#So far my best example is when he passes out in london and he wakes up to richard taking care of him

[frobby]

okay so ive been into jeweler richard for a while now, i watched half of the anime when it came out and found it unremarkable (now it fills me with rage) but i didnt start actually thinking about it until the manga came out and i actually read it. I stand by my reccomendation of the manga and in still looking forward to reading it when more volumes come out (volume 6 got delayed till next year). I knew OF things in the LN and they intrigued me but i wasnt really into light novels cuz i read on my phone but i didnt know how to get books(for free) on there. Untill i started reading orv that is(thanks dokja). Its really not that important for the story but recently ive been ravenously reading the jeweler richard LN (im on volume 5 now in the past like weekish)

And uhhhhh wow its so good. Like acutally good i totally get what people say about seigi now he is absolutely unreliable about......everyone around him. This is my reccomendation if you watched the anime and liked it or read them manga pleaseee read the light novels. It is the ideal JR experience

[user-2-electric-boogaloo]

A Comparison of RTD and Steven Moffat: Saving The Day

So for this analysis I’m going to compare when Moffat and RTD save the day well and when they save it poorly. There are a few bits of criteria I need to explain.

 First I will only be including main series, no Torchwood, no spin-offs, and no mini episodes.

Second, I have to define what makes a good and a bad ending (my examples will come from episodes written by neither of them): 

Bad endings include when the sonic saves the day (see The Power Of Three) (there are exceptions, see below), when a character spouts some useless technobabble that doesn’t make any scientific sense/when it doesn’t make logical sense in general, when the Doctor invents/presents a machine/equipment that miraculously stops the baddy and is never referred to again (see Journey To The Centre Of The TARDIS), and any other ending I deem to be bad (see The Vampires of Venice)

Good endings include when the sonice activates a device that has been well established to save the day, when technobabble is used that actually makes some scientific sense, and just generally when the baddy is destroyed in what I deem to be a creative manner that makes sense with all the things that had been set up in that episode (see The Unquiet Dead).

There will also be cases where there isn’t really a day to be saved, however this happens more often with Moffat.

Let us begin (obviously there will be spoilers but the last episode in the list aired nearly 4 years ago so what you doing with your life).

RTD:

Rose: Bad

What even is anti-plastic?! Like seriously, he’s faced the Autons loads of times and has never thought to use it any other time.

The End Of The World: Bad

The Doctor just goes up to the appearance of the repeated meme (ha meme) and rips its arm off. He then just summons Cassandra back by twisting a knob which apparently everyone can do if “you’re very clever like me”.

Aliens Of London/World War Three: Good

Just nuking them all was a bit dodgy but I’ll give it to him purely because it had been set up earlier in the episode and it is a genuine option that could have been taken.

The Long Game: Good

The heating issue was set up within 2 minutes of the episode starting. It’s always good to see the Doctor using his enemies weakness against them.

Boom Town: Good

Only just. It’s technology that hadn’t been showcased ever before and came out of nowhere, but I’m allowing purely because it was setting up The Parting Of The Ways.

Bad Wolf/The Parting Of The Ways: Good

See above. It was set up the story before so it works.

The Christmas Invasion: Bad

This was so close to being good. If RTD had just let the Sycorax leader be honourable then everything would have been fine. Instead he had to let him be dishonourable and then the Doctor through the Satsuma at a random button that for no apparent reason caused a bit of floor to fall away.

New Earth: Bad

It only makes sense if you think about it for less than 10 seconds as just pouring every cure to every disease ever into a giant tub and then spraying said supercure onto them all, then having them hug each other to pass it on. That is suspending my disbelief just a bit too far.

Tooth And Claw: Good

Everything is set up in the episode so I’ll allow it but I fail to see how Prince Albert had the time to ensure that the diamond was cut perfectly.

Love And Monsters: Bad

It’s Love And Monsters. Need I say more?

Army of Ghosts/Doomsday: Good

It was very clearly set up throughout the episode.

The Runaway Bride: Bad

I don’t like how a few bombs can supposedly drain the entire Thames.

Smith And Jones: Good

All the events were well established

Gridlock: Good

It’s a fairly bland way to save the day, just opening the surface to all the drivers. But how else could he have done it?

Utopia/The Sound Of Drums/Last Of The Time Lords: Bad

As much as I like the idea that he tuned himself into the archangel network, he basically turned into Jesus. It is arguably the least convincing ending in modern Doctor Who history.

Voyage Of The Damned: Bad

Why was he the next highest authority? If he’s the highest authority in the universe why didn’t they default to him in the first place? If not then why not default to Midshipman Frame? And if he’s somehow in between them then why? Also Astrid killed herself for no reason when she easily could have jumped out of the forklift.

Partners In Crime: Good

It works in the context of the episode, but I don’t see why they needed two of the necklace things.

Midnight: Good

It’s human nature, you can’t get more well set up than that.

Turn Left: Good

It works logically

The Stolen Earth/Journey’s End: Bad

Donna just spouts a load of technobabble whilst pressing buttons and then the Daleks are magically incapacitated.

The Next Doctor: Bad

Why do the infostamps sever Hartigan’s connection with the Cyberking? As far as I remember it ain’t explained.

Planet Of The Dead (co-written with noted transphobe Gareth Roberts): Good

A good couple scenes are dedicated on getting the anti-gravs set up.

The Waters Of Mars (co-written with Phil Ford): N/A

The day isn’t really saved cause everyone still dies anyway.

The End Of Time: Good

Using a gun to destroy a machine is much better than using the sonic to destroy it.

Summary for RTD:

Out of 24 stories written by him, I deem 10 to be bad endings with 1 abstaining. That’s 41.7% of his episodes (43.5% if we don’t count any abstaining).

Steven Moffat:

The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances: Good

You’ll see this a lot with Moffat, he knows how to explain things without stupefying levels of technobabble. “Emailing the upgrade” is a perfect example of this.

The Girl In The Fireplace: Good

Some basic logic, the androids want to repair their ship, but they can’t return to it, they no longer have a function so they shut down.

Blink: Good

Always loved this one, getting the angels to look at each other, however they do look at each other sometimes earlier in the episode.

Silence In The Library/Forest Of The Dead: Bad

This is more of a problem with the setup of the episode, I don’t like that he can negotiate with the Vashta Nerada. I’d rather see them comprehensively beaten, but I guess it’s good for the scare factor that they can’t be escaped from.

The Eleventh Hour: Good

He convinced the best scientists all around the world to set every clock to 0 all in less than an hour. In the Doctor’s own words “Who da man!”

The Beast Below: Good

The crying child motif pretty much ended up saving the day (well for the star whale, life went on as normal for pretty much everyone else).

The Time Of Angels/Flesh And Stone: Good

The artificial gravity had briefly been set up earlier so I’ll allow it.

The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang: Good

Everything had been set up perfectly, the vortex manipulator, the Pandorica’s survival field thingy, the TARDIS exploding at every moment in history.

A Christmas Carol: Good

Literally the entire episode is the Doctor saving the day by convincing Kazran not to be a cock.

The Impossible Astronaut/Day Of The Moon: Good

The silence’s ability to influence people is their whole thing, so using it against them is a good Doctory thing to do.

A Good Man Goes To War: N/A

The day isn’t really saved, Melody is lost, but River shows up at the end so is all fine? I love the episode it’s just the day isn’t really truly saved (yes I know Amy was rescued but she still lost her baby).

Let’s Kill Hitler: N/A

There isn’t really a day to be saved. They all get out alive but no one is really saved other than maybe River but we all knew she was gonna live anyway.

The Wedding Of River Song: Good

Whilst opinion is divided on the episode, the ending still works. the Tesseracta was established in Let’s Kill Hitler, and the “touch River and time will move again” was established well in advance.

The Doctor, The Widow And The Wardrobe: Bad

I don’t like how the lifeboat travels through the time vortex for no reason but to rescue the dad. It don’t make no sense and I don’t think it’s explained

Asylum Of The Daleks: Good

Oswin had access to the Dalek hive mind so of course she should be able to link into the controls and blow everything up.

The Angels Take Manhattan: Good

Paradoxes really do be something powerful, and they even acknowledge how nobody knows if it’d work so I’ll let it slide.

The Snowmen: Bad

Lots of people cry at Christmas, why are the Latimers anything special?

The Bells of Saint John: Good

The whole episode is about hacking so why shouldn’t the Doctor be able to hack the spoonheads

The Name Of The Doctor: Good

It was the story arc for the season pretty much, so of course it was explained well in advance.

The Day Of The Doctor: Good

Both the storing Gallifrey like a painting and the making everyone forget if they’re Human or Zygon works in the context of the episode.

The Time Of The Doctor: Bad

Since when were the Time Lords so easily negotiated with?

Deep Breath: Good

I like the dilemma over whether the half-face man was pushed or jumped.

Into The Dalek: Good

It’s set up well with this new Doctor’s persona of actually not being too nice of a guy (at first).

Listen: N/A

There isn’t a day to be saved. It’s just 45 minutes of the Doctor testing a hypothesis and I low-key love it.

Time Heist (co-written with Steven Thompson): Good

It works logically so I’ll allow it however it isn’t very well set up at all.

The Caretaker (co-written with noted shithead Gareth Roberts): Good

The machine to tell the Blitzer what to do was set up well in advance so I’ll allow it.

Dark Water/Death In Heaven: Good

The fact that Danny still cares even as a cyberman is set up fairly early on after his transformation.

Last Christmas: Good

He does use the sonic to wake up Clara but he convinces the others to wake up through talking so I’ll allow it.

The Magician’s Apprentice/The Witch’s Familiar: Good

It’s set up well with that little scene from actually inside the sewers.

The Girl Who Died (co-written with Jamie Mathieson): Good

IDK why the vikings would randomly keep electric eels but they’re set up well so I’ll ignore it. 

The Zygon Inversion (co-written with Peter Harness): N/A 

Not including this one as it’s only the second part and I’d argue the ending is most likely Harness’.

Heaven Sent/Hell Bent: N/A

Again there isn’t really a day to be saved, yes Heaven Sent really is amazing but it’s only the first part and, being completely honest, he dies several billion times before finally getting through the wall.

The Husbands Of River Song: N/A

Again there isn’t really a day to be saved here.

The Return Of Doctor Mysterio: Good

He gets Grant to catch the bomb which is good. But he does just sonic the gun out of Dr Sim’s hand and says UNIT is on its way which just sort of wraps it up very quickly.

The Pilot: N/A

No day to be saved here.

Extremis: Good

You could technically call it the sonic saving the day, I consider it to be the Doctor emailing the Doctor to warn him of the future.

The Pyramid At The End Of The World: Good

The fire sanitising everything makes sense and it’s in character for Bill to love the Doctor enough to cure his blindness in return for the world

World Enough And Time/The Doctor Falls: Good

Yes it is the sonic just blowing the cybermen up, but it’s blowing them up with well established pipelines so I’ll allow it (also the story is amazing).

Twice Upon A Time: N/A

No day to be saved here. Just Doctors 1 and 12 getting angsty about regenerating.

Summary for Steven Moffat:

Out of 39 stories written by him, I deemed 4 to be bad with 7 abstaining. That’s 10.3% of his episodes (12.5% if we don’t count any abstaining).

Conclusions:

Moffat was much better at saving the day than RTD

Moffat liked telling stories where the day didn’t actually need to be saved

I’ve spent way too long on this and I need to sleep

If I spent as much time on this as my coursework I’d probably pass

If you’re still reading this, you probably need to get a life

[theconjugationofyeet]

Iron Dad AU Fic Recs

this is gonna be kinda long

Stark Industries: An American Workplace by fourdaysofrain

“No, I don’t--” The corner of Peter’s mouth twitches down and he looks at something behind the camera. “Mr. Stark doesn’t treat me any differently than the other employees. I don’t know why everyone says he does.” He tugs his sleeve down his wrist and looks to the side. “I’m the receptionist, so he has to talk to me more to like, plan his calendar and stuff.” --- The Office!AU (For the "AU: TV/Movie" square in Irondad Bingo

We’re Alright by writing-in-my-spare-time

When billionaire Tony Stark comes into the cafe late one night to get his caffeine hit, he finds barista Peter busy doing homework. The homework is quite advanced and right up Tony's alley, and the two hit it of immediately over their shared love of science. But when a masked gunman interrupts their bonding session, Tony knows he'll do anything to make sure Peter is alright.

Prompt: Modern Day/No Powers AU

Apartment 43B by @ironfamjam (my most favourite author ever)

After Peter gets stabbed clean through, he knows he can't let May see. His genius plan? Sneak into his best friend's apartment and clean himself up.

The problem?

It's the wrong apartment.

Enter Tony Stark, the ex-CEO that disappeared off the face of the earth three years ago, armed with his handy little first aid kit, custom made coffee machine, and witty anecdotes.

Somehow, the breaking in becomes a habit.

Irondad Bingo Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

Walking The Grey Line by ALittleBattyLady

When Ben Parker dies in his arms, a little piece of Peter dies too. At age 14 he's spiraling down into a hole of emptiness and just can't seem to move forward. Then he accidentally texts the wrong number. Tony thought he could handle whatever the world threw at him, but Steve's betrayal was something he hadn't expected. Months later he's still struggling to pick up the pieces. Then after a wicked bender, he wakes up with a text from a stranger.

They've built themselves a world that exists within nonsensical messages, where Peter finds a father figure he never expected and Tony finds himself worrying for a kid who shouldn't have to suffer so much. Still, the world still exists outside of their bubble of texts. The Avengers have been broken apart, the Accords are nowhere near perfect. Peter's uncle is dead and he's about to be thrown into a world of heroes.

What started as a chance meeting through a strayed text is about to turn into so much more.

AKA The Wrong Number Irondad Au no one asked for, but received

If You’re Going Through Hell, Keep On Going by @baloobird

In a world with no superheroes or powers, Tony Stark turns over a new leaf after his plight with Afghanistan. He goes to therapy and it changes his life, so much so that he decides to open up his own practice and help people that are like him.

His newest client: Eight-year-old Peter Parker

Little did he know that he would actually become attached to one of his patients

What Occurred In Raychester Castle? by @fictionart

Lord Anthony Stark is the Earl of Raychester castle. He inherited it from his father when he died, and soon he'll be married to the lovely Lady Virginia Potts. His life the perfect example of Victorian values, everything was going the way it should have.

Until one day, one of his lower servants worms his way into Tony's heart, and introduces him to a world Tony knew was there, but had never seen, and challenges the very way he viewed the world.

Yet, it doesn't feel like such a mistake.

---

Or a historical AU of Tony Stark and Peter Parker set in 1890s fictional Britain, where Tony is an Earl and Peter is a lowly servant.

Our Pages Flipped In Reverse by @ciaconnaa

Fifteen year old Peter Parker makes headlines when he's captured in a terrorist attack during a Sokovian science convention. Three months later, he's a household name when there's reports he busted out of a cave in some ridiculous iron suit.

With a miniaturized version of Tony Stark's infamous arc reactor in his chest.

Naturally, this means the two have to meet.

Intern Spider by @justme--emily

Penny Parker applied to the pilot Stark Industries internship program before she got her powers. But when Mr. Stark becomes her personal and superhero mentor, she'll have to get creative to keep the two identities separate...and secret.

ever in your favour by @iron-spider

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him.

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

A Tale As Old As Time by @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars and @femalemarvelfanatic

A selfish man gets cursed into a metal suit, and only a little boy with a dark past and a heart of gold can break the curse. It’s a tale as old as time.

peter’s stars by @parkrstark and IronPengu

Steve and Peter lose their apartment and are kicked out on the streets. Steve has to juggle between jobs to earn whatever money he can, take care of his son while refusing to let him realize how much they're trouble in, and keep them warm and safe on the city streets in winter.

So, he really doesn't have time to date the billionaire that flirts with him everyday as he buys his cup of coffee. Even if he did, he can't let himself fall for the man. Because if he knew that he lived from a backpack and showered in a public bathroom there's no way he'd still want him...right?

Make Way For Tomorrow by @tonystarkstan

Before Ben died, Peter won a booth to present his project at the Stark Expo. But even on the run from the foster care system, he can't pass up the opportunity to attend and show the world his project. It all goes so well, until it doesn't. Trying to avoid being caught, Peter runs out on Tony just as the man is about to make him the offer of a lifetime.

Bold of him to assume Tony won't try to find him.

It All Comes Back To This by @tonystarkstan

After a car accident leaves him hanging somewhere between life and death, Peter must decide whether to stay or die. The answer isn't as easy as he thought it'd be. Luckily, he has his friends and the Avengers there to help him figure it out.

Have Patience, Quick Wit and a Gentle Heart by @ironfamjam

“I’m your fairy-” he scowled, looking pained, “you know what, no. I’m not going to say that. It’s ridiculous and not even accurate. I don’t know who invented those fairy tales you humans love so much, but they’re beyond terrible."

"Wait..." Peter tried to hide his grin, "Are you my fairy godmother?" he laughed, unable to stop no matter how hard he tried.

The man glowered. "Watch it kid. I could turn you into a frog instead."

Or

The Irondad Cinderella AU one person asked for

 More Ancient Than Magic  by ironfamjam

Life isn't exactly normal when your Head of House is also kinda your father-figure and his daughter is kinda sorta your little sister.

It's also not normal when the bad guys your real-life-war-hero-not-actually-dad defeated in The Great War threaten to return and you're still just trying to finish your Charms essay.

But Professor Stark asked him to protect Morgan. And that's what he's going to do.

Even if it breaks him.

The mini Hogwarts AU

The Case Of The Sinister Spider

In New York City, Peter Parker finds his entire life up-ended when he gets a phone call informing him of May Parker's tragic accident. But when new evidence comes to light proving foul play, no one in the NYPD will give Peter the time of day.

No one that is, except genius consulting detective on probation, Tony Stark. But Tony has his own demons to fight. Struggling to maintain his sobriety after a tragedy in London forced him overseas, Tony learns that what mends hearts might not be at the bottom of a bottle, but something like a string of unsolved murders and perhaps even love.

Or, the Elementary AU no one asked for

Only For A Little While by eccentric_artist_221b

Exploring the relationship between Tony Stark and Peter Parker if they had been passengers aboard the Titanic over 106 years ago…. an Irondad AU 

a galaxy far, far away by @madasthesea

a star wars au if tony and peter were master and padawan

___________________________________________________

add to this list if you know any more awesome fics with an au!

[iprefertheterminsane]

What I should be doing; Updating my current BFU/GoMens fanfic

What I am doing instead; drafting an entirely NEW BFU/GOMens fanfic

Here it is;

Story Idea:

BFU*Good Omens, but make it scary.

The Unsolved Crew are trying to return to the airport after a successful hunt in London. Shane suggests they follow a scenic route of no discernible town. They somehow find themselves in a town that is not on the GPS maps with weird vibes and, surprise surprise, their rental breaks down. They have all watched enough horror thrillers to know all the cliché-est plot points. What lives in Devil's Dyke? Are the Them serial killers? Is Warlock going to betray them? Shane and TJ are probably going to die. But most importantly; What does it all have to do with Ryan?

-This is Shyan centric. On their way back to the airport, Shane suggests the crew take a scenic route down South Downs on their way back from London with the promise of a beautiful lake. The London shoots had been rife with sexual tension, and Shane does not want the moment to end.

-They find themselves driving into a town instead, suburbania and quaint. The townsfolk frown at them as they pass by. RP Tyler straddles his barking poodle. They obviously don't like newcomers.

-The rental breaks down. The cliche Ness starts to dawn on them

-"Hahaha, next we'll find out this place doesn't have line!"

-There is no line. They all glare at Mark.

-In a fit of nervousness, Ryan starts offline vlogging. Shane suggests they go into town to ask for someone to call the two service and find someplace with line. Surely SOMEONE will recognize them.

-But strangers look away and walk faster away when they approach. Whoever they manage to start scowling or fidgeting, and none of them seems to recognize the duo. Some even claim to know only faintly of YouTube. It's getting unreal. They do not seem to be joking, and get only more upset whenever the Crew tries to convince or tell them otherwise. It is finally pushing dusk. The Crew stops by a beautiful park. There is no one around, but a young boy, who has a look in his eyes they find relief in: recognition.

-His name is Warlock Dowling, and he showed them a copy of his birth certificate to prove it, claiming that it happens often enough that he has to resort doing so. It's so fucking cliche it hurts. Ryan hates this movie already.

-But Warlock is the son of an American Ambassador who lives in the UK, and thus, likely the only child who seems to recognize them and their YouTube Channel. He is not a big fan, but it's a whole site better than literally everyone else. South Downs is a bedtime story, he claims. It's perfect in the way all the towns in children storybooks are perfect. Nobody plays the internet in a storybook town. It is not a prank. Devon is skeptical.

-Warlock invites them to go to the Ambassador's house a little ways down the airbase near the back of the town, (what kind of horror path will they take? Thought Ryan. Both feel like equally bad ideas.) but they decide to go tomorrow. He directs them to a bed and breakfast instead. All the rooms look the same. The lady barely looks up as she hands them their keys. There is electricity in the rooms, meaning they could charge their appliances. For naught of anything better to do, they are filming this entire experience. They somehow convince themselves that Shane is going to die because Ryan is evidently the Protagonist, and since Shane is his Best Friend, he is either going to betray them or die in a heroic act sacrificing himself for Ryan. In a fit of panic, Ryan tells Shane he has a crush on him. Which is great and sweet and all, but now REALLY seals the deal in because now Shane is a love interest instead. Hasnt Ryan heard of the bury your Gays trope?

-"I knew you guys were gonna end up gay" "what why." "they have to kill SOMEONE off and none of us are black and Ryan s the protagonist."

-They don't find Warlock in the park the next day, and are forced to look for him themselves. Walking of course. They find out about the satanic nunnery that caught on fire on a cafe because the waitress explains that they have to pass through that and the abandoned airbase in the back of the town to get to the villa on foot. They all sigh in exhausted manner, not much in the mood for dying.

-Trudge they do anyway. Nowhere out but through.

-The old satanic nunnery is....not abandoned

-They rush inside and find that it is a company teamwork support organization, and they give out paintball sessions. There is electricity. There is a line, even if the company wasnt currently in season. They try to find a worker.

-They find her. Sister Mary is haggard and busy running an entire company and booking sessions all by herself. She is in turns dismissive and annoyed to moderately tolerant....up until she learns of Ryan's name

-She suddenly wants nothing to do with any of them, practically shoving them out her door and face sheet white, mumbling about being busy and how it wasn't personal. The door slams in their faces. Ryan looks like he is about to cry. Shane snaps.

-He breaks the door down, to the shouts of surprise from the rest of the crew, and announces, with the loud, arrogant nonchalance of a white man, that he is not going to budge until she tells them everything they want to know about Lower Tadfield, the South Downs and yknow the fuck what? Neither will Ryan. The rest of the Crew follow his example and dig their heels in, pretending to film her for good measure. They are counting on the fact that she does not have security, and that even if she calls the cops on them, the building is far too suburbania to find very quickly. Mary looks absolutely terrified, and refuses to look Ryan in the eye. She eventually gives in, on the account that they will soon leave immediately.

-The find out that she was an ex convent of the Chattering Order of St. Berryl's, a satanic nunnery. She came back because she had been born here, and oddly enough, the convent meant something to her. A good dozen of the Satanists died due to a lightning storm catching the nunnery on fire the night two babies had been born, and three left through the gates. She's never been afraid of Lower Tadfield. Nothing ever happens here. They don't buy it, but it's apparent she believes what she is saying.

-They demand to use the present line to call for another rental, cancel their airport tickets, etcetera etcetera, emphasizing that they are excited about leaving just as much as she does. With this promise, she allows them to do so.

--They manage to get their raw footage to Cloud and cancel their tickets but just as they are about to call for a new car, the lights start flickering. The building rumbles. Mary looks straight at Ryan and tells them to run. They grab each other s hands and does so.

-There halfway down the road when TJ yelps, and Devon announces they are being chased by something. They decide to run into the woods down further down south to lose it.

-It is dusk. Nobody is happy. At least everyone is alive though, which is something. Ryan remarks that the chase scenes in the movies are exactly as tiring as they make it out to be.

-Mark hears running water, and the Crew finds an occupied cottage on the shoreline of the sea. Their sighs are loud; both relieved and annoyed. Mark starts chanting/praying that they are not serial killers. Shane announces that everyone must be ready to leave at a moments notice, and sleep in the woods of they must, to everyone's agreement.

-The man who opens the door wears glasses and low slung jeans, eyebrow raised rudely. His husband, blonde and plump, tells him to let them come in, and that it is nearly dinner. They are gracious hosts-old enough to be someone's grandparents. Cute and domestic as well. Shane goes strangely quiet when the couple dances in the living room, and Ryan chalks it up to their romantic relationship, for which they share talks. There are unoccupied rooms they could bunk in-five; each of them reserved for the couple's godkids. Despite getting their own rooms, Ryan cuddles with Shane. He is oddly tense, at least until they start making out.

-Ryan wakes at night to voices in his ear, and decides to get a glass of something to drink. Shane is out cold. He finds TJ in the kitchen, looking at his phone. It is a picture of his family-Kate and their daughter. This is hugely concerning, as it is a surefire telltale that TJ might not make it. Ryan promises him they'll get back home. TJ clasps him on the back and tells him not to make promises he can't keep.

-Shane wakes the crew at 4 am and tells them, quietly, to pack up and leave for town. He had found a map, and determined the way to navigate. They are confused but obliging. They do not wake their hosts-in fact, Shane seems to want to make sure they leave without their knowledge. They find their way back into Tadfield by 8.30 am, and it is only as they are having bfast that Shane tells them that there is no tech but the radio-which isn't plugged in. The water runs, but the pipes underneath the sink are not attached to anything. Crowley does not eat, and his eyes were....weird. Too many red flags. And as he searched the room for maps before Ryan came into his room the night before, he had found a crumpled poker card of the Antichrist, and Devon admits to finding one of War, a horseman of the Apocalypse, in hers. Mark taps his fork anxiously, and his eyes spell out what they all could tell. The climax is soon.

- It is not until Ryan walks and spots a bespectacled child of Warlocks age that he realizes he has barely seen any children in this town, and suggests that they follow him to ask whether he knew Warlock. The rest of the crew return to the BnB for some well deserved rest, but Shane and Ryan pursues the kid....into the forest.

-They lose him until HE found THEM. He immediately recognizes Ryan, who had to introduce his best friend Shane. Two other kids appear from between the trees. One of them, a girl, has a large wooden sword. They are surrounded. Shane grips Ryans hand, and asks, half jokingly, is they are serial killers, and if they are intending to kill him.

-The Them claims that it happened like, one time, and they do not plan to kill Shane, but their smile looks too wide to be genuine, like they are sharing a personal joke. The boys start walking away. The Them follows. Ryan asks if they know Warlock. They stop, sharing looks. Brian asks how they met Warlock. Ryan refuses to tell them . The kids get defensive, the way 13 year olds tend to get when they are about to justify doing a notable offense, like staying awake past bedtime The wind picks up, and the kids get visibly relieved. Brian tells them that Adam is coming, in a way that makes them feel like they definitely do not want to meet Adam. They scram it.

-They are being chased again. This time, when Ryan looks back, he sees what looks like a dog but isn't-like something is badly wearing the skin of a dog, like it has too many limbs to fit into four legs, a slobbering maw and hellfire eyes.

-They manage to leave the woods, and almost get hit by a three wheeled blue car. Shane bangs on the door and it opens for them, and Ryan shouts at them to step on it. It is only when they get to a quaint little cottage at the other end of the town do they acknowledge their saviours-a bespectacled, brown skinned woman and a jittery boyfriend.

-The woman is American. She recognizes them immediately, and says that she is a huge fan of True Crime. It is the most mundane , normal conversation they have for all of 2 days. They enter Jasmine Cottage. Shane slumps.

-there is a horseshoe above the door, and runes etched into the wood. The smell of incense burns strongly, and a redlined conspiracy board in a corner of the kitchen.

-The woman calls herself a professional occultist. A witch, basically. Which is...fine. She is at least honest and blasè about it, which made someone in this godforsaken town at least. Shane spots a picture of the Antichrist on her pinup board, the same one as seen in the poker card he's found in AziCrow's cottage. Anathema notices, and admits that it's complicated. They are confused, angry and terrified, and mentions their encounter with Adam, and everything else they'd had to suffer through as they are stuck in the village. Her facial emotions change from shock, to calculating, to confused, to skeptical, before finally ending In blank. She claims that it is very unlike Adam, as he usually does not go about scaring people from out of the village. He had welcomed her in just fine, and the town had followed short after. Shane asks about the Antichrist and Horsepeople symbolism. She waves that one away, claiming how it wasn't important and that 'They wouldn't believe her anyway.' She offers Meet to drive them back to their Inn, and they accept.

-They get back to the village; as they open the door to their rooms, knowing that the rest of the Crew is waiting for them, Warlock is also there. He takes a single look at them, and raises an eyebrow. They tell him what happened. Warlock frowns. Tells them the only reason they'd been hounded In such a way if Adam wants something from them, and TJ puts his face into their hands.

-They ask if they should lock the door. Warlock tells them not to bother-it won't stop him anyway. Devon asks the possibility of leaving this very night. Warlock shakes his head, but looks contemplating.

-That night, Shane gets kidnapped.

-Ryan doesn't see the culprit, but something tells him it's the Them, and the Hound, and Adam. He runs into the woods. The night is cold and still, but the trees shake like they could be alive. Ryan yells angrily into the void, asking Adam what is it that he wanted, that it's him they actually want, to let Ryan go. He faces the Hound, a slobbering, monstrous nightmare. Ryan thinks he is going to die. There is a boy sitting in a dilipidated throne above a chalk pit with blood red eyes.

-Two headlights pierce through the gloom. The trees still. The hound sits, and Crowley steps out if the Bentley.

-Aziraphale is in the car. Warlock peers over his shoulder. Crowley stomps over and tells Adam to come down-that his game is over, and it stopped being funny for quite some time. Shane stumbles out of the woods, dazed and terrified, and Ryan traps him into an embrace.

-After some chastising Adam admits that he's made a bet with Greasy Johnson in school that Demons and Ghosts are real, and that the Them had managed to convince him that it lives in the woods. He had not believed them, and made them bet that if it was really haunted, Paranormal Investigators would come and make a whole documentary about it. Warlock had showed him a few episodes of BFU, and Adam thought it perfect.

-Crowley scolds him, telling him against manipulating and keeping the Crew here against their will, and Adam looks appropriately chastened. Dawn breaks. The crew emerges from the Inn in a state of panic. Crowley pat's the van twice and it comes to life.

-Someone asked Crowley if the kids really HAD killed people. Crowley waves it away, claiming that it isn't important. In the light of morning, the kids and the dog almost looks normal.

- They decide not to prod any further. Aziraphale apologizes one last time, and tells the that they are welcome in Tadfield if they choose to come again. Ryan and Shane emphasizes that they absolutely will not, ever. Aziraphale nods like he understands. They pack the equipment and leaves the town, possibly England, forever.

-In a few days time, Adam gets an email- a video titled The Horrors of Hogsback Woods, and he grins cheekily to himself.

[hauntedflamingo]

Running out of time part 2

Barry Allen x Reader, Alfie Solomons x Reader

A/N: This took way longer than I planned. Hopefully nobody was actually waiting for this. Sorry for any mistakes.

part one

Alfie needed to be at the bakery before the sun was up every day so he had Ollie drive you around. Alfie did not want to make you get out of bed early. Most of time, Ollie would take you to the bakery and back home later in the day or wherever else you needed to go. During the drive, you stare out the window, caught up in the people going about their day. Don’t get me wrong, you loved your life. But sometimes you were bored, spending all your time at the bakery. Compared to your old life, this was relatively slow.  On this particular morning, you happen to see a red streak pass by the car multiple times.

“Oh No!” You whisper to yourself, scooting down in the seat in order to hide. That couldn’t be him, could it? You had to go check. You could feel your heartbeat starting to speed up a little at the thought of him turning up. You were definitely scared of Barry destroying something. He usually did when he travelled through time. A wonderful example is flashpoint. “Can you pull over? Please Ollie. I would like to walk the rest of the way to the bakery.”   

You hear an audible sigh from the front seat as he pulls over to the side of the street. He turns around to look at you with a worried expression on his face, probably wondering why you were laying down in the back seat. “Mr. Solomons doesn’t like you walking anywhere.” Alfie was always worrying about you. He never wanted you to go anywhere alone. You had a feeling that was the other reason he made Ollie drive you around.

 “I know but I would like to clear my head before I get to the bakery.” This was the best excuse you could come up with. Ollie gets out of the car, holding the door open so you can also exit. “Please don’t be late, ma’am. He will be livid, more at me than you.” 

“I will try my best.” You start walking down the street, waiting for Ollie to drive off and for the streak to appear again. Once Ollie has driven far enough down the road, you slow down your pace. Settling on completely stopping all together, you stand at a store front to peer inside, using the window as a mirror and as a distraction. Someone was bound to come up to you and be a bother if you looked like you weren’t doing anything. 

But you also needed a distraction for yourself. You hadn’t used your super speed since you ended up in England.  So, if you became more anxious, your powers were bound to show themselves. You wanted to hurry up this “meeting” so you could get back to Alfie.

 Your view is disrupted by the streak speeding past in the reflection. Turning your head, you watch it speed down an alley a few stores down from where you were standing. Looking around, you check to make sure that no one is else is concerned with a red streak running around the city. You follow it down the street and into the alley, stopping a few feet away from him. Barry Allen. The boy you left behind. How do you wake up from this nightmare? Or was it one that was just beginning?

 “Y/N. I can’t believe I finally found you!” He looks so happy. “Wow, it’s been quite a while. Four years.”

 “I am surprised you found me.” You look away from him, cringing at his overjoyed demeanor before turning to back to face him.  The fact that he was standing right in front of you made your stomach start to do flips. He had to show up now! After you already made a life here. One that you would not give up that easily.

 “We have been looking for you since you left. The team wanted me to give up hope.” He walks closer to you with his arms out, waiting for you to hug him. Rather than accept his invitation for a hug, you back away from him. Finally, he gets the hint and lowers his arms but not before you catch the glare that flashes on his face.  

 “I love it here. You know I always wanted to go to London.” Pulling off you gloves; you stuff them in your coat pocket. Your hands were starting to become sweaty. They were also starting to shake.

 “We could have taken a trip to London if you wanted to go that bad.” Barry smiles weakly, trying to make light of the situation.

 Knowing Barry wouldn’t understand, you grow silent. You had nothing to tell him. He wouldn’t like what you said anyway. How could you explain you had a new life? One without him. He would be devastated. You did not want to break his heart any more than you already did when you left.

 “Well, you’re here. Now what?” Barry demands, irritated by your lack of communication. Hopefully nobody passing by could hear him. He tightens his hands into fists and starts pacing, faster and faster, picking up speed. Within seconds, he takes off down the alley, leaving you in a cloud of dust.

 Barry would be back any second and his absence wasn’t enough for you to calm down. You needed to get out of there before something happened. Once he returns, you cut him off before he can start talking. “This was nice but I have to go now.” You were going to be late. You were already cutting it close by getting out of the car in the first place. 

“You need to change if you are going to be here any longer.” You state, matter-of-factly before turning around to leave him once again. You hoped he wouldn’t stay. He was already starting to ruin everything and he had only been there for a few minutes. You are not more than a few steps from him when you look over your shoulder. “Stop using your powers.”  

Before exiting the alley, you look around again. Rumors would be started if somebody you knew saw you in an alley. You shove your hands in your pockets to hide them from anyone walking by. Trying to calm your nerves, you feel for your rings and run your fingers over your them. The walk to the bakery takes about fifteen minutes. Barely enough time for you to get to your office before Alfie comes looking for you to give you an update from his early morning rounds.

 As you arrive at the bakery, your hands are finally back to normal. Running into Barry totally messed up your morning routine. Unlocking your office door, you throw your purse onto the couch. Without taking off your coat, you head straight to the filing cabinet, pulling out some paperwork. You walk over to your chair and sit down, spinning around to face the desk. You let out a shriek when you find Barry sitting in a chair on the other side of your desk. All your papers fly around the room. Barry instantaneously hands them back to you. He takes his seat again as you stare at him in surprise. He was literally screaming at you a few minutes ago.

 “What are you doing?” You whisper, hoping Alfie did not hear you scream. “You can’t be here.”

 “Y/N.” He reaches for your hand but you scoot back in your chair. His voice is softer this time. “Please come back with me.”

 “I can’t.” Actually, you didn’t want to go back. Crossing your arms, you lean back in your chair, trying to increase the distance between the two of you. “I have a life here. I don’t have to worry about fighting crime. The only things I have to do here are go to work and then go home and relax.” You smile at him. “It’s nice. I don’t have to be on edge worrying about saving the city every five minutes.”

 “If that is the only problem, then you can quit fighting crime and leave it up to me.” He moves his chair closer to the desk. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt this way?” Once again, you let silence fill the air, you were already done with this conversation earlier. Maybe he thought the next words he said were what you wanted to hear. “I miss you.” Barry whispers.

 You sigh, picking up a pen and tapping it on the edge of the desk. Doing your best to distract yourself before you start crying. “I can’t just get up and leave. This is not that simple.” Waving your arms around. As if right on cue, your office door swings open. “Love, I need you to- “ Alfie freezes at the door, holding a stack of paper. “Who is this?” He asks, very curious as to why a man would be in your office. 

Once again, you think of an excuse. The one for Ollie was easy. He would believe whatever you told him. But for Alfie, you didn’t want to be lying to him in the first place. If he ever figured out what was going on with you. Let’s just say that you didn’t want to be on his bad side. How long would you be able to keep this up? This was not going well. “He is an applicant.” You state, sitting up straighter in your chair, and dragging yourself closer to the desk so Alife wouldn’t think anything was wrong. “You know…the position we put in the paper a few weeks ago. I guess he thought we were taking too long to choose applicants to interview.”

Looking down, you pretend to read his name. “This is Bartholomew Allen.” You look back up at Alfie to make sure he isn’t about to explode since there was an unknown man in your office. To your dismay, Barry speaks up. “I really need this job, Ms.-“

“She is Mrs. Solomons.” Alfie interrupts him, putting emphasis on the word Mrs. He always wanted people to know you were married to him and show you off. Turning your chair, you remain focused on Alfie. The pen you were holding slips out of your hand and to the floor, rolling under your desk. Leaning down to look under the desk, you lay your head on your knees trying to take a quick rest before picking up the pen. You really wanted to hide.  Alfie seems to thinking you are taking too long looking for the pen. “Everything alright, Y/N?”

 “Yes.” You squeak as you move back your chair to sit up straight. This whole interaction was going to be one hundred times more awkward now that Barry found out you were married. You can’t even look at him, knowing that he would feel betrayed by you for marrying another man.

 Alfie turns his attention to Barry. “We were going to start calling for interviews tomorrow. We can give you an interview time today since you are here now.” You turn back to your desk still not making eye contact. You grab the first piece of paper you see to write down the time and his name. “Um...th-the.” You clear your throat. Get it together, Y/N! “The interviews are set for the 16th. What time would you like to come in?” You stare at the paper waiting for him to answer. “Nine thirty would be fine.” As you write down Barry’s information, your hand starts to vibrate. The anxiety from your ex-boyfriend sitting in front of you and your husband still at the door was getting to you.

 Alfie knew nothing about your powers and you wanted to keep it that way. Thankfully he was too far away to notice anything was going on with your hand. Barry’s information ends up looking like chicken scratch when you are done.

 Finally, you look up at Barry and your heart sinks. The pain in his eyes is too much for you to bear. You stand up to shake his hand while trying to control the shaking in your hand and your tears. “Th-Thank you, Mr. Allen.” Clearing your throat again. “I will see you on the 16th. Do you need me to show you the way out?”

 “No. I will find it on my own.” The sound of his voice is like a knife through your heart.

 After Barry and Alfie leave your office, you take out a new piece of paper to write his information again. Closing your eyes, you lean back in your chair trying to calm down your body so can get back to normal. It’s not like I could have contacted him all that time and tell him I moved on. He should have moved on too. Four years! Why didn’t he give up already?

  This time there is a knock on your door. Opening your eyes, you slowly exhale, hoping it isn’t Barry again. “Yeah?” You answer wearily, looking at the door. It opens and Alfie walks back in. “I didn’t tell you about this morning.” You stand up walking over to him. “I know, we got interrupted.” He gives you a kiss and you walk over to the couch. He follows you, helping you take off your coat and hanging it up. He sits down next to you. While Alfie begins to talk, you try to forget about Barry.

tag: @primaba11erina @marvel-is-a-mood

[melodious-madrigals]

london calling (yes, i was there, too)

For Day 1 of Wondertrev Loveweek! 

Fandom: Wonder Woman Pairing: Diana/Steve Prompt: London  Word Count: 2154 Rating: T (for ~innuendo~ probably)  Summary: A view of London, past and present, from Diana's point of view. 

Read it here on [AO3] or below the cut.   

***

present

*

London has become a glittering, sprawling city in the years since Diana first arrived at its docks. Some would go so far as to call it the greatest city in the world.

Diana still dislikes it.

She never warmed to London. She loves Lisbon, adores Amman, visits Xi'an every chance she gets, calls Paris home for now. But London remains something of a frustration for her, a necessary evil for business trips from time to time.

There are things she doesn't mind, she supposes.

The red telephone boxes, for one. They're a bit cliché, but iconic. (She remembers when those were first put in.) They're less common now, but every time she passes one, she snaps a photo and texts it to Clark, with the caption thinking of you, because one time in a pinch, he used one to change into his Superman suit but in his haste accidentally broke one of the panes of glass, and she's never going to let him forget it.

Then there's Hampstead Heath. It's a bit outside the bustle of the city proper, sure, but it's a breath of fresh air (literally), and it has lovely views of the city. She's enjoyed her walks there, even fondly recalls a picnic or two on the grassy hill as she gazes at the skyline, stuck in the city between one meeting and the next.  

Indeed, the city itself has largely been cleaned up. There are still stately aging buildings and parks, but less of the pervasive grime. Still, there's something about London that she can't quite put her finger on that makes her feel unsettled.

It's totally irrational.

*

1918

*

"It's hideous."

"Yeah, it's not for everyone."

*

Diana hates it here. The air is bleak and grey and thick. It's like the air on Themyscira on the winter solstice, when it's choked by smoke from their celebratory bonfires, only worse, because this isn't fragrant, woody smoke. It's a thick miasma of coal and smog, utterly pungent, with an acrid odor layering it that Diana will soon find out is what the aftermath of bombings smell like.

The streets, too, are filthy, full of trash and grey with coal dust, and she's never seen anything so utterly uncivilized in her whole life.

And it's loud, an ugly cacophony of sounds like she's never encountered: people shouting—a language that she understands, to be sure, but one that is just a little dissonant all the same because it isn't hers —and bells chiming and the creaks and groans of the bridge as it raises, and hissing of the engines in the automobiles.

Truly, she doesn't know why anyone would live here, but it's all right, because soon they'll be headed off to the War. Battlefields are not good, but she is sure they are something that she at least understands.

*

Her first day in London has been a whirlwind: the clothing shop, the fight in the alley, Parliament and the horribly rude generals, and finally, assembling the team at the pub. She's not ashamed to admit that she's looking forward to a bit of rest before she goes to confront Ares.

After leaving the pub, Steve leads her to a quiet side street, and directs her up three flights of stairs into a cramped set of rooms.

"It's not much, but when I'm in London, it's home."

The apartment is largely impersonal—it's clear that Steve doesn't spend much time here, away on missions more often than not—but it still feels warm. To that end, Steve ushers her into the little kitchen and hands her a cup of tea.

It's pleasantly warm despite being bitter, and she manages to finish it as Steve gets up and starts rearranging the cushions on the sofa.

"What are you doing?"

"Um. Making up the couch?" It sounds like more of a question than her own, honestly.

"Yes, I have eyes," she says impatiently. "Why are you making up the couch?"

"I...don't have an answer you'll approve of."

She huffs. "I do not understand your society in the slightest. Did we not sleep together on the boat, just last night, and all the ones before it?"

"Er. Yeah."

"And tonight is different how?"

"Um," says Steve, clearly looking uncomfortable. "There's a bed?"

Diana levels him with a very unimpressed look. "You sat alone at the kitchen table with me while we drank tea."

"Well, I—huh? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, what on earth do they teach you about the pleasures of the flesh that makes you think a bed or even a horizontal position is a requirement?"

Steve chokes on air and starts coughing. "Diana—"

"I'm just saying you get very flustered about very peculiar things. The bed, for example, but not the kitchen table, which looks very sturdy, by the way—"

"Okay, okay! You've made your point! I'll sleep with you."

"Finally," she huffs.

"It's—"

"—not polite to assume, yes, you have said, but it is hardly an assumption on your part if I have clearly stated my feelings."

"Right, well, we'll just. Um. Go to bed, then."

Steve, anticipating Diana's lack of concern over modesty, offers her an oversized flannel shirt to sleep in.

"If it will make you feel better," she says, and puts it on over her undergarments.

"Goodnight," she says, once he's extinguished the light.

"Night."

She's not awake long enough to see him fall asleep, falling into a slumber almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.  

*

Diana wakes up to warmth, an intangible yet visceral feeling of safety, and a comfortable weight around her waist. It's clearly morning, weak light dappling the side of the room, the view out the window in front of her proving it's a cloudy day. She shifts slightly and realizes that in the night, Steve has rolled her way and thrown his arm around her.

They're meant to get an early start, but Diana is used to waking up so early for training every morning that it can't possibly be time to get up yet. She's willing to lay in bed just a few moments longer, but her shifting appears to have woken up Steve, who tugs her a little closer and then seems to realize where he is.

He lets go of her like her skin is aflame and jerks backward so hard that he nearly falls off the edge of the bed.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

She catches his hand in the middle of a wild gesticulation. "If I thought you were being disrespectful, you would no longer have the arm in question."

"Right. Neat. I'll just, uh, go make some tea."

Sameer and Charlie knock on the door not long after, and then they're out of London, off to the War.  

*

London, upon return, is even worse than London before. Even amidst the celebrations, it seems so much bleaker, so much colder.  

Etta, dear lovely Etta, helps with all the arrangements to make it appear as though she existed before last week. Documents, a day job—and a place to stay.

"I've arranged it all so that it's yours. Young ladies, they usually have to stay in boarding rooms, but I think this is what he would've wanted."

Etta makes time to take her to the apartment, under the guise of ensuring that it has everything she needs.

It's a grey day, the kind that doesn't really let much light make its way indoors. The small apartment is dim, and it feels so desolate, so empty.

Diana turns in a circle as Etta rummages through the drawers, making a list of the few things she finds to be lacking. She was just here a few days ago; how can a place feel so intrinsically different?

"Well, luv, it appears to be mostly in order. If you don't mind, I'll come 'round tomorrow with a new spatula and a bit of sugar, and you'll be all set."

"Yes, of course," Diana says distantly, and then Etta's gone, out the door.

An apartment so small and cluttered shouldn't be so capable of feeling empty, but it does.

Diana, who's always run hot, feels vaguely cold.

*

She tries, she really does. She does her job and goes on missions and tries to make friends, invites people over for dinner or tea, does her best to make London home.

She makes it a whole month before it drives her mad, being in that little apartment. London itself doesn't hold Steve's ghost, but this apartment does.

After a month, she can no longer stand it, even though she's hardly ever there anyways. In a fit of impulsiveness, she turns the keys over the Etta, and moves to Paris, a place she's been several times already, on missions with Sameer, and once, Napi.

She moves frequently, after that, from place to place, city to city, country to country, but doesn't call London home again.

*

present

*

So it's irrational, but every time Diana thinks of London, all she can think of are the grey skies and the colorless light in that apartment, like the world was slowly being sapped of color. Each time she thinks of London, she can't help but associate it with sorrow. With each emotion she felt in the aftermath of Steve's death, all of the complicated ways her victory felt like anything but.

No, she never takes to London, even as the years pass and the city changes. She arrives only as absolutely necessary, and leaves as soon as whatever work is done.

Today, for example, she's here for a conference on artifact preservation. She knows the man from the British Museum who's presenting the seminar—and frankly he has no business giving this talk—and as soon as it's over she'll be on the Eurostar back to Paris.

*

Her next meeting in London is with the director of the British Museum itself. She and a small team from the Louvre are meeting with a team from the British Museum to hammer out a loans agreement for a couple of highly-coveted pieces. It's the most important meeting outside of the Justice League that she'll have all year, and she's the lead negotiator.

The day before she's expected to leave for the week-long trip, Steve shows up, alive again after a century and change.

She already wasn't looking forward to the trip—this just makes it worse. She's in emotional crisis, and has no desire to leave Steve for any period of time, but this is literally the one meeting of the year that she cannot miss. (After all, if there's one attitude regarding museums and artifact "ownership" that she hates more than France's, it's Britain's. She's not going to miss this meeting and let them get away with anything.)

"I could...come with?" asks Steve, uncertainly. They're both still trying to figure things out.

"Would you?"

"It's hardly the worst place I've ever followed you," he says weakly, trying for a joke, and it's met with a wet laugh. "Look, I know London. Knew London, anyways. I could walk around somewhere familiar while you were in meetings and then after…" he trails off.

"And then after, there is no one I would rather spend time with," Diana declares.

"Neat, so—I'm coming."

Diana wastes no time booking the second ticket.

*

"It's hideous," says Steve when he sees the ultra-modern skyline for the first time.

"Well, London isn't for everyone," replies Diana with a smirk.  

"It's just—strange. London was sort of home for so long, and now I don't even recognize it."

"You get used to it, after a while," she says softly, and Steve has the distinct impression that she's not just talking about London.

They've arrived the evening before the meetings are set to start, so they wander around a little before getting dinner and checking into the hotel. (Diana has accumulated properties in plenty of places, but London was never one of them; instead, they're staying downtown, near several excellent take-away spots that Diana was already planning on taking advantage of.)

"How many shades of red would you turn if I offered to take the couch right now?" Steve jokes, surveying the hotel room upon arrival.  

"Objectively? Fewer than if you joined me in the bed."

Steve flushes almost as many shades as he had in mind, still a little startled by her bluntness.

"Oh? And now who's assuming?" he says as evenly as he can.

"I don't know what you mean," she says, far too innocently, "I run hot when I sleep."

"Right."

She can't help but laugh at that. She feels so—content, for the first time in so long. It's coloring her view of everything: the business trip suddenly doesn't feel so unmanageable, London doesn't feel so soul-less, even the sterile hotel room feels cheerful.

It's true that Diana never warmed up to London, but it has a fighting chance now.

***  

Final Note:  Please pardon any negative depictions of London; it's not my favorite city but it mostly comes from Diana's emotional relationship with the place.

***

[365days365movies]

January 14, 2021: GoldenEye (Epilogue)

WhoooooooooooooOK. Look, I’m gonna get through this, but I’m gonna have to go in a different order. I’m going from highest score to lowest, because that’s how I’m gonna be able to get through this. And for the record, I’ll be doing some...ranting...at certain points. This is gonna be interesting. Why? Well, let’s start with this little tidbit.

79%. Not my score. That’s the Rotten Tomatoes score for this movie. The average rating on RT is 7.1/10. My score...my score will not be that high. Maybe not terribly low, but...it ain’t gonna be that high. ‘Cause I got some problems. OH BOY...do I got some problems. And this might even be controversial for some, but if you like this movie, I’m so happy for you.

I...I was not that lucky.

Review

Direction and Action

To Martin Campbell: great job. I actually mean this sincerely, great job with the direction of this movie, as well as the cinematography. Good job from you too, Phil Méheux. Some of the shots and framing of this movie are great, and credit absolutely deserves to be given for that. And the action! Look, as stupid as some of the framing is for it (we’ll get there, dear GOD, we’ll get there), the action is all dynamite. From the jump into the dam at the beginning, to the VERY impressively brutal fight scene between Alec and James at the end. Absolutely impressive, and gets a 9/10 from me. Yeah, really. No complaints here. 

Wow, a 9? That’s a big deal! I thought you said you hated this movie.

I don’t hate everything in this movie. But some things...some things...we’ll get there.

Cast and Acting

I can’t believe I’m saying this, considering my opinions on a lot of the movie...but Brosnan is a pretty great Bond. I hate the lines he’s forced to deliver, I hate the relationships and lack of emotion in his dialogue (WE WILL GET THERE), but I don’t actually blame Brosnan for that. He does a great job with what he’s given. And that basically goes for everybody else...almost. Famke Janssen. Xenia...she, uh...HOLY SHIT DUDE. She fuckin’ GOES for it. She’s the craziest Bond...Girl...wait. No, wait, she isn’t the Bond Girl. SHE’S THE HENCHMAN. Shit. OK, I’m on board with Xenia and Famke Janssen’s portrayal. Over the top, sure, but I can deal with that. Sean Bean does great, no surprise there, and I even like Izabella Scorupco as Natalya. Alan Cumming...Boris....yeah, no, no pass for Boris, he’s obnoxious as hell. I know you’re a great actor, Alan Cumming. So why in the hell do I NEVER SEE YOU IN ANYTHING GOOD??? Except X2, you rocked as Nightcrawler. And y’know what, Judi Dench’s one scene as M was FANTASTIC. Seriously, more of THAT, please! So, yeah, when I really think about it, high marks here, too. 8/10!

And an 8! For somebody who liked Connery, I’m surprised that Brosnan was OK for you. And yet, you said you didn’t like this movie? Why?

Just keep reading. It’ll aaaaaaaaaaallllllll make sense soon.

Production Design

Not much to say here, except...yeah, it looks great! From Arecibo Observatory to the streets of St. Petersburg, it all looks great. Iconic sets, like that Soviet statuary. Costumes, ESPECIALLY Xenia’s, were also pretty good, although not particularly iconic. Definitely no real problems here. Good job, Peter Lamont! 8/10 for you and your cohorts.

These are pretty high grades, 365.

I know. I am aware. We are not done.

Music and Editing

Before I talk about Tina Turner’s song, I have one thing to say...the triangle guy in the orchestra was having a FIELD DAY. My girlfriend and I watched this together, and she noticed it first. Now I can’t unhear it. Everybody wants to be heard...even the triangle guy. Listen to the theme from the tank sequence, you won’t be able to unhear the triangle guy going CRAZY back there. 

OK, the opening sequence might’ve been crazy compared to others, but the song was...pretty good. Absolutely not my favorite Bond song (GOOOOOOOOOLD-FINGAAAAAAH-WHAP-WHAAAAAAAP-WAAAAAAAAAAH), but still good. And the rest of the music for the movie is good...but I won’t be buying the soundtrack, sorry to say. Still, Éric Serra did a good job, I mean that. With all that said, 8/10.

Gee, 365, you sure you don’t like this movieGIVE IT A GODDAMNSECONDOK???

Plot and Writing

...Hey, uh...you OK? Looks like your eyes have gone blank there, 365. You all ri-wait...wait, what are you doing with your thighs? No! NOOOOOOOOO-

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHATETHEWRITINGANDPLOTINTHISGODDAMNMOVIE

OK, take a breathtakeabreathtakeabreathtakeaBREATH. The plot and writing of this goddamn movie cripples EVERYTHING ELSE IT HAD GOING FOR IT for me. And for the duration of the film, I’ve been trying to figure it out. What was it? I’m gonna have to break it into pieces here.

Plot first. At the end of the day, the plot isn’t actually bad in and of itself. However...it is the most UNORIGINAL, HACKNEYED, SPY MOVIE, JAMES BOND CLAPTRAP THAT I HAVE EVER SEEN. The entire film just feels scripted, and not in a good way. And I know that, logically, some things are going to stay the same. He’s gonna get the girl, there’s going to be a dastardly villain, there’ll be gadgets, Bond’ll be cool, and there’s the music. Let’s take the music out of it, obviously, and look at the other core elements of a Bond film, shall we?

The Girl: I might’ve liked Natalya, but the characters had NO chemistry. Can’t say that about Brosnan and Izabella, they did fine with what they were given. But the characters weren’t given a single satisfying reason to get together. They needed to either meet earlier, or you needed to give her something in her character to get her to convincingly fall for Natalya. The work needs to be done with her. Because, let’s face it: James Bond is a man-whore. It’s literally a part of his character definition. He doesn’t need an excuse to fall for her, she needs an excuse to fall for him. And we never get a convincing reason for their relationship. Ever.

The Villain: Gaaaaaaah, Alec! Alec was actually an interesting character! His motivations actually did make sense, and play on a VERY tough event in the history of the UK. While it certainly doesn’t justify his actions, it definitely makes him more three-dimensional. Which is why it’s a shame that the film works so hard to flatten him out. They turn him from an intriguing individual, to someone whose ultimate goal is to steal ALL OF THE MONEY IN LONDON!!! MUUUUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!! This guy is a Baron Zemo, a THANOS. Doing terrible things for understandable reasons. Should’ve leaned into that more, instead of just turning him into Evil James Bond. One of the biggest failures of this movie, seriously.

Gadgets: WHAT GODDAMN GADGETS??? The acetylene torch at the dam? Barely a gadget, and you know it. The car? NOPE! Agent Wade takes it away! Here’s an ideaUSE THE CAR IN ST. PETERSBURG. Instead of TEARING UP DOWNTOWN ST. PETERSBURG. Real subtle, Bond, real great work AS A SPY, YOU FUCKLEHEAD!!! What about the pen? Oh, the one he uses by ACCIDENT? Yeah, not counting that either. The belt? Nope, not even touched. And lastly, I cannot stress this enough, WHY WOULD YOU TEASE ME WITH THE GODDAMN CAR MISSILES, AND DO NOTHING WITH THEM??? Yeah. Still not over the car thing, I mean that. Enraged. So enraged.

James Bond: Pierce...you did a good job. You did a great job, even. It’s not you. It’s the writing. See, Bond lines used to be cool. But then, Schwarzenegger happened. And Stallone happened. And literally the entirety of the 1980s and early ‘90s happened. And all during that, Bond was still around, and still pumping out movies. All of Connery’s wit and cunning got Flanderized into almost a parody of the original character. And Brosnan...Brosnan does his damndest with those puns. Those awful...AWFUL...puns. If they were here and there, sure, I could’ve taken it. But at times, it felt like EVERY OTHER LINE!!! At a certain point, the film felt less like a Bond film, and more like a parody of a Bond film. EXCEPT, that unlike Austin Powers, IT. WASN’T. FUCKING. FUNNY. But you may have noticed something...that has nothing with the plot. That’s all writing. OK, let’s get into it.

The writers need help; they were clearly locked in a room for too long until they came up with “good puns.” It didn’t work. And the problem stretches far outside of the puns. Lemme give you an example, yeah? At one point, Valentin asks if Bond has “joined the 21st century,” then notes that M is now a woman. That comment makes no sense in two ways. One, that phrase is meant to state that an individual is somehow dated, out of touch with the present, stuck in the past. Yet, working for a woman is most certainly a more modern trait, so that makes no sense. And secondly, THIS IS 1995, IN THE 20TH CENTURY. And that’s a relatively minor nitpick, at the tip of the iceberg of this film. There are plot holes, missed opportunities...long story short (too late), the writing is TERRIBLE. It’s goddamn awful. It’s so awful...that I’m going for 1/10. Yeah. This movie PISSED ME OFF.

There. You get it now? Most of the elements of the movie were fine, but the writing TORE it for me. Which leaves us with…

A 68%.

*wakes up* W---WHAT? You tried to Xenia me, and you still gave it a 70%? What about the whole “My score will not be that high” thing? HUH?

I mean...it wasn’t. The average rating on Rotten Tomatoes was a 71%. Mine’s a 68%.

Because here’s the thing: it’s honestly not a bad movie. It just infuriates me for one reason. By all other metrics, this movie’s totally fine. It’s just the unoriginal plot and cringeworthy writing that tears it down a peg. Just imagine if the writing was good. This movie would be considered one of the best action movies, instead of just once of the best James Bond movies. And even then, if you ranked these movies by Tomatometer, GoldenEye’s only #9. That’s beneath Lazenby, a Moore, two Craigs, and the first four Sean Connerys. In other words, it’s the worst Bond movie I’ve ever seen...and I’ve only seen the first four Connery movies. So, really, this rating makes sense when you think about it.

There it is: a good action film with shitty writing. That’s GoldenEye. And PLEASE disagree with me, I’m one of the outliers with this movie. It is a beloved classic for many, and I respect that. But for me...it’s a 68%. Just my opinion.

But this isn’t fair. I want me a good Bond movie, or at least one that I like. Already seen Goldfinger, so...let’s go for the Bond after Brosnan, shall we?

January 15, 2021: Casino Royale (2005)

[theviscountbridgerton]

Interview with Jonathan Bailey in Style Magazine (October 2020) where he talks a little bit about Bridgerton. The interview was conducted in English, transcribed into Italian, and then translated back into English by Google Translate so, you know, there are some things that get lost in translation. 

Love affairs, marriages of interest and intrigues. It is the portrayal of the new Netflix series Bridgerton, a bit of a Jane Austen romance, a bit of sexy in the wake of The Favourite, with the right dose of Downton Abbey-style family drama, but “so modern that it could almost be set in the present day” enthusiastically states Jonathan Bailey, at his great opportunity to really make it internationally, playing the fascinating bachelor Anthony Bridgerton, the quintessential English nobleman of the early nineteenth century, who at the age of 28 finds himself at the head of a clan of seven brothers and sisters. One who “has to play the part of a loving brother and son and instead loves women and forbidden pleasures” ...

The Regency period has been less represented than other moments in British history, but the film industry abounds with period dramas. Do they still make sense today? Our instincts are the same, in 2020 as in 1820, and to observe them in a restrictive and oppressive context such as 19th century England where the will of the individual was stifled, sexuality was suppressed and there was a strong division between the social classes, puts them even more in evidence. Each of us at some point in his life felt forced into a role due to the expectations of others, just like Bridgerton's characters.

Women more than men, but ... Only in appearance: of course all the decisions are up to men, and Anthony for example to decide who should marry Daphne, but they are also forced to repress their feelings, which makes them unable to live a happy life. Patriarchal society has wreaked havoc on both sexes.

Bridgerton also has the virtue of surrounding Queen Charlotte with a court that is not exclusively white: the terrifying Lady Danbury and played by Adjoa Andoh, Regé-Jean Page plays the role of Duke Simon Basset and Martins Imhangbe as his best friend. Is it worth abdicating historical accuracy to be politically correct? We decided to do the opposite of whitewashing that so many historical moments have suffered. Here the question is to be faithful to the events told in the books by Julia Quinn from which the series is based, not to be historically accurate, so we can also imagine that at the time of Queen Charlotte it could have been an inclusive court. custom and the freedom given to the actors to model the characters, to make them current.

The fourth season of The Crown will also arrive on Netflix in the coming months: have you wondered why the public is still so fascinated by the nobility? We all love what we cannot have, which is closed to us. Even without getting to the royal family. Think for example of the world of the Bennet sisters and Mr Darcy of Pride and Prejudice: they were far below the social hierarchy, yet they have been represented countless times in period films. Personally, what intrigues me most about the golden world of the aristocracy is not the parties and privileges, but what lies beneath the surface: I wonder what the human cost of that life is. Bridgerton's characters always pretend to be something other than who they are: the real drama and their distance from the truth in a society of appearance, and this is what intrigues us about them.

Is the society of appearance then different from ours? If at the time classism was based on the distance between people, with the aristocrats who did everything to limit what the people could know about them, today social media allow us to <approach> characters that otherwise we would only idealize and this does so that high society no longer exists.  We never knew so much about the royal family, but I don't think it's good.

Speaking of royalty, you started in the theater with the King John of the Royal Shakespeare Company: is the stage still your first love? A love that has only grown since I first saw a musical Oliver! as a child. I love the experience of being in the theater, first of all as a spectator, it's magic. But as an actor I have to admit that it's much more tiring than cinema.

And instead to dub the protagonists of the video games from Anthem and Final Fantasy XIV, how did he end up? That was one of the funniest things I could do. They have a really huge fanbase and I consider them an incredible art form as well as a thriving industry. He played them a lot when I was a kid and I rediscovered them during the lockdown.

What role do you dream of playing? I think it's better for me not to know, I prefer to be stimulated by reading a script. The important thing is to work with people who have a very defined idea of ​​your character: it makes him stronger, you can already imagine him on the page even before taking on his shoes. But I can say that I'd like to play someone who looks a lot like me, who tells my reality, I'd like to find out how I would feel. It sounds like a paradox, but I think Hamlet could never play Hamlet.

And could Hamlet ever be a woman? Thanks to the role of Jamie in Company, who was originally an Amy, you won the Laurence Olivier Award for Best Supporting Actor in a Musical. Amy was transformed into a man, yes, but homosexual, and it is no coincidence: I believe that women and gays, even if in different ways and at different levels, are both oppressed minorities. In Company the goal was to make the reflection on marriage more modern by putting a man in crisis, because, given that gay marriages are now legal in many countries of the world, it almost seems that one has to marry by force. In general, however, I don't think we should cut the female parts on men, both because they are related to purely female experiences, but above all because of complex male roles I would say that there are already enough. Women are finally being given roles with an emotional complexity never seen before: it is interesting to see them act as protagonists in a society that has long been dominated by men, sometimes very weak, others brilliant.

Who is Jonathan Bailey when he's not on set? A boy who loves being in nature. I just finished a week of cycling in the English countryside where I covered about 700km. I think if I wasn't an actor I would retire Cornish hut.

I had read in an old interview with him that as a boy he dreamed of becoming a pilot. I think I was trying to reassure my parents that I would settle down and find a stable job (laughs). But in reality maybe I could have become a teacher, not because I necessarily think I have who knows what to pass on, but I believe in young people, it will be that I recently spent some time with my six year old niece. Instead it is not that I really had the opportunity to choose, fate did it for me.

Does it owe more to fate or to his willpower? I don't come from a family of actors or artists, when at the age of seven I was offered the part of Tiny Tim in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol which was to be performed at the Barbican in London I simply jumped at an opportunity. Many kids who love theater go to drama school, but having grown up in a small town in Oxfordshire, I wouldn't have had much choice but to join the basketball team. So I will always be grateful for that chance, but it has never been an easy path. I believe in hard work, which always rewards.

[asphodelroot]

Hi Emmy. I’m your Secret Santa and I hope that this year’s Christmas are the best (or that this Saturday is if you don’t celebrate). I’m afraid that I can’t draw or make amazing edits so here’s the only thing I kinda sorta can do :D I hope you’ll enjoy this little drabble~! (and I’m sorry if the last part is a bit wonky, I was a bit tipsy when finishing this story). ENJOY

———————————————-

The first time she heard those words, it made her feel proud, excited even. Granted there wasn’t much understanding on her part, not that beyond the most basic, organic one, but what she could decipher from Severus’ sentence, she’s found to be simple.

  ‘You are very powerful for a Muggleborn.' 

  They’ve known each other for about a week at that point. And what a magical week that has been, no pun intended, filled with wonderfully intricate stories of spells and hexes, of shapeshifting abilities and wizarding schools that held secrets beyond imagination. Every morning, Lily woke up with a smile, rushing to get ready for another warm, spring day full of classes that had recently lost their appeal in lieu of the new life that she now knew was awaiting her. How could Maths or English or French even live up to the promise of wands and incantations? They couldn’t… So Lily rushed back to the playground near Spinner’s End every day after classes and met up with the most fascinating boy she could ever wish to meet in the dreary town of Cokeworth. 

Severus Snape was a mystery. He appeared out of nowhere one day, and after witnessing, what he had later called, an accidental burst of magic became a guide of a hidden world that she apparently was a part of. He had shown her moving pictures and newspapers that talked about things and people she’s never heard of, tried explaining to her what it meant to be a witch or a wizard and recalled all the stories of Hogwarts he could remember hearing before. But there was one thing that he couldn’t do. And ironically it was magic. 

He had tried explaining, to the best of his abilities and childish understanding, the reasons behind his inability to perform magic, said that it was almost impossible without a wand. When asked how he knew he was a wizard, he huffed angrily and puffed out his chest as if his honour had been wounded. 'It’s because my mother is a witch. She’s told me about it all. And I had my own outbursts when I was a child.’ To her own childish mind, it was all understandable. She didn’t know that Sqibbs existed, or that there was a stigma to those born outside of the Pureblood lines of the magical world. To her, she thought as she willed another flower to bloom, hoping that Sev would follow her example, being a Muggleborn meant exactly what the word suggested. She was a daughter of Muggles… And she was powerful for a Muggleborn. 

Their friendship continued to grow with time. Somewhere along the way, they had grown attached to the hip while Lily and Petunia’s sisterhood started to fall apart. It was a slow process, sometimes hardly discernible to the minds of kids this young, but nothing could ever be the same after Lily learned of her abilities. After a name could finally be attached to the things she could do with her willpower alone. And maybe at 8 or 9, it wasn’t that much of a deal, but it was going to grow still, and she simply couldn’t imagine the extent of pain that it was going to give her. For as long as Lily was still living in Cokeworth the two remained family, the statuses of Muggle or Muggleborn, not all that often present in their thoughts. However, then came the moment Lily’s been waiting for. She got her letter and a visitation from an intimidating Witch wearing a stereotypical pointy hat, who explained everything that Lily apparently had to know about Hogwarts and how to get to both Diagon Alley and the hidden train platform somewhere in the far off London. Within weeks from that, she was off to a new world located for the very first few years solely in between the gates of her new school with thrilling new friendships looming on the horizon.

What she didn’t know, though she should have suspected after several particularly negative comments from Severus, was that once she had officially started her magical education, her status was going to be much more important to other people. And as it was her wake up call came as soon as the Welcoming Feast ended and the newly appointed Gryffindors followed their prefect up several staircases to a tower that was about to become their home for the next seven years. 

As soon as the Portrait’s frame moved from its original place and the sea of students poured into the common area the chaos erupted. Older kids formed groups around the room, some claiming the most comfortable sitting spots by the fireplace, others still gossiped about their summers as if the train ride hadn’t been long enough to catch up. All in all, it was a beautiful gathering of people under eighteen with no adult supervision enjoying their last moments of summer holidays.

In the middle of the room stood a bunch of first years, some openly staring around at older students playing Gobstones in the corner, others muttering with each other and a few patiently waiting for more directions to come from the prefect who brought them there from the Great Hall. Lily was one of those people. After all, despite coming from an unmagical family, she has already learned so much about the school from Severus. 

A tall, lean girl who stood in front of them and seemed almost as intimidating at professor McGonagall turned to face them and theatrically spread her hands to indicate the room they were all in. ’ Welcome to Gryffindor’s Common Room. It’s a place where you will spend most of your free time for the next couple of days and it’s where we cultivate our House Pride. To your left, you can see a notice board on which any and all information regarding our House will be put. Keep an eye on it.’ After that, she indicated one of the staircases behind her. 'On this side, you will find boys’ dormitories and on the other - girls’. Your trunks are already up there and waiting.’ With that, she was technically finished with all the information that she absolutely had to pass onto the first years, but there were a couple of things she wanted to add from herself. 'You see, us Gryffindors take our House Pride very seriously. Every year we make a great effort to win the House Cup or at least come up second. So try to keep up with us. Preferably by not being late tomorrow for your first classes as many often are.’ She finished with visible distaste and it was clearly their cue to leave the common room in search for their appointed sleeping quarters, but one of the girls suddenly raised her hand. 

'Yes?’ The prefect girl asked with resignation. Usually, one question meant that more were about to come.

'How will we know when to wake up? I mean, are there alarm clocks or something?’

It wasn’t a stupid question per se, but technically it wasn’t a good one either, especially since the girl pretty much answered it herself. But before the prefect could say anything, some too tall, too knobbly at the joints sixth year joined in with a nasty sounding comment. 'Oho! We got ourselves another Muggleborn this year, haven’t we?’ He asked his companion loud enough for the whole room to hear and even though there was little foundation to think that he had meant something vile, Lily could swear that his intentions weren’t pure. She glanced in his direction in curiosity, but soon her attention was brought back to the prefect. 'Yes, there are alarm clocks and there are masses of students waking up at odd hours of the morning to get ready for classes. So don’t worry. Unless you actively try to lose our points by sleeping in you should be fine. Even if you are, in fact, a Muggleborn.’ With that, they were dismissed and even if no one said anything about Muggleborns being somewhat lesser, Lily went to sleep much less excited than before.

It didn’t take long for her to learn that there were, in fact, those few people who did think her kind of people to be unworthy of magic. All it took was a few weeks and one overheard conversation between purebloods to get the whole spectrum. Some people didn’t care, others cared a little bit and some were total arseholes. 

Her first boyfriend was supposedly one of those precious few who didn’t care at all. He was a Ravenclaw and her partner during Herbology in the fourth year. A perfect example of his House’s stereotypes. 

He was studious, even though not the smartest, and knowledgeable about so many subjects that talking with him could never be dull, he was a pureblood but came from a family of very little importance., but most importantly he was as interested in Lily as she was in him. 

They started going out at the beginning of the second semester in all the school meaning of this word - Hogsmeade trips, library study sessions and an occasional stroll around the Great Lake. And it was nice, perfect, as thrilling as any first love ought to be. Sure, there were also awkward moments, natural at this stage of life when one is still learning and searching for what is what. Both had been fortunate to find the other. 

However, things had to start tumbling downhill as all first loves are ought to do. In their case, it was mostly because soon after the summer Lily started to get lost in her new prefect duties. There was too much to learn, too much to perfect that the spare time she’s had wasn’t enough to keep them together. And maybe it was for the best? She’s started to have some doubts during the summer and the disastrous way in which she’s met his parents. Disastrous in her opinion, but disastrous nonetheless. 

Everything happened within a span of some three minutes and yet it was enough to leave Lily uncomfortable with enough food for thought to last her for two whole months. It was the way he introduced her to his parents, something that hasn’t been planned beforehand but happened out of the blue. They should have predicted such a situation, but both were too young and too into each other to think about such details and nothing foretold how his simple, 'mum, dad this is Lily, my Muggleborn girlfriend’ would affect her. But it did. It made her blush, a sudden wave of embarrassment flooding her insides. And it made her angry, but at herself mostly, as at that point, she was already well acquainted with the notion of blood purity and had trained herself to pretend that the whole ideology didn’t affect her. Instead, she smiled through clenched teeth and shook the offered hands hoping that her redness, easily visible due to her light complexion, was being taken for a sure sign of her teenage infatuation. 

Everything changed from that moment. With every received letter from him, she remembered the way he had phrased his introduction, the way his choice of words felt off (who could ever naturally say “she’d my Muggleborn girlfriend”?), the way he felt it necessary to add that bit about her. Was it such an important part of her character? Did it matter all that much to him that she wasn’t a pureblood or even a half-blood? Couldn’t he just say that she was his girlfriend, plain and simple? Did that mean he had another girlfriend, with a different blood status hidden somewhere? In the end, it was all too much for her to take in and the pair had drifted apart. She was left with all those questions, though. And she never got her answers. 

Once the war had started to pose a real threat, her previous worries started to feel insignificant. Suddenly it wasn’t anymore about the way someone might find her not good enough to date her or throw a slightly thoughtless comment her way, suddenly it was starting to become life-threatening and before she knew what was going on, it had become more than serious. 

On her way there were classes, exams, OWLs and NEWTS and then she was out of school, graduated, a real witch with a real wand and an apparition licence. The world was huge and scary and even though she should be caring only about getting a good job and safe place to build a home she has found herself fighting for her basic rights. Instead of going to interviews or maybe learning new things, partying with friends and going on dates with her boyfriend (or two), she was spending her evenings patrolling and going to secret meetings. Instead of taking potions to sooth her sore throat (after a whole night of club going and screaming happily with friends) she poured over books in search of long forgotten potions and spells that they could use to tip the scales in their favour.  And then, just as suddenly, she was pregnant and engaged and then married and a mother and before she knew what was happening she was no more. And it was no longer her duty to make sure their baby never said to their future friend - “you are great…

…for a Muggleborn”.

[sebthesnipe]

The Dreamer by Whatwashernameagain An Analysis? Chapter 3 Part 1

All portions:

Chapter 1: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Chapter 2: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Chapter 3: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

The Dreamer

by @whatwashernameagain

Reminder: Spoilers under cut!

Hello friends!!!

It has been some time since I wrote a literary analysis for The Dreamer, but Chapter 3 was released and I’m back in business!!!

If you have not read the analysis for Chapters 1 and 2 I suggest you do so. (Links above)

As Always if you have not done so please read @whatwashernameagain ‘s The Dreamer Chapter 3 before you continue. This analysis is pretty much a giant spoiler if you haven’t.

Lastly I am going to place all of the same warning as Whatwashernameagain did on the chapter because there is some pretty intense subjects throughout the work that we all need to be aware of. I have also broken my Chapter analysis into four parts as usual to keep it from getting too bulky.

Also, you can find additional links to The Dreamer analysis on AO3 (and other works by me) here on my masterpost.

 LETS GET STARTED!!!

Warnings: homophobia, internalized homophobia, republican brainwashing, manipulation, mentioned pedophilia, violence, threatened sexual abuse, injuries, being pressured into sex, nakedness.

Eva opens with Roman making a mistake. He has failed to listen to his handler, Virgil. He had raided an abandoned warehouse, hoping to capture the leader of a human trafficking ring (Whatwashernameagain). This is a subtle reminder of the difference between Logan and Roman. Once again, we see Roman concerning himself with ‘the smaller’ issues. By this I mean, caring for the individual person rather than the world as a whole. Roman is good hearted enough to consider a small human trafficking ring as a very large issue that needs to be address. This also brings attention to just how sensitive Roman can be. Though it may not be apparent here, if we look closely, we can see the same endearing and caring individual that I have been analyzing throughout the first two chapters. Roman’s attention to the crimes that The Utilitarian sees as lessor implies that Roman is far more sensitive as a person than he lets on. An aspect that is even more apparent the further we get into the chapter.

We are informed that the target had gotten away as an explosion occurs, burying Roman in debris and crushing the only contact he has with the outside world. He loses contact with his friend, leaving him along. He passes out and wakes strapped to a chair. That’s when we see another development occur:

“He hadn’t realized how much he relied on the snarky, moody voice in his ear until helplessness flooded him in the silent dark room” (Whatwashernameagain).

First off, Virgil and Roman’s relationship has obviously evolved through the last chapter which we knew, but this also brings a whole new experience to Roman. He has grown accustomed to his friend being there, always guiding him, a voice he could rely and trust on. Now that voice is gone. It’s almost as if the crutch Roman had given himself to help support everything he was doing is now gone. In this instance we can see Virgil as an aspirin. Roman has grown so use to the pain of loneliness being gone because Virgil was always there as a buffer that when he is gone the pain feels as if it is ten times worse. Roman is alone. A feeling he has never really had to face, at least not since he became The Dreamer.

“The young man had grown used to bearing pain in silence, but as his blood dripped to the ground between his knees, coughed up from injured lungs, he barely managed to hold back the whimper of agony and fear” (Whatwashernameagain).

Okay, Eva… I smell what you’re cooking. Was this supposed to hurt? Huh?! Cuz it did!! But not as much as the rest of the chapter. -.- This line sets the new scene quite effectively. First off, Roman is referred to as ‘The young man’. I’ve had the privilege of chit chatting with Eva regularly and she has pointed out that I underestimate her often lol and she’s right. So, I’m fairly convinced that she refers to Roman in this way on purpose.

The Dreamer is a symbol of hope and justice that politicians paint for their own gain. He is strong and mature, a role model to those in need. Here we see the man behind the suit. The young man specifically. With all of his heroic feats it is difficult to remember that Roman is not very old. The reminder of his age is very strategic here when faced with the ‘agony and fear’ of this scene. Eva does a stunning job reminding us of just how fragile these monumental people can be. Behind the cape Roman is just a scared and pained young man trying to do his best, just as we all are. This simple sentence causes the reader to relate even more to the young man as we watch him try and keep himself together.

“By his estimation, he had spent two days in semi-darkness being beaten, dehydrated and humiliated. The worst thing wasn’t the broken ribs and fingers though, it was the things his torturer promised he’d do to him once he’d beaten him into submission and received the information he wanted” (Whatwashernameagain).

I have mentioned before that the best writers coax their readers into asking questions. Here we are, or at least I am, curious about a number of things. Roman has been tortured and beaten for two days. Is the fact that his team hasn’t found him due to their inadequacy without him or their indifference? My money is on the later. Roman is worth a lot of money as a hero, but if someone is sent to save him, he loses face which is bad for business. Perhaps they hope he’ll get himself out of the situation he is in.  

The real interesting line from this section however is the line ‘The worst thing wasn’t the broken ribs and fingers though, it was the things his torturer promised he’d do to him once he’d beaten him into submission and received the information he wanted’ (Whatwashernameagain). I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read literature with torture scenes that are nothing but physical. This is fairly sad because a person’s psychological torment can be just as painful as physical. For example, Metin Basoglu of King’s College London, UK and colleagues surveyed 279 survivors of torture from the former Yugoslavia, including both soldiers and civilians from the previously war-torn region (Khamsi, Roxanne). In this study, they discovered that Falaga, the burning of parts of the body, and forced extraction of teeth all scored a 3.6 out of 4 for a pain rating (Khamsi, Roxanne). The same rating was given for Witnessing torture of close ones and threats of rape (Khamsi, Roxanne). This would suggest that Roman’s fear of what is to come can indeed cause more pain than what he is physically experiencing. Not to mention we already know that the hero has an unusually strong tolerance for physical pain if his body alterations is anything to go by. Regardless, Eva obviously can acknowledge that the unknown can be as painful as any injury.

Next, we see Roman falling farther and farther into hopelessness. He knows no one is coming for him. His loneliness is settling in once more. The feeling is no doubt torture in and of itself judging by Roman’s need for approval and the public’s affection. Being alone is not something the man copes with well.

As a reader we can pretty much predict what is about to happen, however. This is not the first time an unexpected hero has emerged. Roman describes a tall slender shape drawing near and the relief from the man is palpable. Once again, Logan is his hope. His enemy becomes his savior. Eva has a tendency to remind her readers that though it is human nature to define things by placing them in a box of our own design, these boxes are often wrong. There is nothing separating one person from another. We are all people. The only divisions anything in this world has is the ones we give. An animal is an animal, not because they are not a person, but because we decided they are. A pen is a pen and not a pencil because we decided it is. If you remove these lines, everything is exactly what it is and there is nothing wrong with that. Without these lines I am still me and you can not define that and yet… I still am. Humanity has this drive that it needs to define every aspect of a being in order to accept it. Once someone accepts that not everything can fit in a box thing get easier… better… peaceful. The Utilitarianist is a villain in the public eye because they have decided that he is, just as they have decided what is good or bad. Roman, however, Roman just sees his savior. In this instance Logan is not good, Logan is not bad… Logan is hope.

“With another blow, he crashed to the ground with a sickening sound. With the usual disregard for the wellbeing of his victims, the Utilitarianist stepped over the unconscious man” (Whatwashernameagain).

Here Eva describes Logan’s attack with ‘a sickening sound’. Then immediately describes the victim as ‘unconscious’. To me, this is a bit contradicting. Firstly, we are still in Roman’s POV. Roman knows that Logan is more than capable of killing individuals, but Logan is the hero at the moment. It is possible that the man is in fact dead (I’m with Lo if this is truly the case. The bastard had it coming for hurting my poor RoRo), however, Roman’s denial and current mental state may have him believing otherwise. There is no real evidence, however, to support that Logan would leave the man alive. In fact, it would be more logical to kill him…. Then again, it’s not very logical for Logan to be saving Roman’s well sculpted ass in the first place.

“He was so relieved to see his nemesis he had to fight back a sob. He had the feeling if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop crying. The villain felt entirely unthreatening to him as he towered over Roman’s hunched body. He was familiar, like an old friend” (Whatwashernameagain).

Here we see more of Roman’s reaction to Logan’s appearance. But it is a bit more than that. Roman is still stricken with relief and his words are full of contradictions just as they had been before. These contradictions are similar to the ones we saw in Logan during the first chapter. Though some of you might know exactly what I’m referring to I’m going to quote it, just in case. Feel free to skip ahead.

“Logan goes on to talk about the ‘puffing up’ and how ‘unpractical’ The Dreamer’s costume is and his ‘irritating presence’, he talks about grand speeches and attempting to appeal to Logan’s ‘humanity’. The tone of the paragraphs is that of annoyed humor as if it were amusing to think Logan had any humanity at all. That being said… another literary study comes to mind when reading this portion of the work. I will do my best to keep from going too much in depth but basically back in the early EARLY 1900s Sigmund Freud invented psychoanalysis with his publication of The interpretation of Dreams (Rivkin, Julie). Why was it such a big deal? Well, before the publication psychology assumed that what goes on in the mind was limited to the conscious (Rivkin, Julie). What does that have to do with Logan? Well, the revolution was a huge part of history and the strides that were made in psychology didn’t only affect the medical world but the literary one as well. Psychoanalysis wasn’t only limited to a person but the work they created as well; it began to be used as a way of studying literature, analyzing the author through their work. But… I’m veering a bit too far to the left. The reason this is important is because some of Frued’s research was based on the ‘defenses’ that the ego mobilizes against unacceptable libidianal or unconscious material (Rivkin, Julie). I.e. The mind can invert a feeling into its opposite, so that a yearning for contact can become a desire to do violence (Rivkin, Julie). That, of course, is an extreme but we see the same psychological mechanism here for Logan. The Dreamer is a man who represents the very thing Logan is determined to pull down; it would be extremely illogical to have any sort of attraction to the man. There for, to put it simply, he’s in denial” (Sebthesnipe).

‘Denial’ isn’t quite the word I would use for Roman in this particular instance, though the Freudian information is still applicable. Roman refers to Logan as ‘his nemesis’ and yet feels relieved. He calls him villain but sees him as unthreatening. In fact, he ‘feels like an old friend’. Eva is obviously implying that this is a huge turning point for Roman in their relationship. While Roman is still actively rejecting Logan, calling him nemesis and villain, his emotions are betraying him. This is very similar to the issue with Logan that I quoted above. Roman is going through quite a bit of character development in this instance and the subtly that Eva writes it in is beautiful as always.

“As he silently helped him up and wrapped Roman’s shaking arm around his shoulders, the hero felt safe. They needed no words as their eyes met. The older villains were very dark, cat-like, behind the mask, and startlingly warm. The villain had never been this close. He smelled good. Clean, unlike the damp bunker filled with the scent of Roman’s blood. Somehow, the young hero was surprised to actually find himself a bit taller than the other. He’d always seemed sort of inhuman to him. Larger than life” (Whatwashernameagain).

This is a very very important paragraph. Mostly for what is to come but also because I’m Logince trash and I have no shame. Still Roman is beginning to humanize The Utilitarian. We are watching more of Roman’s character development. Roman is starting to see Logan as a person, an individual he can touch or talk to. Roman still calls him ‘villain’ to try and distance himself but his walls are falling. He mentions that Logan had never been so close. I doubt Eva mention to add this for just physical proximity. No, Logan had never been this close to the hero emotionally either. Roman is growing attached to the person behind the mask. We see Roman see through all of his previous perceptions.

He mentions seeing Logan as ‘Larger than Life’ and perhaps this is true. Prior to now Logan had always been the opposition. He had been the accumulation of everything that Roman fought again. He was a set of ideals, not an actual person. Now, thought, now, Logan is a tangible person that is currently helping Roman stagger to safety. He is solid in his arms. He is less of an idea and more of a person with feelings and ambitions, just as Roman is; because if Roman can do anything it is see a person for what they are. He’s proven that every time he has gone after the smaller criminals, the sex traffickers, the muggers, the rapists. Because to Roman, every individual is as important as every group of people.

As always, Eva shows her flawless ability to transition between dark undertones and light humor within the next few lines:

“I would like to say I was surprised you got yourself caught.”

And it was gone as soon as it had appeared.

“Excuse you, I didn’t get myself caught! And I didn’t know you were capable of doing something nice. Does it hurt to go against your nature?”

“You are being irrational.”

“And you are being a villainous menace!” (Whatwashernameagain)

Oh, how I love my bois’ banter. Ugh! So adorable!

Roman and Logan both are bickering, as usual, though perhaps this is just more of that denial I’ve mentioned? My guess is that it is, both men are trying to protect themselves from what they both know they can’t have: each other.

To be continued…

  Khamsi, Roxanne. “Psychological Torture 'as Bad as Physical Torture'.” New Scientist, 5 Mar. 2007, www.newscientist.com/article/dn11313-psychological-torture-as-bad-as-physical-torture/.

Rivkin, Julie. Literary Theory: a Practical Introduction. Wiley-Blackwell, 2017.

Sebthesnipe. “The Dreamer by Whatwashernameagin an Analysis? Part 2.” RAMBLINGS OF A MARRIED FANGIRL, 4 Dec. 2019, sebthesnipe.tumblr.com/post/189470642532/the-dreamer-by-whatwashernameagin-an-analysis.

Whatwashernameagain. “The Dreamer - Chapter 1.” Hello Guys Gals And Non Binary Friends, 8 Sept. 2019, https://whatwashernameagain.tumblr.com/post/187581477262/the-dreamer-chapter-1.

[whentommymetalfie]

Be Where You Are

A/N: nothing, my brain is empty from editing! just please enjoy this huge chunk of mostly fluff and forgive me

Summary: Five times Alfie and Tommy talked about spending the rest of their lives together -with each other, with others, and sometimes without doing much talking at all. 

In which there's house-hunting, life changing decisions, and yet another failed (sort of) shovel talk from Arthur.

Notes/warnings: Heavy drinking and implied alcoholism, smut

Wordcount: 10 K (yes, yes it’s that long) 

It may be true that Alfie Solomons is not the most… patient man in the entire world. He’s well aware of that. But when it comes to the things that truly matters, he’d like to think that he can in fact dig deep and muster up some of it. Patience, that is. Like with everything that concerns Tommy, for example. That includes his at best mildly infuriating and at worst absolutely unbearable family. And the living situation on Watery Lane. He’s put up with that far longer than any sane (or… less sane) man should ever have to.

But it’s the lock on their door breaking that finally is the last fucking drop.  

Alfie has suffered through Arthur banging on their door at all hours, from early fucking morning to late in the evening (And yeah he’s entirely fucking sure that he does it just to disrupt any amorous activity that may or may not be going on in there, despite Tommy rolling his eyes at this and stating that not even Arthur could be that childish).

He’s quietly bitten his tongue whenever Ada’s passed by to ask irrelevant questions; like if Tommy has seen her missing dress. And no, why on earth would he have done that? Ada only gives Alfie a look when he grumbles this, which makes him wonder exactly what she thinks he and Tommy get up to in bed. When he brings this up with Tommy, Tommy is mostly annoyed that Alfie thinks Ada’s dress would even fit him. (He’s pretty sure that it would bu that’s not the point)

Then there’s John, who can’t seem to take a single step without checking with Tommy first whether it’s alright or not…. And all of these are just things that Alfie can come up with at the top of his head.

Well, the point is that he’s been very fucking patient with all of it. Because if the Shelbys all want to share the roof of that giant, rickety ancestral home, then that’s all well and good. And yeah he’s well aware that the whole lot -Tommy in particular, even though he’d deny it to his dying day- suffer some kind of collective abandonment issue. So, Tommy moving out before Finn is older is out of the question.

But when Arthur actually manages to break the fucking lock on their bedroom door by bursting in through it, Alfie’s had enough. On top of it all, he just got Tommy onto his back, making those noises that would make the best of men commit all sorts of atrocities if only to hear them again. Legs spread and cheeks flushed, and looking absolutely worthy to be devoured…

That’s when Arthur stumbles in, effectively putting a stop to the whole thing. And once he has rushed out again, red faced and shouting, Tommy is not in the mood anymore. In fact he’s so much not in the mood that he rolls over onto his side and hides his face under a pillow when Alfie suggests that now when they’ve scared Arthur off, they might as well get back to what they were doing.

And that’s when Alfie’s had enough.

“Tommy, my dove,” he says, very carefully keeping the frustration from his voice as he runs a hand up Tommy’s arm. “Has it, and I ask this with the best of intentions in mind, has it ever fucking crossed your mind that living somewhere where your relatives can’t burst through the door at all hours would bring you some peace of mind?”

A muffled noise comes from under the pillow.

“See, I know it might take some time getting used to the idea, but finding a good house, yeah, that’s also something that takes a bit of time, doesn’t it? So you might’s well start looking, should you decide later that this is an acceptable idea-“ It’s very hard to gauge Tommy’s reaction when he’s under the pillow like this, so Alfie pauses. But when no life signs come from the feathery depths, he goes on: “I’m not saying that I’m tired of these constant interruptions, no, who doesn’t want people running in and out of one’s bedroom at all hours, fucking brilliant thing, isn’t it? All I’m saying is that your family would most definitely survive making a phone call instead. Or just taking a little walk when they feel the need to ask you something.”

Tommy is quiet and Alfie has the good sense to stay quiet too, knowing this is the mandatory processing time that he needs to go through before giving some kind of response.

Finally he rolls over onto his back, pulling away the pillow to reveal a head full of messy curls and cheeks that are still a bit flushed.

Alfie waits expectantly.

Tommy reaches for a cigarette.

“Fine,” he says, raising an eyebrow when Alfie gives him an incredulous look.

“Fine?”

“Fine.” Tommy lights the cigarette.

And that’s that.

A week later, Alfie is coming along as certified ‘Haver of great taste’ on this house buying mission.

“Now this, Tommy, this is a proper bedroom,” he says, cane tapping over the wooden flooring as he inspects the spacious room with its fancy wallpaper. But it’s a bit of an overstatement, that. The room is in fact not very inviting. Something about it feels… inhospitable and cold. But that’s what you get with an empty house, innit? And it’s better than Tommy’s little nook back in his family home.

Tommy nods, decidedly unenthusiastic. Not that his face is giving it away, but Alfie can read most of his tiny little shifts in mood without any problem these days. There’s that slight slump to his shoulders, and the way he’s not quite looking properly at the room. The same it’s been with the other four fucking houses they’ve been to. Alfie is starting to feel all the staircases in his knees.

“Could put a bed over there, and fit in a huge wardrobe for all those expensive suits of yours-“ he says. “Could have two, even.”

Instead of looking, Tommy stands by the window and gazes listlessly out at the dreary street below, smoking his cigarette with the same air of indifference.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

The question sort of surprises Alfie, because although he’s realised long ago that Tommy does in fact care a great deal about his opinion, it’s unlike him to admit it out loud.

“Well, love, I do fancy myself a man of good taste in all matters, the present company clearly being proof of that. But for once, what I think isn’t what’s most important.”

Tommy very thoroughly avoids looking at him.

“Well, it’d… be your house too.” He says the words with a slight shrug and carefully constructed nonchalance. Swallows visibly -Alfie can see it all the way from across the room. “Ours.”

Ours.

Maybe it’s ridiculous, how monumental that little word feels, but Alfie can’t help it -it does send him reeling for a bit. It’s not like they don’t already live together. They do, in most senses of the word. Wherever Tommy is, Alfie is too. And vice versa of course. But that’s been more of a gradual thing rather than a big decision -Tommy has just slowly crept into every crevice of Alfie’s townhouse back in London: an ashtray on the kitchen table, well pressed suits hanging between Alfie’s own in the wardrobe, extra blankets in the bed because Tommy always runs a few degrees colder than any other warm blooded creature… And the house is arguably just as much Tommy’s home as it is Alfie’s now. But Alfie has a feeling that although Tommy might view it as both of their home, it’s still Alfie’s house. Alfie isn’t entirely sure if there’s a distinction to be made, but it feels like there is.

Buying a fucking house together feels like officially stating out loud that this is a permanent kind of thing. And even though Alfie has known that particular fact for a while, even though they’ve talked about the prospect of doing it in the future, there’s still something about hearing Tommy say it out loud that fills his entire chest with warmth.

“Ours, eh?” he repeats and Tommy’s shoulders set into a rigid line. He walks up behind him and smooths a hand over them. “Well, in that case we should be looking at something with an actual, proper fucking kitchen.” He can feel the muscles relax under his palm. “Yeah? And with a more appealing view, if that is to be found in this shithole.”

“Maybe something outside of the city,” Tommy says quietly, still looking out the window.

Alfie says nothing. Barely dares to breathe

Tommy clears his throat. “You know… like we talked about. I’ve been thinking and- and it might be nice. We could always just drive into town for work.”

Alfie still says nothing, for fear that anything he might say will ruin this. But he lets the hand on Tommy’s shoulder slip down to his waist, tugging him a bit closer. Tommy willingly turns to face him, arms coming up to loosely encircle his neck. His eyes are still fastened on some undetermined spot on his chest.  

“Yeah, well, then we’ll have no trouble with the view,” Alfie says after careful consideration. “Whole countryside is full of it, innit? Granted that’s all it’s full of, but that’s the whole point of it, right?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Tommy’s mouth and he finally glances up at Alfie. Alfie rubs small circles on his back with his thumb.

“You sure about this? Don’t have to be doing anything you’re not ready for, love.”  

Tommy leans in that last little bit and kisses him. And then the smile finally widens into a real one -the kind that makes his eyes sparkle and manages to light up the entire, previously so cold room.”

“I’m sure.”

Two

Alfie wakes up from the book he’s been reading very falling down onto his face, and blinks to adjust his eyes to the darkness in the living room. The fire has died down to glowing embers, telling him that he must’ve somehow managed to sleep with the book in upright position for a while before it rudely decided to jam the edge of his glasses into his face. It also tells him that it’s late, and, combined with the silence in the house (and the fact that Tommy would no doubt have moved the book from his grasp) tells him that Tommy hasn’t come home yet and is working a whole lot later than usual. And he is just about to get off the sofa and call the office to tell Tommy to get himself home right this instance when the door creaks open. The annoyance is instantly replaced with relief, because fuck it, he can’t help it. Just the way he functions, innit?

He can hear Tommy moving about in the hallway, and it’s probably a sign of something significant, that he can hear just from his steps that there’s something wrong. Unwilling to explore that thought any further, he closes the book and listens.

“Tommy?”

There’s no answer, and that’s enough of an incentive for him to struggle his way off the sofa and out into the hallway. Tommy is stood by the large bureau, clutching the top in a white knuckled grip. A quick onceover tells Alfie that at least he’s not fucking bleeding from anywhere. But he’s so pale that his skin looks fucking luminous in the dark hallway.  

“Oi, Tommy?” He crosses the hallway in a few long strides, and that’s when he can smell the whiskey. Tommy glances up at him, bleary eyed and flushed, swaying on his feet.

“Fucks sake,” Alfie sighs and pitches forward to catch him when his legs inevitably give out. Tommy clings to him, shuddering breaths making his back heave. He uselessly tries to catch his gaze without much success. “Hey, are you gonna be sick?”

All he gets in response is a weak hum, but it’s enough. Wasting no time, he drags Tommy into the kitchen and to the sink -the closest appropriate place to be sick- and barely has time to deposit him there before Tommy is vomiting his guts out. Alfie pats his back and mulls over if he could’ve seen this coming earlier in the day.

“I take it you broke into my desk, hm? Or will I find one of the fucking stills empty tomorrow, eh, silly boy…”

His disapproving mutters go unnoticed. Not that Tommy is really capable of listening right then, because he barely has time to breathe between the horrid waves of retching. Alfie puts all other thoughts on halt and just focuses on damage control, continuing to rub Tommy’s back and steadying him against his hip when his knees want to buckle. Not much else to do right then. But Tommy just continues vomiting long after the most likely meager contents of his stomach are gone, and finally, the bile that splashes into the sink is red with blood. Fucking hell. Yeah, he’ll have to step in here…

He puts a hand on the back of Tommy’s neck.

“Alright, deep breaths now, love,” he says. “You ain’t got nothing left to vomit up so I’m gonna need you to just breathe for a bit. Go on-“ Tommy pants, still hunched low over the sink on shaking arms, and Alfie takes the opportunity to fill a glass of water. He manhandles Tommy into a somewhat upright position against his chest and holds it to his mouth. Tommy just whines and turns his head away. His skin feels cold and clammy when he pushes his forehead into the crook of Alfie’s neck.

“ ‘m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah it’s all fine,” he mutters and resists the urge to sigh. “Go on and drink this, or you’ll be even sorrier tomorrow.”

Tommy leans all his weight against him, and Alfie has to wrap an arm around his waist to keep him upright, all while continuing to fruitlessly push the glass of water against his lips. It takes a few more seconds, and then Tommy finally opens his mouth, grabs the glass and greedily swallows the entire thing down in three long gulps before Alfie can protest or remedy the situation-

Which of course has him hunching over the sink again, vomiting it all up within a second.

They end up on the floor after the whole ordeal, because Tommy just collapses where he stands and Alfie isn’t quite quick enough to do anything but break his fall. He’s still dry heaving somehow, and it’s right about then Alfie actually starts to worry.

“Tommy, hey, I’m gonna need you to focus for a moment here,” he says and holds his head up by his chin. Tommy’s eyes are still closed, his long lashes dark against his cheek. “Do you need me to get you to a hospital? Is it that kind of situation?”

Tommy shakes his head and curls into him, tearing his chin away from Alfie’s grip to bury his face in his shirt. And at least he’s stopped dry heaving for now, so Alfie will take his fucking word for it.

“ ‘m sorry,” Tommy repeats against his chest when Alfie pulls him into his lap. He’s finally opened his eyes a little, if only barely, and looks up at him, struggling to focus.

“What are you sorry for, eh?”

“Just… fuck up all the time.”

Alfie sighs and tries to adjust his right leg to avoid a cramp.

“Feel like telling me why you suddenly decided to fucking drown yourself in whiskey on this fine day?” he mutters and pets Tommy’s hair. “Seemed alright when I left you at the office.”

Tommy shrugs and slurs, “ ‘s just bad. ‘vrything’s bad.”

Alfie hums. Tries to not feel disappointed because he really thought they’d gotten past this. But it’s a two steps forward, one step back kind of deal, isn’t it? It’s been… well now when he thinks about it it’s been months since Tommy last had a proper slump, so they’re probably due for one. And they’re fewer and farther between now. He tries to remind himself of that.

“Bad day eh? How about you just do what you normally do and tell me, instead of doing shit like this.”

Tommy pulls his knees up to his chest, turns himself into a ball as he buries his face in Alfie’s chest and just breathes. Alfie continues stroking his hair.  

“You’ll get sick of me,” he mutters suddenly, without emerging.

“Well, I do recall us having this conversation before. Multiple times, in fact, but I suppose I can remind you: since I haven’t gotten sick of you yet, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe- maybe not now, but in-  in five years. Or ten,” Tommy mumbles.  “Twenty.”

Despite the implication -that Tommy himself can’t see an end to these occasional burst of self-destructive behavior- Alfie can’t help smiling.

“Twenty years, eh? We’re in this for the long haul I hear.”

Tommy’s entire body freezes into a tightly coiled ball of muscles. But Alfie keeps stroking his hair.

“I won’t get sick of you, love. Not in ten years, or twenty, or fuckin’… fifty. Though I can’t promise that you won’t eventually get sick of me now, can I. That’s a long fucking time, fifty years.”

Under his fingers, Tommy’s back heaves in a shivering breath and he pushes his face further into the confines of Alfie’s wrinkled shirt. He wraps his arms around Alfie’s chest.

“I won’t. Not for… for as long as I live.”

Alfie has to clear his throat.

“Well, that’s good, innit? Because you’re sort of stuck with me now.”

“Good.”

And with that, Tommy has apparently fallen asleep in his lap.  

Three

”How many people have you slept with?” Alfie asks Tommy one night, as the beginning of what could quickly turn into the worst pillow talk in recorded history. But it’s one of those occasions when the question just pops straight from his mind and out of his mouth. Luckily, he’s spent the past hour or so doing a very good job of fucking Tommy in every position imaginable, and Tommy lies satiated and warm against his chest. So his question is only met with a quiet little laugh.

“Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“Nah, then I was just wondering if you’d slept with that tall, lanky…” Alfie gestures to help the words along, “Communist fellow.

“Freddie Thorne,” Tommy offers helpfully.

“Hm, yeah, that’s the one. But now I’m just thinking about the general number.”

Tommy shifts, lifting his head up and settling his chin on Alfie’s chest. His eyes are still soft, a glint of laughter in them.  

“Hm, what was it? Half of Birmingham or something, wasn’t that what you said at some point? So how many would that be?”

Alfie snorts, even though he probably deserved that.

“Why do you ask?” Tommy wonders then, genuinely curious it would seem. Alfie shrugs a little, a hard feat while lying down.

“It just feels a bit strange doesn’t it? The idea that you might not fuck anyone else for the rest of your life. That this is all you’ll be getting.”

“Oh, ifthisis all I’ll be getting, I’ll be more than satisfied,” Tommy whispers, and suddenly there’s a hand on his cock, fingers curling loosely around the shaft.

“Always knew you only wanted me for my cock,” Alfie says with mock offence, and Tommy smirks as he begins stroking him slowly.

“Well, in my defense, it’s a very nice cock. Best one I ever had in fact. And I should know, seeing as I’ve slept with… half of Birmingham.”

All blood is rapidly leaving his head, and Alfie sighs, feeling quite pleased with the turn the conversation has taken. Tommy rubs careful circles over the head of his cock, and he slips a hand down to grip his arse firmly, pulling him closer against his hip.

“Mhm, talk more about how much you like my cock.”

Tommy huffs out a laugh and kisses him, slow and soft as he rubs himself against Alfie’s thigh. Alfie is fully hard already, aching and leaking in Tommy’s grip, because fucking hell if he’s not ready to give it to him again whenever Tommy wants it…

“As if your ego needs it,” Tommy whispers against his lips, before sitting up and straddling him. Alfie’s hands immediately find his waist, palms flexing against the expanse of smooth skin and lean muscle. Tommy’s waist fits perfectly there, with Alfie’s fingers around it. Just as the rest of his body fits against Alfie’s: how his head lies perfectly against that spot on his chest, or how Alfie can tuck him under his chin… like a perfect puzzle piece- And then his thoughts are interrupted because Tommy rolls his hips, grinding down on his hard length and he bucks up against him, impatient. It seems to be one of those days when Tommy doesn’t need much convincing, because he just takes Alfie’s cock in hand again and sinks down slowly, moaning obscenely as it slides all the way in. He’s slick and open from before and something about that, fuck, that just makes Alfie so turned on that he gets fucking dizzy… That Tommy just so ready for him: wet and just barely open enough- Fucking hell this isn’t going to last long if he keeps this train of thought. He bites his tongue hard, hoping the pain will bring him back enough to keep himself from coming right then.

Tommy rides him slowly, just barely lifting his hips to begin with. Must be a bit too deep to really be doing it for him, but fuck it really does it for Alfie, is the thing, and Tommy appears pleased to just be giving him what he wants. He’s so fucking wet and warm and tight, and he must be feeling it because Alfie went none to gently on him before. Tommy curls his fingers loosely around his own cock and moves in tandem with his thrusts, eyes falling shut.

Alfie just keeps his hands on his waist for now, lightly, not trying to control anything. When Tommy gets on top like this, it’s usually because he wants to set the pace himself, and who is Alfie to deny him anything?

“Fucking hell, just look at you,” he breathes out. “Wish you could see yourself now, love- really is something else entirely, aren’t you?”

Tommy lets go of his cock and settles his hands on Alfie’s chest instead, lifting his hips higher and making Alfie slide almost all the way out before sinking back down. Moans each time, loud and unabashed and fucking desperate for it, as if it wasn’t just half an hour ago that Alfie pounded him into the mattress until he’d screamed himself hoarse.

Then he tugs at Alfie’s shoulders and Alfie takes the hint immediately, sitting up and wrapping his arms tightly around that narrow waist.

“Why would I ever want anyone else, ever again?” Tommy leans in and whispers, voice husky and unsteady in a way that just shoots arousal down his spine. He rolls his hips, cock brushing against Alfie’s stomach. His legs are trembling now, so Alfie helps him along, holding his weight up with his arms. Fingers tangle into his hair and Tommy kisses him, wet and sloppy and panting loudly, frantically pulling in the too hot air between them. Alfie has no answer of course, because with Tommy like this on his lap, grinding down on his cock and looking like it really is the best fucking thing he’s ever had, no, he can’t come up with a reason why.

“Fuck, it’s so good- so fucking good Alfie I-“ Tommy buries his face in the crook of his neck, clinging properly to his shoulders now. “No one else could ever come close.”

Alfie’s hips are moving on their own accord now, while he virtually takes Tommy’s entire weight and lifts him up and down on his cock, because Tommy’s legs have apparently decided to give up. And he doesn’t fucking mind in the least, does he? Because Tommy makes these desperate little noises, rutting and grinding against him as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Won’t ever have to worry about that now, do you?” Alfie mutters into his ear. “Because you’re all mine and I’m going to take care of you. Fucking hell, if I had my way, you wouldn’t ever have to leave the bed. Would just keep you there. Make sure you’re fucked real good every single day… several times a day, because that’s what you want isn’t it?”

Tommy whimpers, and Alfie releases his waist to wind his fingers into his hair and pull his head back. And Tommy is just there, unable to move properly and just desperately grinding on Alfie’s cock. And it’s a fucking sight alright. His eyes are blown wide, filled with that raw, open vulnerability. It makes Alfie growl and tug harder at his hair.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Tommy whispers. “Always.”

Then his hands are back on Alfie’s shoulders and he pushes himself up, despite his shaking legs and clenches around Alfie and that’s it, Alfie fucking goneand he fucks up and into Tommy, arms clenched tight around his waist again. Tommy lets out an almost pained sound, shaking and twitching in his grip as he comes all over his stomach.

He collapses completely against him afterwards. Alfie can’t be bothered to stay upright and slumps down onto the mattress, but manages to at least be considerate enough to keep Tommy from hitting his head on the bedframe.

It takes several minutes before Alfie comes back enough to himself to manoeuvre Tommy off him, which is necessary, because God knows Tommy will just stay right where he is for the rest of the night otherwise, with Alfie’s cock still buried in his arse. Always needy and clingy after sex, Tommy of course whimpers out various complaints, until Alfie has got him settled against his chest again. And that, well that’s somehow just as great as the actual sex isn’t it? Alfie hushes him. Strokes his back until he’s calmed down again and seems at peace. Tommy drapes one leg across Alfie’s hip and noses against that spot on his chest that’s become his designated head rest, right below his left collarbone.

Alfie runs a finger down his spine, grabs the blanket and pulls it up over them both. Because although he still feels overheated, he knows for a fact that Tommy will start shivering in a minute. That’s just how it works.

“So, I take it you’re not going to miss fucking anyone else? Hm? Is that what I should take away from this?” He smirks to himself when he sees the exasperated wrinkle between Tommy’s eyebrows. “See, because I might need more convincing. Not straight away, mind you, but in half an hour or so…”

Tommy slaps his arm with the conviction of a sleepy cat swatting for a fly that’s buzzing around it’s ears.  

“Fuck off. You’ve gotten yours tonight. Twice.”

“Oh, it’s more than that if you count the times I very selflessly made you come, love, How about you add that to the list of my fine qualities? What other man has done that for you?”

“If you continue to be this infuriating, I might find someone else who will,” Tommy mutters and shuffles a bit closer still.

Alfie continues, undeterred because he’s feeling quite pleased with himself right now thank you very much.“See, love, there’s only one thing that’s better than knowing you’re a generous and considerate lover,” he says and ignores Tommy’s annoyed groan. “Who can make their partner come their brains out several times in a single evening, and that’s knowing that you’re better than all the previous ones…”

“You’re fucking impossible” Tommy mutters into his chest, keeping his head firmly pressed against it while clinging to him. “Now shut up and let me sleep, or I will banish you to the sofa.”

Alfie scoffs, “Empty threats, love. You know better than to play cards like that.”

Tommy opens one eye and gives him a glare. Going against one of those would definitely be pushing his luck, so the best route now would be to stay quiet. But he does press a kiss against Tommy’s forehead. Which is met with another little huff.

Tommy is still smiling against his chest. He can tell.

Four

There are plenty of things about Tommy’s older brother that Alfie finds infuriating. Were he to make a list, it would most likely be impossible to complete: Arthur would find new ways to bother him while he was writing said list and constantly add to it. But somewhere at the top of that hypothetical list, he’d put the fact that Arthur Shelby has the worst possible timing for absolutely everything. From barging into Tommy’s office with some question just when Alfie has persuaded Tommy to take a little break from working to sit on his lap for just a tiny bit, to calling them at home in London (God knows how he got the fucking number) demanding to speak with Tommy about all sorts of irrelevant matters, usually once they’ve finally settled in for the evening.

So really, it should be no surprise that when Alfie steps into the Shelby household much later than he’d anticipated and passes the kitchen, he hears a familiar voice.

“Oi, Solomons, a word.”

Alfie stops in his tracks and groans because fuck, has Arthur just set up permanent shop in the fucking kitchen? Ready at any time to call people in and have various ‘chats’ with them about questions that are none of his business and yet somehow crucial for him to put his nose in.

And furthermore it’s fucking late and he’s had a hellish evening dealing with incompetent employees and a broken still, so all he wants to do now is go upstairs to Tommy. Pull him close and bury his nose in soft hair that smells faintly of soap and smoke...

“Unless you hadn’t noticed, I was actually on my way to something more important. Namely to a bed that has your brother in it,” he tells Arthur and can’t keep himself from adding: “See if he’s up for getting a bit of cock on this fine evening.“

Arthur chokes on his whiskey. And really he should’ve fucking expected an answer like that. But he still waves for him to sit down and bloody hell, Alfie figures that it’s better to just have it fucking over with. So he ambles over to the kitchen table, slumps down on a chair and leans back in it, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright, as I’m sure you can see, I’m here,” he says when Arthur just stares at him. “So fucking talk.”

Arthur promptly empties his whiskey glass and then refills it.

“I’ve been thinking-“

Alfie huffs out a laugh. “Oh watch out, you might hurt yourself.”

Arthur glares, clears his throat and leans back in his chair, mimicking Alfie’s pose. Puts on what is most likely supposed to be a serious face, takes a breath… and fuck, Alfie is seconds away from just getting up and leaving when he finally gets to the point and says, “What are your intentions with Tommy?”

It takes a while for Alfie to take this in, even though the buildup should’ve adequately prepared him for something this stupid.

“What?”

“What are your intentions with my little brother?” Arthur repeats, over annunciating every single word, as if that will clarify anything. My little brother… Arthur always adds that when he’s feeling particularly over protective. As if to further hammer home the point -mostly to himself probably- that he is indeed the older and wiser out of the two of them. That Tommy is his responsibility.

Alfie blinks. “Yeah, well if you really want to know, right now I intend to go upstairs and see if he’s still awake. And then possibly make him come his brains out a few times-“

Arthur’s face turns a darker shade of red and his moustache twitches in that absolutely hilarious way. His right hand clenches into a fist where it’s placed on the table. But he doesn’t lose it. Surprising, that.

“Which I really should prioritize right now so if we’re done here…” Alfie puts both palms on the table and makes a half-hearted effort to stand up but of-fucking- course Arthur won’t have that

“You know what I fucking mean,” he snaps.

“Well, dear Arthur, as it so happens I don’t actually know what you fucking mean so if you could fucking clarify…”

Arthur glares down at his whiskey. Moves the glass a bit to the right. Moves it back again… Alfie sinks deeper into his chair and sighs demonstratively.

“He loves you,” Arthur says, suddenly, still studying the glass. “Really… fucking loves you.”

Alfie decides to be quiet.

“Fucking hell I never thought that it- that it would actually go this far,” Arthur continues. “But he fucking loves you, more than- than I think he’s ever loved anyone or anything.”

Yeah and what on earth is happening now? It’s getting bloody uncomfortable, that’s what. So Alfie opens his mouth to fucking say something, but Arthur waves a hand dismissively and keeps talking.

“And the thing, the fucking thing is that now… Well, he wouldn’t fucking survive you leaving, alright? Almost fucking fell apart completely when you had that fight. And if you- if this isn’t fucking permanent in your eyes, then I…“ Arthur allows himself a moment of silence, probably because he discovers that Alfie won’t interrupt him. “It would fucking kill him,” he then finally says, without the tiniest bit of smile. Dead fucking serious.

And something about the tone… Alfie can’t bring himself to say something snide or sharp, but he doesn’t exactly have any other options either, so he just continues being silent.

“And, yeah I don’t know what to do with that fucking realization. Sure I can do the whole ‘If you ever hurt my brother I’ll hunt you down and fucking beat you to death with your own cane-spiel, but-” Arthur pauses again to breathe. “But that doesn’t really matter does it?”

Alfie sighs. “Fucking hell I’m not in the mood for this-“

He rubs his temples and realizes that a bit of sincerity is the only thing that will work here, even though he really is in no mood to be having conversations like this with Arthur.

He shoots a glare at the man in question. “What’s all this, eh, Arthur? Trying to catch up on 30 years of big-brother duties all of a sudden.”

Arthur ignores the remark and takes a swig of whiskey. Stares into the liquid again. “We just got him back, you know? We finally fucking got him back, and now I’m terrified that without you, he’d…”

He trails off and silence fills the kitchen.

“Nah, give your brother some credit,” Alfie says. “As much as I’d like to think that I have a magical cock that just… miraculously heals broken heads, Tommy’s done plenty of work to pull himself out of that pit he’s been in.”

Arthur sways forward and sets both forearms down on the table with a bang.

“Just give me a straight answer here,” he slurs, going a bit cross eyed as he watches Alfie. “Be honest with me here, between... two people, who just really fucking care about him alright?”

“You know that Tommy would fucking kill you if he found out you were having this conversation with me, right”

Arthur just keeps gazing at him with dim eyes, as if he didn’t even hear it.

Alfie sighs again. Fuck it.

“Alright, you want to hear what my fucking intentions are, do you?” He rests his forearms on the table and hunches forward, trying to catch Arthur’s eyes. “Even though you really have no fucking business knowing them. But I’ll fucking indulge you, alright? So here it goes, and you better fucking listen because I’ll only be saying this once: If we had lived in a world that was just a bit different… Or perhaps if Tommy had been a woman  and I hadn’t just been an old sodomite, yeah? Well, then I’d have asked to marry him long ago.” He stops staring at Arthur’s face- stares past his shoulder instead, at a wall. “Would’ve done it all… fancy and the like. Taken him to some nice place. Bought an ungodly expensive ring. The whole deal-” he clears his throat, suddenly realizing he’s said far too much. But surprisingly, Arthur doesn’t take the chance to laugh in his face or something of the sort. Instead he just sits there, staring down at the tabletop.  “That enough of an answer for you, eh, Arthur?” Alfie grunts when he finally can’t take the silence anymore. “Think you can get some peace of mind?”

Arthur opens his mouth, looks up, and his eyes drift to the doorway.

“Well, would you look at that. You’re talking, and the house is still standing. And no one is bleeding, from what I can see.”

The statement is finished off with a yawn and Alfie turns in his chair to see Tommy standing there in the doorway. He’s clad in only Alfie’s shirt and underwear, hair mussed from the pillow and with this soft, sleepy expression on his face that just makes Alfie’s heart skip a beat… But fuck how is it possible for him to walk so quietly? Alfie tries not to panic when he realizes that Tommy might’ve stood there for a very long time.

“Yeah, we’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” he says, feeling like his tongue is too big for his mouth. Tommy smiles and comes up to stand by his side. Alfie wraps an arm around his hips. Pulls him close

“Are you coming to bed soon?” he asks and leans into him a bit, soft and relaxed. Looks down at him through a fan of long, long, dark lashes. The way he is sometimes in the mornings after a good night’s sleep (and, if Alfie might add, a good and proper fuck before that).

“Yeah sure, if your crazy brother is quite finished with me, I’d very much like to go to bed.” Alfie tears his eyes away from Tommy long enough to look questioningly at Arthur. “Arthur here was just telling me about his secret dream of moving out into a hut in the forest to raise sheep for the rest of his days, and I told him to just go for it-“

Arthur sighs, as if the entire weight of the world was just dropped down onto his shoulders and gives Tommy a look.

“Really, Tommy, out of all the men you could’ve fucking picked, you just had to go with the most infuriating one?”

“Oh absolutely,” Tommy says solemnly. “It was very high up on my list of demands for possible partners-“

Alfie smirks. “Number one of course being that they must be above average both in stamina and in how well-endowed they are-“

“Number two: must be absolutely unbearable to be around,” Tommy fills him in.

“Fucks sake, you two. Absolutely fucking impossible,” Arthur mutters and looks almost pleadingly at Tommy when he adds, “Doesn’t it scare you that you’re gonna have to put up with this for the rest of your life?”

Alfie isn’t sure if Arthur fucking realizes how stupid it is, asking Tommy a question like that. But Tommy just keeps smiling.

“Not really, no,” he says, giving Alfie another look. “So… bedroom?”  The quirked eyebrow gets Alfie up and moving.

“Well, it’s been a nice little talk, this, Arthur. All around fucking brilliant and enlightening, just as all talks with you are, mate,” he says as he stands, his arm sliding up around Tommy’s waist to pull him closer. “But I think it’s time for me and Tommy to go upstairs and-“

Arthur’s frame seems to draw together into what can only be described as a full body cringe

“Don’t want to hear it!” And the fucker actually slams is hands over his ears. Tommy snorts and walks out of the kitchen with Alfie close behind.

In the hallway, he takes Alfie’s arm in a sudden uncharacteristic move for closeness. And Alfie wonders just how much of the conversation he heard. Can’t have been much, if the good mood is anything to go by. Only reaction Tommy could reasonably have to listening in on a conversation like that is either being pissed off or absolutely freaking out. And he’s doing neither. Could of course ask. Get it out in the open. But it feels unnecessary to start poking around in it, because Tommy looks so… at peace. Happy. And Alfie would be a fool to start asking questions that might ruin that. So he leaves it be. Over all, Alfie tries to not dwell on the whole conversation; not on his own words and not on whether Tommy was there to hear them or not. Just like he tries to not… lose himself in that fantasy. Because, well, saying it out loud just turned it all the more visceral and it’s sort of hard to ignore it now. As if just saying the words out loud made him realize it on a whole different level.

Realize that if things had been different, he would’ve---

But they’re not. So there’s no point in dwelling on it.

Then again, who’s to fucking decide what sort of questions he can and can’t ask Tommy, even if it would just be a symbolic kind of thing? Not like either of them pay much attention to what is right and proper in the eyes of the law in any other aspect. Why should this be any different?

“What are you thinking about?”

He realizes he’s been standing with his shirt unbuttoned halfway, just staring into the distance. Tommy is already in bed, all bundled up in the blankets and watching him with sleepy eyes.  

“Oh, nothing, love. Just the usual, eh?” Alfie mutters and finishes unbuttoning the shirt. “The weather, state of the English pound… things like that.”

Tommy yawns and sinks a bit deeper into the pillows.

“Well, if you want to do something besides sleeping tonight, you better think less and get undressed more. I’m already half asleep.”

“Oh would you look at that, love, a pig just fluttered by outside the window,” Alfie chuckles but puts some extra focus into getting his clothes off. Tommy lets out a snort that is most likely supposed to sound indignant, but when Alfie is finally down to his underwear and crawls into bed next to him, he’s all soft eyes and smiles again. And Alfie is tempted to ask what’s put him in such a good mood, but that is guaranteed to ruin it. So instead he just kisses him. And decides that all the thoughts the conversation with Arthur stirred up can wait till tomorrow.

Five

Arrow House -or whatever the fuck it’s called- is an enormous block of bricks. Question is if it could even be deemed a house, what with the size and everything. No, it’s not just a house, of course. It’s a whole fucking estate.

Alfie walks through yet another room that could possibly be a bedroom -guest or otherwise, and wonders who the fuck needs this many room.

But apparently, this is the kind of house people of their ‘stature’ should have. It’s what everyone keeps saying. Tommy too. So of course when the opportunity presented itself to buy the estate of one Lord Whatever-The-Fuck-His-Name-Was -who apparently fucked off permanently to one of the colonies for whatever reason- they at least had to take a look.

So now they’re here, wandering around this castle like structure and getting lost. Alfie hasn’t seen Tommy for several minutes, it’s quite possible that he’ll never find the exit again and he’s pretty sure he’s heard a minimum of five restless spirits.

It’s all around, not a great experience.

Alfie opens the door to the next room, finding it just as empty as the last one. It feels like the sheer size of the building is about to swallow him whole. He gazes out over the giant lawn that stretches before the house. And the vastness of that isn’t helping either.

He moves on to the next room, trying to ignore the way the echoes of his cane bounces off the walls.

That room is empty too, and now he’s seriously beginning to wonder where Tommy has gone.

“Tommy?” He stands stock still, straining his ears to hear a response.

“Alfie?” Ah, there it is. Seems like he’s far away though.

“Where are you?” he calls out again, moving in the supposed direction where Tommy’s voice came from. It takes him out into yet another corridor, with far too many doors. That doesn’t bode well.

“I’m not sure,” Tommy calls back and Alfie lets out a chuckle. “In… a room.”

“What can you see outside the window?” He starts opening doors, feeling increasingly like he’s part of a giant joke.

“Grass,” Tommy calls back, and despite the unhelpful nature of the response it still makes Alfie laugh. It sounds like he’s at the far end of the corridor somewhere, so he sets off in that direction. And of course he still has to try three different rooms that all look exactly the same before he finds Tommy, stood in what appears to have been the master bedroom, judging by the canopy bed that has been left there.

“There you are!”

Tommy turns away from the window and gives Alfie a faint smile.

“We’re gonna have to install… fucking phone lines or something between all these rooms if we’re gonna find each other,” Alfie states and walks up to him, standing to inspect the view. And yeah, granted it’s better than the dreary houses in Birmingham, but again, there’s something oddly… eerie over the giant fields of grass. Feels as empty and lifeless as the house. “But I suppose we’ll get used to it, eh? Having to spend a few minutes just looking for each other every time we’re separated. And we’ll have to plan things in advance too, seeing as it takes at least ten fucking minutes to walk from one end of the house to the other.”

Tommy hums and turns to face the interior of the room, inspecting the ceiling that sits high above them.

“Have you looked at the rest of the rooms on this end?” Alfie asks when the silences stretches on. Tommy shakes his head, which prompts him to put a hand on the small of his back.

“Well, how about we do that, then? And then, might I suggest we go out into the sunshine? Fucking freezing in here, innit?”

Tommy is quiet as they inspect the four remaining rooms in this wing, so Alfie fills the silence by talking about the amount of people they’ll need to hire just to keep this house in order. And making little suggestions on what could be done to the rooms to make them slightly less… ghostly. A word he doesn’t use of course, because saying things like that is bound to make the whole house feel even more eerie.

Tommy’s got a wrinkle between his eyebrows the entire time, and his jaw is clenched oddly tight. It’s not until they get back to the main entrance, and are stood on the staircase overlooking the grand hallway and front door, that he finally speaks.

“I don’t… like it.”

Alfie cuts himself off mid-ramble.

Tommy sounds incredulous. As if he can’t quite believe his own words.

“No?”

Tommy shakes his head and looks around; At the intricate wood panelling, the heavy oak floors and the thick velvet curtains that hang in front of the windows.

“Well, it’s hard to imagine living in it now, I suppose,” Alfie says to help him along. “Bet with some furnitures it’ll feel a bit more homely.”

A fucking lie if there ever was one.

Tommy shakes his head and sets off down the stairs, leaving Alfie to follow. Once they’re down in the hallway, Tommy looks around the room again.

“You do realise of course, sweetheart, that this is hardly the kind of house I’d want to live in either?”

“It’s not?”

“Now, love, when have I ever expressed that I’d like to live in a giant fucking ghost house that feels about as homely as an abandoned sanatorium?”

Tommy sighs and the tension finally creeps from his shoulders.

“Suppose it just… seemed like the next natural step.”

“Yeah, yeah because this is the kind of fucking house people with money live in, innit?” Alfie scoffs and taps his cane against an ornate fixture by a door. “Big gaudy things that require a whole squad of helpers and… cooks and fucking gardeners. And it’s still just as fucking lonely and miserable- I mean fucking look at it! Who needs all this fucking space? And it’s so fucking dark everywhere, even with all the windows”

He cuts himself off because Tommy’s got a sort of haunted look in his eyes.

“That about sums up why you’re not feeling it?” he asks, softer this time and Tommy shrugs a little.

“Maybe.”

Alfie walks up to the front door, resolute, and opens it. The sun streams into the hallway and a gust of wind blows in and ruffles Tommy’s hair. There, looks a whole lot better already. Alfie takes him by the hand and leads him out.

“I say fuck this house and whoever built it. Let’s go home

Tommy follows to the car without a word of protest.

Tommy isn’t too keen on looking at houses after that incident. So Alfie decides to hit pause on the whole thing for just a little while -sometimes he just needs a bit more time than other people to process things like this. But they do eventually look at another one, and that turns out -if possible- even worse. First off, it’s too far away from Birmingham. Then the estate agent tells them it was built by a Lord ‘What’s his name’(Alfie can’t be bothered to remember) who held a high position in the cavalry.

Tommy takes one look at the giant stone lions flanking the front door and then promptly gets back in the car.

Suffice to say, he’s not in a very good mood on the drive back towards Birmingham, quietly staring out the window and smoking one cigarette after the other. But the weather is nice, so when Alfie sees a fence bordering a large field that could possibly contain a horse or two -which could potentially cheer Tommy up- he pulls over and turns to his sulking companion.

“How about we take a walk, eh, love? We did make the drive out here after all.”

Surprisingly, Tommy isn’t hard to convince.

So they walk, taking a small gravel road that leads between two large meadows. And the sun is shining, a warm breeze rustles through the leaves, and although Tommy continues to quietly chain-smoke, the wrinkle between his eyebrow has smoothed out a bit.  

And sure enough, after walking for a bit they even pass a pasture where several horses are grazing. Predictably, Tommy lights up when one of them comes towards the fence, eager at the sight of two people who might just be there to give it a treat. The horse hangs its head over the fence and Tommy scratches it behind the ears. Were it someone else Alfie would suggest to stay far away from a strange horse, but he has yet to meet a single horse -known or unknown- that doesn’t like Tommy. And he’s quite pleased that this horse has decided to turn up.

The horse is disappointed when Tommy leaves (Alfie is the one who initiates it because otherwise they might be stuck here until nightfall). It neighs a complaint before realising that petting time is over, and turning to re-join the rest of the flock a little ways away.

Alfie meanwhile offers his arm to Tommy, who actually takes it as they continue the walk. And this time, Tommy even refrains from lighting another cigarette. It could of course just be that he’s finally run out.

The sun is beginning to set in the horizon, which Alfie only realises when he glances over at Tommy and is struck by how extraordinarily beautiful he is in this light. He’s just about to suggest that they turn back when he sees the sign. Or… calling it a sign is perhaps to use the word too liberally: it’s really just a wooden plank with painted on letters, speered into the ground by the edge of an moss covered stone wall.

‘For sale’ it just says. And then a telephone number. Alfie frowns.

“Is this how they fucking do it in the countryside? Just hang a homemade bloody sign up in the middle of nowhere advertising a sale of… whatever. How is anyone supposed to find it here?”  

But Tommy doesn’t appear to be listening. He’s let go of Alfie’s arm and walked up to the gate that is situated a bit further down on the wall, and is now standing there looking at something. Naturally Alfie has to see what is so interesting. And only a few steps along the road later, he sees the house, previously obscured by bushes.

He understands why Tommy is completely entranced by it, because it sure is something to look at. It’s large, but nothing compared to the last two monstrosities, just two stories and then what appears to be a large attic. Vines are growing up along the brick facade, and clinging around the green front door.

Alfie looks at it too. And then opens the gate and walks towards it.

“Alfie! Where are you going?”

“Just want to take a look, love.”

“That’s not how it works!”

“It is now!”

He gives the door three sharp knocks, just for good measure. As expected, there’s no answer. The door is locked however, and once it’s become clear no one is home, he begins inspecting the surroundings. There are no flowerpots or anything on the front steps, but by a barrel full of rainwater, there’s a watering can that somehow looks… suspicious.

Tommy’s steps are coming up the gravel path towards the house. “Alfie, let’s just leave before someone sees us.”

The key is, as expected, under the watering can.

Tommy looks absolutely mortified when he shows it to him

“Alfie, we can’t just go in,” he says with what honest to God sounds like a whine.  

“Oh, calm down, love. Very uncharacteristic for you, this behaviour.” Alfie unlocks the door and it swings open easily. “You’re usually quite unbothered by… well everything. Where’s your sense of adventure, eh?”

“I’m just sick of looking at houses,” Tommy grumbles.

Alfie goes inside.

“Hello?” he calls out, lest they scare someone to death. But it quickly becomes apparent that the house is indeed empty.

Tommy is still outside on the steps.

“Aren’t you coming in, love?” Alfie wonders with a grin as he pops his head out the door. Tommy demonstratively lights a cigarette and turns his back against him. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back in a moment,” he says and kisses his temple just for good measure, before venturing back into the house.  

Alife knows that no matter how hard he tries to deny it himself, heisprone to be a sentimental fool -Tommy’s words- so granted he might not be the best judge, but fuck if there’s not just something…about this house. Granted, the golden light of the sunset that cascades in through the large windows is of course showing it from its best side, but still…

The light spills across the hardwood floor and bounces off the walls with their white wallpaper, washing everything in golden tones. It becomes quite clear that no one has have lived there for a while, because a fine coating of dust covers everything. And still the house doesn’t feel eerie. More as if it’s sleeping, as odd as it might be to describe a house that way. The hallway takes him to a large living room with a fireplace, and huge windows that open up into the garden. He completely forgets to inspect the view though because he passed a staircase on his way in there and has to take a look at the upstairs quarters. Only a quick one, he promises himself -Tommy is bound to have become restless by now.

One look at the master bedroom though, and  Alfie decides that Tommy has to see this for himself. And if he’s not going to do it willingly, well then Alfie will just have to carry him.

But once he’s back downstairs and out the door again, he finds the front steps empty.

“Tommy?”

“I’m here.” The answer comes immediately, thank fuck (will Alfie ever stop being anxious the moment Tommy is out of his sight?) “In the kitchen.”

Alfie follows the voice to the back of the house, and does indeed find Tommy in a big, bright kitchen with pale green panelling on all the cupboards. He’s stood by an open back door, with coloured glass in its windowpane. The sun is shining through it, casting light in red and blue that dances across his face.

Alfie only then realises he’s been too engulfed by the interiors of the house to look at the garden at the back of it. Because that’s where the door leads, out into a big garden with a lawn, and a giant oak tree.

“There are roses,” Tommy says quietly.

Alfie can only hum. The evening air is thick with the scent of them as it wafts towards him in gentle gusts. For a while they just stand there in silence.

He thinks about it, wonders what the fucking odds are of stumbling on a house like this. Just because you decide to take a walk. Then again, sometimes things do just line up perfectly, don’t they? It does happen, as rare as it might be. You take a walk and find a house, your new business partner turns out to be the love of your life… Things like that.

“Think we better get going. It’s about to get dark.”

Alfie snaps out of his thoughts and blinks. Tommy takes his arm and pulls him back into the kitchen.

Once the door is locked and the key is safe back under the watering can, they begin making their way towards the car.

When they pass the sign, Alfie grabs it and tugs it straight out of the ground. Then continues walking. Tommy looks uncharacteristically appalled.  

“Alfie! You can’t just-“

“I’m just holding onto this for… safe keeping.”

Tommy shakes his head, but the lack of any more protests is approval enough for Alfie to carry the sign all the way back to the car and put it in the trunk.

And he’s fairly certain he catches Tommy smiling when he gets into the driver’s seat.

….

Alfie doesn’t call the number right away -granted he shouldn’t be calling at all until he’s hashed the whole thing out with Tommy- and that is yet to be done. The sign is now in the wardrobe (for safe keeping). On top of that, Alfie’s got the number written down in the only place he knows he won’t lose it (on the back of a photograph of Tommy that he keeps in his wallet. Which Tommy doesn’t have to know about)

But he sort of has another question at the forefront of his mind right now. One which has steadily become more and more obtrusive and that’s distracting him from the whole house business… It’s in fact taking up so much of the space in his brain that he finds himself unable to function. Back and forth it goes. Should he ask? Shouldn’t he?

It would be absolutely insane to ask.

But he desperately wants to, is the thing.

And it doesn’t hurt to just… see if he still has that box somewhere in the attic.  

He’s been keeping it there for years -unable to throw it out, but it’s too painful of a thing to have where he has to see it all the time. And one day when Tommy is out, he makes the rather uncomfortable climb up to the attic to search. Lo and behold, it seems like whoever is in charge of it all is working in his favour on this matter, because it’s the first fucking thing he finds. He carefully avoids the photos and other keepsakes, unwilling to face all of that right now. And he does find what he’s looking for -at the very bottom, carefully wrapped in thin, sheer paper. As it’s been for twenty-five odd years, ever since his uncle gave it to him.

“This was your mothers, She asked me to keep it safe. I know she wanted you to have it. So now it’s yours to keep safe.”

He’d asked what he was supposed to do with it. Because that’s the kind of questions kids ask. And his uncle told him that, well, at some point -if you’re lucky- you’ll meet someone who you want to give it to. Someone special.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

And sure enough, he did understand when he got older. But all that really led him to was the realisation that the ‘someone special’ his uncle had been referring to, well, Alfie wasn’t the kind of person who was meant to find one of those. Realised that quite quickly in fact. So what was the point of keeping the bloody thing? Just a reminder of all the things he’d never have, wasn’t it?

Still, couldn’t fucking throw it away, could he? What sort of son would he be if he’d done that? No, that was out of the question. So he’d put it in this box. And now he’s holding it in his hands again and it feels oddly small… Small and delicate and somehow still so incredibly heavy.

He’s sort of forgotten to breathe, so he tries to do that as he folds away paper and looks down at the contents.

Then he has to wipe his eyes because there’s a lot of fucking dust up here and it’s making them fucking water. Has to blink, just to get his vision clear enough to actually seethe thing properly.

It’d need some adjustments of course. But that’s easy enough to accomplish.

It wouldn’t hurt to just… bring it downstairs. Keep it there for a while. It doesn’t mean that he has to ask… It’s not like it’s a huge commitment to just bring it downstairs.

When he descends the ladder on unsteady legs, it’s in his inner pocket.

For safekeeping.

And if he should want to ask, well it’s easier to have it down here isn’t it?

Not that he’s planning to. Because it’d be an absolutely ridiculous thing to do.

But-

Well it can’t fucking hurt to have it close by, is the point.

If he would like to ask…

[speckledbears]

Thoughts on “Far From Home”

SPOILERS FOR “Spider-Man: Far From Home”!!!!

this is for you anon

ok so basically i thought that it would have been good if it wasn’t a Spider-Man (“children’s”) movie.

Like, I think Quentin (Jake G) was such an interesting character, and an amazing villain but, I hated that his entire reason was because he wanted to be the New Iron Man. It bugs me to NO END that THATS the reason. Tony stole the projector tech he made, made fun of him (even if the audience didn’t know), and fired him. I think that’s a much better reason than wanting to be the next Annoying, Mean, Rich Rich Rich So Fucking Rich Metal Guy. The tech was so fucking cool? Like, projectors that seemed so lifelike,,, that’s so cool (also i kinda feel like you could relate it to how disney is only using GCI now but the russos are dumbasses). And like, the story Quentin and his team put together for Mysterio, and all the planning and the production value (if you can call it that lol) was so interesting and I was so intrigued. If there was a movie for him, and he didn’t fucking suck, I would pay to see it. His issue is that he’s so hellbent on killing Peter, MJ and Ned that I was put-off from like, half the movie. It’s kinda terrifying that someone can say, “I’ll just have to kill the kids myself,” and NO ONE IS CONCERNED??? And the fact that he was willing to kill innocent civilians just to make headlines, that’s fucked (and modern). Also, I think the directors missed out on a big opportunity for Peter to have a new father figure. Peter looked up to Quentin, trusted him, seeked him out for advice, like he would a father. I don’t remember him ever doing that with Tony. Peter was always too worried he was bothering him, and Tony seemed to brush him off a lot. Sure, Tony picked him and placed so much faith in him but, in the end? I feel Peter became more of a toy for the Avengers than an actual team member. If Quentin had been a good guy, doing this shit for the “right reasons” (idk like, taking the burden of becoming Iron Man off Peter, and maybe mentoring him) he could’ve been AMAZING. I still love him (except his dumb reasons) but, y’all missed out!!!!

Next: The whole deal with Peter being chosen by Tony to be the next Iron Man. Fucking hate that shit!!!!! Peter is a CHILD, he’s 16, and obviously he’s not ready for that responsibility!!!! In the movie, he’s manipulated by Quentin (which i lowkey also hate and explained above) and he just!!! gave EDITH to him!!!!! He’s a good kid, but not mature or responsible enough to handle having access to that kind of tech. I mean, dude almost killed a classmate?? Literally called a drone strike on the kid, couldn’t figure out how to cancel it, and destroyed the drone himself. Let’s not forget that this responsibility was FORCED ON HIM BY TONY???? Like, there was this scene where Peter literally told Quentin that he didn’t want EDITH!!! He didn’t want that kind of responsibility that came with being Iron Man!!! All he wanted for the summer was to hang out with his friends and kiss the girl he likes!!! Peter just wanted to be a normal child for one summer and, apparently, that was too much to ask for. Also, in the scene where Happy and Peter are in the jet talking about Tony, Peter says that he doesn’t know if he can be the new Iron Man. Happy doesn’t even hesitate when he says, “No, you can’t. No one can replace him.” Like hello!!!! And then they immediately forget that little nugget of wisdom, and Peter starts playing with Tony’s tech and literally everyone with eyes can draw the parallels between Peter and Tony. It’s frustrating. I hated how Tony was treated after his death. I completely understand mourning a character, especially one as important as Tony Stark, but it didn’t feel like mourning. It felt like worshipping. Tony had become a martyr, and he fucking knew it (EDITH = Even Dead, I’m The Hero 🙄) and people are still licking his boots. It’s just so weird that, even though he’s supposed to be dead, he’s still a main character and RDJ isn’t even in the movie!!!!!!!! When a character dies, that’s it, they can’t directly influence the story anymore, and yet Tony is still the reason for everything Peter does? He doesn’t have his own initiative. He lived and breathed in Tony’s shadow, and he’ll live in it forever. He’s being forced to become the next Iron Man. And believe me, I love Tony. I grew up watching the “Iron Man” movies with my parents and brother, and I remember watching one in the theatre and laughing till I cried. Guys! He’s dead! He’s done more than enough! It’s Spider-Man’s turn now.

I really hated Nick Fury in this movie. I grew up watching the OG Marvel movies and I loved Nick, but holy fuck. This dude hounded Peter, a CHILD, for help against those Elementals when he could’ve literally asked anyone else (side note: he shot Ned with a tranquilizer dart like? dude he’s a child calm down-). He gave a shit ton of excuses for why he couldn’t get in contact with the other Avengers but, I call bullshit. This dude is like, one of the most powerful men in the world (Quentin’s words, but it’s also been proven in other movies). He managed to track down Peter, how is it THAT HARD for him to find an adult??? Then he hijacked the school trip so that Peter would be in Prague, and he KNEW that once Peter was there he would help. It’s manipulation. Never mind the scene like, 5 mins later where Peter says he’s worried about his friends getting hurt (and having EDITH but not really understanding her), and Nick exploded on him. LIKE DUDE??? he’s a child. I’m also super pissed off at the fact that Nick manipulated Peter using his Avenger status. OOOOHHHH you whore!!! Literally everyone knows that Peter loved Tony (🙄🙄) and he used him against Peter! ASK AN ADULT FOR HELP YOU HAVE AN ENTIRE TEAM OF THEM????? Oh also, the bitch KNEW Quentin was evil. There’s a scene that proves it. It’s right after their first meeting where Peter says no, and leaves. Nick and Maria (the brunette lady hes always with, im surprised i remembered her name) share a knowing glance. They fucking KNOW. And yet?? They let Quentin do whatever the hell he wants?? He literally tried to kill 3 teenagers, and planned to kill hundreds of civilians in London (and i’m not sure if anyone did get hurt or died but, i wouldn’t be surprised). But the most powerful man in the world can’t stop him, apparently. He wants a 16-year-old CHILD to do it for him. It’s ridiculous!

The romance was also a bit hit-or-miss for me. Like, Ned and Betty?? It felt so forced and contrived? It literally only existed so that MJ could take Ned’s place. Y’all notice that Ned basically ditched his best friend for the entire movie for some girl he barely knows? Also, the fact that they “fell in love” on an eight hour flight. Hate that. It’s such a trope and it’s ugly. The romance with Happy and May was kinda weird, too? I mean, I don’t know their past together. I didn’t watch “Infinty War” or “Endgame” but, it also felt forced. Especially at the end, when Peter asked if they were dating!! May said no and Happy said yes!! I’m assuming that’s supposed to be comedy?? ig??? Anyway, I didn’t really like the romantic rivalry between Brad and Peter? (btw no shit i almost called peter “tony” i’m telling y’all they’re synonymous now). Like, Brad’s logic in using the photo of Peter stripping to “expose the truth” about Peter to MJ was so weird and awkward? The entire scene felt forced and I was so uncomfortable watching it. Also, MJ would’ve stuck up for Peter anyway, so it didn’t even matter, and the rivalry was dropped so easily after the opera in Prague. I did actually like the romance between Peter and MJ, even though I wasn’t expecting to. It’s a bit weird how quickly he got over Liz, but whatever; he’s a teenager. (I was going to comment on the necklace thing but, that’s actually kind of in character for him so, y’all get ONE (1) pass). I thought their hug and kiss at the end of the battle with Quentin was super fucking sweet and innocent, and it was refreshing compared to most teen romance movies where they act like adults instead. I was in LOVE with that scene, and it was one of the only scenes I honestly loved.

Ok, I wanna go back to Quentin for a bit. This dude absolutely destroyed the Peter Parker we were given in HOCO, and at the beginning of the movie. Yeah, Tony already had him as a puppet, but Quentin took his innocence. Y’all saw how easily Peter trusted people before him!! Like?? When he found out Quentin manipulated him, he lost almost all his faith in other people, except for MJ and Ned. For example, the scene where Peter calls Happy to pick him up because he’s in a holding cell in the Netherlands? Love that scene BUT! As he’s limping over to Happy, so obviously fucked up and hurting, he makes Happy prove it’s really him. THAT FUCKING HURT LMAO!!!!! I hated that. And that last battle with Quentin on the bridge? He maneuvered so easily through the drones, it was impressive, and he’d only fought against them once before (seems impossible but whatever). And watching the projections dissolve away into just pixels and a scared little bitch in a fish bowl helmet? Classic Theatre. But, he was traumatized by previous experiences fighting Quentin. Peter’s growth made the movie good but, his loss of innocence really made this movie kinda suck. Sure, his innocence still there—the scenes later with MJ prove that—but he’s still lost his easy trust in other people. It hurt to see. And, like, I’m not saying he can’t be more mature but, he didn’t even trust Happy!! He’s so paranoid that he’ll find his loved ones replaced by Quentin’s illusions!! It sucks!!!! Peter isn’t Peter without that sense of childlike wonder, curiosity, and helpless faith in others.

Anyway, I wanna talk about that Netherlands scene again because, holy shit, I loved it. After Peter was hit by that train (i actually screamed but the cinematography inside the train? *kiss*), he wakes up in some holding cell in the Netherlands with a band of friendly locals, and the guard, who’s talking on the phone with his pregnant wife. I don’t know why but, that scene was one of the first to make me smile? Like, it was so sweet how the other men were so happy for the guard and his wife, how they gave Peter a spare shirt because he looked cold, how Peter just broke the lock and left? How the guard was wearing Peter’s mask???? I’m in love. The next scene I liked was literally right after, of Peter limping through the tulip field, and Happy landing the jet nearby. Without dialogue, that scene is so pretty?? The petals stirring in the wave the jet left as it landed?? The HUG???? UGH! I fell in love. Another scene I loved was the scene when Peter went to Berlin to meet with Nick Fury and Quentin manipulated it with the projection technology. Even though I knew it was fake, I was worried about what was going on outside the projection (he got hit by a fucking train so,,,,,, iwas right to be worried-). Watching Peter so helpless and trying to stay vigilant was so heartbreaking, yet I was lowkey impressed. Like? How many other mean ass men could pull that off? None, next question. I can’t even think about how to explain it. I watched that scene at least 3 times, and was amazed every time, my only thoughts anxiety for Peter.

Okay, lastly, I wanna talk about the tech. I thought it was so interesting and unique. Like, I’ve played with the idea of projection in stories, or with characters as magic but, never considered applying it through technology, especially tech as capable as it is. And every scene where the projections were being used were amazing. I mean, obviously it’s CGI, but in the context of the MCU, it’s so interesting and cool to see tech like that used in a very public way. And no one knew!!! The whole system (along with Quentin and his team) was so good at camouflaging that I was fooled at the beginning of the movie. I seriously believed in the Elementals and Mysterio’s ruined Earth. It’s part of the reason I really enjoyed his character. And, like I said earlier, Peter was fooled by it too; everyone was. He learned it, eventually. But not before Quentin could manipulate the situation one last time and claim Peter called the drone attacks on London, and revealed his identity.

All in all, I didn’t have fun watching “Far From Home,” and it’s mainly because it didn’t feel like a Spider-Man movie. I enjoyed “Homecoming,” so much more. The villain was far more relatable (even though you could see it as demonizing the poor), Ned and Peter’s friendship was so wholesome and sweet, the entire cast was fun, and it was more enjoyable than watching some angry rich white man trying to kill children so he can get richer.

[geminiamethyst]

Dragon Seekers. Chapter 16

Chapter 1: click HERE

Chapter 15: click HERE

Chapter 17: click HERE

“Jamie! Wake up!”

A tired moan escaped Jamie as he felt someone shaking him. He opened his heavy eyelids, blearily looking up at Ash. She was wide awake, fully dressed and with her hair looking more messy from when he last saw it. He also noticed something like a harness on her as well as her spear seemed to be attached to her back.

“Ready? We’ve got to go now,” Ash hissed, keeping her voice as quiet as possible. She hurriedly started to sit Jamie up and drag him out of bed.

“Wait! Ash, my feet!” he complained, struggling to not cry as his feet touched the ground. They weren’t as bad as they were, but he still felt like he wasn’t quite ready to walk on his own.

“Don’t worry. Well be flying on Cinder for the most part. You’ll be okay,” Ash whispered, slinging Jamie’s arm over her shoulders to help him walk. Jamie just had enough time to grab the Soul Statue on the bedside table as he was carefully led out of the bedroom. “You’ve got to be quiet too. We’re the only ones awake.”

They were?

Whilst limping along, Jamie carefully observed his surroundings. No one else was up and moving around yet. The house was deathly still compared to the two children roaming about in it. What time in the morning was it? Too early for everyone else to be as wide awake as Ash. Did they need to be up this early?

Ash moved Jamie as quick as she could through the house, trying not to disturb the sleeping members of her family. She did her best to move Jamie, but it was proving to be difficult with how his feet were at that moment. Nonetheless, she helped him get his boots on before helping him outside. Cinder was waiting outside, looking just as awake as Ash was. Jamie recalled that Pyro’s and Blake’s dragons had saddles. Cinder didn’t seem to have one. Maybe the reptilian preferred to have one. However, there was something that looked like a brown jacket laid across her back.

“Here. You’ll need it when we’re out of the heat,” Ash insisted as she unhooked Jamie’s arm from her shoulders and passed him the jacket. He wanted to say no, because it truly felt too hot to wear it. However, now that he thought about it, it might get quite cold to him once they were in the air. He slipped on the jacket. It was a little long on the sleeves (which he rolled up a little), and it felt quite big on him, but he didn’t have time to complain. Ash nodded in approval before she dug out two scarfs, one red and one a dull orange colour.

“Put his on as well. I don’t want you passing out from Tahoe carbon dioxide when we get out of the air bubble,” she warned after passing Jamie the orange scarf. He shuddered as he recalled the suffocating sensation he had when he was chased and when Ash saved him. He followed Ash’s example, tying the scarf over their mouths and noses. He felt a little silly, looking like a bandit from the old cowboy movies, but again he didn’t complain. After all, he needed to be safe until they get far enough away from this environment.

Once her scarf was secure, Ash promptly jumped onto Cinder’s back. Cinder remained still, almost like a statue as her rider reached out to Jamie. He was hesitant. This would be his first time flying on a dragon. Was there supposed to be a proper procedure? Where are the seat belts? Okay, stupid question, but he honestly didn’t know what else to think at that moment.

Seeing the impatience brimming in Ash’s eyes, Jamie cautiously grabbed her hand. Ash effortlessly pulled him up and made sure that he was seated safely behind her.

“You might want to hang on tight,” Ash said, with Jamie picturing a smirk on her face. Hesitantly, Jamie wrapped his arms around Ash’s waist, not sure what else he could hang onto. Feeling that Jamie was hanging on tight enough, Ash muttered something and before Jamie could ask her to repeat that, Cinder suddenly started moving. She was walking to begin with, which wasn’t too bad. Then she started picking up speed, breaking into a steady gallop. Jamie found himself automatically tightening his hold on Ash as Cinder’s wings moved up and down, causing powerful waves of air. Jamie couldn’t help but close his eyes, feeling like his stomach was going into knots. There was what felt like a jerking motion and the sense of passing through something. Was that the air bubble they passed through?

Jamie had no time to think about that. There was a feeling of being hot, causing him to sweat right through his clothes again. He felt like he might pass out from it, but he held on with seemingly limitless determination. The last thing that he wanted was to fall off as the dragon was ascending. Gravity pulled hard at him, threatening to cruelly yank him down to the ground without mercy. He couldn’t let go, his life literally depended on his ability to grip tightly. His hands felt sweaty from the heat, making it more challenging to hang on. He couldn’t even tell how tight his grip was.

“Jamie, open your eyes,” Ash could be heard smiling as the heat was suddenly gone. The gravity suddenly felt more merciful as Cinder seemed to slow down. Jamie opened his eye by a crack, before they both opened in surprise. He then blinked a couple more times as he wasn’t used to the light of the sun after a short while. He had a better chance to look when his eyes became adjusted to the morning light as the sun started to rise over the ocean that Cinder was now flying over. The sun’s reflection made the ripples of the sea look like gemstones. The sky was painted with the last few evening stars, which were now fading, and shades of orange, blue and purple. The wind smelled o freshly of salt from the sea, offering more clean air than Ash’s homeland. Speaking of which, Jamie looked down at where they had taken off from. He couldn’t see much of it other than the faint flashes from the lava since smoke made it impossible to see anything else. It was definitely a small island it seemed.

Curious, Jamie looked around. He could more islands in the distance. About five more: one surrounded by mist and was pure white; one that seemed to only have sand with a small port and nothing else; one that seemed to house a dense forest; one that had large building structures that reminded him of sky scrapers and one that seemed to be surrounded by a thick black cloud. The last stand caused Jamie to shiver, giving him an awful feeling. There was something about the island that he didn’t like, but he wasn’t sure why. It seemed to be the furthest away out of all the islands.

Jamie looked again, seeing something that he had found quite interesting. Five of the islands, including Ash’s, surrounding the larger island that had the buildings in an almost perfect ring, as if the island was a representative of a capital city back in his world. Both worlds seemed to be more similar than Jamie thought. How remarkable.

“Nothing like your world, eh?” Ash smiled as she pulled down her scarf.

“No. This is amazing!” Jamie smiled back, taking everything around him in. Despite the island that gave him a bad feeling, he was awed by al that he could see. He was so used to seeing concrete, aside from the forest near his house, for most of his life, that seeing all this nature around him was a nice change.

“I guess so. I don’t leave the Magma Isles much, so this is a nice change,” Ash smiled as she took in a deep breath of fresh air. Jamie did the same as he took off the scarf he was still wearing. “We’re going to Central Isle. That’s where Nexus is. Hopefully it won’t be too busy with other kids getting their dragons this morning.”

So that’s why they left so early. It was so that Jamie could get help as quickly as possible. Hopefully it won’t be easier said then done. Jamie tried not to think about what might happen and focused on where they were going. Central Isle couldn’t have had a more obvious name. It almost reminded him of London, aside from a few details. The buildings weren’t entirely made from concrete but seemingly natural stone. They weren’t lit up by electricity on the outside it seemed. All the walls had crystals that were dimly lit. Shadowy shapes moved between the buildings or past them. It took Jamie a moment to realise that what he saw was dragons. Even though he had seen them already at Ash’s home, he was still blown away at just the sight of these mythical creatures right then and there.

And Jamie couldn’t wait to see all of them.

[vixxscifiwritings]

The Foxglove Meadow (2/?)

Story Masterpost

Chapter 2 - A New Neighbour

"The weather is extraordinary today" Minah said. Haneul smiled as she continued sketching the view from the portico. 

"I believe a turn around would do wonders for the mind" she proposed. 

"Perhaps we can take a walk to the town. I need to buy some lace for my gowns" Haneul nodded to herself. 

"I thought you would continue to sketch" Minah frowned. 

"Perhaps later. In any event, I don't believe I will be able to do the beautiful meadow justice" Haneul sighed. 

"In time" Minah consoled her. Haneul smiled gratefully as she put her things away. Minah helped her carry the art supplies into the house. The girls went away to change into something appropriate for the outing to town.

"Do get me some white wool too Haneul" her mother told her. 

"Wool? But it is the middle of summer" Haneul said, surprised. 

"The evenings still get chilly. I thought of knitting a shawl for myself" she explained. Haneul nodded. 

"Do you need anything Ma'am?" Minah asked Soojung who shook her head. 

"Best to be on our way then. The sun might set in two hours and the walk is long" Haneul told Minah.

"Perhaps it will be better if you ladies took the carriage?" Soojung suggested. 

"I hardly think that will be necessary. And we'd very much like a walk" Minah told her. 

"Very well, but do not be late" Soojung said strictly. 

"Yes Ma'am" Haneul replied promptly for the two of them. 

"And also take Hanbyul along. You must not travel unescorted" she insisted.

The two girls took their coats and purses. Haneul insisted on tying the most ridiculous bonnet she had on Minah's head causing the younger sister to protest. The bonnet had been embellished with a variety of ribbons and beads when Haneul had been learning how to fix her own bonnets. After much protesting to Haneul's amusement and consequently discarding the bonnet, the girls set off on their walk to town.

The walk to town was rather short. Having spent two early summers in the area had taught her the ins and outs of the settlement quite well. Haneul found a small boutique right next to the delicatessen they usually ordered meat from. The girls bought whatever fabrics were required and sent Hanbyul back with it before proceeding to a tea parlour at the other end of the street.

"The cakes here are lovely" Haneul told Minah. 

"I don't think the parlour was here last summer" Minah said, looking around. 

"It started a few weeks after you returned to London last year" Haneul recollected. 

"The owner's family shifted into the countryside after the London season got over, I think." 

"What are the chances that I know someone?" Minah wondered out loud. 

"Slim" Haneul said thoughtfully. "But a wonderful coincidence if otherwise" she added. 

Unfortunately, the girls weren't able to chance upon a meeting with the owner of the establishment. After a leisurely cup of tea and sweets, they made their way back to the cottage. They had ample of time in the day to get back and hence Minah suggested a detour. 

"I don't think that will be appropriate" Haneul said unsurely. 

"But we aren't going through the estate. Just the lake and meadows by the boundary. A boundary that the Primrose farms share!" Minah reminded her. "Besides, you said so yourself earlier. The Duke and Duchess aren't home now. No one would look our way. The gardens are situated towards the far end of the estate." 

"We probably shouldn't" she hesitated. 

"No one has to know" Minah said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Perhaps..." Haneul faltered. A stroll by the flower gardens at the end would surely not get them into trouble. And the walk in itself was beautiful and tempting. 

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt" she relented. Minah smiled triumphantly before straying from the road to a path that went around the Chatsworth Estate instead of the straight road home.

"Have you been through these parts?" Minah asked, exploring the road ahead. She had taken off her bonnet and let her hair down. She knew she would be in trouble for sending their escort home ahead of them. And since she was to be scolded she might as well be scolded for everything together. 

"Once when I was very young. I got lost in these parts and ended up getting scolded by my father at my carelessness. Ever since then I have avoided this path altogether" she confessed. Minah nodded in understanding. But the path was relatively simple. It wound along the estate walls till the grey stone gave way to green trees and bushes. It went further ahead and turned into a bush surrounded by trees on the sides. 

"This must be where the trail goes into the estate" Minah said to herself. 

"It's dangerous to go in. The bushes have thorns" Haneul noted with a frown. 

"There must be a - oh my!" Minah exclaimed joyfully. Haneul turned around to see a small puppy barking at Minah's feet. 

"Isn't this the cutest. It must be a few weeks old at the most" she deduced as she bent down to pet it. 

"It's lovely" Haneul cooed. The little thing yipped in response causing the girl to grin. It was too little to even bark properly.

"It must live nearby. Did you come through the bushes young one?" Minah asked. 

"Must be the case" Haneul agreed. 

"I don't think we can leave it out here alone" Minah said worriedly. "If we look around, I suppose we can find where it lives." 

"Can't we take it home?" Haneul asked, fondly petting the puppy. 

"I wish we could. But it is too young to be away from its mother" Minah explained. 

"It's home must be through the path way. We didn't see any dogs on the way here" Minah frowned. 

"Possibly. But I don't know if we can just walk in there even if it is the puppy's home" Haneul said once again. 

"I am sure the owner would understand" Minah reasoned with herself. She looked ahead to see a faint trail through the green thorny branches. 

"Come along" Minah told her sister. 

"I will. Mind the thorns" she cautioned. 

This seemed to be ironic because Haneul's hair (surprisingly) was the first to get caught across a thorny bush along with the hems of her long flowing skirts. Haneul wanted to ask Minah for help but couldn't because she had gone further ahead with the puppy in her arms. It took a moment to untangle everything without tearing fabric. She had to undo her hair because it had come lose but it had all untangled easily after.

"Minah?" she called out, looking for her cousin. She couldn't see her anywhere. Thankfully, the bushes had come to an end and she could move about freely. Haneul wasted no time and sped up, looking around for Minah. She couldn't see her anywhere ahead so maybe she had taken the wrong turn. She didn't watch where she was going  as she turned too quickly and accidentally crashed into someone.

She felt the warmth of a sturdy chest and a warm coat that covered it. A set of hands were on her waist steadying her. She blushed bright red at the intimacy and immediately moved away. 

"I am so sorry" she apologized, suddenly conscious of her wild appearance. She dared to look up and found a man, older than her definitely. A gentleman with a rather deep black eyes stared at her with a measure of confusion. 

"Haneul! I got the puppy home" Minah said happily before noticing the man with her. She heard Haneul breathe in sharply before apologizing to the man and walking away from him. Minah didn't question as her flustered cousin dragged her along. Her evident embarrassment raised a lot of questions but this was not the time to ask them. Who had the man been?

-

"What sort of behaviour is this?" Soojung scolded the two girls. Haneul and Minah had tried to sneak into the house but hadn't been so lucky. Soojung and Minjun, Haneul's mother had noticed that Hanbyul had come home without the girls and had expressed severe disappointment in it.

"You are supposed to be the elder and more responsible one Haneul. And look at you now. Is this the example you are setting for your sister?" Minjun asked harshly. Haneul but her lip and held her silence. An explanation of her state would only result in angering the two women. 

"Off with you two. Clean yourselves up" Soojung said, knowing no explanations were coming. She wondered what had happened to keep them so tight lipped about it. But she knew the girls wouldn't do something scandalous. So for now they could let it slide. Perhaps Minjun could coerce it out of Haneul later.

"What happened at the estate?" Minah asked once they were in their room. 

"Nothing" Haneul said, blushing again. Minah raised an eyebrow. 

"Who was the gentleman?" she asked suspiciously. Her cousin's dishevelled appearance and flustered state while in proximity of a man had definitely brought up questions. 

"I don't know. This is the first time I saw him" Haneul told her as she attempted to fix her hair. 

"And you let him kiss you so intimately at the first meeting?!" Minah exclaimed. 

"What?" Haneul blanched. "Of course not! I accidentally crashed into him while looking for you. That was all that happened!"

Minah eyed her sister suspiciously. "He's not a secret love affair?" she cross questioned. Haneul shook her head. 

"Such a shame. He was good looking" Minah said with a sigh only to be hit with a pillow. 

-

"Did you two sleep well?" Hyunshik asked when Minah came down to breakfast. 

"Very well. How about you Uncle?" she asked, sitting down next to her aunt. Haneul was still upstairs and would be down shortly. 

"Good indeed. I would have slept in as well if not for the hustle bustle of the house waking me up" he told her. 

Minah took a piece of bread and buttered it while the maid served her a bowl of porridge. She refused the fruit and sent her off to serve Haneul who had just sit down at the table. Hanbyul appeared with a handful of letters and notes for Hyunshik who took them promptly and waved him off.

"Minah. You have a letter from your brother" Hyunshik said, asking Minjun to pass the letter over. 

"How is he?" he asked with a smile. Minah could sense Minjun's face stiffen with disdain. Haneul had the decency to be embarrassed at her Mother's behaviour while Soojung ignored the entire affair, knowing not to step in. 

"Very well I hope so" Minah said, focusing on the letter.

"He has started violin lessons" she said, halfway through the letter. 

"Let us pray he sticks to it. He left his piano lessens right after the third instructions" Soojung scowled. 

"Hopefully. He had been asking for them for a very long time" Minah agreed. 

"Boys his age rarely focus on one thing for a very long" Hyunshik said. 

"I might have to go to London soon" he told Minjun with a frown. "A business prospect has come up." 

"How long will you be gone for?" Minjun asked him. 

"Perhaps a week. No more than two I suspect" he told her. She nodded. 

"Did you know Minah, that when Haneul was very little she had packed her sunday frock and sat in my carriage, insisting I take her along?" he told Minah. 

"Papa!" Haneul protested indignantly. 

"I did not know this" Minah laughed. 

"She did. The very bag also contained a huge slab of cheese that ultimately ruined her dress. But Haneul couldn't go anywhere without it. It would have been a blasphemous thought" he laughed. Haneul grumbled and pushed away the cheese she had cut out for herself causing the family to laugh. 

"We must have a new neighbour" Minjun noted, seeing a calling card next to the letter she had been reading. 

"Just in time for the new season too. We will have something to look forward to." Minjun read through the brief note on the card. 

"Oh my. The Duke has parted ways with Chatsworth!" she exclaimed. 

"Chatsworth estate has been sold?" Soojung asked in surprise. 

"To a gentleman named Kim Wonshik. He must have moved in a day or so ago" she deduced from the letter. 

"He has written to invite you for tea to make acquaintance with his new neighbours. Oh you must meet him before you leave for London!" Minjun insisted. 

"I suppose I can. I am not required in London for a month or so" he confirmed.

"Such a polite letter. Signs of a good breeding. And to think, if he could afford to buy such a large estate he must have a good income bestowed on him as well" Minjun discussed with Soojung who nodded as well. 

"You must absolutely ask him to dine with us when you meet him. And Haneul you must help me select courses and desserts" she told her daughter.

"He hasn't even agreed to dinner yet Mama" Haneul reasoned. 

"But he eventually will. And when he does you must help me. We need to set a good impression. You know, his letter doesn't imply a wife or family along with him" she said, hinting at the implications for Haneul. Haneul nodded curtly before focusing on her food.

Minah frowned at her cousin's strange behavior. Haneul had never expressed disgruntlement at marriage proposals. Surely she had never built castles in the air but she had never been this hesitant to respond. Then it hit her.

A gentleman at Chatsworth Estate. 

Someone who must have been new.

Minah suppressed the urge to laugh. Unbeknownst to the elders, Haneul had already met the lovely gentleman with good breeding and large income. Minah was sure that the pair had already left quite an impression on the man. Haneul had realised the same and was now dreading the prospect of ever meeting him again, lest their embarrassment be exposed. Minah pitied her cousin because she could already tell that her aunt aimed on getting Haneul married to the man while all Haneul wanted to do was run away from the same. 

Suddenly, it was a blessing to be just fifteen and not seventeen.

-x-

[femslashmas]

begin again | chapter eight

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | nine | read on ao3 | playlist

It’s been three years since Baz left the sleepy Isle of Mage to attend university in London, and he hasn’t regretted a thing–except maybe leaving Simon behind. Convinced he’ll never be forgiven, Baz refuses to even visit until a frantic phone call from his stepmother sends him running home. Once there, Baz is forced to confront his past, question the future, and maybe, just maybe, get that second chance he’s always desired.

genre(s): angst+fluff+smut

chapter length: 1400 words

triggers/warnings: none for this chapter

author’s note: a giant thank you to @amandaisnotwriting​ & @rainbowbaz for the beta/britpicking! full acknowledgments will be posted with the last chapter (which is the next one omg omg ahhhhhh)

The next two months pass quickly. I throw my energy into my schoolwork, anything to keep my mind away from Simon. And it works.

(Almost.)

Christmas at our flat is a quiet affair. The three of us spending the day together isn’t unusual—Andrea and I both share a dislike for the places we came from, and the fact that neither of our families wanted us to be queer. Philippa can’t afford to visit her parents in Vietnam more than once a year—but this year’s celebrations were especially subdued. (I suspect the two of them planned it that way, but I would have appreciated more of a distraction, if I’m honest.)

The week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve hadn’t been much different. Boxing Day had been spent lounging around the flat, and debating what to do with the extreme excess of gifts sent to Andrea by her parents. (They do this every year, like they think it will make up for the fact that even after three years together they still won’t accept that she’s with Philippa.)

Somehow, Andrea had convinced us last night that it would be a completely brilliant idea to go to a club last night—we apparently needed our spirits lifted before the arrival of 2018—and since neither I nor her girlfriend truly possess the ability to say no to her ridiculous notions, we’d gone.

Which is why I’ve just woken up with the worst headache. The severity is not exactly a surprise, considering how much alcohol I consumed last night, but that doesn’t stop me from cursing the universe and everyone who inhabits it. Especially the individual responsible for unleashing White Russians upon an unsuspecting society. The fact that I can’t remember who that is at the moment is a testament to just how much thinking hurts right now. And it does. A lot. Every little move I make brings a fresh wave of pain to the inside of my skull, and I’m tempted to curl up and die where I lay.

I don’t usually drink enough to get properly hungover, but when I do, the results are nightmarish.

I somehow manage to pry myself out of bed and stumble down the hall to Andrea’s room. She appears to be just as hungover as I am, and if I were a better friend I’d let her sleep.

I creep over until I’m next to the bed, lean over so my lips are right against her ears, and say, “good morning!”

(This does not go over well.)

Once Andrea is calm again, she picks up the bottle of wine on her nightstand and stares at it. “Why is this here?”

“You decided it was a good idea to drink it before bed.”

“Well,” she says, wincing as she sits up, “I suppose that explains the headache.” (She doesn’t ask what happened to the other one—the sight of her girlfriend slowly waking up and appearing to be in a similar state is enough of a confirmation.) (As is the empty bottle still clutched in her hand.)

Andrea pats the bed beside her. “Come to bed, Bazzy.”

I make a face at the nickname she knows I hate, and then gasp. “Are you propositioning me?” I ask, ducking as she tosses a pillow my way.

I snatch it up to use as a shield just as she flings the second one. “Don’t be fucking weird.”

“Shut the actual fuck up, both of you,” Philippa grumbles from underneath her pillow, and groans loudly when Andrea snatches that one and sends it flying.

“I didn’t even say anything this time!” I protest.

“I know,” she says, “that was for waking up my girlfriend.”

“We both woke up your girlfriend.”

“Aha! You admit your guilt!”

“Shut uuup,” Philippa groans again.

“Sorry, Philippa,” we say in unison, and she sticks her middle finger up at us.

***

It’s New Year’s Eve.

We’ve thrown a party, just like we do every year, only this time I’m miserable.

Andrea’s on her fifth glass of merlot and it’s beginning to show. Her round cheeks are stained a faint pink, and she’s lost her ability to, well, not gesture wildly as she’s speaking.

“You see, Basilton—May I call you Basilton?”

“You may not.”

“You see, Basilton, there is nothing festive about mince pies, and here’s why.”

I wait patiently for her explanation before I realise it’s not coming. “Why aren’t mince pies festive?”

“Hmm?”

“You were about to explain why mince pies aren’t festive.”

“Was I? Okay then.” A pause. “First of all, I don’t like them.” She rests her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes.

I nudge her foot with my own, because now she’s gone and made me curious. “What’s the next reason?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s all the reasons?”

She nods and reaches out blindly to pat my cheek. “You’re a good friend, Basilton. Tyrannus, Basil. Baz. Shit, you have a lot of—” she burps, “a lot of names, don’t you?”

“You’re pissed.”

“I resent that accusation.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nope, can’t prove it.”

I roll my eyes at her and snort, and then stare down at my own glass of wine, wishing it was something stronger. Wishing I was back at home. Wishing I was spending tonight with Snow. Not that Andrea isn’t lovely company, but in about five minutes Philippa is going to come over and sit on her lap, which I normally don’t mind—any grudges about being a third-wheel are completely non-existent after nearly four years as friends—just…

Well, they’re ringing in the new year together, and while the three of us are technically together right now, it’s not the same. Getting cheek-kissed at midnight by your best friend right before she starts snogging her girlfriend is much less preferable to actually kissing another person. Like Simon, for example.

Fuck.

Andrea must notice the sudden change in my mood, because she’s stopped attempting to slander mince pies and leans into me, nudging my shoulder with her own. A few pieces of her hair tickle my nose, but I ignore them. She smells like wine and pastries and her favourite perfume.

It occurs to me that I no longer consider London “home”, and that I haven’t for a while now. My home is on the island. No, that’s not it. The island has never been my home. Watford has never been my home. My home is with Snow. With Simon.

If Simon wants to make Watford his home, then so can I.

I’m up off the sofa in a flash, jostling Andrea and nearly causing her to spill her wine. She makes a noise of protest, and I apologise quickly before leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

Grabbing a jumper, I rush out of the flat, ignoring Andrea’s voice calling after me in confusion.

I’m coming, Simon, I think, I’m coming home.

***

I take the world's most expensive uber from London to Southend-on-Sea, having tipped the driver exorbitantly before he’d even consider it, and then even more once we reached my destination. And I still don’t get there in time.

I watch as the ferry—-the last one of the day—grows smaller and smaller. Much like my chances of getting to Simon.

Now I’ll never get to him, I’ll never get him back, and I’ll be forced to live unhappily in London, alone, for the rest of my life.

“Fuck!” I swear. “Fucking fuck!”

The sensible thing to do in this situation—according to the voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like my stepmother— would be to stay the night here and take the ferry first thing in the morning. But that’s not good enough. I’ve come this far, and I’ve gone and convinced myself that if I don’t see him before the year is over, it’ll be too late. Rational thought or not, I’m determined to get there. I can’t miss my chance again.

I’m just not sure how I’m going to pull it off.

And then I see the boats.

There’s boats.

There’s a lot of boats.

I must be completely mad. I’ve gone off the rails, I’m possessed, I’m out of my fucking mind. Because there’s a boat in front of me, a fishing boat,  and I’m thinking about taking it. If I take it, then I’ll be able to make it. I’ll get to Simon. I’ll finally get my second chance.

So I do.

chapter nine

[kxtemxss]

I remember reading Romeo and Juliet for the first time, I must have only been about eleven or twelve, feverishly turning the pages of my crumpled old copy. I began to search the words for meaning, the hopeless romantic inside me yearning for a resolution other than death. However, when I reached the final act, it became apparent that the curtain had fallen on both the play and the young lovers lives.

Although it may seem cliché as fuck, an impressionable young girl fawning over the actions of two fictional children, I felt a certain numbness upon learning their fate.

I often found a strange sense of calmness amongst the images of decay. 

I would romanticise the idea of death, obsessed with finding meaning in the absence of life. 

I would wonder what people would think if I ceased to exist, creating elaborate realities in which I had sacrificed myself for the good of others, desperate to discover if my life had a meaning. 

Although real life continued to seep into my delusions, like a busy train in rush hour, leaving me stranded at the platform with no hope of ever catching up.

The first time I put a blade to my skin I had hoped to find comfort in the pain, I yearned for the euphoric numbness I had read so much about. However, once again reality crept in. The turn of my mums key in the lock, the familiar mumble of “I’m home” as she struggled to carry her bags through the door. 

I’d rush to help, but by then she’d be back at her desk, the door shut and the usual groan of her laptop as it struggled to ventilate against the wooden surface would once again echo down the hall. “Not now” she would snap, her hand shooing me away from the small crack in the doorway.

My dad wasn’t around much. He was always ‘busy’ working, or as I later learnt busy playing house with other women’s children. But my mum, she was the real hero in the house, working long days to keep our family afloat. 

I didn’t see my mum as often as I’d like. But I grew accustom to the notes scribbled in haste on the back of envelopes.

“Be home late. Dinner is in the fridge. Will call you later, have a good day, Love you xx”. 

I knew it wasn’t because she didn’t love me, in fact it was the polar opposite. She loved me, therefore she had to work. Our relationship would revolve around microwave meals, post-it notes and hushed conversations from the car or the various hotel rooms. The contrast of the harsh crackle of her voice against the humming of her car as she drove became a familiar sound. 

At first I used to love being home alone. I would watch whatever I wanted and eat all the things I wasn’t meant to. But as I grew older it became quite lonely. The ache for attention would become unbearable. 

At night I would hear my mum cry a lot. The muffled sobs would often lull me to sleep. My heart breaking every time my dad’s seat at the table remained empty.

I always played the understudy in my dads life or perhaps one of those secondary characters you add into a novel to flesh it out. It was almost like I had missed the audition for the main part, spending years of my life playing catch up with the desperate hope that one day the leading actor would fall down and then I could finally be the star.

It never happened. I’m still the understudy, but these days I’ve accepted it. His absence never went unnoticed but with age I learnt not to expect much. That way I was never as disappointed. 

I was never good enough to be the leading lady. I never got the right grades, wore the right clothes, had the right attitude. I lived in an emotional prison of my own creation, desperately seeking someone to bail me out. 

When I was 14 I was bullied so badly that I began to hurt myself again. I had started dating a boy I’d known since I was very young. My childish delusions of romantic grandeur had lead me to believe he was ‘the one’. I tried to open up to him, foolishly thinking he might be able to pay the bail and set me free. I craved attention, I just really wanted someone to love me.

This of course ended after three short weeks of playground kisses and late night texting. A girl in my friendship group had told everyone I was actually a lesbian. And this was high school after all, so naturally everyone believed it. 

The late night texts stopped coming. I convinced myself his phone must be broken. It wasn’t. 

He later told me, in front of all his friends, that he couldn’t be seen to be dating the “fat lesbian”.

I was 14, so this was ultimately the end of the world.

I lost all my friends. No one wanted to hang out with the ‘fat lesbian’. They would break my things, steal my money and shove me in the halls. My Facebook account was hacked, slut shaming me, with edited photos of my face on very graphic sexual images. I became a social pariah.

The girl started dating the boy. No one ever believed I wasn’t a lesbian either.

As I’ve grown older I’ve realised how pathetic it all was. I mean who gives a fuck if you like boys or girls anyway. But back then all I wanted to do was die.

I kept a brave face for a while at home, uttering a few words about how my day was fine and school was okay. It wasn’t.

I moved to Australia not long after this. My dad had told me this was my fresh start, a new hope. It wasn’t.

I started at an all girls boarding school, by the sea. My parents were going to move over later in the year, after everything was sorted back home. They never did.

I spent my locked away in my boarding house. I wasn’t allowed to leave.

“You need written parent permission and adult supervision.”

It became very monotonous. I felt almost like I was on auto-pilot for most of that year.

I would wake up, late as usual and have to skip breakfast. I would go to class, making small talk with the day girls, suppressing the deep burn of envy I would feel as they talked about their weekends at the beach or their dinners with their families. I’d then be forced to study in silence until 9pm, before I was able to return to my room. By this point I’d be mentally exhausted, craving the comfort of my bed. Sometimes there would be a slight variation, for example on Thursdays, I’d have to go to chapel. My mum had lied about my religion to get me a place at the school. Something that became achingly obvious with each passing week. I’d often argue with the pastor, telling him he was deluded. As you can imagine, at an Anglican school, this went down like a lead balloon.

It wasn’t long before I had fallen victim once again to the school bully. She weaved an elaborate web of lies that spread across the dormitory like an untamed bush fire.

And once again, one by one, my friends stopped bothering with me. 

But this time I was all alone, 10,233 miles from home. 

I tried to kill myself in the October of that year. It was the start of summer, one of the hottest days so far. I’d been to the beach for ice cream after school as a treat. It was a good day.

By this point I’d stopped texting my mum, feeding her lies about how wonderful boarding school was. I was angry with her. She’d abandoned me here. 

My dad, the fantasist, was of course still determined that everything would work out. He couldn’t seem to accept the reality of the situation. They were never coming to Australia. The dream was dead. 

Coming home felt like a relief. The suffocating heat disappearing behind me as the plane drew nearer and nearer to my home. 

In my head I’d imagined a reality where everything would be perfect when I got home. My parents would be happy, my friends would love me again. It would be like the end scene from every high school movie I’d ever seen. 

It wasn’t.

“Suicide is stupid. Mental Illness is a fantasy. There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t need to see a therapist you’re 15. Grow up. Get a grip. Stop being so goddamn sensitive.”

My dad’s words echoed in my head, fragments of his harsh sentences tearing open old wounds and creating space for more pain.

I later learnt that my dad had bankrupted us. My mum lost her job. We had nothing. My mum had tried to kill herself that year. No one told me, they didn’t want to worry me - especially since I was “so far away”. 

I started a new school, I thought it would be alright. I would be with my childhood best friend. I was wrong.

Her friends were awful. Their false promises of sincerity slipping through loose lips as they sold your personal business to the highest bidder in hopes of maintaining popularity. 

Eventually I finished school. I packed up my things and moved away to London. As far as I could feasibly get, much to my mum’s disdain. 

A lot happened in the 3 years that followed. I suppose you could say life happened. 

In my first week of university, I was sexually assaulted in an alleyway as I stumbled around, drunk and bewildered looking for my bus home. It felt like I wasn’t really there. I failed to believe it was really happening. 

I remember the rough texture of his hands against my shoulders as he slammed me against the wall, trapping my body. I remember I cried and screamed, I begged him to stop but he didn’t. 

I wish I could say this was my only experience. In fact I wish I could say I made this all up. That it was a lie. But it wasn’t.

It happened again in my second year, I’d gone to a party with some friends, we’d invited a guy that worked with my best friend. He seemed nice, I’d flirted with him over the bar on occasion. We’d matched on Tinder, it all seemed innocent enough. 

I was wrong. He’d followed me out of the party, explaining we needed to catch the same bus anyways. His obnoxious voice booming over the hum of the engine as the bus drew closer to my stop. 

He followed me off the bus, pleading to use my phone charger. I shrugged and permitted it, my judgement clouded by substance abuse and exhaustion. 

He made us a drink and I took it readily, my mouth dry and chalky. 

He began to brush the hair from my shoulder, whispering compliments into my ear. It was almost as if he knew exactly what I needed to hear, his words making me believe he cared about me. Making me think maybe he could love me. My mind began to run away with delusions, my vision growing hazier as I sunk into my pillow.

He had laced my drink. I couldn’t feel my body, it was as if my conscious had left my body, as though I was watching from a distance, a bystander to my own destruction.

“You didn’t seem to enjoy that. Do you not like sex? Don’t report me. You probably think I raped you.” He joked as he buckled his belt. 

“You did” I muttered, it must have been inaudible as he never responded.

I sat in shower for hours after he left. Hoping the heat of the water would cleanse my skin and burn away any evidence of his touch. It didn’t. 

I began to sleep on the sofa, avoiding returning to the scene of the crime. I hated him. I hated how he had ruined the city of my dreams. I blamed him for every grey day. It was almost as if his touch had turned out all the bright lights, as if he had dulled all the colour and now all I could see was darkness and misery.

"You were obviously asking for it, I don’t know why you expect sympathy.” My own father’s words. And just like that I crumbled. The lifelong facade was over.