathe. What the fuck were you going to do?

“What are you doing in here?” A low voice murmured towards you. 

Your head turned, wide eyed and terror running through you. Robert was standing there, shoulders tense. Eyes black coal and steady. You could see his eyebrows furrowed under the frames of his glasses. 

He hopped up into the back of the truck with you and shut the freezer door then looked you  up and down as if he was deciding what to do with you. All you could do was tremble, your body visibly shaking. He turned and closed the door to the truck, leaving you and Robert in there together. 

“I....” Grabbing onto the freezer door to steady yourself, you noticed how your voice seemed so meek and small. “I... Just wanted some ice cream…”

“Well, that wasn’t the right one, was it.” 

“R-robert please. I’m sor-” You choked out. 

Quickly, he took two steps forward and was right up against you, planting his hands on either side of you on the freezer, eyes blazing at you. He pressed his body on you and stuck his face close to yours. You tried to back away but you had nowhere to go. 

You couldn't scream. Your mouth felt like sandpaper scraping against itself. Your legs felt like jelly. A cruel sneer found its way onto Roberts mouth as he looked down at you like you were a new toy. He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small switchblade, making it pop out with his thumb. 

“Goin’ places you don’t belong? Stickin your nose where it don’t belong, huh baby?” He whispered, using one of his hands to grab your arm. “Someone should teach you a lesson, hmm?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean…” You pleaded. 

“Shhh, be good for me.” He had a low growl as he gripped tighter to your arm making you whimper. “Don’t scream again and this will go much easier.”

"Oh... I'm going to have so much fun with you."

[sarriathmg]

Omega Jason Todd Week 2020 Day 7: Free day #2 - Historical AU - 1700s What happens if none of the prompts you wanted to do made it? Why, crunch them all on the free day, of course!

Pfft yall have no proof that I'm just looking for excuses to put Jason in various dresses AO3 link ----

“I despise this,” Jason whispered to himself as he ripped the elaborate powdered wig off of his head and threw it aside, “this is atrocious.”

He really didn’t understand the reason why he had to do this. The whole rationale behind having to use his omega charms to approach the Waynes completely evaded him. Not when he had to dress in these ridiculous red satins and side hoops, barely able to move with him tripping over his gown every second step. The tightly laced stays he wore made his torso stiff and the dainty shoes hurt his feet. Jason hated how demeaning the low laced collar was, practically revealing his breasts for all the world to see, evoking interested looks to shoot at him from alphas all around which Jason absolutely detested. He also hated the perfumes that he was made to wear. They were too sweet, too artificial. Too obviously omega.

“I will kill Roman for this,” he said through clenched teeth. And to think the bastard alpha had the audacity to suggest that he also powder his face white and rouge his cheeks. He missed his coat, his red-colored hooded cloak and his simple mask (not like the frilly one he’s forced to wear to the masked ball), and his boots (God, did he miss his boots). But most importantly, Jason missed his guns. He missed his belt and his firearms, and he wished he was anywhere but here, dressed in unisex habits wreaking havoc in the harbor near the Wayne’s ships instead of standing here pretending to be some vulnerable damsel wearing these demeaning pannier and bows and satins that dragged on the ground, trying to use his omega attractiveness against the supposedly unsuspecting Waynes.

Jason huffed out a frustrated sigh before looking around himself. And, after making sure that no one was staring, he quietly and stealthily took off the ruffled red domino mask to reveal his face. Jason wanted a break. He needed one.

The Waynes had three sons and only one of them was alpha, a rich kid who was more into playing around than any official courtship and more into forming his own pack of misfits than staying home and taking over the pack legacy like a responsible alpha son should. Jason had read all the files on Richard Grayson before Roman had made him prepare for the ball, and he wasn’t convinced one bit that this plan was going to work.

‘But wouldn’t it be easier if you used an omega with more finesse who is more experienced with higher society?’ he’d asked.

‘Son,’ Roman had answered, right before he helped lace on Jason’s stays, ‘you’re selling yourself short. Besides, your training made you the best omega for this job.’

Except it’s easier said than done. Trying to disguise himself as a fine omega who’s lived among aristocracy his whole life when he was in actuality but a street urchin found curled up in the gutter was bloody hard. Jason didn’t have a smidge of clue on how to act properly and pretend to be a respectable omega like the rich bastards he was finding himself amongst right now. Only making things harder was him trying to locate the couple of targets he was meant to seduce in a massive ballroom where every single alpha, omega, and even some betas had their faces hidden behind masks. Jason had no clue what either Wayne or Grayson looked like in real life, which meant it was almost impossible to locate them among tens of masked attendants.

And speaking of which, of course, someone just had to decide to speak to Jason the same moment he removed his.

“May I have this dance?”

The voice sounded behind him with a classy but seductive alpha timbre. Jason looked back only so he could yell at the pretentious male to get lost. But that’s not what ended up happening. As soon as he had his eyes set on the young man, Jason immediately forgot what he was going to say.

A young alpha - perhaps only a few years older than Jason and dressed in black and blue - was holding his hand out to him in a polite and gentlemanly way. His hair was raven black, wavy, and down to his shoulders. His coat had golden trims and decorations embroidered among the smooth surface of the bright blue satin, yet they didn’t look overly ornate in any way. If anything, they made the man’s cerulean-blue eyes stand out even more under his simple silken black domino mask.

“You’re not from around here, I presume?” the alpha asked, still holding out his hand, black silken glove with blue strips catching some of the light from the wall lamps surrounding them, “if there had been such a fine omega around Gotham before, I would’ve noticed.”

There’s something...fraudulent in the alpha’s mannerism. The smile on his lips did not reach his eyes, his words were practiced, and Jason was way too familiar with the look in the man’s eyes which showed an alpha’s inquisitive behavior that Jason had known from his days on the streets. The scents he wore were also artificial, smelling eternally of calm sandalwood and lime, not giving away anything about the alpha’s true emotions or intentions.

Jason swallowed. His eyes quickly darted towards his side, catching a glimpse of Roman walking by while sipping a glass of wine, eyes trailing to him unsuspectedly under the black skull mask he wore. And Jason immediately knew this was a dance that he’s not allowed to turn down.

“You have a keen eye,” Jason said instead, couldn’t hold down the almost sarcastic tone in his voice as he placed his own gloved hand onto the alpha’s fancily clad ones, “care to tell me more about this city?”

As he let the alpha lead him down to the dance floor, Jason was beginning to feel anxious. Roman did in fact hire a tutor to train him in the dances of the upper-class, but Jason didn’t know if he’s adequate enough to keep up. He still had his mask in his hand, so Jason restored it back onto his face.

They began an allemande, starting their tip-toed dance to the trendy orchestral music that had gotten quite popular in the past decade before holding hands and twirling around each other, their fake alpha and omega perfumes mixing in a chaotic whirlpool of imitation of courtship pheromones.

“There’s a lot about Gotham that I could talk about,” the young and beautiful alpha finally spoke up, his long hair softly bouncing and whirling around with his movement, a loose strand temporarily stuck to the side of his mask before falling away and joining the others. “I don’t know what could interest a young omega like you. Do you rather talk about the elite or the poor?”

“Anything interesting, I suppose,” Jason answered with barely-concealed boredom, “my interests are broad, despite my designation.”

“In that case,” the alpha held his hand and they twirled around, a wave of dizziness suddenly catching Jason by surprise, “I suppose you might have heard about the mysterious red-hooded rogue who’s been attacking the harbors?”

Jason put on his practiced impassive visage and lied, “No. Care to tell me?”

Another swirl, and this time the alpha caught a hold of his waist and his hand, and they swayed in the music like two bodies in one.

“Well,” the alpha said thoughtfully, “forgive me for mentioning such a dark matter in front of an omega. The man calls himself Red Hood, and seemed to harbor a hate for the rich. He had been sabotaging Wayne's shipments for almost a month. But it’s nothing someone like you should worry about...we town folks are generally safe, despite being the ‘rich’ that the fiend hates so much.”

“Doesn’t seem like a topic one would talk about with an omega they just met at a ball,” Jason deadpanned.

“You’re right,” the alpha said, an amused tone in his voice, “but it’s something that’s been happening to Gotham which a newcomer might find helpful. And, since it appears this is your first ball, I think it’s proper of me to help...break the ice, so to speak.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh, many things,” the alpha laughed, “like how your mannerism doesn’t match with someone educated in high society from birth, or how you look like you are struggling to move in those garments.”

He took Jason’s hand and they made a swirl, the orchestral music in the ballroom ringing fancily in the omega’s ears.

“Although,” the alpha then mused, “isn’t it strange, that no one truly knows Red Hood’s designation, even though most just assumed he is alpha, like most rogues? It does seem a rather rare coincidence that a lovely omega like you would show up suddenly at the Wayne’s ball around the same time their shipments are being sabotaged by an elusive red-hooded figure.”

Jason was so shocked that he didn’t know what to say. He was suddenly glad that the perfumes he wore were heavy-scented enough that it could hide his true anxiety. He almost fell by tripping on the side of his gown, but the mysterious young alpha caught his waist just in time.

The alpha supported him until Jason was able to balance himself on his heels again. Then, he held his hand in a gentlemanly fashion as Jason stared at him speechless and dumbfounded.

“Forgive my ill manners,” the alpha said, “I apologize for my intrusive words. It’s not every day one could find a lovely omega to talk to. You seemed to be someone with similar interests as me despite your designation, so I let myself speak more than I should have.”

And then he kissed his hand, soft lips feeling warm even as they were obstructed by silken gloves. The young alpha’s long hair dropped down and tickled him through the fabric, and for a moment Jason had the insane thought that even his fake sandalwood scents smelled pleasant.

“We will meet again, my lovely omega,” the alpha said as he began to step away, still holding Jason’s hand a while longer as their arms stretched a little to accommodate. There’s something in the alpha’s expression and tone that told Jason he wasn’t just speaking to be polite. He actually meant it.

Then, the alpha was gone, leaving Jason to stand and contemplate the situation by himself.

[aion-rsa]

The Many Saints of Newark Is a Trashy Gangster B-Movie, There’s Nothing Wrong with That

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When I first walked out of The Many Saints of Newark, my initial reaction was to call it a B-movie. What I didn’t say at the time, however, was how much I love B-movies. While I saw the flaws in the film and couldn’t wholly endorse it to cinemagoers spoiled by the perfection of The Godfather, Goodfellas, and New Jack City, I can wholeheartedly recommend it to people like me. Those who appreciate the low-budget gangster movies sometimes because of their warts. A majority of fans of The Sopranos will have the same reaction: Meh, The Many Saints of Newark could have been better. So when’s it playing next? I plan to see it again, more than once, on the big screen.

In one of the film’s quieter moments, the Soprano family is gathered around a TV set, watching the classic Key Largo (1948). The specific scene on the screen begins when Humphrey Bogart’s cynical combat veteran Frank McCloud defuses a tense situation with the gangster Johnny Rocco. Played by Edward G. Robinson, Rocco is very loosely based on Charles “Lucky” Luciano, the godfather of organized crime, who had been deported and barred from American soil. He is suffering the same doubts Tony Soprano (James Gandolfini) worries about in the pilot episode of The Sopranos: Are the best days of this “thing” over?

All gangsters want, as the black and white film explains, is more. Will they ever get enough? They never have. I don’t suppose they will. It is the same for gangster genre fans. We want more. And it doesn’t have to be great. “I don’t want it good. I want it Tuesday,” Jack Warner famously said about the gangster films his studio excelled in. Warner Bros. invented the gangster genre, and I felt a thrill when their name came first on the screen during The Many Saints of Newark. WB’s Key Largo is a prestige film. It’s got John Huston directing, he’d go on to make amazing mob movies, culminating with his magnificent Prizzi’s Honor. Key Largo boasts an A-list offering with top stars like Lauren Bacall, Claire Trevor, and Lionel Barrymore. And it’s a pairing of two legends who take their performances seriously, and believe in the art of acting: Bogart and Robinson.

But Bogart and Robinson made four B-movie gangster classics before they made the prestigious Key Largo: Bullets or Ballots, Kid Galahad, Brother Orchid, and The Amazing Dr. Clitterhouse, which was so badly scripted that the two leads took to calling it “The Amazing Dr. Clitoris.” I’ve seen it eight times. Are there holes in the story? Of course. And they don’t get any better after the third viewing. What does get better is watching the performances of two professional actors in films they are on record as saying they did not like. Twice, as it turns out, because it was revived as a radio play a few years later, according to the book Bogart, by A.M. Sperber and Eric Lax.

Robinson played a psychiatrist, studying Bogart’s gangster, and the two characters bond while keeping a wary distance. This is very similar to the dynamic between Tony Soprano and Dr. Melfi (Lorraine Bracco) on The Sopranos. She even worried the mob boss was using their therapeutic sessions in the furtherance of crime, something Bogart’s character did in the B-movie gangster film, King of the Underworld, which is awful and I never miss. I love that movie, not in spite of Bogie’s misunderstanding of the meaning of “the moronic type,” but because of it. He doesn’t do that in other movies, even in the masterful B-movie gangster comedies, It All Came True and All Through the Night.

But Bogart also made Dead End (1937), a quality piece, which happens to be my favorite film, ever. Based on the play by Sidney Kingsley, it spends a lot of its time in the same way The Many Saints of Newark does: teaching the young generation how to be gangsters. This is seen even more blatantly in the film Angels With Dirty Faces (1938), which paired James Cagney with the Dead End Kids. But threads of this even reach the juvenile delinquent movie Blackboard Jungle, also not a big-budget film, but realistic enough to show the teenagers were actually moving swag for bigger names.

It happens in real life, the mob looks to street gangs for promising young movers. Future dons make their bones wearing colors. Gangster films capture this. From Nino Brown (Wesley Snipes) in Mario Van Peebles’ New Jack City to Spike Lee’s Clockers, original gangstas groom carbon copies. Dickie Moltisanti (Alessandro Nivola) sees potential in young Tony Soprano (Michael Gandolfini) during The Many Saints of Newark. Great potential.

When Tony and his young gang hijack the Mr. Softee truck and give out ice cream to kids for free, it feels like The Sopranos creator and The Many Saints of Newark co-screenwriter,  David Chase, was chasing the feel of the East Side Kids. Old Bowery Boys movies were aired weekly in the New York/New Jersey area when Tony was growing up, and all those movies were made by the icon of B-Movie studios, Monogram Pictures.

Monogram Pictures sat on Hollywood’s “poverty row,” and churned out pictures as fast as Detroit made cars. The Bowery Boys comedy troupe made almost a picture a month alone. But just like the Warner Brothers assembly line occasionally manufactured transcendent art, some of the cheapies are magnificently crafted. Sopranos fans should watch Angels in Disguise, one of the lesser-known gangster comedies, directed by Jean Yarbrough in 1949. It is, if not the first, one of the first mock-documentaries, and it is a good bet David Chase saw it, more than once. Leo Gorcey is even more of a master of the malaprop than Carmine Lupertazzi Jr. (Ray Abruzzo) on The Sopranos.

Monogram Pictures also caught the attention of French directors François Truffaut and Jean-Luc Godard, who structured films based on their model, according to the book The Films of Jean-Luc Godard by Wheeler W. Dixon. It is no wonder, the studio’s almost-no-budget 1947 quickie Dillinger turned RKO contract player Lawrence Tierney into an icon of film noir. The Fall Guy, from the same year, dared to coke up the star Leonard Penn, and we’re not talking soda pop.

Also in 1947, 20th Century Fox’s low budget Kiss of Death introduced the screen audiences to the sadistic Tommy Udo. The role earned Richard Widmark an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor, and the admiration of “Crazy” Joe Gallo, whose insurrection against the Five Families of New York crime was the basis for Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather.

Low budget studio production paved the way for the independent film movement in America, which The Many Saints of Newark proudly emulates. Director Alan Taylor recently admitted to Den of Geek that he’s “drunk deep at the well of Scorsese,” and we can see Mean Streets all over the Sopranos prequel. Also in evidence is Barry Shear’s Across 110th Street (1972), which pitted the Italian mob against Black gangsters; John Cassavetes’s 1976 indie classic, The Killing of a Chinese Bookie; The Pope of Greenwich Village (1984), directed by Stuart Rosenberg; and Abel Ferraro’s King of New York (1990).

The Many Saints of Newark is also too closely related to Wim Wenders’ 1977 gangster film, The American Friend, which cut corners on plot points as much as it did on budget. Logic is replaced by street smarts, and continuity is a game of three card monte in B-movie gangster films. The Many Saints of Newark is not exempt. There is a scene where one mobster’s mistress is sleeping with the rival for his turf. Except for one rude stare, the audience doesn’t see it coming. But how it turns out, with the convenient surf and turf to cover the evidence, is telegraphed from a mile away.

Read more

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The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre in Real-Life and Pop Culture

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Arthur Penn’s genre-redefining Bonnie and Clyde came out in 1967, the same year as The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Roger Corman spared every expense for his B-movie mobsterpiece. There are scenes where it is visibly apparent that a fleet of vintage background cars are just the same few automobiles driven in circles around the set. I’ve seen both movies multiple times, and enjoy them equally each time.

Just because The Many Saints of Newark isn’t a perfect film does not make it less of a classic. It certainly doesn’t make it less appealing for repeated viewings. The film follows a grand tradition of gangster filmmaking: street legal over mainstream currency, it could have fallen off the back of a truck. I would love to see whatever scenes were cut to make it fit into a two-hour viewing, because the film felt rushed. But I will watch it again.

The Many Saints of Newark premieres in theaters and on HBO Max on Friday, Oct. 1.

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