#but this one - sitting in the cinema watching himself pretend being a father - that’s on him bc

[releaseholiday]

Nope. Not watching it either. In fact I can’t imagine how hard it will be for Louis to sit in a theater with his friends and family while he plays fake dad on the screen - no matter how long it is. That has to be mortifying. And then how do you pretend for all the people that don’t know it’s a lie? Possibly even some extended family? What a weird place to be in.

[a-boca-do-inferno]

when i look at you (al pacino x reader) [request]

summary: Al finds himself at a crossroads on set.

warnings: fluff, bit of angst

words: 1.0k

notes: hello guys! yes, im alive and well. just a clarification: i write for characters only, but i wrote this one thing specifically for a request that has been sitting in my inbox for a long time. at this moment requests are closed, but once they open again, it's for characters only!!! no real people. enjoy xx

NEW YORK CITY

1975

Amid the towering skyscrapers and labyrinthine streets, the movie set hummed with activity. Al was shooting his latest film and the director, Jack, a man known for his often stress-inducing standards and fiery temperament, stood at the helm. The set was abuzz with anticipation and nerves, but your figure was the only thing he could see. You had been a constant presence on set up until that point and such a vision, full of grace and quiet strength, never failed to catch his attention. 

Al was well aware you grew up in the world of cinema, your father’s passion seeping into your very being, however Jack was fiercely protective, ensuring you stayed away from the darker sides of the industry. And it was quite clear you loved your father dearly, yet longed for a taste of the freedom you saw in the actors and crew around you. The lingering gaze you directed at Al himself could attest to that; he’s seen that look on a woman’s face before. 

The longing for more.

Al first noticed you during a scene where he was meant to display raw emotion. He glanced over and saw you, half-hidden behind the camera, your attention locked onto him, watching intently. There’s just something in your globes—admiration, curiosity, who knows?—that struck him. For a moment, he almost broke character. It was on that day he decided he had enough. 

Al approached you on the lunch break, trying to keep his tone casual. “Hey.”

You looked up, a hint of surprise in your expression. “Hey! Uh… I’ve seen all your movies, Mr. Pacino. You’re incredible.”

He chuckled. “Just Al is fine, and thank you.” He displayed a playful bow. “I’ve seen you around a lot. You work on the set?”

You shook your head. “Not really. I just like being here, watching everything come together. It’s… magic.”

Your conversation was cut short by Jack’s booming voice calling Al back to the set. As he walked away, he glanced back and saw you still looking at him, your glance filled with that something he couldn’t quite place again.

Over the next few weeks, your interactions became more frequent, always under the radar. You would steal moments between takes, sharing stories and laughter, your connection growing stronger. Al found himself drawn to your intelligence and warmth, a stark contrast to the often superficial nature of Hollywood. And you, in turn, were captivated by his intensity and passion. He treated you as an equal, valuing your opinions and thoughts, which wasn’t a dynamic you were used to. 

It wasn’t long before these stolen moments began to feel like the most important parts of your day. Still, the shadow of Jack’s disapproval hung over you both. He would never approve of his daughter being involved with one of his actors, and especially not someone with Al’s reputation involving women. 

One evening, after a long day of shooting, Al found you alone on the rooftop of the building where they were filming that day. “Hey”, he said softly, joining you at the edge. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You smiled, though it seemed tight. “Just thinking about how much I love this city. And how much I hate keeping secrets.”

Al sighed, reaching out to take your hand. “I wish things were different.”

You turned to face him, your eyes searching his. “What if they didn’t have to be? What if we… just told him?”

“He’d be furious”, Al replied matter-of-factly. “He might even fire me. I can’t risk that, not with everything riding on this film.”

You squeezed his palm. “I can’t keep pretending we’re just friends, Al. It’s tearing me apart.”

Al pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll figure something out, I promise.”

Your embrace was interrupted by the sound of the rooftop door opening. You sprang apart just as Jack appeared, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What are you two doing up here?” He demanded.

“Just talking”, Al said quickly. “Needed some fresh air.”

Jack’s gaze shifted between you, doubt flickering in his features. “(y/n), it’s late. You should head home.” 

You only nodded, giving Al a fleeting, pained look before going with your father inside. The days that followed were filled with tension. You continued to see Al in secret, your moments together a mix of stolen kisses and whispered confessions. The fear of being discovered loomed over you, but so did the hope that one day, you wouldn’t have to hide.

One afternoon, as the crew was setting up for a particularly challenging scene, Jack pulled Al aside. “We need to talk.” Al’s heart pounded as he followed Jack to a quieter area of the set. He turned to the younger man, his face unreadable. “I know something’s going on between you and my daughter”, he stated bluntly.

Al’s breath caught in his throat. “Jack…”

“I’m not a fool, Al. I see the way you look at her. And she’s been different lately. Happier.”

Al swallowed hard, choosing his words carefully. “I care about her, Jack. I really do.”

Jack’s eyes softened, albeit but a fraction. “She’s my world, Al. I’ve protected her from everything this industry can throw at her. If you hurt her, I don’t know what I...”

“I won’t”, Al stated quickly, in a single breath. “I love her.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Jack studied him for a long moment before sighing quietly. “I believe you” he sighed at last. “But if you’re serious about this, you need to do it right. No more sneaking around. Be honest with her. And with me.”

Al felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank you. I promise I’ll make her happy.”

Jack nodded briefly, then clapped a hand on Al’s shoulder. “Alright, let’s get back to work. And later, we’re all going to dinner together. That’s your second job interview.”

Al laughed in a mix of amusement and nervousness before leaving his side to try and find you. And there you were, the same vision he came to admire everyday on set; except now his eyes were the ones sparkling with something different. No more longing, though. 

Only love. 

[giorno-plays-piano]

Vicious

Part IV

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, all characters are adults.

Words: 1880.

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

Part I

Part II

Part III

_________

After you came back to your room, you got a message from Steve about changing the locks on both you door and your locker. You were so taken aback by today's conversation in the student council room that you had completely forgotten about it. Apparently, Steve had already requested the change of locks on your behalf through email, and you were really grateful to him for that: you dreaded coming back to the room that had been forced open. Of course, tonight you would have to move your dresser to the door so that nobody could enter when you'd be sleeping.

Shit. It was absolutely crazy.

"I'm not sure about all this, Steve." You texted him while laying on your bed and staring at your phone in the darkness of the room. "It doesn't seem right."

Naturally, you meant the fake dating thing. It felt horrible thinking of what others would think after seeing you with five different guys. Would they be calling you a whore in the open? Make some nasty jokes behind your back? Report you to the school administration for immoral behavior? Remembering those bigots from the student office, you cringed at the thought.

Besides, it still didn't make sense to you why you had to date all five. Sure, if they were around you at all times like your friends, these unhinged bastards who stole your things wouldn't do anything funny again, but it wasn't like that. What could one guy do against a group of other students?

"Listen, I didn't want to talk about it in class, but I'm worried it won't end with a stolen lingerie."

You didn't like his message.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. They might attempt something much worse than a theft."

Oh no. Was he talking about rape? Seriously? Did he anticipate others were so crazy they would do something like that?

But then again, girls were being raped in colleges even if it weren't the all-boys schools. A shiver ran down your spine.

"But if several people attack me, just one of you won't be enough." You typed with your shaky fingers, trembling beneath your blanket.

"It's not about the pure force. Each of us has a certain reputation, and others wouldn't want to cross us over because of it."

Wait, this was interesting. What on Earth did he mean? What kind of reputation was that to prevent people from messing with them?

"Thor is a good athlete and a great leader, his basketball team is ready to beat people to death for him."

"Loki's father is one of academy’s main sponsors, and he can have this school turned upside down if he wants to."

"Bucky is a threat by himself, but he also have a company of loyal friends."

"I don't think Peter is serious enough to scare anyone, but with his computer skills he could easily blackmail others, I’ve already seen him doing it. Students would be wary to cross him over just like any of us."

Steve was writing you a bunch of messages with a terrifying speed, and you could barely read the first when he was already sending you the second. It felt absolutely insane. Did he choose every guy because the more powerful admirers you have, the less others would intervene? Well, at least in case of Bucky and Thor who could beat people to near death, it was wise. You preferred not to think of Peter - you had no idea someone as sweet and caring as him did something as disgusting as a blackmail.

“But what others will think? 5 boyfriends? Others will think you are dating-” you paused, chewing your lips to bit, “- a whore. Nobody gonna stood up for me.”

"Imagine if each of us tells our friends that other four guys were just asked to watch over you, but you date only one.”

Oh. Yes, this was slightly better. Then you wouldn’t have to do something as bold as kissing every guy in public, instead maintaining the mystery who you were really dating. 

Damn, how Steve even came up with this plan? Why was everything so complicated?

“It’s getting late. Good night.” Your phone vibrated again, and you huffed with irritation. You hoped you could ask him a bit more - about what you were going to do with the thieves Steve found, for example - but he was probably getting tired with all your questions. It was better to ask him tomorrow.

___________________

The next morning you were restless: since you were starting to going out with guys, you felt like you needed to look better than you usually were, so you spent your morning working on your hair and makeup. It was like fake dating, right? You had to pretend you wanted to look pretty for them.

What else did you have to do? Cook something sweet for them? Yeah, probably, but not at the start of your relationship. Going to cafe together? Helping each other study? Loki also mentioned the cinema...

You felt dumb. Of course, you dated guys before, but now you realized you had no idea how to act not to cause any suspicion. Oh boy, it was going to be a tough day.

Thor nocked at you door thirty minutes before your first session, but you woke up so early you were more than ready to go. As you opened the door, first moving the dresser back to its place, the guy looked at you with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Hey, what was that?"

"The dresser. I can't leave the door just like that until the lock is changed."

He blinked at you, watching the door and then probably remembering somebody forced the lock open to steal your underwear.

"These guys are batshit crazy." He mumbled and nodded you to go with him, putting his hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry, they won't do it again."

You wanted to argue they definitely would, but, seeing his warm smile, you thought Thor simply wanted to cheer you up and smiled at him in return. In the end, he was here only to make you feel safer: you didn't doubt he was very popular with the girls every time he went out to the city.

"You look great today!" He said sheepishly, walking in the dorm's corridor while other students were staring at him silently, obviously surprised to see you two together. "I mean, not that you looked bad yesterday, I just..."

Watching his face suddenly getting crimson red, you couldn't help but giggle at his expression. You could never think Thor was actually bashful around girls. Yeah, at your old place he'd definitely be one of the most popular guys around.

It was lunch time when you two could actually talk, sitting together at the same table and being watched by everyone around. Strangely, with Thor constantly talking and often rubbing your hand with his, it didn't feel suffocating, and you held your head high: regardless whether those pricks were looking at you, you weren't going to run away to your room and cry there like a little girl. Loki was right: you weren't a silly little sheep, scared of your own shadow. You wouldn't let anyone spoil your time in the academy you dreamt studying in.

Funny enough, Thor turned out to be a talkative type when he was speaking about basketball and his team in particular. He loved sports: while you were more into hockey, the way he talked was so enthusiastic it made you listen to him with a genuine interest. Thor's love for basketball was infectious.

He seemed a simple man, this giant bag of muscles who was laughing so loud people around him flinched; Thor wasn't the exact type of a guy you would encounter on your own, but he seemed nice, sincere, and surprisingly softhearted. You felt at ease talking to him, and soon you too acted like you'd known each other for long.

It was a pity you'd only met under this circumstances. It felt like you two could became friends.

But then when Thor absent-mindedly put his arm around your shoulders, you remembered Loki's warning: they would try to gain your favors. Was it the reason Thor was so nice to someone he just met? Wasn't it suspicious of him? You couldn't let your guard down after just one lunch together. In fact, you knew nothing of the man sitting in front of you.

"I knew something like would happen." Some guy to your left sighed loudly, catching your attention. "They were fucking crazy."

"I'm not surprised either. I just wanna know who they got in a fight with to be beaten like that. Have you heard they broke Gray's both legs?"

"Woah, both? That's brutal, man."

You shivered, trying not to listen to them.

"It'd happen sooner or later anyway. They were completely wild."

A word caught your attention right away: that was what Steve called those students who were stealing your things. Could it be a coincidence? Surely, in an all-boys school the students were fighting each other constantly.

But to the point of breaking both legs of someone? Really?

As you sent Thor a nervous look, he gently patted your shoulder, lowering his voice so no one would hear him, "I'm sure it's nothing to do with you. These things happen here from time to time because the guys have no idea what to do with all that testosterone."

You hoped he was right.

The rest of the day went as usual aside from Thor walking the corridors with you and chatting about sports: he managed to convince you to come see the game next month when they would be having a tournament. You were grateful to him for helping to ease your mind because the news of guys being sent to the ambulance made you shook. Steve also mentioned something about his and other's friends ready to beat anyone to death, right?

By the middle of your last class you couldn't think of it any longer and quickly typed a message to Loki. Of all people, right now he seemed the most sincere to you.

"Hi. Are the guys who were beaten last night are the ones who stole my things?"

Waiting was a special torture when you held the phone in your arms beneath your desk, hoping to see your screen lighting up with a message. In five minutes you got your reply.

"Yes." The message said simply, but it was enough for you to stare at your phone with horror, wishing you didn't ask Loki anything.

Oh shit. It wasn't a coincidence, right? It's impossible. Somebody did it on purpose. But who of the five?

"Do you know who did it?"

Next time he answered pretty fast, "No."

A part of you felt relieved. Maybe it wasn't related, finally. Maybe they got beaten by somebody who was fed up with their attitude because they were crazy as the guys in the cafeteria said.

But what if it weren't true?

"Who's the most brutal among you five?"

Biting your lips, you started rocking in your chair a little, making the guy on your left to roll his eyes in irritation.

The phone's screen flashed again.

"Barnes."

Part V

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @stupendouslovegardener @goodgodimaweirdperson @frontmanash @freya-heya @yandematic

[writer-room]

Siblings: Chapter One

AO3

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Summary: The Bats reflect on how their thoughts about siblings have changed over the years. Some opinions stayed, others didn't.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dick always wondered what it’d be like to have a little brother or sister.

He recalled asking his parents why he didn’t have one. Not accusatory, just curious.

His mother had smiled and said that they had their hands full plenty with Dick, and he was all they needed. His father, while still kind, said that they didn’t really have the time or resources in the circus at the moment to add another child to the family.

Dick was disappointed, but he understood the reasons.

Even still, he’d find himself staring at the kids that watched the acts with awe. Older kids lighty taunted their younger siblings, ruffling their hair and pretending they were too good for it all, and that they were doing their siblings a favor by being there. Kids who nudged their brother or sister to distract and steal the snacks from concession stands, later whispering words that’d make the other gape or giggle. Young children holding their sibling who was of toddler age or younger, pointing towards parts of the acts, their glee growing upon seeing the excitement of their sibling.

Dick hadn’t been lonely growing up in Haly’s Circus, he had his parents and the other people who worked there, from the handlers to the clowns to the tricksters. 

And yet, he still found himself watching the kids who’d come in with one, or even two or three, brothers and sisters, taunting and laughing and sharing their wonder.

A sibling would’ve been nice, he thinks mournfully. It might’ve even been fun.

Ah, well. At least he had the circus.

,

“Hey, hey Dick. Dick. Dick, lookit.”

“If I turn around and I see you about to push Damian off the roof, I’m breaking your helmet.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Dick sighed, turning back from where he was keeping an eye on the streets below. Jason, who’d only been a few feet away, immediately took this moment to seize Tim, who had been too busy looking through his binoculars to care about whatever the two had been doing, and proceed to chuck him off the roof.

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan as Tim’s undignified shriek was cut off by him catching himself on a fire escape below, scrambling to get a good hold on so he didn’t fall the rest of the way.

“What?” Jason huffed. “You said not to push Damian, and I didn’t push Damian.”

“Of course,” Dick replied sarcastically. “My mistake, I’ll be sure to rephrase it as don’t push anyone off the roof.”

“Now that’s just unreasonable,” Jason huffed, hand on his hip as Steph and Cass snickered from the nearby chimney they were perched on. “I can think of plenty of people who deserve to be pushed off roofs. Like Scarow, for example. Bastard made me break my good hand last month and I still need to shoot a bullet in his back for that one.”

“Then don’t push your family off roofs, is that enough for you?” Dick sighed, standing up and peering over the edge of the roof. “You alright down there, Tim?”

“Names,” Damian finally chastised, not once having glanced over to the others from where he was on the corner of the roof, farthest as he could get from them.

“Oh, sure, now you worry.” Tim grumbled from the fire escape, finally pulling himself to his feet and brushing himself off. “Dick, please tell me I have permission to stab out Jason’s eye.”

“You do not.”

“He’d be fine!” Tim complained, snagging a hand on the stairs and instead pulling himself up along the outside of the fire escape instead of walking up the steps like a normal human being. “Harper could probably make him a new functional one in two days if she's in a good mood.”

“I’m not making him a new eye in two days. Maybe two weeks.” Harper informed from the other side of the roof, also ignoring the others as she tinkered with some gadget.

“Get anywhere near me and I’ll cough on you,” Jason threatened, also peering down off the roof. “You have basically no immune system, you’d die in a week. A long, painful death. Poetic cinema, really.”

“If you say it's poetic because you were beaten with a crowbar for two hours, I’m dropkicking you.” Steph warned, eyes narrowed.

“You’re so mean to me,” Jason gasped, placing a hand on his chest as he turned. “What did I ever do to deserve this? I’m nice to you!”

“No, you’re not.” Chorused Dick, Tim, Damian, Steph, and an extra voice through their earpieces.

“Wow, thanks, Babs.” Jason grumbled. “Showing up just to bully me, typical.”

“Names,” Damian warned a second time.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Babs crackled through their earpieces. “You’re not the only one I bully.”

“Everyone please stop harassing Jay,” Dick pleaded, though it came out more as an exhausted sigh.

“Names,” Damian growled a third time, losing his patience.

“I know it's fun,” Dick continued, ignoring him. “But this is supposed to be a scouting mission, and I’d rather he didn’t start taking out petty revenge during patrol.”

“I have no idea why he’s so surprised we get bored when scouting,” Steph mumbled quietly, to which Cass simply shrugged.

“You have no faith in me,” Jason snorted, and Dick could tell he was rolling his eyes under his helmet.

“I have plenty of faith in you,” Dick soothed. “I also, however, know how you are.”

“Don’t worry,” Steph raised a hand. “I already lost faith in you when you tried to kill Tim.”

“Which time?”

“Steph, don’t taunt him. Do it back at the Manor.” Dick lightly scolded.

“How many times do I have to repeat this?” Damian snapped, whirling from his post to glare at the others. “We do not use names on patrol!”

“Doesn’t Jon call you D on patrol?” Harper raised a brow, glancing towards him.

“That is different! He does not use my actual name!”

“Hypocrite,” Jason coughed under his breath.

Tim finally swung back onto the roof, skillfully rolling and dodging when Jason attempted to immediately kick him off again. Tim rolled close to the chimney, quickly pulling out his bo staff and crouching, glaring at Jason. It was reminiscent of two cats in a standoff, arched backs but neither of them making the first strike yet.

“Do not fight,” Cass said calmly. 

“Thank you, C--” Dick hesitated, glancing at Damian for a brief moment. “--Orphan.”

“Fight in Cave,” Cass continued cheerfully. “We have sparring mats for reasons.”

“And I take that back.”

“You wanna hang with the cool kids?” Steph asked, leaning off the chimney to offer her hand.

“Yes. Have I mentioned you’re my favorite person?” Tim grinned, putting his staff away as he took the offered hand and was pulled onto the chimney beside Steph and Cass.

“You could stand to say it more often,” Steph teased.

“Cheaters,” Jason grumbled, relenting that fighting both Steph and Cass to get Tim was a losing battle.

The three were rather squished on the chimney, but none of them seemed to mind. Harper only rolled her eyes and went back to tinkering.

“We really need to bring D--Signal on one of these things.” Dick muttered, shaking his head.

“Because he’s sensible, or because you want him to suffer like the rest of us?” Tim raised a brow.

“Because he deserves the same family bonding time.” Dick said simply.

“Duke and Cullen are next to me listening in on this,” Barbara said through the communicators. “I am here to inform you that Duke is both touched and terrified.”

“The bumblebee was awake and didn’t even bother to join us?” Harper snorted. “Rude.”

“Cullen agrees with you.”

“He better,”

“I’m taking a ten hour nap after this,” Dick complained, sitting back on the edge of the roof, legs dangling in the open air as he leaned back dramatically on his hands. “I deserve it. Self-care and all that.”

“That is the length of a normal amount of sleep.” Damian raised a brow.

“Not in this family, it’s not.”

“Preach!” Tim pumped a fist.

“You don’t count, Tim.” Dick chastised, leaning his head back to look at Tim upside down. “Everyone here remembers to sleep at the latest once every two days. You don’t sleep for five.”

“I’m being harassed,”

“You’re being bullied into a proper sleep schedule.” 

Damian suddenly whacked Dick over the head, startling him with a yelp as Jason hid a snicker. Harper and Cass looked over for a moment before continuing with whatever they had previously been doing.

“Names!” Damian hissed. “Do you all want your identities revealed?”

“Literally nobody is here,” Harper pointed out.

“If Gotham hasn’t found out our identities by now, they never will.” Steph snorted.

“Especially finger-stripes over here.” Tim added, a smug expression on his face.

“A nine-year-old finds out your identity one time and you never hear the end of it.” Dick muttered under his breath before sitting up and proceeding to snatch Damian, who had been previously stalking towards the others, by wrapping an arm around his chest and tugging him closer as the boy squawked.

“You were using a Flying Grayson move, dude.” Tim deadpanned. “You gotta pay the price for being flashy for no other reason than because you can.”

“That’s his entire personality.”

“Why do you all hate me?” Dick whined, holding a squirming Damian close as he gave the boy a noogie. “What did I do to gain such torment?”

“You want the list?” Harper looked up, finally putting away whatever she was tinkering with.

“We alphabetized,” Cass added.

“Wrote on the front and back,” Steph nodded sagely.

“I’m adding three more to the list when we get back,” Damian growled, looking ready to bite Dick if he didn’t stop soon.

“You better be joking about that list,” Dick warned, releasing Damian for his own safety. “Because if I ever find a list of reasons to be mean to me, I will not show mercy.”

“Do you mean you’re gonna attack us physically or emotionally?” Jason inquired.

“Emotionally,”

“You sick bastard.” Steph whispered in horror. “I can’t believe you would use your powers for evil.”

“Does it make it any better if I tell you the list, if it does exist, would probably only exist so that when we notice someone looks like they’re gonna do something stupid, we use the list to remind them of something you did so they take it out on you and not, say, turn all of Gotham into a gang war zone.” Harper said slowly.

“I hate you,” Steph glared. “You mess up one time--”

“You died, Steph!” Tim exclaimed, before getting a batarang chucked at his head that Damian somehow snuck into his utility belt.

“She didn’t even die,” Jason snorted, crossing his arms. “Both of you two had lame fake-out deaths.”

“Why am I the one who’s become the punching bag?” Dick complained, holding Damian back again when he tried to grab the batarang Tim had dodged and threw it again.

“Because you’re actually good at feelings and everyone else is emotionally constipated.” Harper deadpanned.

“And the Ric incident.” Damian added right after, giving up in his thrashing. A shutter passed over the Bats at the mention of the name.

“Aw,” Dick’s face softened, ignoring the Ric comment. “You guys care about my advice?”

“Congrats,” Barbara chuckled slightly. “You’re the therapist brother.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Jason groaned, flopping backwards on the roof. “Now he’s going to be mushy and clingy all week.”

“Lord knows you idiots need it,” Harper huffed as Dick practically glowed.

“I’m sicing him on you later.”

“Jokes on you, he hasn’t found my apartment yet.”

“Yes I have,” Dick raised a hand, turning towards her. “Well, Robin found it, but I still know it.”

Harper stared at him for a few moments, momentarily turning her head to Damian for a moment before going back to Dick, and then turning to Jason.

“You’re a monster,” She whispered, a look of true horror on her face.

“I know,” Jason cackled gleefully.

“None of you are leaving the Manor when we get back.” Dick said matter-of-factly, pointing a finger to his siblings. “We’re gonna bond, and you’re going to like it.”

“We’re already bonding right now!” Damian protested.

“You’ll have to kill me first.” Steph hissed, shying behind Cass.

“Bold of you to assume you can keep me confined to the Manor.” Tim huffed in offence. “Orphan, I’ll stash you in one of my safe houses if you promise to be my bodyguard.”

“Deal,”

“You guys are so dramatic--”

“Hey, guys? Crazed pyromaniac with flamethrowers to the north.”

The group immediately dropped whatever they had been doing, heads snapping up towards the direction Barbara had tiredly informed them of the attack.

It was only a few moments before the sight of flames peaked over one of the buildings, dying out almost immediately. Shouts and rumbles were steadily growing in volume, especially the cackling of Firefly, likely revving up whatever weapon he’d acquired this time.

“Fantastic, can’t even keep watch with you morons.” Damian growled.

“Oh you are not the only one trying to work here!” Tim snapped. “Orphan, for example, is doing a wonderful--where’d she go?”

He and Steph looked around rapidly, their sister suddenly missing from the chimney. How they hadn’t noticed she’d left their crowded space was a mystery that’d likely never be solved.

“Over there,” Jason said boredly, upholstering a gun and pointing across the rooftops.

The outline of Cass’s body could be seen sprinting across the roofs towards where the fire had been spotted, leaping with reckless abandon.

“Life lesson for the rest of you,” Harper hummed, getting to her feet. “Be like Cass.”

“Stop using real names!” Damian barked.

“Last one there is on cleanup duty!” Steph hollered, shoving Tim and taking off in the same movement.

“Asshole!” Tim yelled as Jason, Harper and Damian all bolted after her without a moment's hesitation. 

Dick laughed, just getting to his feet as Tim stumbled up and after the others, swearing obscenities.

He quickly ran after his siblings, though he strayed a little further back, nobody paid attention to who showed up last anyway, his eyes darting from each of his siblings. Someone had to make sure they didn’t face-plant off a roof.

They shouted over each other as they descended down to take out Firefly. The guy had really picked a bad night to start causing trouble. It’d be over in no-time.

Even still, Dick paused on the roofs, scanning the streets below as the others ran to and fro, yelling over each other as Barbara switched between the coms to talk to them. It was a chaotic mess and Dick found himself grinning at it all.

His siblings were a hot mess, and it was amazing.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Twilight (2008)

Twilight is not the 0-star picture so many people claim (or want) it to be. If you like it, I can understand why. That said, those who call it a great film are doing so because of their affection for the source material, which itself isn't particularly robust. This is getting overly complicated. Let’s just get to the review.

Seventeen-year-old Isabella “Bella” Swan (Kristen Stewart) moves to the small town of Forks to live with her father, Charlie (Billy Burke). At her new school, she gets along with everyone… except for the enigmatic Edward Cullen (Robert Pattinson). The boy seems almost repulsed by her but Bella is drawn to him. As it turns out, he - and his feelings for Bella - aren't what they seem.

There are some undeniable faults in this picture. The performances, for instance. Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart have proven themselves strong performances but director Catherine Hardwicke stifles any emotions that might've been present. Not helping is the screenplay by Melissa Rosenberg, which directly quotes the novel by Stephenie Meyer often. You'll find plenty of clunky, overly wordy exchanges, the kind that comes from an author spinning their wheels, trying to buy time before a big reveal three chapters later by busting out their thesaurus and endlessly re-writing the same dialogue until it becomes a garbled mess.

Twilight is also a bit too ambitious for its budget. The special effects aren't convincing. It made me think back to the Smallville pilot, which would've been a good thing was this a TV series or non-theatrical movie, but someone should’ve looked at the fast-motion effects and recognized how silly they looked.

If you’re reading this segment of the review, you know that Edward is a vampire. Not the scary Nosferatu type, but a hundred-year-old glittering, sullen-faced, creature of the night that falls head-over-heels in love with Bella Swan. People will call this ridiculous but this is where I'll defend Twilight. Yes, the glittering thing is dumb, but it’s a detail. Considering every vampire in this film has a different superpower (which is an elegant way of blending the various myths about vampires), you can just pretend that’s Edward’s. I will also stand up for the relationship between the lovers. Bella and Edward have something about them that genuinely WOULD make them a good couple. When Bella comes to school, she’s basically loved by all. The boys want to date her, the girls want to be her best friend. All, except for one guy. Why? because Edward can read minds. No one in the world is a mystery to him. Holding a conversation, even with his fellow vampires is redundant but he can’t hear Bella’s thoughts. She's the only person in the entire world he could sit down and have a chat with.

There’s a germ of a good idea here. It’s the execution that's at fault. Perhaps the source material too. You might have to squint a bit but you can find scenes in the film that are good. The best example is a moment when the Cullens play baseball. It shows them as real “human beings”. People will call the scene where Edward admits that he likes to watch Bella sleep “creepy”, but that’s because he can't express himself well. As a vampire, he doesn’t sleep. He's been forced to live only with his kind and always drifts further away from normal human behavior. He hasn’t seen someone sleep in ages. He’s not “keeping an eye on her” at all times, he’s fascinated by every aspect of this young woman. Many of the interactions Bella has with her friends are charming and Billy Burke does good work with his role.

Twilight is harmless. It will appeal to those who've enjoyed the book and is sure to ensorcell young teenage girls. Unfortunately, the source material's weaknesses shine through, and neither director Catherine Hardwicke nor writer Melissa Rosenberg do much to improve upon it (trust me on that). This makes it nothing special for the rest of us but hardly a plague upon cinema so many people have declared it to be. I don’t see why it’s gotten such strong reactions either way. Perhaps the sequel, New Moon, will make it clearer. (Theatrical cut on DVD, December 9, 2016)

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Would love to hear about your beefs with Lucas because I have beefs with Lucas

(Sorry it took me three thousand years to answer this, anon.)

They mainly fall under a few headings, with the third being the most serious and the thing that I am genuinely irl furious about at least biannually (and feeling unable to adequately sum up The Problem with it after yelling about it so often is a huge part of why this post has been in my drafts for such a long time):

1. His self-mythologising and the subsequent uncritical repetition of his bullshit in the fandom. Obvious lies like that he had some master plan for 10 films when it’s clear he did not have anything like a plot outline at any point. We all know the thing was written at the seat of various people’s pants, it’s blatantly self-evident that’s the case. There’s also plenty of public record about how the OT was written. Even dumber, more obvious lies, like that Anakin was ‘always the protagonist’ and the entire 6 films were his story from the beginning. This is preposterous and every time someone brings it up (usually with palpable smugness) as fanboys ‘not understanding star wars’ because they don't get that ‘the OT is not Luke's story’... Yeah, I just... I cannot.

Vader wasn’t Anakin Skywalker until ESB, it’s a retcon. It’s a brilliant retcon and it works perfectly, it elevated SW into something timeless and special it otherwise would not have been, but you can tell it wasn’t the original plan and there’s proof it wasn’t the original plan. Let’s not pretend. And Luke is the protagonist. No amount of waffling about such esoteric flights of theory as ‘ring structure’ is going to get away from the rigidly orthodox narrative and the indisputable fact that it is Luke’s hero’s journey. Vader’s redemption isn’t about his character development (he has almost none) and has no basis in any kind of convincing psychological reality for his character, but it doesn’t need to be because it’s part of Luke’s arc, because Vader is entirely a foil in Luke’s story. It’s a coming-of-age myth about confronting and growing beyond the father.

All attempts to de-centre Luke in RotJ just break the OT’s narrative logic. It’s a character-driven story and the character driving is Luke. Trying to read it as Anakin’s victory, the moral culmination of his choices rather than Luke’s and putting all the agency into Anakin’s hands just destroys the trilogy’s coherence and ignores most of its content in favour of appropriating a handful of scenes into an arc existing only in the prequels. The dilemma of RotJ is how Luke will define ethical adulthood after learning and growing through two previous films worth of challenge, education, failure, and triumph; it’s his choice to love his father and throw down his sword which answers the question the entire story has been asking. Vader’s redemption and the restoration of the galaxy are the consequences of that choice which tell us what kind of world we’re in, but the major dramatic conflict was resolved by Luke’s decision not the response to it.

And, just all over, the idea of Lucas as an infallible auteur is inaccurate and annoying to me. Obviously he’s a tremendous creative force and we wouldn’t have sw without him, but he didn’t create it alone or out of whole cloth. The OT was a very collaborative effort and that’s why it’s what it is and the prequels are what they are. Speaking of which.

2. The hubris of the prequels in general and all the damage their many terrible, protected-from-editors choices do to the symbolic fabric of the sw universe. Midicholrians, Yoda fighting with a lightsabre, Obi-wan as Anakin's surrogate father instead of his peer, incoherent and unmotivated character arcs, the laundry list of serious and meaningful continuity errors, the bad storytelling, the bad direction, the bad characterisation, the shallowness of the parallels which undermine the OT’s imagery, the very clumsy and contradictory way the A/P romance was handled, the weird attitude to romance in general, it goeth on. I don’t want to re-litigate the entire PT here and I’m not going to, but they are both bad as films and bad as prequels. The main idea of them, to add Anakin’s pov and create an actual arc for him as well as to flesh out the themes of compassion and redemption, was totally appropriate. The concept works as a narrative unit, there are lots of powerful thematic elements they introduce, they have a lot of cool building blocks, it’s only in execution and detail that they do a bunch of irreparable harm.

But the constant refrain that only ageing fanboys don’t like them and they only don’t like them because of their themes or because they humanise Anakin... can we not. The shoddy film making in the prequels is an objective fact. If you want to overlook the bad parts for the good or prioritise ideas over technique, that’s fine, but don’t sit here and tell me they’re masterworks of cinema there can be no valid reason to criticise. I was the exact right age for them when I saw them, I am fully on board with the fairy tale nature of sw, I am fully on board with humanising Anakin- the prequels just have a lot of very big problems with a) their scripts and b) their direction, especially of dialogue scenes. If Lucas had acknowledged his limitations like he did back in the day instead of believing his own press, he could have again had the help he obviously needed instead of embarrassing himself.

3. Killing and suppressing the original original trilogy. I consider the fact that the actual original films are not currently available in any form, have never been available in an archival format, and have not been presented in acceptable quality since the VHS release a very troubling case study in the problems of corporate-owned art. LF seizing prints of the films whenever they are shown, destroying the in-camera negatives to make the special editions with no plans to restore them, and doing all in the company’s considerable power to suppress the original versions is something I consider an act of cultural vandalism. The OT defined a whole generation of Hollywood. It had a global impact on popular entertainment. ANH is considered so historically significant it was one of the first films added to the US Library of Congress (Lucas refused to provide even them with a print of the theatrical release, so they made their own viewable scan from the 70s copyright submission).

The fact that the films which made that impact cannot be legally accessed by the public is offensive to me. The fact that Lucas has seen fit to dub over or composite out entire performances (deleting certain actors from the films), to dramatically alter the composition of shots chosen by the original directors, to radically change the entire stylistic tone by completely reinventing the films’ colour timing in attempt to make them match the plasticy palate of the prequels, to shoot new scenes for movies he DID NOT DIRECT, add entire sequences or re-edit existing sequences to the point of being unrecognisable etc. etc. is NOT OKAY WITH ME when he insists that his versions be the ONLY ones available.

I’m okay with the Special Editions existing, though I think they’re mostly... not good... but I’m not okay with them replacing the original films. And all people can say is ‘well, they’re his movies’.

Lucas may have clear legal ownership in the capitalistic sense, but in no way does he have clear artistic ownership. Forget the fans, I’m not one of those people who argue the fans are owed something: A film is always a collaborative exercise and almost never can it be said that the end product is the ultimate responsibility and possession of one person. Even the auteur directors aren't the sole creative vision, even a triple threat like Orson Welles still had cinematographers and production designers, etc. Hundreds of artists work on films. Neither a writer nor a director (nor one person who is both) is The Artist behind a film the way a novelist is The Artist behind a novel. And Lucas did NOT write the screenplays for or direct ESB or RotJ. So in what sense does he have a moral right to alter those films from what the people primarily involved in making them deemed the final product? In what sense would he have the right to make a years-later revision the ONLY version even if he WERE the director?

Then you get into the issue of the immeasurable cultural impact those films had in their original form and the imperative to preserve something that is defining to the history of film and the state of the zeitgeist. I don't think there is any ‘fan entitlement’ involved in saying the originals belonged to the world after being part of its consciousness for decades and it is doing violence to the artistic record to try to erase the films which actually occupied that space. It's exactly like trying to replace every copy of It's a Wonderful Life with a colourised version (well, it's worse but still), and that was something Lucas himself railed against. It’s like if Michaelangelo were miraculously resuscitated and he decided to repaint the Sistine Ceiling to add a gunfight and change his style to something contemporary.

I get genuinely very upset at the cold reality that generations of people are watching sw for the first time and it’s the fucking SE-except-worse they’re seeing. And as fewer people keep physical media and the US corporate oligarchy continues to perform censorship and rewrite history on its streaming services unchecked by any kind of public welfare concerns, you’ll see more and more ‘real Mandela effect’ type shit where the cultural record has suddenly ‘always’ been in line with whatever they want it to be just now. And US media continues to infect us all with its insidious ubiquity. I think misrepresenting and censoring the past is an objectively bad thing and we can’t learn from things we pretend never happened, but apparently not many people are worried about handing the keys to our collective experience to Disney and Amazon.

4. The ‘Jedi don’t marry’ thing and how he wanted this to continue with Luke post-RotJ, so it’s obviously not meant to be part of what was wrong with the order in the prequels. I find this... incoherent on a storytelling level. The moral of the anidala story then indeed becomes just plain ‘romantic love is bad and will make you crazy’, rather than the charitable reading of the prequels which I ascribe to, which is that the problem isn’t Anakin’s love for Padmé, it’s that he ceased to love her and began to covet her. And I can’t help but feel this attitude is maybe an expression of GL’s issues with women following his divorce. I don’t remember if there’s evidence to contradict that take, since it’s been some time since I read about this but yeah. ANH absolutely does sow seeds for possible Luke/Leia development and GL was still married while working on that film. Subsequently he was dead set against Luke ever having a relationship and decided Jedi could not marry. Coincidence?

There’s a lot of blinking red ‘issues with women’ warning signs all over Lucas’s work, but the prequels are really... egregious.

[itsa-lie]

Birth Of A Liar Part Three

||Part One||Part Two||Part Three||Part Four||Part Five||

Oh boy, I have some angst in store for you today let me tell you. This poor boy has been through a lot.

Trigger warning for murder, taking care of babies, bl**d, and cl*wns

DICE...everyone liked the sound of that. Hanako gloated that it was like she was in one of those secret spy organizations like in the movies and, well Kokichi couldn’t agree more. He did sneak into a cinema once or twice so he knew a thing or two about evil organizations. Not that he thought he was evil, hell no, couldn’t be farther from the truth. But from Maki and Goro’s comments about stealing being evil it was kind of hard not to have that mindset.

So he went with it. Even practiced making evil faces in the mirror a few times. Practice makes perfect after all.

And would you know it the young boy actually loved having company. Sure Goro was quiet and always apologizing for the dumbest things, Maki scared the shit out of him, and Hanako cried for almost everything, but it was fine. Besides, Hanako taught him a really great trick to guilt-trip adults. All he had to do was cry. That easy. Just cause a scene and everyone would go to your aid. Plus with extra people they were able to get more things like televisions and game consoles. It wasn’t stealing, it was giving to orphans and that wasn’t evil...right?

However it really wasn’t an organization with only four people...in the movies they had more members. So once as Kokichi was sitting in front of the store he usually steals or guilt-trips people to buy from he sees something odd going on in the street. A woman carrying a bundle in her arms while another man chases her from behind. He seemed to have a gun in his hands, the woman was running for her life! A headache filled the boy’s head as a memory crossed his mind. He was smaller. A woman with black hair holding him. A man with purple hair knocking a gun out of the hand of a man pointing it right for him. Cringing at the slight pain Kokichi held his head. He didn’t know why he did this but he got up and chased the man. 

His feet were not as fast as the man however and out of no where there’s a loud bang. Then a baby crying. Kokichi quickly hid behind a brick wall. It was a good thing he did too, since the gunned ban came out of the alleyway with a handful of cash leaving a crying baby at his wake. Should he dare look back there? He definitely wouldn’t like what he was going to see. Still he turned around slowly into the dark alleyway. The woman was face down in a puddle of blood while the baby cries brokenhearted and afraid beside her. Cautiously Kokichi approached the woman and checked for signs of life. There was none. Also for a second he could see the woman being that black haired woman carrying him in his memories which made him gasp and fall back.

“N-No...t-that’s not mama...” He consoled himself. She’s probably okay and will come back for him, after all the body was gone the next day, who’s to say an ambulance didn’t pick her and his father up and bring them to safety? Now they’re just looking for him! But this baby...what if something happens to it? It was much too young to take care of itself like he was. Ooooh but what would Maki and the rest say? He has to decide quickly, the sounds of sirens were coming closer and closer.

-------------------

“YOU BROUGHT HOME A BABY?!” Maki’s loud tone of voice made Kokichi jump and the baby cry even louder. “Yeah! It’s our new pet! Surprise!” Maybe if he pretends it’s a gift they won’t get so mad. He was wrong. Goro smiles politely, even if it was easy to see the baby just made more worry on him. Maki was very angry, angry enough to beat Kokichi to a bloody pulp and she probably would have if he wasn’t cradling a baby in his arms. Hanako was very excited though, jumping up and down to try to see the baby.

“Babies aren’t pets, dipshit.” Maki growled holding her temples. She does her best not to curse in front of little ones but by God was she in a bad mood. Even Goro could see the steam rising out of her. Maybe he should try to heal the situation a little bit.

“Now now, Maki. You did the same thing when Hanako was in danger.” Goro tries to put a hand on his sister’s shoulder before she pulls away. “That was different! You can’t just STEAL a baby! What if the parents find out? What if they find out about us?”

Kokichi was silent, he shows the blanket with a bloodstain on it.

 “They won’t...it’s mom is dead.”

“D-Don’t call them an ‘it’! And what about their dad?!”

“I-I dunno! W-Why are you yelling at me? You’re scaring the baby!”

Maki quickly took the baby from Kokichi’s arms and examined them. Their cries getting louder and louder, the baby thrashed and moved. Finally Maki looks at the others, her eyes closed. “They need a diaper change.”

“W-What?!”

“N-No  way am I doing that again! I already used to change yours, I’m not doing THAT again.”

“Ewww hehehe!”

“You don’t have to. You just need to get me some diapers and diaper cream. You steal from the store all the time, right?” Maki states, bouncing the baby on her shoulder. That oddly seemed to calm it down a little. How was she this gifted with kids? “Fine, but don’t let it barf or poop or whatever on our stuff. Hana, stay with Maki and help her with the baby. Goro, come with me.” True to his leader form Kokichi gives orders imminently and the rest follow. Perhaps what Maki said was right. Being a leader does run in his “jeans”. As ordered Kokichi managed to snag a bag of diapers and diaper cream as Goro distracted the workers as usual. Man Kokichi hopes he doesn’t grow much taller because stealing is way easy because of his height. At long last they arrive at the abandoned building they lived in.

“We got the-”

“Give me that.” Maki practically took the supplies out of his arms. She must be really desperate to stop the infants crying. Even Hanako was covering her ears. Swiftly Maki places the baby on a table and begins working. Curiously Kokichi looked over Maki’s shoulder to see what she was doing and then quickly regrets it, his face turning green and close to dry heaving. That was a horrible idea. Yet Maki seemed...unbothered by it? It was almost mesmerizing at how fast she changed them. Once she was done the crying...stopped?

“Did you fix it?” Kokichi asked, now feeling better from the peace and quiet without the baby yowling.

“Did you fix him. He’s a boy.” Maki corrects him as she cradles the child. “And yes. He’s fine now. Also his name is Kenji...” The baby quickly falls asleep in her arms finally making the place quiet.

“How do you know?” asked Goro tilting his head to the side. Maki simply shows Kenji’s tiny chubby arm to reveal a hospital bracelet on it.

-Kenji Date, DOB: 7/6/20XX, Paitent ID: 11037

So the baby was probably born recently given how close the dates were, maybe about one month old. Still Maki was looking angry with Kokichi, but didn’t do anything. “C’moooon you can’t stay mad at me forever can you? Look at this faaaace. It would be sad without my ultimate assassin friend.”

“Call me that again and you’ll be the next victim...” she warns, her eyes narrowing again. “But aren’t assassins and murderers different things?” Kokichi asks, honestly confused. “They’re the same thing, dumbass...” Well shit he didn’t know. Another awkward silence. 

“I guess everything worked out in the end though. And hey! We can add more members with other orphans! Think of this, a whole network of orphans working together to protect each other!”

Maki shook her head. “That sounds like a cartoon...”

“But you’d watch it, wouldn’t you?”

“Fine, I guess so...but no babies okay? They’re really hard to take care of as it is.”

And with that promise, DICE gained more and more members. In about a few years the whole place would be practically crawling with orphans or kids who wanted to be away from abusive homes. In fact so many orphans had lived there that they even had to move some to upstairs rooms. And with more members came cool new stuff! More toys, books, games, anything they could steal they would. It was like running their own little orphanage. However they did have to have some other leaders in power too making sure the other’s stayed in line. Kokichi picked nine others to “co-star” as he put it in his operation. Of course Maki was one, so was Goro, but because he was immature only the tall kids get to be the co-leaders.

“But you’re shorter than all of them! How are you leader?” Hanako asked one day as everyone was making masks to wear for Halloween to play their usual pranks and to hide their identity. “Because I came up with this idea so, as it’s so plainly obvious to see, I should be leader!” Kokichi grins booping the girl on the nose. “Hmph! Well I thought only tall people could be leader so...”

“Nhyhehehe, oh Hana. Tell you what, if anything ever happens to me, you become leader okay?” He tips his leader hat and flaunts his cape as if he was trying to be dramatic. Though how dramatic can you be with an old baseball cap and a tattered old bed sheet flowing behind you? Hanako looked hopeful as her eyes sparkled. “I can have the hat and cape too?” Kokichi dramatically held the bed sheet in front of himself like a vampire would. “Any perks of being DICE leader you can have. But I won’t be leaving any time soon you know~”

As the children drew their masks, Kokichi starts the meeting.

“Hello my fellow crime syndicates! As you know, today is Halloween. We’ve been waiting for this day all year my friends. And finally it came!” The whole building filled with applause which made him laugh. Maki just shook her head. If he keep it up they’ll be found out but he kept everyone so...so together. “Now I know what you’re thinking...’why would we be making clown masks for?’ Well I’ll tell you! Bring in the boxes!”

Hoards of boxes came rushing in being displayed in front of all the children eliciting “oohs” and “ahhs” This was probably their biggest heist yet! Never have the kids seen so much stuff come in before, not even food. What sort of wonders awaited inside those containers? “Now, open!” The bigger kids opened the box to reveal the most amazing thing! Costumes and prank supplies covered the ground. This was the year! This was the year they have an actual, real Halloween! All the kids went forward to grab some stuff but the co-leaders organized them into a single file line to make sure everyone got a costume and supplies.

“Sorry, all the costumes are clown costumes but, hey that’s why I made you all make the masks!” Kokichi exclaimed. Everyone didn’t mind. This was a fun activity and now they had something they can do that normal kids with parents usually do! However Maki was the only one to speak up. “You got crates of costumes? How do you expect not to get caught?! You know they have security cameras, right?” Kokichi shrugged his shoulders and places his hands behind his head. “So? Look at their faces! Even Kenji and Hanako are smiling! Worrying about that stuff will just ruin the moment so just reeeelax a bit Maki.” It was true. The kids looked more happy than ever. But something inside her seemed like this was going to be a bad idea...

Once everyone was dressed they all hit the streets. Each child knew about their one rule: no killing. Their leader was against murder in any way possible teaching the children how horrible death was and how they should avoid it. All of the kids got a costume, as well as eight of the Co-Leaders, but Maki and Kokichi were left without one. “I don’t mind. As long as the kids have one I will just go as Kokichi Ouma for Halloween.”

Boy was this the most fun these children have ever had, With their clown suits and masks on their faces they made mischief in the city. Toilet paper rolls on houses, chalk graffiti on walls, water buckets on doors, the whole place was crawling with little clown gremlins causing mayhem in their wake. It was enough to make Kokichi proud. “Oh this is enough to bring a tear to my eye~!” The leader claims dramatically. Maki just rolled her eyes and said nothing, however she was happy to see the children having the time of their lives. However she stops as she was walking, looking like a deer in headlights at the televisions in a shop window. Kokichi waves his hand in front of her as to get a reaction. All she could do was point.

A newscaster on the screen started talking, a picture of a clown at his side, underneath the headline states: “Clown thieves hit the streets”. Kokichi could feel the lump forming in his throat.

“Good evening.” The newscaster began as he bangs his stack of papers on the table once to align them. “A group of pranksters? Or a group of kidnappers? A hoard of clown suit wearing children hit the streets today causing panic and anger across the city. We have no idea where they come from or what they want, but they continue to wreak everything in their path. We go live to our reporter, Michiko Nakajima.” The screen changes to a woman in a dress with a microphone in her hands. Kokichi could have sworn that the woman was behind him somewhere.

“Thank you, Natsumi-San. I am standing here on the very street where young Kenji Date was taken from his mother’s arms seven years ago. His mother shot dead in an abandoned alley. They couldn’t find the killer or the child’s body, however one clown who has been taken into custody had Kenji’s hospital bracelet in his pocket!” The screen shows a picture of Kenji, his mask off, looking sad and disappointed. The two leaders could feel their souls about to fly from their body.

“I like where I am! You’re not gonna take me to some stinky orphanage!” Kenji exclaimed on the screen as two men take him away. “Luckily the father was still alive to bring little Kenji back home to his rightful place.” The reporter finishes as it then cuts to a man who has red puffy eyes. It seems he had been crying. This makes Kokichi feel immense guilt rise up in the pit of his stomach. “I’m just happy I can finally see my son...these clown people took seven years of me getting to know him.” The man looks like he could break down at any second. “He won’t even call me ‘dad’, he just says ‘where’s Kokichi and Maki’ or ‘Kokichi will save me’!”

The name “Kenji” meant “an intelligent child” but also meant “ public prosecutor”. It all made sense in a way. Just like his own name, “Kokichi”, meant “little luck”. Right now he was having no luck. Maki was beginning to sweat too. From the corner of her eye she could see the news reporter and camera crew come closer. “This makes it even more curious. Years ago another child had been lost after his parents death. Kokichi Ouma, then three years old, was deemed lost as both his parents were killed by his father’s own gang. Another, Maki Haruwaka, the youngest of many children, killed her father in cold blood before leaving with her older brother Goro Haruwaka. Both these children have yet to be found, but law enforcement is still on the look out.”

Without warning Maki began to run. She knew this was a horrible idea! No one would even know their secret if Kokichi just did an inside Halloween party instead like they usually do. 

“M-Maki wait-”

But it was too late, she already ran too far. He tries to catch her, but was stopped by a big brawny man who held him by the shoulders. Kokichi kicked and thrashed, but the man had no trouble taking him to where he wanted him to go.

“Maki!!!”

The newscaster looks back at the camera, obviously excited by this rise in the story she was reporting.

“We have word that we might have just found the lost children Kokichi Ouma and Maki Haruwaka! Could this be a clue to find more missing children? We will give updates as soon as they’re avalible. Michiko Nakajima, Tokyo news.”

[imaginesmai]

Peter Parker-Peter’s Tingle

Requested by anon! Angst alphabet letter B with fluffly ending! Although is not really angsty! I hope you like it!!

Plot: Peter’s tingle must always be trusted; through the good and bad.

Warnings: pregnant!reader, pregnancy problems (sightly), giving birth. Let’s pretend Peter’s 18 for this fanfic! ALWAYS WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT

Cravings were weird, and yours were definitely the weirdest of them all. You were sure of it when, at eleven thirty of the night, you were walking down the aisle of a store that was fifteen minutes away from your house just because of those snacks that you used to have as a child. Walking into the store and greeting the old man in the front, you looked around until you spotted what you came in there for. They were ordered by colours, the weirdest flavours displayed in front of you. You smiled at the thought of shoving a bunch of them in your mouth, and you almost clapped. While you were picking as much of them as you could in your arms and balancing them in your pregnant belly, you thought about him.

Probably, it would have been a good idea to tell Peter.

Peter, your boyfriend and the father of your child. Peter, the super hero of Queens that fainted when you went to the bathroom on the cinema two weeks ago. Peter, who didn’t know where you were and probably was coming back from patrol in a few minutes. Yeah, it seemed a pretty stupid idea, coming down all the way to the store when your boyfriend is fucking spiderman and could just swing there.

But he had left the toilet seat up once more and you didn’t want to deal with him. Not when you knew you would melt with his cute brown eyes and his innocent self.

Arms full of snacks and weird things, you walked back to the counter; only to stop by the third aisle, where the baby section peaked. You were over the 7th month of the pregnancy, yet you had decided to keep the gender of the baby a secret. It was Peter idea, who wanted to surprise everyone with the little bundle. He liked to have arguments with Tony, saying that it would be a boy, smarter than Tony that would make the most incredible suit the world had ever seen. To what Tony proposed to create a bubble paper room in the tower just for the baby.

It had been an accident. The unsafe sex, the pregnancy, the baby. Yet you knew that Peter and you would love that kid, either if it was a girl or a boy. Shuffling through the clothes, you tried to pick gender neutral ones when your phone rang. The annoying tone of Spiderman, does whatever a spider can started sounding, and thank God it was so late and there wasn’t anyone around.

“Hey babe” you answered, putting on a happy smile even if he couldn’t see you.

“Y/N! Thank God you’re alive. I-I came from patrol, and I didn’t see you. Thought you would be over Tony’s? But he hadn’t seen you either. S-so I got a bit, uh, worried?”

“I’m fine, just needed a quick run to-where are you?”

In the background, you could hear strange sounds. At first, they seemed a machine working, yet the more you focused, the farther the sounds were from being that. You sighed when you realised that it was Peter’s swinging by the buildings, the metallic suit colliding with the air.

“Peter, you better not be talking while swinging.”

There was a pregnant pause, where Peter could only keep silence shamefully; but he didn’t stop. You left the yellow onesie on its place and turned back to pay for all your items; apart from the snacks, two Spiderman’s plushie and a sippy cup themed like captain America.

“I swear, this stress is bad for the baby”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking though” a new voice interrupted the conversation, your eyes widening. “Hey Y/N. How’s it going?”

You let your mouth fall open when Tony’s voice came through your phone, and had to tighten your arms around the products to keep them from falling. Your adoptive father had been against the relationship since you had known Peter, and actually made the show of chasing Peter around New York with his ironman suit. Your mother, Pepper, and you had to stop him before it actually got bad.

When he found out you were pregnant, Peter ended up unconscious in the med bay and, once more, your mother and you had shouted to hell and back. Now, seven months later, Tony Stark and Peter Parker made the best team in keeping Y/N Potts away from danger; danger being opening a can by yourself or doing some shopping.

“I can’t believe your brought him into this, Pete” you said, half angry half i-knew-it-would-happen. “I thought we said no more Tony in your paranoias! His old heart can’t handle it!”

“Hey, I heard that!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry Y/N, but my senses kept bugging me and I’m really worried. And-then I called Tony, to ask him if you were with him, you know I can’t lie to him!” Peter rushed out, actually afraid of what you might do against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay, good. Good” you rubbed your eyes slowly, suddenly dying for a warm bed. Was it you, or it was too cold in that shop? Damn the hormones and the cravings. “I just want to go home, I’m really tired. I don’t care anymore, just be here quickly”

“Minutes away, Y/N. Promise”

You decided to sit in ones of the chairs that was exposed on the shop. It was a weird shop, that sold too many things. But it felt amazing to have somewhere to sit. Peter insisted in keeping on the line while he got there, and something in his voice made you reconsider your quick nap and hum in approval. Then, he began talking about his patrol and about how he almost broke his leg rescuing a lost kitten.

Tony made the occasional appearance, adding some snarky remark or just making sure you were okay. It didn’t worry you that he was so overprotective; they always were. Teen pregnancy was always a risk. From school, to people and social media, to health problems. A lot of things could go wrong in a teen pregnancy.

Minutes passed and, before you knew it, you heard the owner of the shop gasp in surprise. A male voice called your name, and you answered half-heartedly, almost ready to fall asleep there. From where you were sitting, you saw Iron Man impressive suit peeking over the shelves, and calling with one hand to a small figure, who ran to your side in seconds.

“Hey” Peter’s soft voice made you smile, and soon his fluffy locks welcomed you.

Peter kneeled on your right, his suit covered hand resting on your thigh and squeezing it carefully. He had bags under his eyes and a tired smile adorning his face. His locks were all over the place, still not used to the new mask Tony had gave him. You couldn’t resist the urge of running a hand through them.

As if it was a routine, his other hand travelled to your belly, covered by a horrendous pre-mom jacket he had made you wear. Still, both of you felt the baby kicking softly where Peter was touching it, and you smiled happy.

“Young woman, consider yourself the main cause of my grey hair” Iron man’s voice said.

Tony stepped out of the suit, leaving it on guarding mood on the beginning of the aisle; Spiderman’s identity was yet to be revealed. Although he looked slightly annoying from being out of his lab, he had a fond shine on his eyes, that was only directed to a few people in the world.

“I’m sorry I got you out of bed, old man” you heard Peter’s stiffen a laugh. “I just wanted something to eat.”

“Next time you can just call me” Peter said. “You know I can drop anything for you”

He would, and you knew it more than well. When he had discovered you were pregnant, you expected a lot of things. Walking out on you, insulting you, questioning the father of the child, excusing himself of its life. But Peter Parker had only hugged you tight and promised you that he would never move from your side, whatever you wanted or decided. And even proposed to leave highschool and search for some job.

Thankfully, aunt May and Pepper took that idea out of his mind quickly.

“I could use some spiderman swinging right now” you said, using your best puppy eyes. You faked a small pout and watched as Peter’s eyes widened. “I’m really, really tired… I walked here and all. And I want to go to sleep. Like, now.”

“What? Why?” Peter panicked. “Do you feel sick? I can bright you a paper bin. Mr Stark, can you bring a paper bin? Or do you need anything else? Karen, can you call-“

“Kid, she’s fine” Tony rolled his eyes. “I’ve been living with her long enough to know those eyes. She’s just trying to get away with being lazy.

You chuckled and Peter relaxed his shoulders, muttering something to Karen about not bringing the ambulance. With his help, you got up from the chair and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He hugged your back and rubbed his nose against your neck, curls tickling your cheeks. Tony said something about keeping it PG and going to pay for the snacks, but you didn’t move from the embrace.

Peter’s arms had something that made you want to stay between them all day, even if it was weird with a huge stomach in between. The hard plates of his suit felt uncomfortable against your skin, and it was too chilly for you liking; yet you enjoyed yourself for a little bit, not aware of what was waiting for you.

It had probably passed only a few minutes before you heard the man in the counter walking angrily towards you. Your lips were awfully close to his, previously having kissed his neck, cheeks and chin, when Peter pushed aside and the mask covered him quickly, just in time to see the man walking in the aisle with Tony hot on his heels. He was speaking so fast you couldn’t understand him, although it was true that your mind felt a little foggy. The lights bothered you, the noises were too loud and it was cold in that dammed shop. You only wanted to go back to bed.

Peter gripped your hand and managed to push you a little behind him, not liking the way that man was pointing an angry arm at you.

“…pay! You have to pay for everything! Now it’s useless!”

“Hey man, I already paid for everything. And gave you a tip!” Tony raised his arms, and with a sharp look stopped the suit from frying that man. “This is ridiculous, you can’t even properly speak my language.”

“No, you pay more! She sat, and now useless! No one is buying the chair no more, and shop close if doesn’t have money! Pay!”

“Mr Stark?” Peter asked, voice unsure but ready to jump into the argument. By then, you were leaning on his back, cheek pressed against his shoulder blade while his thumb caressed your palm.

The man shouted something in his language. Judging by the small black moustache, dark skin and long clothes, he was probably muslim. He kept pointing to the chair, as if he wanted desperately for you to notice something.

And, in an ironic way, you were the first one to do so. You should had probably noticed earlier; the discomfort, the constant need to pee. Those were alarming signals, but you had just confused them with cravings and maternity hormones. While Tony shouted back and forwards with the man, you got stuck looking at the red stain on the chair you had been sitting on mere seconds ago. Some of it had leaked to the ground, and just then you were aware of the sticky feeling on your legs. Looking down, you saw the grey leggings darkened, and you gasped.

“You al-“

Peter stopped at midsentence when he noticed the blood on your thighs. Once you were up and not sitting, he could see the beginning of a larger stain of red. He didn’t mind when his mask fell off and the muslim man stopped talking in surprise, neither when, in an attempt to catch you, he crashed with the shelves on his back and knocked over some diaper’s boxes.

“Y/N”

Tony had never heard such a desperation in the boy’s voice. He had you gripping on his forearms, face suddenly face and sweat rolling down your neck. His face wasn’t much better; wide eyes, tears already forming in them, and mouth open.

However, Peter didn’t get to say anything before you finally crumbled down on his arms while your world turned black.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Peter swung through the buildings of New York, bag on his shoulders, all he could think was about the crib. The half-done crib you were trying to build in what would be the kid’s room, in the tower. You had decided to stay there, with Peter, and although he would miss May, he had been happy with the idea.

Until the moment came, and he had been too busy fussing over the avengers to build the crib; then, he felt miserable. It couldn’t have been his fault, as the little bundle had decided to come three fucking months earlier.

His heartbeat was wild on his ears, so loud that he couldn’t see or feel the wind that passed through him. If you were there, you would shout at him for going to fast. If you were there, you would make him focus on the task and forget about the damn crib. But you weren’t, you were in an hospital bed giving birth while he went for the bag, that thankfully he had already prepared.

In a daze, he found himself in the hospital. The whole ‘protect the secret identity’ was long forgotten, and he ripped the mask off his head in front of the nurse in charge.

“C-Can I help you?” the lady said, voice trembling. She blinked a few times, surprised to see such a young boy in the spiderman’s suit.

“Yes, yeah. I’m… Y/N Y/L/N. She’s-She’s my girlfriend. Pregnant” Peter stumbled over his words. “She-well, not any more. I guess? She’s giving birth. Early, thought. We had a problem in a shop and-“

“Room 311. That’s the third floor” the woman cut him, kind smile on her face. “Take the elevator, then it’s down the hall and to the right”

He didn’t even think. His mind was only a mix of white noise and blurry images passing through him. Peter ran to the elevator, resting his forehead against the metallic wall of it as it rose, exacerbating the swooping feeling he had been fighting since you fainted on his arms; like someone ripped the floor out from beneath his feet. He had been trying to prepare himself for that moment for months, reading all the available books he found and asking for advice to every person he knew.

But, the moment had arrived and he didn’t even had the crib.

There was a woman waiting outside room 311, sipping from a water bottle and wearing awful expensive clothes. She had her hair tied up in a bun, and Peter barely recognised her as the lawyer Tony had gotten for you. Without sparing her another glance, he sprinted past her and almost kicked the door open.

It was sort of a nightmare, what lied behind that door. Peter thought his mind filtered out the worse of it, yet when he opened it and found you sitting on a bed, the end of it covered by blood, he was ready to faint himself.

Tony was by your side, shouting something over the phone with a frown on his face. And you were crying. Fat, big tears were making their way down your chest, and Peter’s knees became jelly. He managed to step up to your bed.

“Y/N”

You looked up at him briefly, eyes squeezed in pain. You didn’t make any sound of recognition, but grabbed his hand in an iron grip and squeezed it. Peter immediately got the hint, and used his other hand to avoid the sweat getting into your eyes.

Tony got out of the room after nodding to Peter, taking the bag out of his white knuckles and placing it on the chair. Bile rose up to Peter’s throat when a particularly pained scream left your lips. You leaned over for a second, before relaxing slightly.

He took that as his cue to start whispering soothing words to you. They didn’t do much, and you only wanted to push him apart. But his voice was trembling, his hands were shaking and Peter had also tears on his eyes. So you let him keep talking while the next contraction hit you.

“You seem awfully close to passing out” you tried to joke, enjoying the few seconds of rest. Peter let out a nervous chuckle.

“That’s probably because I am” he whispered. “But I’m not! I promise, I’m not moving. Squeeze my hand, do whatever you want. I’ve read that maybe insulting me might-“

“Pete” you interrupted him, breathless. “I’ll be okay. The baby will be okay, doctors get preemies in here all the time, they know how to take care of them”

Peter’s thought went back to the unfinished crib, how he might had been the one not prepared. He would willingly give his life away from you. But taking care of another life? He wasn’t so sure about that. Even with the financial support of your mother and Tony, they were still a lot of things to solve. Like, highschool, life changes, his schedules.

He didn’t get to continue the list of things he could do wrong because it happened.

One second he was whispering just one more push to you, the next the room was filled with the sound of crying. It was like the first time he heard the heartbeat; it came from everywhere. It came from inside him, he could heart it in his bones. Already, Peter knew he could never forget it.

It wasn’t loud, just tiny mewling noises. The nurses rushed forward with clean towels to wipe away the blood. They were swaddling something in their arms, talking in hushed whispered. He can’t hear your voice calling him over the kid’s low cries. A blonde old nurse came forward, looking at you with soft eyes and asked you something.

Peter’s ears seemed to snap open to her words.

“Would you like to hold her?”

Vaguely, he registered the doctor talking to you about delivering the placenta next, but you nodded excitedly. Peter turned everything he had heard, seen or felt in his life down, and only focused on the blonde nurse standing by your side, offering up a bundle of blankets with a baby, his baby. The room became blurry because of his tears, and he had to sit down.

Next to you. So, Peter saw the little head between the blankets. And he cried.

“Remember to support her head-yeah, like that! I feel like you’re gonna be a natural.”

Peter didn’t actually heard what came after, neither did you. His ears aren’t ringing anymore, either. It was just him, the love of his life laying on a bed, and the bundle of happiness the world had decided to gift him with. A wriggling and squirming little baby girl, with her rounded cheeks flushed with red. Her tiny daughter.

The words made him choke on his sobs, and he covered his mouth with his hand. The love that crashed him was like anything else; it eclipsed everything, warmed him like a rising sun and washed away the thought about the crib.

There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do, there was nothing that meant more to him that that moment.

“Hi, baby” you whispered.

Blindly, she reached towards the source of the voice.

Ten years ago, you had met Peter Parker. A boy with asthma, thin and a little nerdy; that had given you a silly necklace with a self-made atom. The same way it had captured your attention, and since that moment you had stuck to his side, your daughter gripped it with chubby fingers, and her cries died down.

Peter felt as if he was staring at the sun. He put one hand on her head, and the baby, his baby, made a soft little whining sound. Her eyes fluttered open and, if Peter could, he would sit down again.

He couldn’t control the urge of turning your head to the side and crashing his lips to yours. You squealed in surprise, and some nurses gasped. You were both sweaty and with tears on your eyes. The kiss tasted salty, it was awkward because the position and couldn’t last long because they had to take the little girl to the NICU. But it felt like the most perfect kiss of all times.

“I love you” he cried, not bothering to hide his sobs anymore. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

You giggle wetly at him, and pulled him closer for another kiss.

Things were going to be hard. Teen pregnancy, highschool, a premature baby and a whole new world waiting for you. But something in Peter’s gut, his Peter’s tingle, told him everything was going to be just fine.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

Tom Tags:

@delicately-important-trash

[anonwriter27]

Trust in Me Ch7

She could hear the waves crashing upon the stones below their house, the fresh smell of sea air touched her nose. Y/N was a little girl sat in her bed. The lights were dimmed, and the room was warm, Y/N looked around at her soft toys: one a grey wolf from her uncle Tony, one a raven from her father’s younger brother, Regin. They sat at the bottom of her bed, guarding her as she slept. Y/N felt the warmth of her mother as they sat together on the little girl’s bed.

 “…and so the young maiden said goodnight to her ghosts, and danced back to her chambers to await another day.” Lia said, concluding the bedtime story.

 “Goodnight sweet girl.” Lia got up and went to switch out the light.

 “But mama…” Y/N spoke.

 Lia sighed but gave a knowing smirk, “Y/N you promised one more story and you’d go to sleep.”

 “But I have questions.” Y/N said timidly.

 Lia perched onto the end of her daughter’s bed, “Don’t you always. I will answer one, and then you must go to sleep.”

 Y/N pulled down her duvet so she could sit up and talk, “Why is the young woman not afraid of the ghosts?”

 Lia smiled, “There is nothing frightening about ghost’s sweet girl, they were people just like you and me. They have histories, families, homes, they should be allowed to visit every once in a while.”

 Y/N smiled, “It’s nice that they visit.”

 All of a sudden, the room went dark and Y/N was no longer a little girl, “I miss you.”

 Lia smiled sadly at her daughter, as she opened her mouth to speak, Y/N woke up.

 Y/N opened her eyes slowly, a single tear escaping when she realised it was only a memory. She didn’t move for a while, she tried to fix her eyes shut again in hopes she could return to her dream, but the tears stung too much to keep them closed for long.

 Y/N didn’t have nightmares, not really. Occasionally she would remember the bloodshed on the steps leading up to her home, or the gaping wound in her father’s side as they laid him to rest on the bed; but they were not the memories that haunted her. No, her dreams always consisted of warm and loving memories, and in a way they hurt more. She would spend mere minutes reliving moments of bliss, then awaken to a world she feared. She was not ungrateful by any means, she loved her uncle and all he had done for her; she just found it hard sometimes, to acknowledge that she will never go back to the life she once lived.

 Y/N looked to her nightstand where her clock read 3:12am. She looked around her room, spotting her grey wolf, and fluffy raven sat on the bookshelf across the room, still watching over her after all these years. She removed herself from the warmth of her blankets, snuck her feet into her fuzzy slippers and made her way quietly out of her room.

 She made one cup of tea and one cup of coffee on her way to the lab on the first floor. She followed the sound of drilling and metal clanging, knowing it would lead her to her chosen destination.

 And there she found him, Uncle Tony. He removed his safety goggles and gloves taking the coffee she handed him.

 “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, she shook her head in response.

 “Me neither. Pepper thinks it’s my excessive caffeine intake.” He said, imitating Pepper’s voice.

 “Not the nightmares?” Y/N inquired shyly.

 Tony looked up at her with a tired smile, “Always the nightmares.” He admitted.

��Y/N nodded, “Need some help?”

 Tony chuckled, “Sure, you can do the paperwork, you know I hate that part.”

 They worked together, making idle conversation as they did so.

 “So…Vision tells me Loki is settling in.” Tony said, he had been itching to bring up the topic of Loki but didn’t want to overwhelm her.

 “He seems to be.” Y/N replied, not lifting her gaze from the charts in her hands.

 Tony nodded, “Good…good…and you’re getting along with him…?”

 Y/N decided to cut to the chase, “Subtlety is not your strong suit uncle, what is it you would like to say?” she said with a grin.

 “Don’t look at me like that, I just want to make sure you’re being careful. He has a track record; we can’t just trust the guy because Thor’s given him a thumbs up. For all we know he could be pretending to be calm and collected, and when we least expect it, he’ll…” Tony was working himself up to a rant.

 Y/N placed her hand over his, “Uncle Tony, please don’t worry. I’m okay.”

 Tony seemed soothed and decided to say no more in the subject. They kept working till dawn; when the sun came up Tony looked over to his niece. She had fallen asleep on a stack of papers, pen held loosely in her hand. He draped his fleece over her and let her sleep.

   The avengers assembled for their monthly meeting in the conference room on the second floor. Sam was teasing Bucky about not understanding the order sizes at Starbucks.

 “Surely just asking for a large will do!” Bucky said, clearly irritated.

 “Man, large can range from a grande to a venti, you’ve got to be specific.” Sam teased.

 Bucky rolled his eyes.

 Nat and Steve listened to Bruce explain a new theory, Steve nodded to mask his confusion on the subject.

 Meanwhile, Clint moved over to Wanda and Vision’s side of the room when he saw Thor and Loki enter.

 Last to arrive were the Stark clan, Pepper by Tony’s side and Y/N and Peter behind them.

 Loki was surprised to see Y/N at the meeting. Since their library trip a couple days prior, he hadn’t seen much of her. He assumed his brother had something to do with it, perhaps she worried Loki regarded her in the same way now.

 “Shall we begin the meeting?” Steve spoke up, gathering the attention of the room.

 “Not so fast capsicle.” Tony interrupted, earning an eye roll from the captain. “I want everyone to drop what they’re doing tonight, we have plans.”

 Half the room sighed while the other groaned.

 “Tony, I don’t want to go to another party, I still have a headache from the last one.” Clint complained, rubbing his forehead.

 “And if memory serves me right, last time you fell onto the piano in all your Iron Man glory, causing it to fall through the floor.” Nat pointed out, “You sure you’re ready for that again?”

 “It’s not a party, so kindly pause your whining. It’s a movie night.” Tony explained, “Pizza and Netflix, who’s in?”

 Everyone agreed, due to a mixture of wanting a cosy night in and relief they wouldn’t have to smell tequila around the tower for the next week.

 Loki sat quietly, observing the band of heroes; they were in the midst of discussing which movie to watch, Peter voting for Harry Potter, Sam rooting for Die Hard.

 Loki scanned all their faces, noting the happy and tranquil moment they were sharing; that is, until his eyes landed on Y/N. She didn’t look upset or distressed, she just seemed very focused. Loki could practically feel her overthinking from across the table.

 He then noticed Pepper smile down at the young woman and hold her hand under the table. The action seemed to bring Y/N out of the thought she was currently having; she took a deep breath and began to listen to the debate going on.

 Despite Loki noticing her discomfort, no one else in the room had picked up on it. The second Pepper had noticed, Y/N shook herself out of her reverie. This was another piece in the puzzle, she didn’t want others to worry for her. ‘Is that why she didn’t leave the tower?’ Loki wondered.

 The team finally agreed on a movie and went their separate ways. Loki would have to let her know he did not agree with his brother.

    Y/N sat in her room reading Wuthering Heights for seemingly the hundredth time, but her mind kept drifting to Loki. She was sure Thor must have told him by now, what would he think of her?

 Y/N recalled the day Thor had worked out who her family was. His carefree posture and charming smile altered quickly, his lips forming a thin line and his posture stiffening. He was never outwardly rude to her, nor did he ignore her when she entered the room; but he certainly didn’t welcome her or encourage the idea of friendship between them. It was something that had irked Tony.

 She hated the idea that Loki may look at her the same way. She liked being around Loki, she felt calm with him and that was rare for her.

 The alarm on her phone distracted her from her thoughts. 7pm it flashed, movie time.

 Y/N got up and threw on a hoodie, slipping on a pair of fuzzy socks and made her way out of her room.

 She walked to the elevator which took her to the top floor of the tower where the cinema room was. The avenger’s cinema was huge and rivalled any Imax in the city; it took up the entire floor and had a popcorn station on standby, safe to say it was Peter’s favourite room.

 The elevator doors pinged, and Y/N walked down the long corridor leading to the big screen. She stood to the side of the hallway, safely hidden in a little nook just off the right side of the doorway. She could see almost everyone handing out pizza boxes and laughing at something Wanda had said.

 It was time for Y/N to do her little ritual.

 Although she was reasonably comfortable with each avenger by now, big gatherings still intimidated her. She believed it had something to do with not knowing what each person was doing at any given time. Tony said she got that from her father.

 So, before big gatherings like this, she would count and with each number she would name an avenger she could talk to if uncomfortable. There wasn’t an exact science to it, but it seemed to help.

 “One, Tony.” She whispered, “Two, Pepper. Three, Peter. Four, Vision. Five, Bucky. Six…”

 “Ranking your favourites?” She heard from behind her.

 She jumped with a strangled yelp and turned.

 “Loki, you startled me.” She said, catching her breath.

 Loki smiled, “My apologies. Why are you hiding…and counting?” he asked.

 Y/N blushed furiously, “It just helps…organising things…helps….” She muttered.

 Loki nodded in understanding, “With the crowds?”

 She nodded.

 “Perhaps I should give it a try.” Loki said, earning a shy smile from Y/N.

 They stood there a little while in silence, “You’re not going in?” Y/N asked, though her eyes still didn’t meet his.

 “I haven’t seen much of you these past few days.” Loki said, ignoring her question. “Have you been avoiding me?”

 “No!” Y/N said a little too quickly, causing Loki to smile at her honesty. “I just thought you might be busy with your brother; I didn’t think you’d want me to bother you…”

 “Because you’re a Tatum.” Loki said matter of factly.

 Y/N paused, she looked up at him, scanning his face for any obvious signs of anger or annoyance. Surprisingly she found no judgement in his features.

 She bowed her head, “I’m sorry.”

 Loki grew sympathetic and grew angrier at his brother. “You needn’t apologise for being born.” He spoke with a chuckle.

 Y/N was surprised by his reaction, “I thought you would have shared Thor’s opinion…”

 Loki shook his head, “If we all based our opinions on what other’s think, we wouldn’t get very far, would we my dear?”

 Y/N didn’t really know what to think of his relaxed manner and lack of judgement, but she was certainly grateful for it.

 She gave Loki that winning smile, the one he always felt honoured for having earnt.

 “Now for the matter at hand. Shall we join the others for ‘movie night’?” Loki asked, causing Y/N to giggle at the way he said movie night.

 She nodded, “Okay, would you like to sit with me and Peter? His reactions to the movie are usually more entertaining than the actual movie.”

 Loki chuckled, “How could I say no to that.”

 They walked in together and made their way over to Peter who had already saved them two seats beside him.

 To everyone’s surprise Thor walked over to the little group with a large bag of popcorn at hand and sat in the seat to Loki’s left.

 Thor turned to his brother and Y/N and cleared his throat, gathering their attention. “Would you like some popcorn Y/N?” He asked, a little meekly, or as meekly as a God can.

 Y/N was shocked at first but didn’t want to waste the opportunity to make good with the God of thunder.

 She nodded, “Thank you.” She said sweetly, taking a few pieces of popcorn in her hand.

 The lights slowly dimmed till the room was dark and the movie began to play on the big screen. It would appear Peter had won the debate as the famous Warner Brothers logo appeared before them.

 Thor didn’t have to look at his brother to know he was grinning. “Stop it.” He whispered to Loki.

 Loki chuckled quietly, “Well done…brother.” Loki whispered back.

 Thor smiled.

[gwoongi]

𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 ☽ jeongguk

𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 jeon jeongguk / reader genre: boyfriend/band-geek au, fluff words: 3455

I never knew you could hold moonlight in your hands.

a/n: i luv this song and this is soft. also i rlly cant stop writing guk fics so i guess im a guk fic writer now

warnings: fluff, clichés i love, it’s like glee if u squint and think about it hard enough, fresh new awkward relationships, raise ur hand if you’ve watched whip it (san marcos high school, i know nothing about you besides the fact i wrote this story listening to caricakes on youtube talking about how she went to this school)

Falling in love was a scary thing.

With people, that means. There was something about love when attached to another person that was unbelievably unnerving, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that your parents were divorced and at least one person in your family had been cheated on, thank you very much! The pressure of ultimate commitment and trust was something you just couldn’t wrap your head around; what if you gave all of that love to somebody who’d throw it all away overnight?

When people told you that you only thought that way because you were young, barely fourteen and watching your friends get into those week-long romantic relationships over fruit loops and milk cartons at break time, you insisted that no, you knew best. You knew what love was like. Love was the way your parents had fought most of your childhood, screamed, cussed, broke some things. Love was finding out the person you gave everything to suddenly didn’t want it anymore.

Eventually, you grew up and realised that life was better and happier now that your mother had moved across the country with somebody else, and your Dad was finding love in his new job and learning how to play the guitar. Life was no longer a slash horror film, but instead the colourful opening of a Disney movie, the birds singing- and hey, maybe love wasn’t so bad. Love wasn’t just what you experienced with a partner, you discovered as you transferred to high school and found that something in your chest hurt when you joined band and made some of the best friendships you had ever had. Love was open and opportunable, unpredictable and beyond kisses and hugs and hearts floating around your temples.

Love was the way you heard piano keys, or the sound of Taehyung and Seunghee laughing as you entered the band-rooms during every free period you could possibly find. Love was the guitar strings between Seunghee’s fingers, and the evenings around the campfire behind your house with the aforementioned duo and your father and his older stringed instrument, corny songs shared over the tamed embers. Aged seventeen, now, and still in love with music and the people in your life in the San Marcos High School Band Club, you didn’t think you’d be able to share that love with anything- or anybody- else. Until you met Jeongguk.

A key member of the school’s baseball team and a surprisingly excellent singer, Jeongguk was the type of person you saw in movies, the type of student everybody loved but didn’t touch. That had intimidated and confused you, when he strode into band club on a Tuesday evening after-school and spoke with the lead teacher Mrs Honey, who announced that Jeongguk and a small handful of other, daresay “jocks”, would be joining the club for extra credit. You had stood there, appalled, in your shirt decorated in tiny crescent moons, afraid of the love you had for this club being destroyed by a bunch of sport-happy popular kids.

That was an incorrect judgement that you came to regret; Jimin was an angel dressed as a devil, with a love for the sound of flutes and clarinets and apparently, a new close friend of both Seunghee and Taehyung, respective woodwind players. And then there was the situation of Jeon Jeongguk, who caught your eye across the room a few days later, standing behind the group of new friends with an air of awkward discomfort- he had smiled softly, his eyes drooping with a gentle gaze and he had asked for your name and your instrument.

The first time your heart fluttered for something other than music, it was when Jeongguk called out to you as he left to go home and smiled around the words, “Catch you later, moony.”

Two months later, and Seunghee, Taehyung and Jimin had banded together to form an interesting trio, inseparable save the baseball field where Jimin spent Monday, Thursday and Saturday evenings. It genuinely hadn’t bothered you the way you had expected it to, not when Jeongguk was there to fill the space vacant once they had left. It was still intimidating to know him, be his friend, be the weirdo he hung around with sometimes both inside band club and out. 

At first, you hadn’t expected it to last- he was only here for extra credit, and it wasn’t like he actually cared about the club or you, and the way he stared at you with a soft fondness when you talked about your Dad and what you did the night prior was definitely part of your imagination, right? To your absolute surprise and honestly, relief, you had returned to band after a short break from school, expecting to find that those same jocks had now left but instead they were still there, waiting for the rest, part of the club with pride. And, there was Jeongguk again, with that smile that made your stomach do funny things.

Over here, Moony, he had said, patting the seat beside him. Once seated, he had shifted to stare at you and grinned softly, pulling a little strand of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. It’s okay, he said, you’re allowed to be surprised to see me. You’re too cute when you’re trying to pretend like you don’t care. I like your hair, by the way.

So, yeah. It was no surprise that one month after that date, Jeongguk had pushed himself up against your locker at the end of the day and smiled at you, saying something you had both dreaded and dreamed of: “Do you wanna go out sometime?”

Love was still scary, even two months into your relationship with Jeongguk. He was unlike anything and anybody you had ever met before; when you arrived at school everyday, he was always with his usual group of popular friends, girls with expensive hairdos and painted nails and guys with nice cars and bodies. But as soon as he spotted you hopping out of your Dad’s car, his eyes would light up and he’d pull himself away from his friends, bounding to you within seconds of you standing on your own two feet next to your Dad’s pulled up car.

He’d smile and press little kisses to your hair and the side of your face, holding you from behind, looking up to say good morning to your Dad, who, as he pulled away heading for work, couldn’t be happier at the revelation that you were happy, and that love now didn’t mean what it had before. It was more than arguments and anger. Love was Jeongguk and music and your friends with more Jeongguk on the side.

Sure, people would question why he’d pick you over everyone else, because truth be told, there was nothing special about you, or at least not to them. But to Jeongguk, you were the girl who talked about music like a lover, and treated the world kindly and fairly. To him, you were everything, and more.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen Whip It before.”

Presently, Jeongguk sits on your bed pushed against the wall with an adoring smile on his face, a laugh leaving his mouth as you hastily pop open the DVD case and thrust it into the player.

“I haven’t seen a lot of movies,” Jeongguk replies, leaning back to find comfort underneath your blankets.

It was a Friday evening, the sky outside bleeding out into vibrant pinks and deep purples, like bruises, nighttime approaching. Today would be the first time Jeongguk has ever been allowed to stay around your house overnight; your Dad liked Jeongguk, and thought he was what you needed and deserved, but he’s still a Dad, and he was hesitant. Eventually, after growing bored of the begging and hints, he just said yes to keep you quiet, sternly telling you that any ‘funny business’ would be heard through the walls and so, please, don’t do that. You didn’t think you were quite there yet with Jeongguk, and he had never shown an interest in it. Sure, Jeongguk would get touchy, risking a hand on your thigh or playfully holding your butt in a Sixteen Candles-esque fashion, and when you came to see him at games, his friends would definitely allude to it with sexual whimpers that were supposed to be you.

“Well, that will change!” you announce with glee, jumping back next to him. 

He doesn’t even wince when you accidentally kneel on his hand, instead he just moves his arm to wrap around you as you get comfortable next to him. Under the covers, he feels your toes brush against his legs and in his face, the marshmallow smell of your shampoo. Jeongguk smiles to himself and presses his face into your hair and kisses your forehead afterwards, a cheek squished against the top of your head. In one hand, he holds the remote and in the other, strands of your hair you let him twirl around his fingers as he watches.

“You will love this movie.”

He smiles wider: “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. It’s cool,” you nod against his side. “You know, actually, the feeling- you know the feeling you get watching a movie, when it’s so good and it makes you feel all funny and sentimental? It actually...it actually kinda reminds me of you.”

“What, really?” Jeongguk asks, sounding flattered and surprised. You shift up to look at him and he grins widely, quickly leaning to kiss you. “You’re so cute, baby. I’m sure I will love this movie.”

As the movie opening rolled onto the screen, Jeongguk sat still to allow you time and space to wriggle into his body, getting comfortable around limbs and the soft wool of his jumper that you had worn a couple of times. 

This concept isn’t entirely foreign; he’s watched at least thirty movies with you since your first “date”, which had consisted of a cinema date due to his uncharacteristic nerves to talk to you. A tradition born from A Star is Born, which, actually, Jeongguk thought would be a happy movie, thanks, not the monstrosity that made you both cry in the cinema lobby, through laughter and a sweet hug on the sofas waiting for your Dad to pick you both up.

Jeongguk knows this movie- he hasn’t seen it, but he knows it; he knows Ellen Page is part of a roller-derby club and he also knows that you know it word-for-word, a content smile spreading over your lips as it begins to kick in. That’s one thing he loves about watching movies with you. Not the movie, but the way you’re enchanted by them- a smile for ones you love, a scowl for ones you end up hating, tears pooling in your eyes at ones that are funny or so bad that they become funny. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s looking at you and not the movie, because when he looks at you, time stops. In your hair, his finger gets lost in the strands and eventually unloops itself, his hand stroking instead before falling to your shoulder, his fingers ghosting down your arms and body up and down, absently as he pretends to watch the movie when you glance at him from the corner of your eye.

Like clockwork, he does this, living life in gasps as he looks at you and then back at the screen. As he sighs softly, Jeongguk pauses as you sit yourself up and look back at him, a frown on your face. He sobers, looking at you with concern: “What’s up, baby?”

“Are you watching the movie?” you ask quietly. “If it’s boring, just tell me.”

“It’s not boring,” he promises shaking his head. “I’m watching it.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re watching it.”

He smiles, “Well, right now, neither are you. I am watching, I swear. Look- Ellen Page is in a roller derby club.”

Actually amused, you laugh. “You were absolutely not watching.”

“I was.”

“She hasn’t joined the club yet,” you point out. When he stays silent, you look at him with a half-triumphant and half-amused smile. “You’re such a bad liar.”

“Okay, it’s not boring,” Jeongguk says honestly. “I just-ugh, you’re so cute. I love all of your reactions- I can’t stop looking at you.”

With some reluctance you sink back down next to him, looking at him through your eyelashes: “really?”

“Baby, yes,” he laughs. Jeongguk pulls you closer with the arm you lay back down on, his other free and brushing bits of your hair off your face before holding the side of it gently, a thumb on your cheekbone. “You’re so pretty. Makes me sick.”

“I really wanted you to watch this movie…”

“M’sorry,” he mutters through pouted lips. Somehow, somewhere, Jeongguk has moved forward with his nose brushing against yours. He sighs through his nose and it tickles, “just like looking at you.”

Jimmy Fallon announces the Holy Rollers as Jeongguk guides your lips towards his, the grand entree of the rival team missed and unnoticed and surprisingly, you don’t care. He has his hands in your hair and his head in your hands, and as he deepens the kiss you wrap your arms around his body, trying to get closer when there was no way to get closer. For a moment, the sound of the TV falls silent and all Jeongguk can focus on is you, the only thing that ever matters to him.

Jeongguk pulls away briefly, catching his breath and helping pull you up to a sitting position, level to himself. The movie continues to play, the pictures like a silent movie as Jeongguk returns to kissing you, not even feeling guilty about interrupting a movie date with the impromptu make-out session. Quite frankly, it’s not as if you seem to care; you cling to him, desperate, his body flush against your own.

What Jeongguk doesn’t say with words is more than conveyed through his movements. He is the perfect mixture between gentle and pleading, his touches like the tickle of feathers. If you were to open your eyes, you’d find his closed, eyelashes on his cheekbones. Jeongguk shifts himself, rising so that he is taller in comparison as he tilts your head upwards, lips still on his own. It’s hard to breathe in the feeling of Jeongguk’s lips moving roughly across your own, his hands cradling your face around your jaw, thumbs smoothing crescent moons into your skin.

Jeongguk’s lips move away. His hands run from your face to your shoulders, making you shudder like a draught entered the room when he drags them down to your wrists, detaching to hold your waist. Your heart speeds up suddenly-is this going to take a turn?

As his hands slightly lock around you, you pry open one eye, looking at him. His eyes are still closed, lost in orbit, and his lips are puckered and large, shiny, wet. Something alien festers inside of your stomach, churning painfully, like tiny kisses on the inside, ticklish. You trust Jeongguk, with everything, and so you inhale through your nose and close your eyes once again, clutching at his face with your hands as he presses his lips tighter, begging for more.

Jeongguk’s left hand slips, brushing against your thigh and you wince with happy surprise, having not expected it. Jeongguk laughs slightly, amused and with adoration, his lips now on the curve of your neck. Finally, like release, you limpen and let your body fall back onto the bed, your head missing the headboard by a few centimeters and now, Jeongguk is above you. Right before your first sign of arousal can be ripped from your throat by Jeongguk’s lips ghosting over what you think could be a sensitive spot, Jeongguk shifts away. He leans over you still, but he’s not moving, breathing heavily. 

Confused, torn on whether or not to be concerned, you open your eyes and look at him, seeing with surprise that his gaze is on you, anyway. He smiles when you open your eyes, cocking his head to the side boyishly and with one hand holding up his weight, he uses the other to brush some hair out of your face. Jeongguk kisses your forehead. Then he moves away.

For a moment, you’re not sure what to do.

You lie there, like a slice of ham. Jeongguk is normal, pushing himself back onto his ass to sit comfortably on the bed, both of his hands settled on your legs and he sighs, as if content. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, Jeongguk looks over with the shift of the bed and a frown settles on his brows, seeing the expression on your face.

“What’s up, babe?” he asks suddenly.

“I - Nothing,” you insist, not knowing what to say. It feels awkward. You tug at your sleeves. “It’s just.” Nothing.

Jeongguk moves forward slightly. “What happened? Did...did I do something?”

You bite the inside of your lip. “No. I mean, I don’t know - ugh, it’s just…” Jeongguk keeps his eyes on you, round and like bunny rabbits’. You sigh, it’s time to get the baggage out of the closet. “I don’t know, I just thought maybe we were doing something and then we weren’t doing anything and I just feel like...I don’t know. Maybe you don’t want me like that?”

Jeongguk’s brows crease. “Like…? Like, what, you don’t think I want to do anything with you? Like sex?”

By now, you’re embarrassed, like you’re five and the “s” word is still something you’re not allowed to say.

“It’s stupid,” you reply. “Forget it.”

“No, no, no,” Jeongguk protests, shaking his head and engulfing your hands with his own. “Baby...no. Look-” he sighs nervously, smiling. In fact, the exhale sounds shaky, breathless. “I want to. I do! Just, not now.”

Your heart thuds with the pause of silence.

“Trust me, I wanna do everything I can with you, but why rush it?” he shrugs. “You’re everything to me, everything and more. It’ll happen when it happens. Yeah?”

You nod with some reluctance. It makes sense, inside you’re actually buzzing with happiness. “Yeah.”

“Also, your Dad’s home. If we can hear him down there, he can hear us,” adds Jeongguk, followed by an overly dramatic shudder for effect. It works- you smile, a laugh rippling out afterwards and Jeongguk smiles too. “Ah,” he exhales, rubbing your arms now that you’re sitting up in his lap, “silly baby.”

“Shut up,” you mumble. “I was just...insecure, I guess.”

“I get that,” he nods. “Don’t need to be, though. I lo...like you anyway.” He strokes the side of your face, smiling, and then presses a fleeting kiss to your nose. A laugh rumbles in his throat when you scrunch your nose up. “Even when you get insecure, and even when you yell at me in band and when you refuse to sit by me at lunch. I still like you so, so, so much.”

“I don’t yell that much,” you protest weakly.

“I know.” Jeongguk pulls you in for a hug, a kiss planted on top of your head. “You’re the best there is. Love that about you.”

He doesn’t say he loves you. It’s there, unspoken, never said. It’s there, though. There for next time.

(“No funny business?”

Jeongguk holds you tightly to his chest, his legs up and entangled with your limbs as your Dad stands by the door. Half of his body is in and the other is out, a hand on the doorframe. The lights are off except for the string of lights around the room on their dullest setting, the television off with the red light on standby, and to your Dad, everything looks fine.

“No, sir,” Jeongguk replies quietly.

Your Dad takes a second to look between Jeongguk and yourself. If he doesn’t believe Jeongguk he doesn’t make it obvious, something Jeongguk is grateful for considering how unbelievably nervous he is underneath the blankets. You’re asleep on his lap, your face against his chest, and of course, your Dad isn’t about to yell loudly to wake you up. Instead, he accepts the given truth and sighs, smiling.

“Okay, then. You’re a good kid, Jeongguk,” he says, after thinking long and hard about what to say when he climbed the stairs to go to bed. “You’re good for her.”

Jeongguk’s heart leaps, thuddering. “Thank-you. She’s everything.”

“Yeah,” your Dad agrees. “Yeah, she is.”

Nothing is said for a little while and your Dad stills when Jeongguk peers down at you. Something familiar about this scene. Your Dad looks away.

“Goodnight, sport,” your Dad says quietly, pulling the door to as he leaves. He doesn’t hear Jeongguk reply, but he knows he does. That’s just the kind of kid Jeongguk is. He knows.)

[homemade-potato]

shit i forgot to say like a week ago

Here’s chapter two, have fun reading or smthn

Chapter one for those of you who are too lazy to go back (bcs same)

and here it is below the cut (i know, i’m putting effort in today)

This chapter was surprisingly short compared to the last one lmao, it's only seven pages compared to the last one's nine and it's 1500 words shorter which is good for me, but it was still a surprise.

Anyway, enjoy!

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had barely changed. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the uniform brass number four on the Dursley’s front door; it crept into their living room which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr Dursley had seen the fateful news report about owls. Only the photographs had changed, ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink boy wearing different-coloured bobble hats. But Dudley Dursely was no longer a baby, now the photographs showed a large blonde boy riding his first bicycle, on a roundabout at the travelling fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign of there being another boy living in the house.

Yes, Harry Potter was still there, he hadn’t been abandoned on the front step of an orphanage no matter how much his aunt wanted to do so, he was asleep at the moment, but not for long. His aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice which made the first sound of the day.

‘Up! Get up! Now!’

Harry woke with a start, his aunt rapped on the door again.

‘Up!’ She screeched. Harry heard her making her way to the kitchen and then the sound of a frying pan being pulled from its wrack and put on the cooker. He rolled back on his and tried to remember the dream he had been having, it had been a good one. There had been a flying motorbike in it. He had a funny feeling he’d had the same dream before.

His aunt was back outside his door. ‘Are you up yet?’ she demanded.

‘Nearly,’ said Harry.

‘Well hurry up, I want you to look at the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn. I want everything perfect on Duddy’s birthday.’

Harry groaned.

‘What did you say?’ His aunt snapped through the door.

‘Nothing, nothing...’

Dudley’s birthday - how could he have forgotten? Harry eased himself off of his small mattress and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his mattress and, after pulling a spider off one of them, he put them on. Harry was used to spiders because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.

When he was dressed he went down the hall to the kitchen. The table was almost hidden with presents of varying sizes. It looked as if Dudley had got the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Why Dudley wanted a racing bike was anyone’s guess, as Dudley hated exercise - unless of course, it involved beating up somebody. Dudley’s favourite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn’t catch him more often than not. He didn’t look like it, but Harry was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard for the better part of his life but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age and he looked even more small and skinny than he was because he was forced to wear Dudley’s old clothes and Dudley was about four times larger than he was, in both width and height. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore wire-framed round glasses held together with a lot of sellotape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry really liked about his appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead shaped like a lightning bolt, he thought it looked very badass and had had it for as long as he could remember. The first question he could remember asking was asking his Aunt Petunia how he got it.

‘In a car crash when your parents died,’ she had replied before saying, ‘and don’t ask questions.’

Don’t ask questions - that was the first rule to a peaceful life with the Dursleys, if he didn’t obey that rule…. Well, we’ll get into that later.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon. ‘Comb your hair!’ He barked as a way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon peered over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, yet there was never any difference, his hair simply grew all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother, Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon - he had a large pink face, not much neck, small watery eyes, and thick blonde hair on his head which he inherited from his Aunt Petunia. She often said Dudley looked like a baby angel, Harry thought he looked like a pig in a wig.

Harry put the plates of bacon and eggs on the table, which was quite difficult as presents took up most of the space. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting them. His face fell.

‘Thirty-six,’ he said looking up at his parents, ‘that’s two less than last year.’

‘Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Maggie’s present, see, it’s under this big present from Mummy and Daddy.’

‘Alright, thirty-seven then,’ said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who felt a huge Dudley-tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley  flipped the table.

Aunt Petunia obviously smelled danger too, as she said quickly, ‘And we’ll buy you two more presents while we’re out today. How does that sound, Popkin? Two more presents, is that all right?’

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work, Harry thought. Finally, he said slowly, ‘So, I’ll have thirty… thirty…’

‘Thirty-nine, sweetums,’ said Aunt Petunia.

‘Oh,’ Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel, ‘okay then.’

Uncle Vernon chuckled. ‘Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!‘ He ruffled Dudley’s hair.

At that moment, the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went up to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley a racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new video games, and a video recorder. He was ripping the wrapping paper off of a golden wristwatch when Aunt Petunia walked back into the room looking like she’d just eaten a lemon.

‘Bad news, Vernon,’ she said, Mrs Figg’s broken her leg, she can’t take him.’ She jerked her head in Harry’s direction.

Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure and theme parks, hamburger bars, or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away, Harry hated going there, the whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Fiigg forced him to look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned. The only part of going to her house he enjoyed, was when she offered him stale cake and tea about halfway through his visit. The lavender scent of the fondant flowers on top of the cake was always so calming. The bittersweet of the flower’s taste never failed to relax him and then, somehow, he didn’t mind learning about her cats with heavy eyes under the heavy scent of lavender and the heavy, sleep-inducing taste of the tea.

‘Now what?’ said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he should be sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself that it would be a whole year before he had to look at Mr Tibbles, Snowy, Snowball, Mr Paws, Tufty, Smokey, Misty, and Coco again.

‘We could phone Marge,’ Uncle Vernon suggested.

‘Don’t be silly, Vernon, she’d kill the boy.’

The Durselys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there - or rather, as though he was something very nasty and beneath them, like a slug.

‘What about whats-her-name, your friend, Yvonne?’

‘On holiday in Majorca,’ snapped Aunt Petunia.

‘You could just leave me here,’ Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch the television and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer).

Aunt Petunia looked like she’d swallowed another lemon. ‘And come back and find this house in ruins?’ She snarled.

‘I won’t blow up the house,’ said Harry, but they weren’t listening.

‘I suppose we could take him to the zoo,’ said Aunt Petunia slowly, ‘and leave him in the car.’

‘The car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone.’

Dudley began to cry loudly, in fact, he wasn’t crying. It had been years since he’d properly cried, but he knew if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

‘Dinky Duddyums, don’t cry, mummy won’t let him spoil your birthday!’ She cried, flinging her arms around him in a comforting hug.

‘I… Don’t… Want…. Him… T-To come!’ Dudley wailed between huge pretend sobs, ‘He always s-spoils everything!’ He sent Harry a nasty smile through a gap in his mother’s arms.

Just then the doorbell rang - ‘Oh Good Lord, they’re here already!’ said Aunt Petunia frantically and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polikss, walked in with his mother, Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat - he was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry immediately.

Half an hour later, Harry couldn’t believe his luck, he was sitting in the back of the Dursely’s car with Piers and Dudley on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life! His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had pulled Harry aside. ‘I’m warning you,’ he’d threatened, putting his large purple face up close to Harry’s, ‘I’m warning you now, boy, any funny business and you’ll be in that cupboard from now ‘til Christmas.’

‘I’m not going to do anything,’ said Harry, ‘honestly.’

But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him, No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn’t make it happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of craft scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald bar his fringe which she’d left to ‘cover his horrible scar’. Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry who’d spent a sleepless night tossing and turning imagining the kids at school pointing and laughing at him, he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and Sellotaped glasses. The next morning, however, he awoke to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had shorn it off. He’d been given a week in his cupboard with one small meal a day for that, even though he tried to explain, he couldn’t explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had tried to force him into a revolting old jumper of Dudley’s (burgundy with bright orange bobbles), but the more she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it became until it would have better fitted a sock puppet, but definitely wouldn’t have fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn’t punished.

On the other hand, he’d got into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchen. Dudley’s gang had been chasing him as usual when, much to Harry’s surprise, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry’s headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he’d tried to do (as he shouted to Uncle Vernon through the slats in his locked cupboard door) was jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him mid-jump.

But today, nothing could go wrong. It was even worth being with Dud ley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn’t school, his cupboard, or Mrs Figgs cabbage smelling home.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia, he liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were a few of his favourites. This morning, the subject was motorbikes.

‘Bloody bikers roaring along like maniacs, the young hooligans,’ he said as a motorbike overtook them.

‘I had a dream about a motorbike,’ said Harry to himself, remembering suddenly, ‘it was flying.’

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed the car, he turned in his seat and yelled ‘MOTORBIKES DON’T FLY!’

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

‘I know they don’t,’ said Harry, ‘it was only a dream.’

But he wished he hadn’t said anything, if there was one thing the Dursleys hated more than him asking questions, it was him talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn’t, no matter if it were a dream or a cartoon. They seemed to think he would get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams and then because the smiling lady in the van asked what Harry wanted before they could hurry on, they bought him a cheap lemon ice lolly. It wasn’t bad either, Harry thought, licking it while they watched a gorilla scratching its head. The gorilla looked remarkably like Dudley, except it wasn’t blonde.

Harry had the best morning he’d had in a long time, though he was careful to walk a safe distance away from Dudley and Piers, who were getting bored of the animals by lunchtime, so they wouldn’t fall back into their habit of using him as a punching bag. They ate in the zoo restaurant and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory wasn’t big enough, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finish off the first.

Harry felt afterwards that he should have known it was too good to last.

After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of snakes and lizards were crawling and slivering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see the huge poisonous cobras and thick man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon’s car and crushed it into a dust bin - but at the moment, it didn’t look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the brown coils.

‘Make it move,’ he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass but the snake didn’t budge. ‘Do it again,’ Dudley ordered and Uncle Vernon rapped on the glass smartly with his knuckles once more, but the snake snoozed on. ‘This is boring,’ Dudley moaned and he shuffled away.

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had died of boredom. It had no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It must be worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom where the only visitor he got was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake him up, but at least he got to visit the rest of the house, he thought.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on level with Harry’s.

It winked.

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone else was watching, they weren’t, he looked towards the tank once more and winked back.

The snake jerked its head towards Dudley and Uncle Vernon then raised its eyes towards the ceiling as if to say 'I get that all the time.'

‘ I know, ’ Harry murmured through the glass, although he wasn’t too sure that the snake could hear him. ‘It must be so annoying.’

The snake nodded vigorously.

‘Where do you come from anyway?’ Harry asked.

The snake jerked its tail at the little sign next to the glass. Harry stared at it.

Boa Constrictor

Brazil

‘Was it nice there?’

The boa constrictor once again jerked it's tail at the sign again and Harry read on

This specimen was bred in captivity

‘Oh, so you’ve never been to Brazil?’

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump. ‘DUDLEY, MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING’

Dudley came waddling towards them from the lizard section as fast as he could. ‘Out of the way, you,’ he said, punching Harry in the gut. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What happened next happened so fast no one saw what happened - one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning with their noses on the glass, the next, they leapt back with screams of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped, the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. The great snake began uncoiling itself rapidly before slithering out onto the floor. Harry could have sworn he heard a low hissing voice that said ‘ Brazil here I come… obrigada amiga.’

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. ‘But the glass,’ he kept saying, ‘where did the glass go?’

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a strong cup of tea while he apologised over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry could tell, the snake hadn’t done anything but snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon’s car, Dudey was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg. But worst of all for Harry at least, Piers was calming down enough to say ‘Harry was talking to it, weren’t you, Harry?’ With a smirk on his obnoxious face.

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could barely speak. All he could manage to say was ‘Go - cupboard - stay - no meals,’ before he collapsed in a chair and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Harry lay in his dark cupboard days later, his stomach rumbling and wishing he had a watch. He didn’t know what time it was and he couldn’t risk sneaking to the kitchen to get some food before the Dursleys were asleep.

He’d lived with the Durselys for almost eleven years, eleven long miserable years. He’d been with them for as long as he could remember, ever since his parents had died in a car crash. He couldn’t remember being in a car when his parents had died, but sometimes, when he strained his memory during the long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he assumed, was the crash, though he couldn’t imagine where all the green light came from, a traffic light maybe. He couldn’t remember his parents at all, his aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and, of course, they forbade him from asking questions.

There were no photographs of them in the house.

When he was younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation, an aunt or uncle or cousin from his father’s side to whisk him away, but it had never happened; the Durselys were the only family. Yet sometimes he hoped that the strangers on the street that seemed to know him would do just that, take him away. Although they were very strange strangers, so he thought not. For example, and a tiny old man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping, Aunt Petunia, after asking Harry and Dudley if they knew him, had rushed them out of the Tescos without buying anything, the small half-loaf of bread that Harry had stuffed under his huge shirt for just in case aside. A wild-looking woman dressed in all green had once waved merrily at him on the bus. A bald man in a very long purple cloak had shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. the weirdest thing about these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry attempted to get a closer look.

At school, however, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley’s gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley’s gang, they had a reign of terror in the playground that all were too scared of them to try and overthrow them. However their reign would be coming to an end soon as they go to secondary school.

[alj4890]

Prompt Request/Rachel Green Quotes Prompt

(Thomas Hunt x OC*Amanda) with the prompt: "If you like looking at butts so much, why don't you go look in a mirror?" As requested by @krsnlove

(Thomas x Amanda) taken from my storyline of And Then I Met You.

A/N Here you go bff 🤣 I think I found a way to incorporate the prompt.

@lxaah11​​  @alleksa16​​  @penguininapinktuxedo​​  @blackcoffee85​  @stopforamoment​    @hopefulmoonobject​    @krsnlove​    @annekebbphotography​     @cora-nova  @hopelessromantic1352​  . @sunflowergirl05​  @desireepow-1986​ @greywitchyshots​  @lilyofchoices​  @emceesynonymroll​  @dr-nancy-house​  @aworldoffandoms​  @ab1901​    @lolablackwrites​    @flyawayboo​  @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​  . @trappedinfandoms​  @kate-mckenzie​

Masterlist

Posterior Problems

"Welcome back everyone." Jimmy said, smiling into the camera. "Our first guest tonight is a member of Hollywood's royalty. Seriously, the guy's got a title and everything." He pauses for the laughter. "Please welcome, Thomas Hunt!"

Thomas steps out from behind the curtain and raises his hand toward the audience while making his way to his chair. "Thank you." He says.

"Good to have you back.” Jimmy's smile grows. ”You've had quite a year." 

"I have." Thomas agreed. 

"First off: your film, The Devil's Siren, is coming out on blu ray this Friday. I saw it three times in theaters and, wow. My head is still reeling from all the twists and turns."

"My wife and I enjoy Alfred Hitchcock's films." Thomas explained. "This film was, in a way, an homage to his works."

Jimmy grinned. "Speaking of your wife, congratulations on becoming a father again."

Thomas truly smiled. "Thank you. Elizabeth and Ian are nearly six months old. Life is never dull around the house."

"Your daughter, Kathleen, is she enjoying being a big sister?" Jimmy asked.

"She is." Thomas said proudly. "She's always ready to help Amanda and I with them." His smile turned tender. "The twins smile and laugh everytime they hear her voice."

"I bet." Jimmy glanced down at his notes. "You and your duchess also have a pretty big milestone coming up in a few weeks, right?"

"Yes." Thomas answered. "Amanda and I will be celebrating our ten year wedding anniversary."

"Wow." Jimmy muttered. "That's practically twenty-seven years in Hollywood time."

Thomas chuckled. "Yes, well, I was fortunate to find the perfect woman. She makes it seem like no time at all has passed."

"And there goes the audience." Jimmy teases when all the aww's and clapping occurred. "I know you and your duchess have  the type of romantic relationship that draws envy from everyone else, but there had to be a moment this past decade where you were like the rest of us. You had to have had a fight over something stupid." Jimmy grinned. "Just yesterday, my wife and I argued over the brand name on the bag of coffee we had in the pantry. I'm still in the doghouse over it."

"Well," Thomas averted his eyes and softly smiled. "We have had a few arguments. No two people living together can avoid those occurring, especially in the beginning of a marriage." A particular fight was brought to mind. "I suppose there was one that escalated quickly into the realm of the ridiculous."

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

Eight and a half years earlier...

"I'll be there." Thomas repeated. "Hopefully we can get through it quickly. Between the two of us, we should find the right replacement."

He walked into the kitchen while ending the call.

Amanda looked up from removing cookies from the oven. "What's going on?"

Thomas reached over and took one of the cookies on the cooling rack. "That was Ryan. He's panicking over his first directorial endeavor." He took a bite and sat down on one of the bar stools. "I'm going to meet him at the studio and help him with casting."

"I thought he already had the actors lined up for the film." Amanda said, while preparing another tray of peanut butter cookies.

"He does." Thomas reached for another one. "One of the actor's doubles had to leave for family reasons."

Amanda's lips trembled with laughter. "Ryan’s nervous over recasting a stunt double?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "No. He's nervous about replacing the posterior double for Haley Brown."

Amanda paused. "You're going to go help him pick out a woman's bottom?"

Thomas nodded, oblivious to the anger flaring to life in the woman standing two feet away. "It will probably take a few hours, but I'm certain we will find the right one."

"You're going to spend hours looking at women's naked butts?" She choked out.

He looked up, recognizing the tonal difference in her voice. "I'm not going to ogle them. I am helping find a replacement for Haley's love scene. Her contract states that she only uses body doubles and--"

"And naturally Ryan can't do it alone." Amanda's eyes narrowed. "So he called in an expert? Is that it?"

His own narrowed back. "I am not an expert on women's anatomy, but I am in the field of directing."

She rolled her eyes. "Ah yes. How could I ever forget that I have married the greatest in the land?"

That stung. Thomas stood up. "I'm not discussing this anymore if you are going to revert to childish insults."

"Oh no!" Amanda mocked. "Surely you won't deny me the pleasure to hear more of your nude viewing plans?" She placed the back of her hand over her forehead. "Whatever shall I do without such stimulating conversation?"

"You're being ridiculous." He muttered, trying to keep a tight reign on his temper.

"I suppose being a former underwear model does give one an insider’s look into the world of posteriors." Amanda continued, ignoring his grumbling commentary.

Thomas folded his arms and glared at her. "Are you finished so that we can discuss this like adults?"

"Are you really going to go and assist in this search for the perfect rear?" Amanda countered.

"Yes." He snapped. "I am."

"So you don't care that I prefer my husband to not look at any other woman's naked body?" Amanda asked, feeling very vulnerable at the moment.

"I'm not going with the intention of becoming aroused. I'm going to help cast a woman to stand in at the appropriate moments in a film that I'm not even directing!" He yelled.

Amanda slammed the oven door closed. "Fine!" She stormed out of the kitchen and began to go upstairs.

"Where are you going?!" He followed after her.

"Upstairs!" She looked down over the banister at him. "I don't feel like being around you at the moment."

"We are settling this!" He picked up his pace and made it just into the bedroom before she had a chance to lock him out.

"We are? How lovely." Amanda sat down on the bed. "I do so love the times you lecture me into giving in to your way of thinking."

Thomas opened his mouth and then shut it, realizing he was about to launch into a speech. "You know that some movies have these type of scenes and I have had to cast both men and women for nudity."

"I've seen your movies and am well aware of what you have done." Amanda mumbled. "But that was all before we were married."

"Chances are that I will have other films in the future that require showing a person at their most vulnerable." He softened his tone. "Nothing conveys that better to a viewer than--"

"I'm feeling exceptionally vulnerable right now without the need of someone unclothed." Amanda snapped.

Thomas ran his hands over his face. "I can't fight against your absurd jealousy. You know I love and desire only you. I'm going tomorrow strictly to be an assistant to Ryan's artistic--"

"Will you stop making yourself out as some sort of martyr on the altar of cinema?!" Amanda flopped back on the pillows. "I'm sick of hearing it."

"Then I won't disturb you anymore tonight." Thomas was barely keeping a lid on the rage that had built up at her accusations and dismissal of his logical explanations. He gathered his pajamas and and went to one of the guest rooms.

"If you like looking at butts so much, why don't you go look in a mirror?" Amanda yelled out before he slammed the door. "Because you are being such an ass right now!"

Thomas tossed and turned that night, unable to rid himself of his anger. He couldn't believe that the woman he had bragged on to everyone about being so supportive of his craft had become this--this--unreasonable wife.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and softly groaned. It was only two in the morning.

He went downstairs, completely frustrated with the effect Amanda had on him. Her happiness brought out his own and now her unhappiness made him completely miserable. Was this what marriage truly did to someone?

He paused when he walked into the kitchen. Amanda was sitting at the counter with a plate of cookies.

Their eyes met before both looked away in embarrassment.

Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to approach her. He cut his eyes to her while opening the fridge and watched as she dipped a cookie in her glass of milk.

Her hand was shaking.

He took the milk out, poured himself a glass, and approached her.

"Mind if I join you?"

She continued to look down at her plate. "I don't mind."

He sat down on the stool beside hers and took one of the cookies.

Awkward silence filled the room.

Amanda bit her bottom lip and then spoke up. "I'm sorry I made so little about you being a director. I am very proud with how accomplished you are."

His tense shoulders eased. "Thank you." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry if this part of my job upsets you." He turned toward her. "I usually have my assistant director handle these type of situations. Ryan's been using Holly for that, but she's out of town visiting her family and he can't postpone filming."

Thomas gently brushed her hair back behind her shoulder so he could see her profile better. "That's why I've been asked and am planning to go."

Amanda sighed. "I can't pretend I'm happy about this...but I won't continue to fight with you over it."

Thomas leaned closer to her. "You have nothing to be worried about."

She finally looked up at him. "I hope I don't." She got up and threw her half eaten cookie away.

The next morning Thomas closely observed Amanda. She wasn't acting like her normal self. She was a naturally quiet person, but today she was subdued. Not quite depressed, yet she was much more somber than normal. Her smiles were brief and didn't quite reach her eyes as she listened to him.

This was driving him crazier than her anger.

"What are your plans today?" He asked.

She shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it."

"Perhaps tonight, we could go out to dinner, if you would like." He tried to coax her into smiling.

"Perhaps." She mumbled, picking at her eggs. She stood up from the table and tossed her barely touched breakfast in the trash.

Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Why don't we plan a trip somewhere, just the two of us for a week or so? We can go wherever you want."

"I guess we could." She said while rinsing her plate. She forced a smile and left the kitchen.

He followed her. "Would you rather stay in tonight? I could pick us up some takeout and we--"

"Whatever you want." She said going upstairs. "I honestly don't have a preference."

He gripped the banister and watched her disappear into the bedroom.

A few moments later, she stepped out in her bathing suit. She hesistated halfway down the stairs. Thomas was sitting on the bottom step, holding his head in his hands.

"Thomas, what's the--" she nearly fell backwards at his sudden movement.

He grabbed her and yanked her into a heated kiss. She was at first passive but then her arms wrapped around him. His mouth slanted over hers, deepening the kiss, hoping to hear the usual soft moan from her.

It didn't come.

He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes. There was no hardness nor was there any tender softening that usually occurred when he kissed her.

The mantle clock chimed the hour, drawing her attention away from him. "You better go if you're to meet Ryan." She tried to smile. "I'll see you later."

He cupped her face and gently kissed her lips. She leaned in closer to his sweet touch, closing her eyes.

He pressed his forehead against hers and promised he wouldn't be gone long.

She nodded and walked with him to the door. "Good lu--." She grimaced. "I honestly don't know what to say with this particular search."

His lips firmed in a thin line. Her attempt to being kind about this was eating at him. He grumbled a thank you and got into his car.

At the studio he sat across from Ryan in a conference room. The table was filled with photographs of various women.

His irritation was growing at his inability to look at them. Each time he tried, his mind brought up the image of Amanda's vulnerable eyes.

"What do you think?" Ryan asked.

"What?" Thomas asked abruptly. "Oh, er, whichever you think."

"I think we'll have these three come in to audition." Ryan held up the pictures. "Then--"

"It sounds like you have this well in hand." Thomas stood up, accidentally knocking his chair over. "I need to go take care of something."

"I thought you were going to help me make the final decision." Ryan's brow furrowed as Thomas fumbled with his chair.

Thomas grit his teeth. "To be a true director, you must be willing to make all the tough decisions on your own." He walked towards the door. "I have no doubt that you are capable of making this one without any comments I make."

"Thanks for coming." Ryan yelled out. He was even more perplexed than before with Thomas's hasty exit.

On the way home, Thomas tried continuously to call Amanda. Each time it rang with no answer, made the guilt and worry gnaw at his stomach. By the time he pulled into the garage, he felt ill.

He called out for her as soon as he entered the house. He glanced out the window and saw her floating in the pool.

Thomas felt slightly better at now knowing she wasn't purposely avoiding his phone calls. He hurried upstairs to change before joining her.

Amanda looked up and nearly rolled off her float when his shadow fell over her. "You're back? Already?"

"I am." He pulled his shirt off and dove into the pool.

He resurfaced beside her. He pulled her off her float and held her close. "I told Ryan to be the director and make the decision himself."

"Thomas." Amanda lowered her head. "I didn't mean for you to--"

"I know." He murmered, kissing her. "I couldn't stand the thought of you being unhappy with something that I didn't have to do."

"It was wrong of me to do that to you." She wound her arms around his neck.

"I think I can make certain concessions for the one I love especially since she has made so many for me." He pulled her closer. "Your happiness takes precedence over everything else."

"I can't believe how I acted." Amanda's arms dropped. "You're being so kind after all I said and the names I called you," she lowered her head. "I don't know why you put up with me."

"Stop talking bad about my wife." He ordered.

She laughed and shook her head, causing him to feel that inner warmth only she brought him return. Her smile was tender as she hugged him. "Thank you."

Thomas felt all his earlier frustration disappear in seeing her happy once more. She pulled his head down and kissed him, making him forget everything with her touch.

[darkblueboxs]

thoughts on Nathan (neils father) getting a true crime doc and it’s a mix of Ash lynx from bananafish childhood+marcus from deadly class backstory with a splash kill bill the asian women Gogo childhood and some killua huh childhood. Idk i just want to know what made this man SOOOO fucked. Monsters aren’t born they are created. Like did mary just fall in love with this man and left her fam for him, there has to be a REASON.

Bro I may speak three languages but I still understood less than 40% of this ask.

Crime doc on the butcher is a fascinating concept (Red Rabbits did it so good so hopefully I won’t step on their toes too much here) This is more of a fic than a thought but here you go anyways.

Send “Thoughts on ___” asks!

 *

Over the years, Neil has had plenty of requests for interviews concerning his father. Back at Palmetto, Wymack knew better than to bother him with them, neatly moving such letters from the inbox to the trash. After graduation, the various publicists and media specialists that handled Neil’s case as he was passed from team to team were usually good enough at their jobs to know that not all press was good press. Nobody wanted attention drawn to the fact that their newest recruit was once a mafia runaway.

So when a request does end up in Neil’s docket for a chat with “Nathaniel Wesninski,” his first impulse is to light it on fire and throw it in a trash can. Then he sees why his publicist wanted him to read it; words like film rights and investigative documentary, words that swim before his eyes until Neil feels queasy from the motion.

He hands the document to Andrew wordlessly. Andrew flicks through it and deposits it in the bin on his behalf.

“The Moriyamas will crush it before it gets off the ground,” says Neil, and the sound the words make in his mouth is enough to ground him in the moment. Andrew’s hand on the back of his neck takes him the rest of the way.

Except either the Moriyamas don’t care about their old henchman being exposed or they have the men behind the cameras under their thumb already; negotiations move into development, to investigation, to promotion, and suddenly Neil is standing at a bus stop staring down a 60x40 poster bearing his father’s face.

Neil cuts his morning run short that day in favour of gagging into a toilet bowl.

The light outside has changed by the time he comes back to himself. The comforter is wrapped around him like bubble wrap and one of the cats is trying to bury itself into Neil’s chest while the other bats at the blankets around his feet.

Andrew is sitting by the windowsill with a cigarette between his fingers. The sight has become rarer since he was signed to Court, and he stubs it out when he sees that Neil is awake.

“So,” Andrew says. “How do we kill this?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Looks like it.”

Neil holds his arm out, and Andrew takes the invitation. He brings the smell of cigarettes into the bed with him.

A week later, in an otherwise unremarkable interview, a sports reporter asks Neil if he has seen the trailer for the upcoming documentary about his father. Neil balks internally but answers the question with a flat, “no.”

“How do you feel about the revelations concerning your childhood? What more might we expect to see when the film hits cinemas?”

“I haven’t seen the trailer. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Neil’s hand is thumbing across the bullet wound at his collar before he knows what it’s doing. The old scar stings beneath his clothes. “Any questions about Exy? Or have you given up on pretending to be a sports reporter altogether?”

“Do you plan to watch the documentary when it-?”

Neil leaves.

He asks Andrew to watch the trailer for him. Andrew watches on his laptop, earphones in, face impassive. He clicks away from the tab when he’s done before asking, “What do you want to know?”

“What does it say about me?”

“There’s a voiceover clip from an old schoolteacher. She mentions the scars.”

Neil lets out a hiss of air. The world already knows the broad shape of his story, but there are so many details that he doesn’t want to be relived on a cinema screen. “Great.”

The next day, Andrew finds Neil staring at the contact details for the production company. He closes the laptop before Neil can object. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say I was going to do anything.”

“They’re vultures. They won’t be reasoned with.”

“I know. I just don’t understand why they’re making this. Why anyone would want to see…” Neil gestures vaguely at himself, at the damage written into his skin. “What he was. What he did. I read the film blurb on their site-”

“Idiot.”

“-and it’s all about, like, digging into the man behind the mask. Who Nathan “really” was, whatever that means. Like they’re expecting to stumble onto some rationale, some reasoning behind everything he did.”

“Will they find one?” Andrew says, although with a tone that suggests that he already knows the answer.

“Money,” Neil says, then pauses. “Well, no. It wasn’t really about money. It was just… cruelty. Empty, thoughtless cruelty.”

Understanding flickers in Andrew’s eyes. He is one of few people truly equipped to recognise the kind of cruelty Neil is speaking of. “I have no interest in understanding the rationale of monsters.”

Neil hums in agreement. He opens the laptop again, and the contact information flashes back up. “You know, they really shouldn’t have these details up online. Anyone could find them.”

Andrew quirks an eyebrow. “Anyone?”

“I haven’t called Stuart in a while,” Neil says thoughtfully. “I wonder what he’s up to these days.”

He’s up to a lot of things, it turns out, but he always has a little time to spare for his favourite nephew.

A quiet word with the right people, and the film is pulled from production. Backup copies go missing, investigators are discredited or shunted onto other projects, and funding vanishes from bank accounts. Talk dies down and eventually snuffs out altogether, and finally Neil’s daemons can lie where he buried them undisturbed.

The only debt he owes Stuart in return is an Easter holiday spent in London with the more agreeable members of his mother’s family. It takes some time to persuade Andrew to agree to an eight-hour flight, but in the end, they agree that the benefits far outweigh the costs. Andrew won’t step foot on the London Eye, so they walk along the riverfront instead, enjoying the time left to them after Neil has fulfilled his promise.

They pass the tattered remnants of a poster that may once have pictured his father; it’s impossible to tell, torn apart by the wind and pasted over with new releases. Neil neither notices or cares; far too distracted by the kiss Andrew is pressing to his lips.

A thousand miles and a thousand years from the men and the life that hurt him, Neil Josten kisses him back. *

Hope you enjoyed whatever this turned out to be. Thanks for stopping by!

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 89

Chapter Summary -  Danielle stays in Ireland to deal with the house situation as Tom heads back for the Kong Skull Island premiere.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​​ @nonsensicalobsessions​​ @damalseer​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​ @winterisakiller​​ @fairlightswiftly​​ @salempoe​​​ @wolfsmom1​​​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Danielle sat waiting in the solicitor's office, a cup of tea on the table next to her, a small but significant piece of paper under her hand. She thought of how she had dropped Tom to the airport that morning, telling him she would be home in less than a week hopefully, that she would see him before he went on the international part of the Kong Tour.

Again she looked at the small piece of paper in her hand, it had taken Tom another two minutes to convince her it was the right thing to do, and a small call to NatWest to confirm that yes, given her credit history and the fact she had her house as collateral, she very much was guaranteed the loan. So with a small transfer and a trip to her Credit Union, she and Tom were able to hold the piece of paper that meant that she would get to pay for her aunt's part of the house. Tom smiled as she looked at it, clearly ecstatic as to what it meant for her. When he had asked her what was her plans, she simply shrugged and stated the other half, when she could.

She was brought back to the present by the sound of people walking down the hallway towards her. She knew by the irked voice of one that it was her aunt, she inhaled deeply and waited for the door to open. When Bernadette entered the room, she looked angrily at Danielle. "What do you want? I suppose you are going to try and stop me from forcing the sale?"

"Just sit down, Bernie," Danielle growled.

"You have no respect," The woman commented, but she did what was required. "Where is the solicitor gone?"

"To get the last of the paperwork."

"What paperwork and what would you know, you dropped out of college, Mattie was too soft on you, you went on to do nothing."

"I would disagree, I have a great paying job, I have a nice home and a good hard-working boyfriend, things are very much going well for me Bernie, not that I am overly bothered by your opinion, though I do use it to gauge things. What you find to be terrible and anger, I know my father would have approved of, so thank you for setting my concerns to rest." Danielle smiled sweetly just as the solicitor re-entered the room.

"Right, so it is a fair swap really, nothing of great note, you Danielle Hughes, are offering the whole twenty-five thousand euro share of the house at Droichead Beag, Connemara, Galway to Bernadette Whelan, your aunt and on her accepting, she is signing over her share of the building and her legal rights to it. That is the general gist of this." The solicitor explained.

Bernadette frowned then looked at Danielle, who looked at her for her reaction before pushing the draft forward. "How?"

"I told you already, I have more than enough money." Danielle grinned. "Oh and I still want my mother's things back. I mean it, Bernie, I am going home tomorrow, I want them back before I head to the airport. I have spoken with Michael and Lourda, I have a guy coming to change the locks today and you will not be given a key, you are no longer responsible for anything in the house and you will not have to concern yourself with its maintenance or bills."

"Fine." Bernadette went for the bank draft, which Danielle pulled back.

"I will give this to Mr Roberts, you will sign that legal document, he will give us a copy each and you will get your money then."

"Are you trying to imply I would try to rob it?" Bernadette snapped, her face showing how appalled she was by the idea.

"No, but that is the legal process." Danielle scoffed, "So sign the damn paper so I can get on with my day. I need to go shopping for a dress."

"What would you want a dress for, you never wore dresses when your father was alive?" "I have something to go to as soon as I return to London, so chop-chop, I'm a busy woman."

* Danielle smiled as she drove to the airport. She had slept well enough as Tom's smell was still on the side of the bed that he had been on and knowing that they would return there soon, her holding the largest part of the home she always wanted making her excited and happy. She had gotten a dress the day before after the solicitors and with her hair and make-up booked, she looked forward to going home, to being home with Tom again, arranging for them to go public and finally be able to do things together. The idea of them and Mac going for a walk in Hampstead Heath was enticing in ways she could not vocalise, she knew at first there would be people annoying them, but she knew too that they would be old news again in the near future.

She handed back the car and went to the check-in desk, she knew Tom would be busy all day, he had to prep and get ready for the premier. He had texted earlier in the day to ask her how she was getting on, she gave him a story about getting the legal work signed and said little else before the car to ready him for the day arrived, so with 'I love you's' and goodbyes, they said they would talk later.

As it stood, she arrived in London on time and was able to get a taxi back to the house, it felt almost odd to be back and for Tom not to be there, but with too little time to worry about things, she rushed around, getting her bag and everything brought back upstairs and into the room, she looked around, Tom had it as it always was, but she realised that the bed was unkempt in the centre and not to the side, causing her to laugh slight, Tom clearly taking advantage of the greater space. She took out the dress and went into the wardrobe to get the shoes she knew would work with it. Just then, her phone rang. "Hey, Nacelle."

"So, I spoke to Henry, he said that he can fit you in, he is brilliant, I trained with him, I would not allow some half-wit at you."

"You're the best Nacelle."

"You know it darling, listen, how does lunch at ours sound next week?"

"Brilliant, day and time and I'll be there."

"Woohoo, we will wait until lover boy is on the road so you'll have something to do other than pine for him."

"I will not pine, I will mope quietly in a corner and pretend not to eat my own weight in Ben and Jerry's." Nacelle laughed. "I'll be fine, it's only two to three weeks."

"How was Ireland?"

"Wet, wetter than usual."

"So submerged then?"

"Effectively, here faired no better I can see."

"Apparently not if you listen to Becky. Anyway, I will talk to you later, Henry is lovely, he'll look after you."

"Thanks again Nacelle."

"Anytime girl, I'll look after you." Nacelle sang before hanging up the phone.

With her dress and shoes in hand, Danielle rushed outside and into the waiting taxi, texting the address as she went.

* Tom smiled brightly as the rain fell, there had been one question about Taylor, but he dismissed it, focusing on the movie instead, he smiled, posed and spoke with his fellow cast members for what seemed like an hour on the carpet. He loved that the tour was starting at home, he would be able to get another few days at home. More importantly, if Danielle could get everything sorted in Ireland, she could come home, he could spend a few more days with her before he left again, that caused him to smile more.

He joked and smiled as he, Brie Larson and Samuel Jackson stood together, being photographed and Jackson complained jokingly of the British weather. He began to walk into the cinema finally and sighed. Overall the evening was a success thus far. He took out his phone and looked at it, a few texts had come in, all of well wishes, but none from Danielle, which caused him to frown. She knew what time he was due to be in the cinema, she was usually one of the first to text, so it felt a slight bit disheartening. He looked at the celebrities that had come to the premiere also, the cameras flashing as they posed, he found himself hoping they enjoyed it. He also watched the others that had secured tickets, Emma said she was coming, so at least his little sister would be in the crowd, one of the first to give her opinion on it. He had not seen her enter, but the simple text 'we're here' had made its way to his phone, making him smile.

The movie was well edited, the CGI made all the imaginary running for his life look good, and from those who were present, it seemed to be well received, not Oscar-worthy, but good nonetheless. Again, he checked his phone a few times through the movie, but there was no word from Danielle. He was tempted to text, but as the first to clench his jaw when others did such things, he resisted, he would ring her when he was done. He watched as one woman rose from her seat in a manner that suggested she was trying to make as little of a nuisance of herself as possible and rushed up the aisle of the theatre. She was well dressed, her choice elegant, but Tom had to admit alluring also, he had not seen her outside posing for photos yet he felt as though he knew her, but he shook his head, she was of similar build to Danielle and he had not seen her face properly because she had not looked toward him in the darkened room.

There was a round of applause when the film ended and slowly the lights began to rise again. The room was a flurry of activity once more. Tom felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and when he saw Danielle's name, he grinned widely.

Danielle - I hope you had a great night and that the screening went well, I know it will do great with people. Why do I get the feeling you have made a new clatter of 'Hiddlestoners' with this one xx

Tom smiled as his brow furrowed, unsure what Danielle was referring to, but to see a text from her caused him to feel elated. With people congratulating him he shook hands and began to talk to people regarding the film.

The after-party was being held in a small club not far from the cinema, the list was shorter than the premiere one and in truth, as much as Tom enjoyed getting people's positive reactions, he wanted to go home.

He forced the smile onto his face as he stood with the same small flute of champagne in his hand after half an hour, counting down the minutes until he could leave.  "Well done." the first genuine smile came onto his face as he heard his sister's voice behind him. She embraced him tightly in a hug. "I actually really enjoyed that."

Tom chuckled, "you sound somewhat shocked by that statement."

"Well, remakes can go either way," Emma stated defensively.

"Where is Jack?" Tom looked around before looking to Emma again.

"At work, I told you this the other day."

"But you said 'we're here'."

"Yes," Emma grinned. "But I never mentioned Jack."

"Then…" Tom turned slightly and stared open-mouthed as he realised who was beside them. Feeling incredibly sheepish for noting the woman that had gone to the restroom during the movie was similar to his girlfriend, not realising it was actually her. Danielle's hair was tied back from her face, which had her make-up done to have a natural look and she donned a dress he knew for a fact she had not had in the closet before going to Ireland. "How…the house…?"

"Done and dusted yesterday, I flew home at lunchtime. Hello, by the way." Danielle smiled.

Tom immediately leant in and forced himself to only kiss her cheek. "Hello, I…I didn't think…"

"When Luke rang about that confirmation for the show, he asked if I planned on coming as a normal patron, I told him to see if I could keep a ticket aside, and when Bernadette all but snapped the bank draft from my hand, I knew I could make it."

"So it's done, you have the house?"

"I have half the house, but don't worry, I will get the other half soon." Danielle winked. She watched as Tom fought to prevent himself from declaring to the room about them, his eyes darting over her elegant dress which shaped her breasts perfectly. "Behave," she warned.

"This will be the longest two hours of my life." He groaned.

"What was it you called it before," Danielle teased as she leant in to whisper in Tom's ear so Emma would not hear. "Delayed Gratification." She grinned.

Danielle's dress

[onthesandsofdreams]

Fictober 20 - SanSan

Prompt number: 20. “You could talk about it, you know?”Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire (Modern Setting/University)Pairing: Sansa Stark/Sandor CleganeRating: TWarnings/Tags: Mentions of Character Death and Past Abuse. 

(Sunshine) For a Cloudy Day. Read @ AO3

“You could talk about it, you know?”

The voice came from up high and Sandor looked to see who talked to him. It was Sansa Stark and he felt his breath catch in his throat, Sansa looked beautiful. Red hair loose and a flowery dress, she was the very picture of loveliness.

“About what?” Sandor grumbled, trying to pretend that everything was fine.

“About whatever has you in such a mood, duh.” Sansa said as she drew closer to the tree that Sandor was sitting under. Then sat down next to him on the grass. “And don’t tell me something isn’t bothering you, because you’ve been scowling at a Bradbury book, and no one scowls at a Bradbury book.”

“I might.”

Sansa let an unladylike snort, “Sandor, you’re reading ‘The Halloween Tree’, no one scowls at that book. And if you really do, I think I might need to rethink this relationship.”

Sandor sat upright and his eyes widened, “No! It’s not the book! My roommate is being a nightmare!”

Sansa gave Sandor a satisfied smirk. “That’s what I thought. Now, tell me about it, what did Jaime do now?”

“The bloody bastard forgot to pay our internet service,” Sandor groaned. “And he drank my milk, and didn’t do the dishes.”

Sansa hugged Sandor’s left arm and rested her head on his shoulder, chuckling slightly. “Don’t be too hard on him, he’s not used at not being responsible. He’s a Lannister, he’s used to people doing things for him.”

“You’re a Stark but you’re not like him,” Sandor grumbled. “You’re responsible.”

Sansa laughed out loud, “Oh Sandor, I used to be a bit of a brat, ask Arya, she’ll give you the details. But I’ve grown and matured and my parents always said that I should learn to do things by myself. And something tells me judging by how Cersei is, that Tywin didn’t share my parent’s idea.”

Sandor grunted. “He’s driving me insane. I don’t know how Brienne deals with him.”

“She loves him, faults and all.”

“Woman’s a fucking saint.” Sandor snorted. “Also, if it makes you feel better, not all my problems are Jaime’s fault.”

“Oh?” Sansa straighten up and looked at her boyfriend. “What else is bothering you Sandor?”

Sandor was silent for a while, grabbing the bookmark, he placed it in his book and set it down. “Some leniency group want to get Gregor out of jail and give him a second chance.”

Sansa gasped horrified. “Gods!”

Sandor nodded and closed his eyes. “And they want me to talk about… well,” Sandor pointed at his scar. “And about both my father and Jonquil’s death. And as you know, it’s not something I care to talk about it.”

Sansa tossed her bag aside and climbed her boyfriend’s lap and gently held his face in her hands. “I’ll be right there with you, you know that right? Do what you have to do to make sure Gregor is kept behind bars and I’ll be there, holding your hand throughout it all.”

Sandor rested his forehead against Sansa’s, wrapped his arms around her middle and hugged her close. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you Little bird, but I am glad that I have you.”

Sansa smiled softly at Sandor and gave him a quick kiss. “And I’m not going anywhere. Now, how about we go somewhere? Maybe some ice cream? And maybe we can watch a movie and cuddle?”

“Of course Little bird,” Sandor chuckled, feeling better just from seeing Sansa’s eyes shine at the prospect of ice cream. “Movie and ice cream sounds nice. And now that you mention it, why not go and get some snacks? If Jaime’s in the apartment I’ll kick him out.”

“There’s no need to kick Jaime out,” Sansa laughed. “He can stay.”

“No. I want time alone with my girlfriend. He has his own girlfriend, he can go and bother Brienne.”

“Brienne’s working today, she won’t be home. I’d say that we should go to my apartment, but Arya’s visiting and well…”

Sandor groaned, he remembered Arya well. “Not the She-Wolf.”

“The cinema?”

“Fine, but we are getting stuff from the concession stand. Since I can’t go to your apartment and I don’t want to deal with Jaime bloody Lannister today, the cinema it is.”

Sansa grabbed her bag, which she had tossed aside when she climbed on Sandor’s lap and stood and waited until Sandor himself had grabbed his backpack. “Maybe we can even go for a walk in the park after.” Sansa said with a dreamy smile.

Sandor looked at her and knew he was fucked, he loved her so much. He grabbed his backpack and stood. “Sure Little bird.”

Sansa stuck close to Sandor and placed an arm around him. “Thank you Sandor.”

Sandor smiled down at Sansa, she was tall, but still nowhere near his height. He threw his arm around her shoulders. “No, thank you. Now, let’s go and have some fun.”

“As you wish.”

“Aww Sandor, quoting The Princess Bride? That is really nice, you know?”

Sandor could feel his face heat up. “Well, it’s your favorite.”

“You’re the best boyfriend ever.” Sansa said as she smiled up at Sandor, a content look on her face. “I’m so happy to have met you.”

“So am I,” Sandor replied. “I’m a lucky bastard. Thank you for dating me.”

“You’re welcome!”

“I want you to know Little bird, that no matter what happens, you are my sunshine for any cloudy day. I am so glad that we’re together.”

Sansa smiled softly up at Sandor. “I love you, you big grouch. I’m proud of you for everything that you managed to deal with and come out like a good person.”

“I’m angry all the time and I terrify most people.”

“I said a good person, not flawless. But c’mon, lets go and have a good day and forget about Jaime and Gregor for a while.”

“As the Little bird wishes.”

“Good! C’mon, let’s go, fun awaits.”

[richtozicr]

LOVE’S GONNA GET YOU KILLED       -----         BUT PRIDE’S GONNA BE THEDEATH OF YOU. 

TW FOR HOMOPHOBIA, HATE CRIMES, BLOOD, AND SLURS.  ( inspo. )

It’s hard to hear that a ton of different arcades are shutting down. It’s kind of depressing. The town over- the place that many would go to flex on people that didn’t live in the area- had lost their arcade a month ago. It made Derry’s arcade more popular. But it also brought a lot of strangers into Derry that Richie doesn’t actually know.

There’s a redhead that shows up one day and Richie is immediately captivated by him. He sits back, watching the other play Street Fighter with amazement. It doesn’t take awhile for Richie to realize he’s not paying as much attention to the boy’s gameplay and is now watching all the freckles on his face. Bright blue eyes trail down to the other’s lips before he catches himself and looks away fast. Guilty. He feels like a sinner. That’s what the church calls him. Not him, specifically. God, no one knows. Bowers has maybe a hint of knowledge. The same with his gang. Their murders flash through his memories. Brief seconds. Bowers is locked up for good. He’s safe. For now. It’s nothing to panic about.

He doesn’t even realize due to the fact that he was so caught up in thinking about everything that the redhead is now talking to him. His eyes dart up and Richie clears his throat to pretend like things are okay.

“You can play now, if you want,” is all Richie hears, as his eyes glance over at the high scores. TZR. Second. He rushes to the machine and looks at the high scores. Second?! He’d been top ranking in Street Fighter for three years straight. He looks at Rank #1. JMS. He turns back around to face the other and looks severely impressed.

“Woah, you’re insane,” is all he can get out. “Do you know how long it’s been since anyone’s even remotely tried to get top?” He asks, pushing up his glasses so he can just stare at the other. Richie is amazed. “I’m Richie, by the way. Most everyone calls me Trashmouth,” he sticks his hand out for the other to actually shake. Richie is more than excited to make another friend around his age who actually likes Street Fighter. The stranger shakes his hand, accepting the invite for friendship.

The stranger’s name is Jaymes. He lives another city away. Around a 25 minute drive. Richie wonders if this shit stain of an arcade is even worth it, but he’s also sure maybe he’d be the same way as this guy if Derry’s arcade shut down. Richie wonders what Jaymes’ score was back in his original arcade. How’d he get so good? Especially to beat Richie?

He spent the next two hours until the arcade closed just playing with Jaymes. The entire time, Richie felt like his heart was being thrown into his throat. This boy was cute and they had a lot of mutual interests besides Street Fighter. He figured that this would actually be a good way to be able to start getting friends that weren’t the losers club---- seeing as they had all started to slowly stop hanging out with each other. He still saw Stan, and he still saw Bill, and even he’d joke around with Eddie here and there, but it was like they were in high school now--- things changed. Bev had moved away and it was just difficult for any of them to care anymore. 

It was good for the first few weeks. Great, even. Richie tried not to stare at Jaymes a certain way, or smile around him, but by god, he was hot and Richie couldn’t help but stare sometimes. He’d hope that Jaymes didn’t notice. He really did hope that Jaymes didn’t know. He remembers the day he asks Jaymes if he wants to catch a movie and that he heard great things about Edward Scissorhands. To Richie’s shock, the other actually agreed.  

Richie had been waiting the whole week for the date-- well, though it was just literally the two of them catching a movie. It wasn’t a date. That’s what he kept having to remind himself as he got ready. He chose a muted colored hawaiian shirt this time, instead of opting for the more colorful ones he had suddenly acquired at the start of the decade. Something subtle. Something that wouldn’t gather too much attention to the two. Two boys seeing a movie together that wasn’t an action film? Especially since it was a romantic movie, according to critics. They were playing a risky game.

The movie had gone splendidly, though halfway through Richie had been distracted by the fact that Jaymes had actually held his hand. It was secret. Under the security blanket of their popcorn box---- no one would know either way. It had made Richie want to throw up he was so nervous. But he remembers glancing over and pushing his glasses up in the dimly lit theatre to look over at his date. Jaymes was just smiling back and Richie could have sworn he saw the other wink at him as they continued to hold hands throughout the rest of the movie. 

As the movie ended, Richie left the theatre, unsure of what to say to Jaymes. The redhead had told him to walk him to his car and that he’d parked behind the theatre just to be on the safe side, and Richie believed him. They went down the alleyway next to theatre and stopped behind it. He saw a few employee cars but the workers were still definitely in the theatre. “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for coming with me. I know you didn’t have to or what----” The Tozier wasn’t entirely used to being interrupted so when the other actually leaned in and kissed him-- Richie’s heart soared. Holy shit. His first kiss. Oh god, he felt like a fucking fish. But he was so stunned.  Once Jaymes pulled back, he just saw that the other was laughing after kissing him.

What? Wait, laughing? Richie was pretty damn sure he hadn’t said any type of joke.  “Wha-- Sorry, uh,” Richie cleared his throat and felt his face was entirely heated. Pushing up his glasses quickly he looked back at Jaymes in confusion. “Sorry, like, that was my first kiss-- so I don’t really get what’s so fucking funny.”

“The funny thing is you actually were a fag. One of my boys pointed it out to me and at first I didn’t believe it. You queers really do fuckin’ think that you can just pretend to be straight to trick people into your little web, then you use them to get your own sick fantasies out of it ----” Richie looked stunned. He looked behind him after hearing a few leaves crunching in the street behind them. Oh god, had anyone seen them? Coming up on them was a group of four different guys. Maybe around their age. Richie didn’t recognize them either. 

Richie suddenly realizes what’s going on. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He has to get out of here. “No, no ---- fuck you, “ he spits, pushing at the other. “ You fucking kissed me you asshole. If anyone’s gay here it’s you. “ That’s about the last thing Richie can get out before he’s grabbed and held down by two of the guys that had come up behind them. He’s recognized them. Slightly. He’s pretty sure he’s seen them around Jaymes. This was all some fucking set up. He can’t even scream because if he grabs attention to this, someone’ll spill the beans that Wentworth Tozier’s son was kissing a boy behind the fucking cinema. It’d ruin his dad. 

The first punch is what knocks his glasses off his face. It’s in his jaw and he’s automatically regretting ever laying eyes on Jaymes. He hears one of them --- a blur, he’s not even sure how close that person is to him---- pick up his glasses and then smash them on the ground. “Fuck off, all of y--- “ his face is slammed into the brick building. Once. Twice. Richie can already taste the iron dripping from his gums. Everything is a blur and it makes him feel dizzy. He’s surrounded and he keeps getting knocked down, picked back up again and he feels a lot of pain coursing through him.

It scares him. Is he about to die from a hate crime? Oh fuck, oh fuck he might die ---- until he hears one of them after what seems like ages. He’s pretty sure it’s Jaymes but he can’t see anything. It doesn’t help that he’s crying. He’s a fucking mess on the ground. “We don’t want to kill the faggot, “ is all he hears. It’s at least mercy. One of the other friends says that Richie deserves to die because they’re just spreading their fucking diseases everywhere anyhow. Richie spits out blood as he tries to pull himself up as they’re talking amongst themselves. A swift kick to his head knocks him out fully.

It’s maybe a few hours later when Richie finally comes to, on the floor next to a dumpster---- hidden, dried blood all over him. There’s also a foul stench that is something Richie recognizes but can’t actually figure out. It’s rancid. He feels around for his glasses on the ground, hoping they’ve at least let the glasses slide somewhere near him. It takes a few minutes for Richie to find his glasses and even hoist himself up. His glasses are broken. Half the glass is missing. He has a horrible prescription, so even telling his mother or father what happened is going to be hard. That’s money they have to spend, but his mom will make some quip about how all they do is spend money on Richie. Once his glasses are on his face, the bridge of the glasses hit up against his nose and it automatically makes him revolt in pain. Oh fuck. Oh god, his nose is absolutely broken. He leans up against the wall of the cinema and looks down at the dried blood everywhere. Then he notices the permanent marker that’s on the ground. 

Oh no. 

He’s not fast. He’s honestly wishing he had just never went back to walk Jaymes to his car. As he hobbles, he’s glad that it’s late in the night. Perhaps even early morning. Once he gets to his car, he realizes the paint that’s all over the windshield and he curses. Fuck. How’s he going to be able to get this off his car? Once he unlocks his car and gets in, struggling to not sit in a position that spikes pain through his body, he turns on a car light and looks at himself in the mirror.

There’s ‘FAG’ written all over his face in permanent marker. He just takes his hand and smears the blood over the words, hoping to god it helps masking a little bit of what he says. The key turns the car over and he is relieved to know the assholes didn’t siphon his car of gas, but he’s also dreading even driving home. He punches his steering wheel and just starts crying all over again. Who the fuck is he even going to go to?

Never mess with Derry. It was too dangerous of a place. No matter how hard people marched, Richie was pretty sure Derry, Maine was always going to be the worst place to grow up no matter who you were.