#anyway little anecdote: home alone is one of the first movies i remember watching. we saw it in school on one of them old tellies on wheels

[solarwreathe]

christmas with no limits

really, this art was all an excuse to show you this image. i miss when old movie promo photos were awkward as shit.

[c-is-for-circinate]

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

[slashbitch2]

Prove Me Wrong, Darling

who doesn't love a bit of enemies to lovers? :)

You and Agatha had never gotten along. From your perspective, it was due to a conflict of interest. Whereas if you asked her, she'd likely say it was a conflict of intelligence, or something else insulting along those lines. Though the issue you had with the fellow witch wasn't her attitude, rather her underestimation of your powers. It'd started with her massacre of the Coven, when she'd attempted to end your life alongside the others. But to her surprise, you'd been strong enough to defend yourself and escape. Since then, there'd been several instances where your paths had crossed, and you hadn't let her live down the failure yet.

This particular occasion was different, however, as Agatha had asked you for help.

It'd taken everything in you not to immediately mock her. But you knew that she'd leave without further explanation if she felt ridiculed, and you were just dying to know what had made her stoop to your level. So, you'd swallowed your pride and attentively listened to her proposal. It'd mostly featured the repeated phrases "immense power" and "huge source of energy," and even a confession that she was baffled by the cause, which only intrigued you further.

Although you weren't too interested in accumulating anymore power, the opportunity to be on level ground with Agatha was too good to pass on. You confessed this to her upon accepting the invitation, which resulted in an unimpressed eye roll. Regardless of her annoyance, you left that same day, arriving in the least expected location. A quaint town in New Jersey.

"Well," You landed behind Agatha in the middle of a road, surveying the picturesque, colourless neighbourhood. "isn't this lovely."

She pursed her lips, looking round similarly perplexed. "Lovely?" She echoed. "This is like every outdated suburban stereotype rolled into one. Like some kind of picture-perfect movie set."

Her condescending comment jogged a memory. "That's what I was thinking of!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands enthusiastically. "Did you ever watch that sitcom- from the 50s? The Dick Van Dyke Show?"

"From the title alone I'm glad I didn't."

"Seriously, it's practically the same setting." You moved to stand directly in front, forcing her to look at you.

"So, what you're saying is someone used this insane amount of power just to recreate their favourite TV show?" She quirked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your theory.

"Well, wouldn't you?"

"No."

"Anyway." You glanced down at the rather eye-catching ensemble Agatha was currently wearing, then at your comparably casual yet modern clothes. "This isn't going to work." With a wave of your hand, the jeans and jumper combo was replaced by a more period accurate pencil skirt and blouse. Satisfied, you looked up at her expectantly.

Taking it as a challenge, she copied the gesture, managing to both create a new dress and fix up her hair. She smirked, enjoying the chance to show off her superior abilities.

"It's not a competition." You huffed.

She placed a hand on your arm fake comfortingly. "Of course not, dear."

The contact caused you to shiver slightly. It felt as though her touch ignited sparks, though the sensation wasn't exactly unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact. But indulging in it didn't feel right either, so you were grateful when Agatha removed her hand.

Her face dropped, eyebrows furrowing. Slowly, she swivelled round to point at a house. "There. Can you feel it?"

Following her outstretched finger, you tuned into the energy, focusing specifically on the house. "Mhm." Unsurprisingly, Agatha was right. An unfamiliar energy was being emitted from whoever was inside. You tried to pinpoint what kind of magic the user possessed, but found no trace of any familiar type. "Shall we go meet the neighbours, then?"

"You read my mind." She muttered, narrowing her eyes and offering an arm without so much as sparing a glance in your direction.

You hesitated, taken aback by the kind gesture. It hadn't dawned on you until then that an incredibly powerful being was residing little over 10 metres away, and that you were both about to willingly walk into their house. Looping your arm with hers created a naïve sense of safety.

Neither spoke as you approached the house with faux confidence, only pausing for Agatha to summon a potted plant. A house warming gift, you guessed. The simple gesture of goodwill brought a smile to your face.

"I didn't expect you to be such a considerate neighbour." You whispered.

"Gotta make a good first impression." She reached out to knock against the door.

---

You sighed. Barely an hour spent in this black and white world and you were already bored. Everything was so tiresomely perfect, so normal that you questioned how you'd ever suffered through those terrible old sitcoms in the first place. Sitting in Wanda's living room, the only entertainment was your partner in crime Agatha, or Agnes, as you ought to say.

She was currently flipping through a magazine, tracing the page with her index finger and reading aloud to help Wanda prepare for her anniversary.

"Any notable date you can remember? Special occasion?" She asked the redhead. "You know, to remind him of good times." She winked suggestively, briefly glancing at you with an expression that only you could decipher. She was enjoying flustering Wanda a little too much.

"Oh...I don't know." She trailed off, untrustworthy eyes darting around the room. "Do you two have any memorable date? Maybe I could steal some ideas."

Had the sitcom spell effected you, this would've been the ironic moment in which you spat out whatever drink was currently in your mouth. Fortunately though, you'd declined the offer of tea earlier, and opened your mouth to correct her.

Agatha beat you to it by nudging you with her elbow. "Oh don't we just?" She laughed deeply until you joined in with a forced chuckle.

Deciding to join in with her game, you hummed thoughtfully. "What about that picnic we had? In Salem, remember?" Judging by the way her eyes flashed dangerously, she knew you were referring to that dreadful night with the Coven, serving as revenge for the sudden change in relationship status. "Agnes decided the best time to go on a date would be at night- and in the middle of forest of all places!"

Agnes threw back her head in exaggerated laughter. "Oh hush! I thought it'd be romantic. Besides, you're the one who got us completely lost, dear." She continued, further adding depth to the altered anecdote. "And I'd say it went pretty well regardless." She turned to whisper conspiratorially to Wanda. "So I'll spare you the dirty details."

The three of you fell into easy laughter, only interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. "If you'll excuse me." Wanda stood up to answer. "That's probably Vis."

You took the distraction as respite from forcing such an overly hospitable smile, finding that your cheeks were already aching. For the last few minutes, you'd been aware of a pair of eyes watching you closely, and finally turned to face the witch sitting next to you.

"What?"

Agatha said nothing, her invasive eyes never leaving yours as she took a sip of her drink. You could practically see the gears turning in her head as she thought something through, and dreaded to wonder what she was about to say.

Reaching some form of a conclusion, she leant forward to place her drink down on the table. "Kiss me." She murmured through clenched teeth, momentarily glancing at Wanda, who's back was turned.

"Excuse me?" Out of all the possible things she could've said, this request seemed the least plausible in your mind.

"When Wanda turns round she should see us-" Agatha gestured her hand back and forth as if vocalising what she was implying was too sinful to put into words. Her vagueness was met by your blank stare. "Y'know?"

"No?" You shook your head, unable to comprehend why she'd ask such a thing, untrusting your interpretation of her suggestion.

"Just-" Agatha raised her hands to grasp your face. Hesitated. Then threw them back down into her lap and sighed in frustration. The fact she was struggling to initiate contact was laughable, though eventually you took pity on her.

Leaning forward, you kept your eyes open to watch for Agatha's reaction. You found it amusing that upon realising what you were trying to do, her eyes shut impossibly fast. Satisfied that she was consenting, you raised one hand to cup her cheek and continued to chase after her lips. The kiss was chaste and affectionately mundane, exactly at it should be.

In response, she grabbed your knees and pulled you closer, nipping at your bottom lip. Clearly Agatha wasn't on the same wavelength as you. Her hands shifted further up to your thighs, bringing a startling heat to the kiss. You gasped, virtually melting at her touch. You wanted this. One hand slid to rest on her shoulder. But it wasn't the time or place. You gently pushed against her.

Agatha pulled away, breathless. She scanned your face with pupils blown wide and mouth slightly agape like she'd just reached some new revelation. You were certain your expression mirrored hers.

Wanda cleared her throat somewhere in the distance.

"Gosh, Wanda I'm sorry." Agnes' cheerful voice reappeared as she addressed the redhead without breaking your intense shared eye contact. "But I think we ought to be heading home now." She said unabashedly. Like you hadn't just been caught making out on the neighbour's couch.

"Of course." You could hear the understanding smile in her voice, the slight awkwardness from intruding. "It's been lovely meeting you both."

Summoning an ounce of brainpower, you turned to Wanda. "And you. Feel free to keep the magazine." Then tugged Agatha up and began dragging her toward the front door. For once in her life she went willingly, allowing herself to be pulled along, calling out a last minute farewell to Wanda.

Upon reaching the end of the garden, Agatha wordlessly took the lead. Staying true to her fabricated story, she set a determined course for the house to the right, waltzing up as if she owned the place. A quick flourish of your fingers and the lock was rendered useless. Now the house was yours.

As soon as the door shut behind you, she turned on her heel and pushed you against it. Her mouth quickly sought out yours with a desperation only appropriate in private. Had you known Agatha was this good of a kisser, you would've done this ages ago, but elected not to vocalise the praise knowing she'd never let you live it down. You felt her smirk against your lips, and briefly wondered if she'd somehow infiltrated your mind. You wouldn't put it past her.

As she began trailing kisses down your neck, any concern about the invasion of privacy became inconsequential. You sighed. She rewarded the sound with a nip at your throat. Due to the haze of lust clouding your better judgment, you didn't register the sound of footsteps until it was too late.

"Woah!" A man called from the top of the staircase, presumably the current previous resident of the house. Agatha froze, her lips still pressed up to your neck.

"If you two beautiful ladies hadn't already broken into my house, I would've happily invited you in." The man grinned obnoxiously, slowly continuing down the stairs.

Agatha disinterestedly waved her hand, incapacitating him. The sound of the stranger tumbling down the stairs caused her to let out a short, cruel cackle, before returning to bury her face in the crook of your neck.

"Not big on roommates?" You joked, sliding a hand up and down her back soothingly.

She nipped at your flesh, a little harder this time. "Trust me, he doesn't want to be here for what I'm about to do to you."

Already impatient, you decided to tease her in hopes it would speed things up. "You're all talk and no action, Harkness."

She all but growled as she returned to your lips. Without warning her hands squeezed your hips. "I don't think you're in the position to be insulting me, love."

"Then prove me wrong, darling."

[richardlawson]

After a screening this afternoon, I stood on the busy sidewalk of 29th street and smoked my last cigarette of Cannes (having been home for almost a month). I decided to listen to a sad song while I walked back to the subway rather than finishing the latest comedy podcast droning its way into my ears from LA.

It was windy, but the air was still humid and close. The weather felt big, and the tall, tall buildings of almost midtown were enormous. (It is still so boggling to pop back into Manhattan!) I walked the short distance imagining myself at the cinemascope ending of a movie—what a poignant, subtle conclusion it would be, a person simply making their way to the subway after so much has happened.

It is difficult to grapple with what’s happened. Am I the only one finding that? I know that we must admit the important layers of this: we did not die, loved ones were okay, we kept working, held ourselves in the clench of our lives as so much cratered outside. Past that, though, it was tricky. It still is. More than that. Immediately post-vaccination, I felt the airy lift I was supposed to, the world not cracking open but gently re-revealing itself, a shining, outdoor Shangri La that had been hovering there, only hidden, all along.

That feeling lasted just a few weeks, though, as grim news lapped at the edges of the merriment. But it wasn’t really the news—concerning as it is—that sunk me back down. It was more the sudden weight of life, tossed into the pool and crashing down on me just as I was coming up for air. It was the realization that a year and a half—and quite likely longer—does actually change a life, that things will never go back to being the same. And the realization that I no longer really remember what that same was.

I remember parties, and a kind of cross-city ramble resembling the boozy digression of my 20s, but a bit more assured. I remember a rush, a haze, a feeling like I was living some grand existence without ever touching the ground, ever really connecting to any one thing. Of course, there were dull and dire days during all of that, but who would choose to remember those? No, in the abstraction of my mind there is just a sparkling blur, one I have found myself clumsily grasping for as real life has, allegedly, set back in.

I hope I am not alone in this feeling of mourning, this constant fear—a terror, really—that I am scrambling at something entirely irretrievable. Like I am trying to pick up an anecdote midway through, after a long and pregnant pause. Isn’t it so strange, and so sad, that so much is now definitively over, that we are on the other side of an undeniable piece of punctuation. There is no return, really. There is only carrying on, a new limp a part of the portraiture.

My sister and I took a trip in July, she meeting me in France after the Cannes film festival, and that almost felt like a before thing. Except it was charged with difference—masks and tests and all that necessary protocol, yes, but also an ineffable haunt, this little curl of a voice that whispered, “It’s not like it used to be.” I thought maybe it was France, that I’d somehow grown tired of it (spoiled me!), or it was just the weirdness of rumbling around on trains with my sister for the first time in so long, surrounded by people speaking a different language.

But it wasn’t that, not really. It was "not like it used to be" in a sharper, more persistent way, the pebble in my shoe that has me so startlingly aware of the lines and shapes and matrices of the world, all of a sudden. How could anyone, with death so persistent a topic for so long, not grow to see the frayed and finite threads binding us to everything? How are we supposed to enjoy anything fully again, when we’ve had such a regular reminder of its eventual end?

Luck, I’m aware of. Fortune, too. I know that some maudlin post about how out of step with reality I have been feeling is, well, out of step with reality. But there it is anyway, this nagging feeling like maybe we all died already, that what we're staggering through now is some after-effect, residual but fading. I find myself imagining a membrane that I might step through—back into the life I think I had, or into a future when all of this feels so peacefully settled.

A friend and I found a little tucked away space in a park by the river, a picnic table and an umbrella where we can post up to surreptitiously drink wine and watch the boats on the river. I love those fucking boats, the busy process they confirm, New York chugging along in its infinite capacity. You can see the planes from Newark, too, a view recently stolen from my building's roof by some hideous new condo building tinkering its way upwards to blot out the sky. There, in that park, the East River breezes whispering a calming song, I begin to feel re-clarified, certain again about my mind and my body and their place in—as Mary Oliver wrote—the family of things.

That feeling is fleeting, though. Then it's back into the plainness of life, the sensation that everything has flattened into some tiny fragment of what it once was. I have to trust—I hope you trust, too—that we'll get it all back. Or, rather, that a new and thorough thing will slowly bloom in the old thing's place, for those of us lucky enough to still be alive and, for all the wear of age, healthy enough.

A few years ago, I wrote a poem about a restaurant in Cannes, in which I wondered what it might be like to revisit it in the future. I found it again this year. It was still open, though I think it has a different name. And the little burbling fountain that stood next to its outdoor seating was silent and dry. So there it was, still plugging along, just a bit hobbled by circumstance, a little less pretty than it was in more ideal times.

I hope I get to wander by it again next year. I hope that the person glimpsing it then feels fuller, sturdier, more sure of the weight and consequence of his presence. That he knows he did not disappear into the couch, was not wholly lost to worry, did not irrevocably snap some tether that linked him to the great and troubled and bitterly missed past of his life.

The song I put on, walking to the subway in all that huge weather today, was this. I love its swell, its grandeur, its reminder that some stuff is not entirely reducible. It stays, small and determined and indelible as the new scar on my shin, from when I tripped on my suitcase, the night before I got back on a plane, cursing in the dark, forgetting how grateful I was to be feeling it at all.

[perksofhs]

‘So... the weather?’

This is a little AU piece that was requested! The prompt: Hey could you do a one shot where harry and famous reader are in a talk show and he has a crush on her. Maybe he accidentally hurts her while playing a game and he feels awful about it orrr maybe the host put a video where harry says that the reader is his crush and he gets nervous and embarrassed.

Promoting a movie was all but glamourous. It was a constant string of 14 hour days, 5am wake up calls and repetitive questions about working with this person or that person with very little time spent discussing the actual plot of the film. The savior of press tours was any interview where you werent alone, whether it was a joint interview with cast mates or a full couch talk show.

You’d been on the Late Late Show once in the past and you had to be honest, it was so much fun. Your first appearance included a 7 minute long musical medley involving fifteen quick changes and you very nearly faceplanting the floor.

By this point you were sitting in the dressing room, your hair being tugged one way or another by David your hairdresser, with your make up artist Cam working his magic on your noticabley exhausted face. “Who am I on with tonight Maggie?” you ask your manager, realising no one had actually told you. Maggie looked up from her laptop, a smirk on her lips. “James told me not to tell you so you’ll have to wait!” she said smugly. You rolled your eyes, “Of course he said that, that man has to stop trying to set me up”. James was a good friend, the two of you having met a number of times through industry parties award shows. He’d always try and find the mosyty eligible bachelor in the room and push you towards them just to shit you. Suffice to say none of them worked out.

Once your hair and makeup were done and you were dressed in a cute but entirely impractical and kind of uncortable outfit, a crew member came to get you and walk you down to the stage. “Ok so once we get to the stage, you’ll hear James announce your name, walk down the steps through the audience, wave or high five whatever you feel like. Then greet James and take a seat, then he’ll then announce the next guest”. You nodded along politely, already knowing the drill. “By chance, do you know who the other guest is?” you say shooting Maggie a smug look. “Yeah its Harry Styles” with that your heart skipped a beat, you’d always found him attractive and incredibly charming which is something you had stupidly mentioned to James once or twice. “That bastard” you say under your breath, you didnt have much time to think about it though because not even 30 seconds later you rounded a corner and there he was.

He was a gorgeous as ever, wearing what you could only assume with a gucci knitted jumper with a delicate lacy collared shirt beneath it, his signature pearls hanging perfectly around his neck, and a pair of cream flared pants. The outfit was quintessentially Harry. He was chatting to another random crew member who seemed to be giving him the same speech. You could hear James wrapping up whatever he was talking about, you were too distracted to follow it, you couldnt look away from the man 8 feet away from you. “You good?” Maggie says, pulls you from your bewildered state, Maggie’s words also caught the attention of Harry who finally looked in your direction.

Harry’s eyes landed on you and unbeknownst to you he was just as taken by the sight of you. Realising his gaze was lingering, Harry snapped himself out of it “Hey i’m Harry, nice to meet you” he said, taking a few steps towards you, his hand awkwardly out for a hand shake, something Harry was already kicking himself for doing. You took his ring clad hand in yours briefly “Hey I’m-” before you could finish you could hear James announce your name, you let out a laugh “that’s my queue”. It was probably a good thing that James has inadvertently introduced you, who knows whether you could have actually remebered your own name in that moment.

You descend the stairs, meeting James at the bottom with a friendly hug before taking your place on the couch. “Can you also put your hands together for the incredible Harry Styles!” James proclaims, the audience erupting once more, you watch Harry interact with the audience effortlessly as he makes his way down the stairs, having a bromance moment with James before he plops down next to you, sitting closer than you had expected him to. “So have you guys met before?” James says, knowing full well the answer is “No we haven’t, we met briefly backstage” Harry says. He couldnt stop thinking about how awkward he’d made the initial encounter but he couldnt help it.

Throughout the interview it was all too clear that sparks were flying bewteen the two of you. Harry had talked about his new music, you’d talked about your new film, an anecdote or two thrown in from the both of you. all was going smoothly until about 15 minutes in when James began to look very smug. “Now Harry, I know you two hadn’t met before but from what I hear you have quite the crush huh?” Harry’s cheek went bright red knowing exactly what was about to happen. You on the other hand had zero idea what was going on. “And how would you know that James?” Harry says trying to pretend he has no clue what James was referring to. “Funny you should ask my friend, this clip might just answer that for you!”

Your eyes darted to the nearest screen as the clip rolled, it was an interview from the press tour of the movie Harry had been in last year. The interviewer had asked the cast who they’d love to work with on future projects and to your surprise, Harry’s pick was you. The interviewer then asked why you were his choice, Harry’s response was “she’s just so talented, every time I watch her in something I’m just profoundly captivated. Her on screen presence is incredible.” One of his castmates laughed, playfully poking Harry in the shoulder adding "If it wasn’t already obvious he’s got quite the crush! He made us watch like 4 of her films during our set downtime” before the clip ended.

Harry dramtically buried his head in his hands out of sheer embarrassment as the audience let out a series of ‘oooohs’ and whistles and James burst out laughing. You let out an laugh as you awkwardly fiddled with your fingers, not entirely sure what you were menat to say or do in that moment. "Well then Harold, go on, ask her out. Nows your chance!” James goaded. Harry was utterly mortified but wasnt the least bit surprised. “So... the weather?” the audience laughed at Harry’s miserable attempt at changing the subject. “Alright alright i’l drop it but you can’t say I didnt try! Just remember this moment when you get married ok?” James said, throwing his hands up in defeat as he got in one last playful jab.

The rest of the interview went awkwardly by, although you were a little distracted. Did he really have a crush on you? How could he have a crush on you? You’re the one who had the crush on him, surely he didn’t feel the same?  James wrapped up the interview and once the cameras had cut both you and Harry made your way backstage.

“Well that was sufficiently awkward and I apologise for how uncomfortable I’m sure that made you. I’m honestly gonna fucking kill James for that” Harry said, you could only giggle in response. “He has no idea what’s coming the next time we catch up. In all fairness, despite how uncomfortable that whole ordeal was, it was lovely to meet you” the two of you smiled at each other. “It was lovely meeting you too Harry, no need to apologise, I bloody knew he was up to something. anyway, I have to head back to my dressing room, I’ll see you around” you say before starting to walk away. You only make it a few steps before Harry stops you “Hey wait! What are you doing this afternoon? This was my last interview for the day and I was gonna head from here to get some food. Wanna come along?” You pause for a moment to think about what the rest your day looked like before smiling back at him “Well, I had planned to go home and eat some left over chinese in front of a film... but I like your idea better. Swing by my dressing room on your way out?” Harry could conseal his happiness with your response, a giddy grin now plastered on his face “It’s a date, but we have to make a deal that neither of us tell James ok? You know how smug he’d be. Deal?” Harry said with a wink, reaching his hand out to seal the deal. You laughed as you shook his hand once more, this time a little less awkard than the first encounter. “My lips are sealed. Now you better not take too long, I’m starving!” you say as you walk away with a smirk and as they say, the rest was history.

Hey lovelies, I hope you enjoyed this one! And I hope the anon who requested it thinks I did an ok job! I havent done many request pieces. Also I know its not super long but I still think its pretty adorable.  Requests are open, just shoot me a message and I’ll see what I can do! xx

[moon-in-daylight]

Night Watch / Davos x reader

Summary: Waking up in the middle of the night, you notice that Davos is gone.

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: Smut implied

A/N: So, I’ve been rewatching Davos’ scenes and I felt the need to write something for him even though it’s garbage lol  because he deserves to be loved and accepted and also because we need more Davos’ fics

Still half asleep, you rolled on your side just to find that the other half of the bed was empty.

It took more than a few seconds for you to be startled by it, though. It wasn’t a strange thing after all, you were far more than accustomed to sleeping alone in that enormous and lonely bed night after night… But as your numbed brain tried to remember the circumstances in which you had fallen asleep, you found that something - or rather someone - was missing.

Davos.

Thinking about him immediately made you open your eyes and sit up to inspect the room with worry. Even though it was still dark you had to blink a few times to adjust your eyes, squinting them involuntarily when you tried to look at the blinding screen of your phone. It was 3:24 am and there was no sign of another person being there with you, at least none that your barely conscious state could perceive.

Your first reaction was to think that you had dreamt it all. It was the most logical, plausible explanation. It wouldn’t have been the first time that your subconscious made you think of Davos like that.

You didn’t feel proud of it, but from time to time you couldn’t help but fantasize about him.

Sometimes, when you two were together and he was telling you some anecdote about K’un-Lun and his early life, your mind involuntarily focused on the movement of his mouth instead of on whatever story he was sharing with you. And while contemplating his lips, you usually found yourself daydreaming about kissing them, feeling them against your skin as you pictured the way his hands would roam through your body. Imagining how he would eagerly remove every piece of clothing and the way his skin would feel against yours, how sweet his moans would sound in your ears as he thrusted slowly but deeply into you…

You were usually quick to snap out of those fantasies, but even if you had only been distracted for a few seconds, you weren’t able to quiet the embarrassment that took over you after imagining him that way. You barely could look at him in the eye after having your attention drifted away by those thoughts.

The friendship you shared was vital for the both of you and you didn’t want to ruin it with unrequited feelings.

You had met after he had escaped prison and, since the first moment after he had rescued you from being mugged, you felt safe with him. The tranquility you felt while being with him was such that you even offered him to stay at your place when he casually mentioned he was running away from justice. It was a risky decision to let a stranger into your apartment that easily, especially when he was a convicted criminal that chattered all kinds of nonsense about dragons and rightfulness, but you could see his intentions were good. There was something in you that trusted him blindly, even when you were convinced that the things he talked about didn’t exist.

It wasn’t until you observed with your very own eyes the way he made his fist glow a bright red during one of his training sessions that you realized that everything he talked about was real.

Hearing his story and how his home had been destroyed, you were quick to position yourself by his side. You knew he had done some bad things, but he was good at heart and you tried to help him see where he had gotten wrong. Surprisingly, he seemed to listen to you and care about what you had to say. It was clear he cared about you too, worrying whenever he saw you weren’t feeling good or taking care of you when you were ill.

It was heartwarming the way you supported one another despite your radically different backgrounds, the way you helped each other improve and see the world from another point of view. It didn’t take long for Davos to become one of the most important people in your life.

Finding out about each other issues and going through them together had been extremely helpful for you both. To talk about them and listen to each other’s advice when you didn’t know what to do. Davos had been through a lot of abuse during his life, and you liked to think that he had finally found in you someone to rely on, just as you had in him.

As he taught you to meditate and control your anxiety, you tried to make him see that he was a person worthy of dignity and affection, not ‘the second best’ as he had been told after losing the Iron Fist to Danny Rand back in K’un-Lun…

It wasn’t easy to erase the toll that years of constant abuse had left, but you had made so much progress while being together… You feared that you would be throwing it all away if he ever found out about your little fantasies. You didn’t want him to know what you felt for him because the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable, especially because you knew how he had been raised and what he thought of sex. And, of course, he had told you how violent his only ‘sexual experience’ had been like…

But the images of him being all over you still creeped into your dreams from time to time, and your half-awaken, dazed-self supposed that was exactly what was happening that night.

Yet, as you slowly roused, you found that the sensations that your mind recreated were too intense to be fictional this time. In fact, you almost could feel as if his touch still lingered on your skin, the phantom feeling of hot, gentle kisses remaining on your neck and collarbone. That was when your mind finally cleared up and you realized it had actually happened.

You had slept with Davos.

Your mind slowly went through the events of that late evening, remembering that you had had dinner together and that you had watched a film in your couch afterwards.

It was normal that he didn’t get most of the inside jokes and implications of American culture in movies considering he had been living in a monastery most of his life, so you always enjoyed sitting in front of the TV with him and explaining every cultural reference that confused him. But that night he hadn’t asked you a single question, nor showed any of his usual discomfort towards the disgraceful and reproachable way in which the characters acted.

Not giving his silence a second thought, you quietly watched the movie until a sex scene appeared.

Looking at your friend from the corner of your eye, you watched him squirm uncomfortably on his sit, the images probably taking him back to the humiliating moment of his ‘sacrifice’, as he usually referred to that unfortunate event.

“We can fast forward this part.” You were quick to grab the remote and skip the frames until a different scene appeared on the screen.

“Have you been practicing lately?” He asked, unprompted. It took you a moment to realize he was actually talking about the Kung Fu lessons he had been imparting you.

As soon as you shook your head, he encouraged you to leave the movie half way through and go over some of the movements he had already taught you in previous training sessions. Truth was you weren’t really into what you were watching anyway, and you supposed it was too awkward for him to keep watching it. Since you had been the one to ask him to teach you how to fight, you willingly got up from the couch and started to show him the little progress you had made.

He didn’t let you finish showing him, though, as he immediately started to point out the flaws in your inexperienced technique, correcting your posture and reminding you to breathe properly to channel your Chi into your every move.

Davos was a harsh professor and he wouldn’t forgive a single mistake from you, telling you that you couldn’t afford to commit any error in battle, as your enemy wouldn’t miss a chance of exploiting your weaknesses. As demanding as he was, you knew that he was being especially tender and easy going with you, at least by his standards. It broke your heart to think about the strict way he had been trained and raised, how severe they had been with him when he was only a child.

Following his instructions, you started to throw punches and kicks at him, attacks that he easily blocked without breaking a sweat. You were definitely glad that you didn’t have to actually fight against him, being well aware that he would be able to end you in the span of ten seconds, maybe even less.

“You have to hit stronger.” His voice commanded you. “Faster.”

You did as you were told and increased the effort put in the fight, but immediately stopped the second he didn’t avoid your punch and your fist impacted against his chest.

“Don’t stand still.” He grabbed your hand and pushed it away. “Now you got it, come on.”

Without saying a single word, you resumed your offensive with the same intensity of that last punch. Unluckily for you, Davos seemed to be more alert now, anticipating each and every one of your movements before you even knew you were going to make them. With a few swift motions, he easily overpowered you, immobilized both of your arms and pinned you against the wall.

You tried to steady your breathing as you did your best to ignore what his proximity was arousing inside of you. Waiting for him to release you for another round, you found yourself growing more and more tense when he simply stared at you in silence, uncomfortably swallowing the lump in your throat when his grip on you didn’t loosen up.

The images of every time you had dreamt about him clouded your mind without you being able to do anything to ignore them, the growing heat between your legs becoming more unbearable with every second his deep brown eyes kept fixed on you. You closed your eyes in hopes that you could distract yourself, think of anything other than the man standing in front of you. But every attempt at doing so immediately failed when you felt the warmth of his lips pressing against yours.

Getting out of your thoughts, you rubbed your eyes as you recalled everything that had happened from that moment. The last thing you remembered the feeling of utter peace and tranquility that invaded you as you fell asleep in his arms.

That calm was completely erased from you now that you realized that he had left in the middle of the night, without saying goodbye or at least leaving a note.

Your heart raced as you mentally slapped yourself for having allowed that to happen.

How could you be so stupid? It was true that it had been him the one to take the first step by kissing you, but you should have known better. You should have figured that he would only disobey his moral code like that in a moment of weakness, a weakness that you had unconsciously taken advantage of. Now he probably had regretted everything and had ran away not wanting to see you or hear from you again.

You feared that your friendship was ruined beyond repair.

Maybe if you called Davos in the morning and talked about what had happened you could still sort it all out. You didn’t want to lose him, to have him walk out of your life just because you had gotten carried away in a moment of lust…

Deep down you knew what you felt for him extended far beyond simple lust, but you were willing to ignore those feelings, to act as if they weren’t there for the sake of keeping him by your side.

You buried your head in the pillow in an attempt to hold back the tears that already started to form inside your eyes, an intense ache inside your chest forming at the thought of having messed up so badly with Davos. He was the person you cared for the most and thinking that you may have caused him any wrong made you feel a profound disappointment on yourself.

It wasn’t until you felt an arm surrounding your waist and a slight shifting on the other side of the bed that you lifted your head, finding Davos laying down next to you again.

“Where were you?” Your voice was a bit husky from having just waken up a few minutes ago. You wanted to lay your head on his chest, but didn’t in case it would make him uncomfortable.

“I was checking the perimeter.” He said, as if it was the most natural thing to do at 3:00 am. “Did I wake you?”

You carefully shook your head as you avoided looking into his eyes.

Judging by the calm tone in which he spoke, you could tell that he wasn’t angry and you felt slightly stupid for having panicked and jumped into the conclusion that he had abandoned you so fast. Still, things weren’t solved up yet. As you finally looked up at him, you wondered in which state was your relationship at.

Davos had been taught that a living weapon should not get involved sexually or emotionally with anyone. And, even if you always tried to convince him that he was a person before a warrior, you weren’t sure he actually believed your words. You weren’t even sure he had ever even considered having a romantic relationship before that evening, but looking at the way he lovingly stared at you, it almost seemed as if he wanted you too.

“What would you check the perimeter for?” You asked in confusion. Was he in danger? Had Danny found him and wanted to bring him to justice? You started to become preoccupied as you thought of all the worse scenarios.

“I do it every night. This neighborhood is full of thugs and criminals, like the one trying to mug you when we first met.” He clarified, gaining a frown from you that silently asked him to explain further. You only hoped he hadn’t gone back to being a ‘vigilante’, it had taken you a lot of effort to talk him out of it. “By making guard I can make sure you’re safe.”

Instantly after hearing his words you felt your heart warming up, moved by the fact that he cared about you to the point of watching over you every night. Hesitantly, you got closer to him and taking the fact that he didn’t pulled back as a silent sign of consent, you placed a tender kiss on his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me, but you don’t need to make guard every night.” You gently brushed your fingers against his stubble, your eyes on his as you spoke softly. “You need to take care of yourself and get a full night of sleep. Would you do that for me?”

The second he slowly nodded his head a gentle smile formed on your face. You pressed your lips against his once more before cuddling beside him, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

The calming sound of his breathing was enough to quickly made you sleepy again.

“Davos,” You mumbled his name with your eyes closed, feeling consciousness slowly fading from you. “I love you.”

You were too numbed to notice, but Davos’ body clenched at your words. You didn’t know, but it was the first time someone ever dedicated those words to him. He had fought all his life to get approval, travelled to the other side of the world to make the ones he loved proud, hoping they would show him the affection he had always craved for. When K’un-Lun was destroyed, he lost all hope of having someone say those words to him, of gaining someone’s love. And yet, there you were, right between his arms.

You were already asleep when he pressed a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you too.”

[chilly-me-softly]

Kalmia • Ben Chilwell

"Hi, sorry. I didn't want to scare you" he just passed by when he noticed her. The girl in the small covered greenhouse, intent on admiring the flowers. The various colors and scents gave her a sense of calm that she hadn't felt for a long time, since she had woken up empty, deprived of any memory of her life. And the boy had been staring at her, in bliss by that sight, until the door had slammed making the girl jump of fright.

"It's okay" she smiles, the boy approaches her. "Fortunately I haven't heart diseases"

"Yeah" the boy mutters as he grazes with his fingers some red flower's petals.

"If you don't mind my asking, do we know each other?" his head turns for a second, he turned towards her too quickly. He looks intently into her eyes, but sees only so much confusion.

"I don't believe so"

"Oh too bad. You have something familiar” she murmurs more to herself than to the boy in front of her. He shrugs, "Have you ever watched a football game?"

"Likely, I don't remember. You know I apparently have an amnesia" she jokes, but her hilarity doesn't reach her eyes and her smile is anything but joy.

"I'm sorry" he tells her sincerely and they look in each other’s eyes just for a moment before the boy sighs lightly and shakes her hand. "I'm Ben"

"Kalmia"

"Like the flower" she feels a sudden pang in her head and puts her hand at the source of her pain, slightly losing her balance.

"Everything okay?" he asks, his hands immediately on her waist supporting her.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're an expert I see"

"Just a very passionate friend" shrugs him, "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to take you back to your room?"

"No, I'm fine, really. But maybe I should get back in anyway, I've been around for so long"

"Yeah sure" the two then leave the room and Ben starts a conversation, following her to her room. She discovers that he is there because every now and then with the team they go to visit ill children to cheer them up, but he needed some air and that's why he started wandering around the hospital discovering the greenhouse. She discovers a serious boy and above all always worried about her health and rediscovers her laughter. The one that in her opinion had no more reason to exist, not knowing if she would have her memories back. All this in the ten minute walk to her room.

*

A week. Seven more days have passed and the girl has since returned home. She had been advised to return to her life one step at a time, calmly and without the presumption of wanting to remember everything immediately. Because we know that human mind works in mysterious ways and the more it would be forced, the more she would be with a headache without concluding anything.

She had spent a lot of time with her friends and family watching albums and listening to funny, embarrassing and sad anecdotes. But was a waste of time. And that question was always there in the back of the head will I ever remember who I was? And the reassurances of the various doctors and the people around her weren't helping, she was the one who didn't even remember what was her job less than three weeks ago.

"Can I sit?" a voice distracts her from her thoughts. It was one of those days when she hadn't wanted to be surrounded by people, well by people who knew her, so she had left without a precise destination and then stopped in a cafe. She raises her head from her drink and smiles nodding, the boy takes a seat in front of her putting his steaming cup on the table and phone and sunglasses nearby.

"I came back the next day, but I didn't find you" the young man admits embarrassed.

"Yeah, they discharged me a few hours after our meeting but I didn't know it until then" he smiles.

"How's it going with you know"

"With my head? Still lost somewhere" she chuckles.

"You do it often. Play down things I mean"

"It's a way like another to work out things. You know to not go crazy"

"It's difficult?"

"It's hard more than anything else. Watching your mother, not recognizing her and seeing how her eyes fill with tears every time you look at her and tell her 'I'm sorry, I don't remember' is very hard"

"And you? It's hard for the people around you but for you?” the girl remains silent for a moment. No one had ever stopped in those last weeks to ask her how she was. Only worried not to make her try too hard, not to contradict her, not to help her at all. She sighs.

"It is hard to explain. Everything I feel is empty. It's as if I were in a new city, with all the places and people still to know but they already know me. My habits, my perfume, my laughter. But at the same time no one comes near me, not knowing how to deal with me probably"

"Well it's a big mess, you have to admit it. But those who love you I'm sure that they'll know how to be near you" she nods even if slightly "Then with time everything will settle down. I know you have heard it who knows how many times but I believe it, everything happens for a reason"

"Everything happens for a reason"

"Tell that to the child that lost his mother" the girl murmurs, wiping a tear with a tissue, sitting on her couch with her legs on his.

"It's just a movie Kal"

"It's just a movie Kal" she mokes him.

"Hey, are you okay?" she shakes her head, "Yeah, yeah"

"You were enchanted" he murmurs staring at her, and she almost feels in awe. She looks down and the boy swears he saw her cheeks painted a slight shade of red before she raised her head and smiled again.

"Do you want to know something funny?" she chuckles, "I have your shirt in my room. Let's say five, apparently I was a Leicester fan. My mother says I wear them depending on my mood" she chuckles.

"Was?" he croaks trying not to choke on his saliva in surprise.

"Well I am, I believe. I've also seen you play the other day by the way, maybe I know why I like you" and the two remain in that cafe for hours, talking about everything and nothing. His phone continually lit up for the messages he received, turned upside down in a completely casual gesture. And that time he doesn't miss the opportunity, with her number saved in his phone and a smile on his face is quick to go away.

*

A month. The memories had returned to her completely, but nevertheless the girl still felt that something, a fundamental piece of her life, was missing. She had tried to understand something by asking her mother, her friends, someone close to her but everyone reassured her by saying that it was probably a residue of the experience, that was nothing. And she was trying not to think about it too much, but that weight was always there in her mind and reappeared when she least expected it.

She also pointed this out to Ben who had diverted the topic in an unusual way. The two had continued to see each other even though most of the time they were on the phone, calls and messages were on their agenda and it was like they had known each other for a lifetime. There is something that inexplicably attracts her to him, there are those who define it a connection, love at first sight, those who can't give an explanation. But sometimes there is no need to label everything, just enjoy what you have.

She had met his friend James and his other teammates. The first meeting had been somewhat awkward, the boy had barely said two words. He had merely watched her every slightest movement making her feel somewhat uncomfortable and Ben also pecking him with his elbow several times. In the following days she had then known him for what he really was, a kind and helpful person and with an inclination to jokes. Probably the day of the meeting was a bad day, she had never asked him.

Soon she had become an integral part of the group, so much that his friends had insisted on making her go to one of their game and she had accepted only after talking to Ben about it. When the proposal was made to her, she hadn't seen him very enthusiastically and she wanted to make sure he would have liked to have her there too, she didn't want to rush anything between them so if it bothered him even a little she could step aside without problems. It turns out, however, that he was just worried about her, she hadn't been in places crowded with the accident and would have been alone in the stands and in short she had built up castles to no avail. Like her mother kept repeating to her since she was fifteen more or less.

So she was in her place at the King Power Stadium, Ben's name and number on her back and Harry Maguire's girlfriend by her side. She had learned in that brief period of knowledge that you had to compromise with Ben Chilwell, and the girl was really good company anyway so she didn't complain. The game proceeded quietly, there were actions on both sides but no one had yet found the back of the net so the score was still 0-0. Missing a few minutes at the end of the first half when one of the opponents throws the ball on the other side of the field, Ben runs to intercept it and so does the opponent to whom it is destined and the two inevitably collide jumping. Seeing him on the ground makes her chest hurt, as if she had been punch in the stomach. She waits anxiously for him to get up, probably only a few seconds have passed but it seems that everything around her has stopped, that all the noises are muffled, when she sees the medical team running towards him. She sees some players standing around him, some take the opportunity to drink and to have other directives, the coach waits for news to see if he has to replace him. ‘Get up, please. Get up' she keeps repeating like a mantra, the girl at her side squeezes her hand and continues to watch the scene. And then he is on his foot again, a bit wobbly but is standing and she takes a breath of relief even if that weight doesn't leave her at all. They make him talk a little more, she sees him nods passing his fingers under his eyes and then they give him the green light to go back to play. She shakes her head in disagreement and continues to look at him apprehensively.

"You're good?" the girl next to her asks, seeing her bring her hand to her temple, a pang suddenly struck her. It hadn't happened for a long time.

"Yeah, no" the girl murmurs standing up, "I have to go to him" the additional time available is over and the players are all returning to the locker room.

"Wait, I'll take you there" the girl stops her, hurrying to collect her things to follow her.

"I know the way" she murmurs before running away. Of course she knows the way, it's not her first rodeo. The truth is that that trauma has awakened something in her, now she knows the truth. That void she felt is finally filled and she just feels dizzy with the amount of information her brain is processing as her feet automatically take her where she needs to go. Now she knows and wants answers.

"Where is he?" simple and concise echoes in that small hallway when she meets Harry and James. The two point to a closed door, they’re also waiting for their friend even if they shouldn't be there at that moment but with the team to discuss tactics. And the gaze of the doctor who leaves the room immediately settles on her as if it were a normal thing, he lets her in and she immediately goes to the boy who is holding an ice pack on his forehead. His legs dangling on the gurney and a smile on the face as soon as he sees her.

"You scared me to death" she murmurs, burying her face into his neck, not caring about sweat or anything.

"It's nothing, I'm here"

"You say it every time, but if you avoided doing it I would feel much better thanks" he laughs, tightening her closer to him. But then something seems to hit him and pushes her away to look into her eyes. "Wait, what do you mean every time. You- ”she kisses him. It is a breath of fresh air to feel those lips on hers, her heart beats like crazy. The heart can't lie even though the face may try. She breaks it because of a groan from him, leaning her forehead against his was not a great idea. "Sorry" she chuckles.

"Is it really you?" he asks incredulously, stroking her cheek. She has tears in her eyes and it’s only a matter of time before she starts to cry uncontrollably. But she nods.

And a series of kisses and giggles between the two follow when someone knocks on the door, "Guys I don't want to interrupt you, but we have to come back in"

"Go" she kisses him again, "Go and behave yourself, I'll be here" the boy takes her cheeks in his hands and kisses her again.

The two leave the room to take different directions, "I'll wait for you outside" she murmurs before leaving him one last kiss and hurrying back to her place.

*

"You owe me an explanation" after the game the two quickly disappeared and went to his house. They sat on the couch, far away to be able to have a conversation but still close for their knees to touch.

The boy nods, "When you woke up after the accident, I admit I didn't have the courage to enter that room. The thought that you might not recognize me, I ... I was scared and I watched you from afar while-while you didn't remember anyone and the time we had spent together and-" he clears his throat to compose himself when his voice cracks, “The doctor had advised us not to push you to remember, that everything would return to its place over time. And the more days passed, the more I held me up coming to you. I watched you from distance for days and probably if that door hadn't made all that noise I would have continued to do it. But that episode gave me the courage to go back into your life and so I came up with everything"

"So it was all planned?" she asks confused and incredulous, the slight headache from mid-game has increased in intensity but she doesn't want to postpone the conversation. The boy nods, "So the cafe meeting, the phone calls, you fake all this time"

"No, absolutely no. Don't even think about that, none of what I did or said this month was a lie. I have only omitted things out of fear I think"

"And you think that making me re-fall in love with you would make my memory come back" she rolls her eyes. The boy shrugs, "I just wanted to be close to you, it didn't matter if I had to give up on you and- wait what, are you in love with me?"

"Yes, you idiot! What exactly did you expect?" the boy laughs, shaking his head and she follows him. Their lips meet again that day, the new taste of finding each other as a reminder. She is still incredulous for all that situation, she cannot believe that the boy has renounced his happiness for her, that she has been close to the love of her life without knowing it and that she has fallen in love with him again. Insane.

It all makes sense now. The bond, the feeling of knowing him, James' behavior and everyone’s in general, he knowing the Kalmia, the flashbacks that are now clear and no longer show shaded figures. And that's why she can't be angry about the deception. In short, they may have plotted behind her back not talking about Ben, but in a way she can understand them.

And selfishly the two keep the news of her newfound memory for them in the following days, spending that time without ever breaking away from each other. Finally everything in its place.

[fanfic-inator795]

RotTMNT/Baron Jitsu fanfiction: Dating… With Children - Chapter Eight

(Also on AO3 if you want to leave a comment or kudos)

Plot:  Benjamin Draxum hardly considered himself a man of high social standing. Not because he was uncouth or unworthy of it, mind you, but simply because he didn’t have much of a social life. Hard to have one when he usually spent his days at work, cooped up in a lab for so long that he often had his lunches in there, and his nights at home reading or doing research for more personal projects. But perhaps meeting handsome semi-retired movie star - as well as his four young sons - could change all that…

((Apologies for the long wait! Writer's block hit me hard this time around... But not only have I finally finished this chapter, but I managed to get a couple drabbles written out as well to make up for the lack of content, which I should have posted shortly. Anyway, hope you enjoy both them and this chapter! ^v^ Also, shoutout to @halloweennut, whose own celeb AU inspired a few small bits for the beginning chunk of this chapter, heh))

Lou could still remember when he was a younger man, fresh off the set of his first movie. A passion project from an already decently famous director with a foreign, previously unknown actor as the face of it. Lou had been so excited when he first walked into that small LA television studio, only half listening as his manager tried to ‘suggest’ answers to certain possible questions, and instead just tried to take it all in. Not only was he going to be a movie star, but now he was going to be on one of the most well known talk shows in America! Talk about a good head start! As was to be expected, he'd ended up completely acing his interview, charming both the live audience and viewers at home and cementing himself on the path to stardom.

But that had been years ago, the excitement and ‘newness’ of it all being long gone, even after taking a bit of a break from the business. As far as Lou was concerned, you be on one talk show, you've been on them all.

Still, the experience wasn't necessarily a bad one - especially when the studio put in the extra money for a decent backstage spread. Licking his lips slightly, Lou picked up another ham and cheese-topped cracker, quietly munching on it as he watched the various stagehands pass by. He was moving over the dessert side of the table when one of the show’s managers finally approached him. “Five minutes until you’re on, Mr. Jitsu!”

“Mm,” Lou nodded. He took a cookie to go and then stood at the designated spot behind the curtains, knowing the drill well. Popping the treat in his mouth, he took a moment to smooth out his outfit - a crisp white shirt with a light blue jacket and pants and a loose red tie, making the whole thing a sort of call back to the jumpsuits he used to wear - and make any last-minute quick fixes to his hair before the commercials ended.

Finally, the stage lights came back on just as the cameras began rolling, and the audience cheered as their favorite New York hostess strolled back on stage. “Welcome back, everyone,” Jessica grinned, soaking in the cheers from her audience. Jessica Jacklynn was more of a local famous favorite than a national one like other late night talk show hosts, but she still had plenty of fans thanks to her cool demeanor and always being on the search for exciting drama with her guests. “We’ve got a pretty special treat for you all tonight, a man who I'm sure needs no introduction, but I guess we’ll give him one anyway-” The audience gave a bit of a laugh at that. “Here to celebrate the seventeenth anniversary of his film, ‘Teriyaki Shakedown’, give it up for… LOU ‘JITSU’ HAMATO!”

Huh, it wasn't often people included his real last name - and even less often, if ever, his real first name. Most people just introduced him by his stage name. Heck, Lou himself usually did that too, not having much of a connection to his family name and only using it to sign official papers. ‘Guess she did her homework,’ Lou thought as he walked out onto the stage, a professional grin plastered on his handsome face.

He struck a couple ‘action poses’ for the cheering audience and shook hands with Jessica before setting down on the dark red couch opposite her desk chair. (From what he heard, Jessica was somewhat famous for actually standing on her desk when things got really exciting, and wondered if she'd end up doing that tonight at some point.)

“So Lou, seventeen years,” Jessica began, smiling sweetly now, “It’s been a while, though I bet the time just flew by for you, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Lou nodded, “Seems like it was only yesterday I was tossing stunt doubles into bowls of soup.” The audience laughed again. “Heh, it's kind of funny that that film is more remembered than my first just because it started my catchphrase. But hey, it's a good catchphrase! And apparently still pretty applicable to non-soup situations.”

“Mmhm,” Jessica nodded, “Well, we all love a good action-hero catchphrase. But, we aren't just here to celebrate the past, we want to know what you've been up to since! After all, it has been a while since your last film-”

“Yeah well, you can thank the box office for that,” Lou joked, earning more laughs.

“Fair enough, but I understand that you've had other things keeping you busy as well?” Jessica inquired, leaning in a bit on her desk, “Things like trying to take care of four little boys, maybe?”

Lou’s smile faltered ever so slightly as he nodded. “Yes, I suppose you could say that…” Lou never minded the spotlight of the press, and could even handle the paparazzi! But when it came to his kids, well… It was a whole different story.

Even without reporting it to the press, the news that Lou Jitsu had adopted four young sons had still broken a few days after he signed the papers. Almost immediately, news and celeb magazines wanted info and pictures. They'd pop up like a nasty swarm of gnats, hoping for several pictures and wanting to ask the boys questions after questions.

The first time it happened, it caused poor three year old Mikey to hide his face in his father’s chest, obviously freaked out by all the sudden people and flashes, while his only slightly older brothers were still a bit too surprised and confused to know what to do, the three of them crowding around Lou’s tall, protective legs. It took threatening to throw their cameras into the nearest tree to get them to finally leave, though even that didn't discourage much of the media circus.

He had accepted one interview, hoping to relieve some pressure, from a local New York newscaster who simply wanted a cute fluff piece from the semi-retired action star (as well as to get the full story first before any other media outlet could). ...Unfortunately, said newscaster ended up being a huge jerk, doing everything from asking if Lou purposely chose to adopt ‘minority kids’ (as if Lou himself wasn't a minority? The guy was an idiot too) to asking if he was trying to ‘prove something’ to other celebs who had adopted kids by adopting so many at once, even going so far as to imply that his kids were simply charity cases. Honestly it took all of Lou’s self restraint not to just rip the stupid poofy blond hair right off the guy’s head by the time the interview was over.

And of course, once he allowed one reporter to talk to him, everyone else just tried even harder to get an interview too. It eventually took Tang Shen - as well as several other people in the industry who considered themselves Lou Jitsu’s friends - threatening the various members of the paparazzi on social media, as well as the public finding some other piece of celeb news to obsess and gossip over, to finally get it all to stop somewhat.

Though, thinking back on all that, Lou was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake accepting the invitation onto Jessica’s show, possibly inviting that whole mess back into his life... However, Jessica was calm and professional as she continued. “I think we all remember a couple years ago when we all heard that action superstar Lou Jitsu was suddenly a father, and for what it's worth… We couldn't be happier for you!”

Lou blinked. “Oh… Well, thank you!” He nodded, quickly composing himself, “Yes, they are very good boys, even when they don't always listen. But hey, what kid does?”

“True, true,” Jessica agreed, “And I bet they love having fun just as much as you did, eh Lou?”

Lou chuckled. “Well, fun for them, and maaaybe a bit more on the side of stressful for me. But what can I say? I love my boys, even after the hundredth time I’ve told them to take off their shoes before running into the house.”

Chuckling along with his listeners as he relaxed on the couch, he began spinning various anecdotes about fatherhood and his new family that were funny and even relatable as they were heartwarming. The audience was practically eating out of his hands - not that Lou really cared, he just liked talking about his boys! Though, if he could entertain people with them then, hey, two birds with one stone.

“-and oh, you should've just seen the mess they made, and the faces they made when I caught them. They knew they were in big trouble - they got cheese and sauce on the CEILING! It was unbelievable!

"Ha! I can imagine!"

"Yes, and all over a ‘which pizza topping is the best’ argument! I wanted to be mad, believe me, but at that point, it felt like all I could do was laugh!" Lou shook his head at the memory. "Heh, I am sure I must have seemed crazy, but then again I was pretty crazy for leaving four kids under ten in the kitchen alone anyway. And it is like I told Ben, if you are going to have a food fight, you might as well do it as a child so you have a better chance of getting away with it-”

“Wait,” Jessica stopped him, “Ben?” She raised an eyebrow, smirking a bit. “Who's Ben?”

Again, Lou’s grin fell ever so slightly. Had he said Ben’s name? Shoot. “Well, ah… A-Anyway, after all that-”

“Oh, don't tell me you've been holding out on us, Lou!” Jessica told him, her eyes curious and mischievous as her now-curious fans throwing in a couple encouraging cheers, “Come on, you can tell us! Is there a new certain someone we should know about? Someone we already know?”

“Heh, I doubt it...” Lou mumbled. Draxum definitely wasn't the public type, he barely even had a social media page! There was no way he'd want his and Lou's 'story' shared with the whole city, much less the rest of the world. However, even knowing this, he also knew that his hostess wouldn't let it drop if he tried to play dumb and completely deny it. So, he decided to just choose his words carefully.

“I… may have started dating again-” The applause and surprised shouts were practically thunderous- ���but, I want to respect my boyfriend’s privacy. It is what he deserves, after all. He is fun, smart, good with the boys-” he cracked a smirk, “Definitely handsome, aaaand… That is all I am going to say.” And his smirk only stubbornly remained as groans filled his ears.

“Are you sure you can't give us anymore?” The so-called Queen of Drama inquired, batting her eyes a bit, “I just know our audience would-”

“Now, I believe your people found some deleted scenes from the studio that you wanted me to give some insight on?” Lou asked, not even looking at her now, effectively ending the conversation, “Because, hey, isn't this supposed to be about ‘Teriyaki Shakedown’? I have got plenty of stories about that story too, you know! Does anyone here want to hear about how I came up with my Hot Soup finisher? Maybe a little demonstration too, if we can find some soup?”

Much to their hostess’ dismay, the audience unanimously answered, clapping and cheering once again. Remaining professional as ever, Jessica just smiled as she tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. “Well, I guess we know what we’re doing after commercials. Stay tuned for more stories and stunts with our favorite butt-kicking star, Lou ‘Jitsu’ Hamato!”

----------

“Great show tonight, Ms. Jacklynn!” “Wonderful job, Ms. Jacklynn!” “That was such a good idea, finding an excuse to get the Lou Jitsu on the show!” “I'm just surprised he said yes! Feels like it's been forever since he's been on something!” “And yet the moment someone says his name, his fans go totally rabid! Now that's what you’d call someone with star power!”

Jessica nodded as she continued making her way through her stage crew, only briefly acknowledging their comments and praise. Even the executive producer of the network only got a minute of her time. “I just really have something I need to get done before I head home,” she explained, not bothering to reveal anything else as she finally made it to her private dressing room.

She sighed, kicking off her high heels. Hosting a show was nice, but now it was time for the real fun. After all, content for shows and blog posts didn't just fall out of the trees most of the time. Sometimes, you had to go searching for it… And other times, you had to make it yourself. She had been hoping that with enough flirting, perhaps she could make some viewers see sparks between her and the semi-retired star, leading to plenty of publicity for the both of them and possibly start certain favorable rumors. But this… This was MUCH more interesting!

“Funny, Lou,” Jessica mused as she turned on her laptop, “You never used to shy about who you dated…” Even before she got into the showbiz game, she could remember seeing and hearing about all the various arm candy he’d have at movie premieres, award shows and Hollywood parties. Whether they were a new face on the movie scene, some beautiful model, a rich heir or heiress or even a co-star, Lou simply had no problem showing them off and having fun in both public and private for however long the fling lasted.

So what made this ‘Ben’ guy so special? What was he trying to hide?

Jessica went to Lou’s social media page first, naturally. She ended up scrolling through four months worth of content, but unfortunately came up with nothing. All Lou seemed to post were cute pics of his kids, random opinions on random things, Lou Jitsu memes and the occasional food or outfit pic when he had something to show up. Guess he was just as private about his personal life online as he was in person. Jessica scowled a bit at this, but didn’t give up yet. There was information out there, she knew there was! She just had to dig a little deeper…

She began searching for anything Lou Jitsu related on all social media sites. Most of it was useless - a fan mentioning they were doing a #JitsuMovieMarathon or someone taking a pic with an obvious Lou Jitsu impersonator. Those were the most frustrating. But finally, after over an hour of searching, she finally found something.

The Facebook page of a nobody with a followers number that indicated that anything he posted most likely stayed trapped within his circle of friends no matter how interesting or cool it was. There, she found a picture of Lou in a fighting ring with some guy she didn’t know, the caption explaining that this guy just couldn’t believe someone as awesome as Lou Jitsu was fighting in their gym.

But that wasn’t the most interesting thing. No, what was most interesting was the slightly blurry face in the background of the pic, tall with auburn hair and eyes wide with amazement. Jessica hummed to herself. He could’ve just been another fan… But there was something about him that seemed to claim otherwise.

This hinting feeling was indicated about twenty five minutes later when she saw the tall, redhead man again in another picture, this time on Twitter. It was slightly out of focus and far away, and Lou was wearing sunglasses, but it was them, there was no doubt about that. “Can’t believe it! A celeb date night on MY shift!” the girl had tweeted, adding an obnoxious amount of emojis and wishing the former star luck before adding “#HotSoupLove!” .

Jessica smirked. Hot Soup Love, indeed. “Now we’re getting somewhere…” It took some cross referencing and a lot more digging - whoever this guy was, he had little to know social media presence whatsoever, which made it even stranger that he was dating LOU JITSU of all people - but finally, she found him.

His stern, serious picture stared back at her as his information was revealed, thanks to the research lab website that introduced him: Dr. Benjamin Draxum, head of Genetics and Biochemical Research. “Doesn’t exactly seem like the ‘dating’ type, or the type of guy that a guy like Jitsu would go for,” Jessica commented, opening up a word post on her own social media page, “But hey, that just makes it all the more interesting.”

She always did love being the first one to break the story on any potential celebrity gossip, and this was certainly a story twist that no one would see coming…

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

Draxum’s eyes shot opened at the sudden alarm. He groaned, hating how early these Monday mornings always seemed to be. His eyes then shifted towards the windows, his body still lazy enough to ignore the alarm. Even behind the curtains, he could tell the sun was just barely starting to rise. So then, why was his alarm-?

It was then his tired brain finally realized that it wasn't his alarm going off, but his simple ringtone. He reached over and picked up his phone, and then glared at the screen when he saw it was a number he didn't recognize. Why they were calling over an hour before he had to wake up, he had no idea. It was probably a telemarketer, but just in case it wasn't, Draxum reluctantly answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello,” a seemingly human voice replied, “Are you Dr. Benjamin Draxum?”

“Yes, and who is this?”

“My name is Samantha Vics. I work for the NYC Inquiry and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”

A newspaper? (Or, maybe a magazine, he didn't know for sure given that he didn't really read many of either.) Well… He wasn't expecting that. Better than a telemarketer, at least. “About what?” He asked, wondering if perhaps something happened at his lab and they needed a statement from someone who worked there.

“Well, I was hoping you could tell me a little about your relationship with Lou Jitsu.”

…………… What .

“Excuse me?” He asked after several seconds of silence. Maybe he just misheard-

“Your relationship with Lou Jitsu. You are dating him, aren't you? I was hoping maybe I could ask you a few questions about that. How you two met, how long you two have been dating, what it’s like dating an action star as famous as him-”

Draxum took a deep breath through his nose. “...Excuse me for asking but, which section of the paper did you say you worked for?” He was just barely managing to keep his tone even.

“Oh, it's not a paper, sir. It's more of a local and national pop culture and celebrity-focused magazine, why-?” Draxum hung up, releasing his sigh. He wanted to go back to bed for the next hour and pretend that the whole incident was just an annoying dream.

...That's what he would've done at least, had it not been for the two more phone calls he received that morning. One from some talk show host named Jessica, and another from the Today Show, asking for a comment to use during their ‘Trending Now’ segment. Those two simple words sent enough dread down into Draxum’s stomach to switch his phone to silent, effectively ignoring it as he got ready for what was sure to be a long day.

His temper only rose when he ended up running into more people outside of his apartment, at least three or four. More ‘reporters’ - weren't these people supposed to be researching and reporting REAL news?! - trying to ask him questions, as well as ordinary people passing by, whispering as soon as they saw him and watching him as if he were some sideshow. He lost track of how many times he said “No comment”, practically shouting the words by the time he got to his car. At least they were smart enough to get out of his way once he got behind the wheel.

He didn't drive to work right away though, curiosity finally getting the better of him as he instead pulled into an empty alleyway where he could check his phone - four missed calls now - in peace. All he did was type in his name into a search engine, and about half a dozen articles from various blogs and gossip rags came up.

“Beautiful Brawn Meets Brain! Lou Jitsu Dates NYC Doctor!”

"Just WHO Is Jitsu’s New Boyfriend?!”

"Hot Soup Love!”

"Is Lou Jitsu Into Scientists Instead of Supermodels These Days? These Pics Would Say Yes!”

“What the hell?!” Draxum scowled, reading title after title before finally clicking on the earliest post. Honestly it was more speculation than an actual article, with the only ‘facts’ being the two pictures that included both him and Lou, as well as his name - which was only used once. After that, he was just referred to as ‘Jitsu’s Boyfriend’ or ‘The Scientist’. That definitely irked him.

And one of the photos… That was the diner they liked going to. The diner that would no doubt be swarmed often now in the hopes of getting another shot at seeing the Big Apple’s newest celebrity couple, the public and media alike most likely not caring if they disrupted a date. This made Draxum’s heart ache as much as it made his anger rise. He really liked that diner...

“How did they even find out about us?” He wondered out loud as he continued scrolling through. Sure there were the pictures, but something would have to prompt people to go looking for them, given they weren't originally posted by paparazzi. It was then, in the back of his mind, he remembered Lou saying something about having a talk show gig.

His eyes narrowed as he immediately switched from the Internet to texting. “We need to talk,” he typed.

Thankfully, Lou didn't wait long to reply, his words serious for once. “I know… I have to take the boys for school, but I will meet you at your lab for lunch. Maybe before then I can call up a couple people, do some damage control.” So he already knew. Draxum texted back that he would see him then. Just as he started his car back up, he received one last text.

“Ben… I am so sorry.”

Draxum didn't reply back.

The drive to work was average, save for his still-set-to-silent phone getting more unknown callers. He would have to start blocking numbers soon, maybe even change his number. He scowled just thinking about it as he walked up the walkway to the research building. It was ridiculous, couldn't these people just take a hint and leave him alo-?

* CLICK ! CLICK !*

Draxum’s whipped his head to the side so fast it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash. His eyes had just barely caught the tail end of a flash of light, and as he stared at the seemingly-normal bush that sat near the parking lot, he could see hints of black and plastic within it. Unable to help himself, he clenched his fists. “HEY!”

The scrawny figure didn't hesitate to move, jumping out of the bush and dashing down the street with their camera in tow. Had he not been in work clothes, he might have chased the photographer down. But he was as tired as he was furious, so he settled for simply letting the lab’s security desk attendant know that he'd spotted a ‘suspicious person’ outside.

His interns thankfully were smart enough not to say anything, stiff in their seats and already engrossed in their daily tasks. That's what Draxum tried to do as well, to just pretend that everything was normal despite feeling like the entire city - the entire world - now had their eyes on him, desperate for any little scrap they could get. ...Naturally this made focusing on work fairly hard. In between in-putting data from current tests and doing research on upcoming projects, he’d switch to social media, reluctant yet too curious to stop himself.

By this point most of the ‘articles’ had stopped, given that there was no new information coming in and nothing new to add. But that didn't mean people didn't have anything to say - the comments sections were an absolute nightmare...

Some people claimed Lou was only dating him so Draxum could (somehow) get his kids into a good college, or free medical care (he wasn't that kind of doctor, morons). Others simply called Draxum out for only wanting to date Lou for his status and money, with some speculating that he was only faking being a doctor. They wondered what they saw in each other, how Lou could possibly think of ‘going out with someone like that’. Every quality or accomplishment Draxum had or might have had was just ripped to shreds by fans and gossipers alike, all of them agreeing that the famous action star could certainly do better.

Draxum wasn't the type to care what people thought of him. ...He had to keep reminding himself that. That these opinions were worthless in the grand scheme of things… Still, even the least social people could still feel the crushing weight of words and insults if enough was thrown at them. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, his anger more numb now even as his disheartened frustrations remained.

The morning hours of his shift took an eternity to get through, but eventually the noon hour rolled around, and there was a knock on his doorway. “Hey,” Lou quietly greeted, holding up a logoless bag. With the media circus going on around them, it made sense that his boyfriend would pick making a sandwich for him over stopping somewhere and buying one. Draxum nodded, thanking him as he took the bag, but didn't open it.

As soon as they were alone in the room, his interns heading to the cafeteria faster than he had ever seen them go, Draxum asked his first question: “Why did you think it was okay to just… To just tell the whole WORLD about me without even-?”

“It was an accident,” Lou told him, as apologetic as he was defensive, “I-I was on that show, just telling stories about the boys and, well, your name just… slipped out.” He winced, silently berating himself for such a stupid mistake before continuing. “But I swear to you, Ben, I did not give them anything! All I said was that I was dating someone and left it at that. I didn't say what kind of job you had, or any personal information about you, or even your last name!”

Draxum was still scowling, though at least it didn't seem to be directed completely at his boyfriend now. “And it would seem they didn't need you to tell them that stuff, when they could just find it on their own.”

“Hmph, right…” He still wasn't sure how Jessica was able to find all she did about Draxum with just a first name, but he did know one thing: He was NEVER going on her show again. ...Unfortunately, whether he made a reappearance or not, the damage already seemed done. “Ben, I… I am so, so sorry. I never wanted something like this to happen! Especially not to the man I care about.”

Draxum stared at him for a moment longer before sighing. “I know… And I forgive you.” It would be unfair to keep blaming him for such a minor mistake.

Lou managed a weak smile at that. “Thanks… So uh, I was able to get in touch with a couple of my old managers, and they are going to try and get the story pulled.” Though by this point, it was already far too late. The original reporters had done their job, and it wasn't as if they could control every single person on social media. They had lost the war before starting a single battle. “I, I could still make a public statement. Not sure how much it would help, but…”

“Couldn't hurt to try,” Draxum agreed. Still, while Lou didn't even attempt to ask it, it still hung in the air between them, and the idea of it still sort of broke Draxum’s heart. Even worse, he didn't even have a solid answer to it.

“So, uh… A-Are you still coming over tonight?” Lou asked, “Because if you are, there is this back road behind my house, which may help with-”

“I think,” Draxum suddenly began as he forced himself to not look away, already feeling cowardly enough as is, “that I need some space.”

Lou’s glasses were at just the right angle to catch the fluorescent lights of his lab. Between that and the shading from his poofy hair, Draxum couldn't quite tell what his expression was. Still, the man’s voice remained steady. “Take all the time you need,” he quietly insisted. He then said his goodbyes, and walked out the door - and both of them hoped it wasn't for the last time.

Draxum stared at the open space where his boyfriend had stood, and nearly followed him out the door - but stopped when his phone lit up yet again with another unfamiliar number. He glared at the device, blocking the number before slamming it down on his desk.

Some space between them was for the best… It was for the best...

----------

The nice thing about the media machine was that new news became old news pretty quickly.

Sure, it still took him a couple days and blocking at least a dozen more numbers, but eventually Draxum stopped getting calls asking for interviews or comments. His co-workers made sure to stay out of his way as well, even though he could tell they were VERY curious and we're just barely holding back questions. And even if Draxum still made it a habit to look over his shoulder while walking around, the attempts that various members of the paparazzi made to try and get a shot of him also became few and far between.

After all, there was no point to the pictures if he was the only one in them...

“...” Draxum sighed, his eyes once again going from the book he was reading (a book he'd already read twice over, and was only trying to force himself to read it again as a distraction rather than for pleasure) over to the coffee table, where his phone sat, its silence adding to the much too quiet atmosphere of his apartment. Part of him almost wished it would ring or alert him about a text, but he knew it wouldn't happen. It hadn't happened for nearly two weeks.

“I wonder how he's doing,” Draxum mumbled to himself, eyes going from the device to the dark sky outside his living room window. He wondered about Lou and the boys both… He was sure they’d had to deal with twice as much hounding from the paparazzi, if not more, but he really hoped that they were enjoying some well-deserved peace now too. With days of silence from both sides of NYC’s newest hot couple, the media and celebrity gossipers alike eagerly moved onto the next scandal, leaving #HotSoupLove in the dust.

It was a relief… But there was also little actual comfort to it, for Draxum knew as soon as there were signs of the two of them being together in public again, the cameras and microphone-wielding pests of the city would pounce on them once more like snakes from the shadows. Each date outside of one of their homes would be a spectacle for the world to see, and Draxum hated that.  What he hated even more, however, was the fact that if it weren't for these vultures and the mess they would bring to his life… He would've probably called Lou as soon as the coast was clear...

Draxum had never needed space, he just refused to give the paparazzi a chance to get what they wanted! He had just wanted some peace and quiet, some time to hide from the prying eyes of his newfound public audience. But Lou… He had never wanted to be away from Lou, not for this long at least.  He truly did forgive him for his mistake, and each time Draxum thought of him - of the fun conversations or the things Lou would do to make him smile, of all the small gestures meant only for him and the moments they would also share with Lou’s young family - it only made his heart ache… God, did Draxum miss him. He missed ALL of them, and wanted nothing more than to see them again. To go back to the way things were.

And yet his hand refused to pick up the phone.

Draxum growled, carelessly tossing the book aside before leaning back on the couch and shutting his eyes. He hated it… Hated that to be with the one he loved, he'd have to risk being exposed to the world. Hated that a single phone call between them or a simple night out could also invite thousands of eyes and invasive questions. Hated that, for their relationship to work, he would have to also most likely deal with dangerous rumors and insulting comments and possibly even threats (depending on how rabid that particular part of the Lou Jitsu fanbase was) on a daily basis.

...But most of all, he hated himself for being such a coward. He didn't care how reasonable it was to hide, he was still allowing them to control this part of his life. He was giving them the power to decide the fate of his relationship instead of fighting for it... But since when was Benjamin Draxum not a fighter?

Deciding to do what he should've done two weeks ago, Draxum stood up and got his laptop.  It didn't take very long, about an hour at most. Editing was minimal, and as he prepared to post it on his rarely-used Facebook account (which had amounted followers in the thousands in just a few short days with the number continuing to rise), he finally picked up his cell and sent a simple text:

“Hello, Lou. Sorry for taking so long.”

It only took a couple minutes to get a reply. “It's fine, do not worry about it.” It was a normal enough reply, yet something about it still made it seem like Lou was walking on eggshells with him rather than being his normal, carefree self.

Draxum scowled slightly as his thumb flew across the keys. “No, it's not fine. Yes, I was upset and-” Scared? Angry? Disgusted by society? “-worried about dealing with… this whole situation. But not anymore. By the way, I’m posting something online right now, and I just wanted to give you a heads up. I'd suggest you watch it though.”

That time, Lou’s reply took several minutes. “Should I be worried about this?” He finally asked. He could almost see the man raising an eyebrow at him, wondering whether or not the scientist was about to do something that could get him anything from a bunch of flame comments and haters to getting arrested.

Draxum chuckled despite himself, not exactly being able to blame his boyfriend for being concerned. “No, if this blows up in my face, I should be the only one in the crossfire. That being said, I did want to ask one last thing. Are you free to go out tomorrow? I'd like to take you back to the diner we like.”

He could see Lou thinking it over (thanks to the ellipsis word bubble) before giving him an answer. “Yeah, sure, I should be free...but are you sure u want to go back there? and not somewhere else?”

“Yes. Very.” He was certain that Lou was still a bit unsure, but nevertheless they agreed on a time that Draxum would pick him up before saying goodnight. With that taken care of, Draxum made his post and then promptly shut off his laptop, letting his video do the rest…

-----------

“Hello. My name is Dr. Benjamin Draxum - though I'm sure most of you out there don't care about that. You'll just call me ‘The Scientist’ or ‘Lou Jitsu’s boyfriend’. Speaking of Lou and my relationship with him, that will be the subject of this video. You all want answers? Then fine, you've got them.

“We first met about five months, at an art museum auction event. When we first met each other, he invited me to join him and his family for the rest of the evening. I accepted. Afterwards, he gave me his phone number, and after a long conversation over the phone where we got to know each other, he invited me over to his house for supper. Again, I accepted.

“Ever since then, we've been spending time with each other and going out on dates when we can. We talk on the phone, visit each other’s homes, and do all the normal, average things that literally any other couple would do on dates. Those are the facts. And because I have revealed all the facts that are there, I will not be accepting or answering anymore questions, from the public or the media, in this video’s comments section or through the phone or email. However, I understand that this will not keep people from asking anyway or from speculation, nor will it keep mine and Lou’s relationship private despite the more intimate details of it not being anyone else’s business. I fully expect candid shots of us together the next time we go out, no matter how much I may ask of others to respect our privacy. ...But again, I accept this, and I will give you all one last fact about me:

“I care about Lou Jitsu, fully and genuinely, and as long as he will continue to allow it and as long as I still have these strong feelings for him, I will continue to be with him. Thank you and goodnight.”

Jessica had watched the video three times now, and each time she found herself a bit hollow afterwards. It hadn't been the first time someone famous (or even just in the middle of their thirty seconds of fame) had made a video to help clear up certain things or vent about something. But those were usually a lot more dramatic, where they'd eventually start screaming or crying or insulting people - But Draxum had done none of that.

He had spoke as if he was giving a lecture on whatever it was he studied. He was clear and concise, only presenting the facts with little emotion whatsoever. Even how he presented himself on the camera was professional, sitting up straight on his couch at home, well dressed with brushed hair. This was hardly some dramatic speech or him boasting about how he was sure ‘their love could conquer anything’. ...At least, it wasn't that in words or tone.

But in his eyes and the way he stared down the camera - not caring how many were watching or judging - revealed his true feelings. His passion, his determination to fight for his relationship, maybe even his love.

“I gotta hand it to you, Jitsu,” Jessica smiled, finally closing the screen, “You sure know how to pick them…” She also had a feeling that they'd be one of the few celebrity couples to stay together - and if that were indeed the case, she'd definitely have to come up with a better couples name for them than #HotSoupLove.

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

As far as he knew, no one had followed him to the Jitsu household. No paparazzi desperate for interviews, and no cameramen hoping for candid shots. Though, if there had been someone, he wasn't sure how much he would actually care. At this point, nothing was going to stop him from finally seeing his boyfriend again.

So, Draxum walked up to the house, moved to knock on the door, and-

The door opened, Lou already knowing he was there. He was smirking, but there was gratitude and admiration in his smile. “Well well well… Don't we know how to make a viral splash?”

Draxum smiled back at him. “Well, I didn't exactly have much of a choice. I had to let the world - and you - know where I stand.”

Lou’s smile fell a bit. “...Except you did have a choice. You know that, right?”

“I do… But it wouldn't have been a choice I'd be happy with,” Draxum told him, taking a step forward. He took Lou’s hands, squeezing them with care. “I want to be with you, no matter how much I may have to deal with from everyone else.” Though, after a moment, he frowned. “Of course, I'm not the only one this affects… Even if I'm not around you all the time, I'm sure you and your family will have to deal with all of that extra attention as well, so-”

Suddenly, Lou was grinning ear-to-ear. “Wow, last night really was the first time you have been on social media in a while, huh?”

“...Yesss, why?”

He chuckled. “Tang Shen saw what was going on, and heard about how our house was practically swarmed with people wanting comments that first day. And well, heh, you're not the only one who can make an online video. Just recently she decided to, ah, 'renew' an old threat directed at the entire paparazzi community, and told them that anyone who tried to talk or take pictures of my children without my consent would be VERY sorry. My boys will be just fine.”

Draxum was grinning now, holding back his laughter. “Well, that settles it. I definitely have to meet that woman one of these days.”

“She always flies in around Christmastime, just a heads up. And as for me, I am pretty much used to the whole ‘rabid fanbase, occasionally stalked by media people’ thing by now. Although…” His smile softened. “It really is easier when you have someone helping you deal with it.”

Not willing to hold himself back anymore, Draxum closed the distance between them, kissing Lou softly. Lou deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Yes, this was where he belonged: Beside his boyfriend, taking on whatever came their way together.

As they broke apart, they could hear tiny feet coming down the stairs. “I will have to go drop the boys off at O’Neil’s place, and then-”

“Draxum!” “Dr. Draxum!” “Drax!” “DRAXUMMMMM!”

From out of nowhere it seemed, he felt one, two, three, four small bodies (though that last one was pretty heavy) run into his legs, knocking him off balance and onto the ground. “Wh- Boys?!” Lou shouted.

Of course, his sons just ignored him, too excited as they all shouted at once. “We haven't seen you in forever, Dr. Draxum!” “See, I told you guys he'd come back!” “Yeahhh well, I always knew.” “Nuh uh, Leo!” "Yuh huh!" “DRAXUM I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE BAAAACK!”

Unable to help himself, Draxum laughed, managing to wrap his arms around all four of them. “I've missed you boys, too…” And that was the truth.

It took about fifteen minutes to calm the boys down and get them to April’s house (and to get Mikey to let go of Draxum), thanks to Draxum happily promising to visit them again later. With that settled, the reunited couple made their way to the diner.

As was to be expected, the diner was pretty full, now infamous for being #HotSoupLove’s ‘place’. But the two barely gave anyone else a second glance as they caught up with each other and enjoyed their meal, nor did they hesitate in taking a nice walk through the open Central Park afterwards. Not even the annoying occasional flash of a camera out of the corner of their eye or the whispers as they passed people by could sour their mood.

They were dealing with it all together, and that was all that mattered.

(( I know Jessica Jacklynn was just a referee/commentator, but I feel like she would totally be the type of character to host a late night talkshow and just be all about the celebrity gossip and drama. Lol, anyway, hope this chapter was enjoyable and not too wordy. please leave a comment if you can!))

[whumphoarder]

Festive Misfortune

Summary: Being lactose intolerant sucks. Being lactose intolerant during the Christmas season sucks even more.

Or, Tony tries to give his kid a carefree holiday party for once by serving a completely dairy-free menu. But of course, Parker Luck™ strikes again.

(In the same universe as Spider-Man’s Very Mundane Kryptonite and Face God and Walk Backwards Into Hell, but you can read them in any order)

Word count: 1,953

Genre: Fluffy illness, sickfic, Christmas theme

Link to read on Ao3

“So, you’re saying I can eat everything here?” Peter asked in amazement, eyes scanning the overflowing buffet table at the Avengers team Christmas dinner. “Including the lasagna?”

Tony nodded. “Every single dish. I catered the entire event from a restaurant specifically specializing in allergen-free dishes. Despite how it may look, there’s not a drop of dairy in sight.”

“So”—Peter moved over to the dessert section of the table—”the cannolis? The tiramisu?” He looked up at his mentor, near giddy with delight. “Even the cheesecake?!”

Tony chuckled. “For once, knock yourself out, kid.”

For just a second, Peter looked like he might cry. He settled for pulling Tony into a bone-crushing hug. “Mr. Stark, this is the best Christmas ever,” he said sincerely.

X

As expected, dinner was a rousing affair. The team joked and laughed as they ate, sharing anecdotes and recounting past missions with each other. With the exception of maybe two dishes that had weird textures, the catered dairy-free food was all surprisingly good. Peter tried a little of everything, gushing his thanks to his mentor the entire time to the point that Tony felt a little bad for not having done this before. Everyone agreed the crème brûlée topped tofu-cheesecake was the star of the show; Tony watched fondly as the kid polished off his third slice.

Once dinner was finished, the team moved into the common area living room to decide on a movie to watch. Or attempt to decide on a movie anyway.

“White Christmas,” Bruce said. “Hands down, best Christmas film of all time.”

“You can’t be serious,” Clint balked at him. He made eye contact with Tony. “Home Alone. That kid is a tactical mastermind.”

“I vote Die Hard,” Natasha said.

“That’s not a real Christmas movie,” Wanda complained. “I want to see Charlie Brown in English. I’ve only ever seen it dubbed in Sokovian.”

“Nah man, you gotta do the Grinch,” Sam said, walking in with a massive bowl of steaming popcorn.

Nat wrinkled up her nose. “Which version? Classic or Jim Carrey?” she asked as she snagged a handful of popcorn.

Sam shot her an offended look. “Jim Carrey is a classic.”

Steve was sulking in an armchair at the other end of the room. “I still vote Babes in Toyland,” he grumbled.

“Okay one, that definitely sounds like a porno,” Tony scoffed at him, “and two, that’s just because it’s the only one old enough for you to remember.”

“Hey,” Steve shot back, “I have the right to nostalgia just as much as the rest of you.”

“What about It’s a Wonderful Life or Miracle on 34th Street?” Bruce suggested. “Those have gotta be from your era, right?” He glanced up at the ceiling for confirmation.

“It’s a Wonderful Life, directed by Frank Capra, was released in 1946,” FRIDAY informed. “Miracle on 34th Street, directed by Les Mayfield, was released in 1947.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “I was frozen in ‘45.”

“Ah.” Bruce winced. “Sorry.”

“Okay, I say we let the kid pick,” Tony declared over the chatter. “What do you say, Pete?” he asked, turning towards the unusually quiet teenager at the other end of the sofa.

Peter seemed caught off guard. “Oh. Um, I dunno…” He shrugged and shifted position, pulling his legs up and tucking his knees to the side. “I’m good with whatever.”

“C’mon, you gotta have some preference,” Tony pressed.

“I guess…I mean, the Grinch is always good. Or Christmas Vacation, maybe?” Peter suggested.

“Oh man, how did I forget about the Griswold family?” Clint exclaimed. “I’m changing my vote.”

“I’m down,” Sam agreed. “Exploding turkeys, insufferable relatives, electrocuted cats...what’s not to love?”

X

It turned out Clint could more or less quote the whole movie, and did so under his breath for the first five minutes solid until Nat threatened to silence him in a rather unsavory way. They were all much quieter after that.

The movie was amusing as always, but Tony was a little distracted. Peter kept shifting around on the sofa, only giving half-hearted laughs at the funny scenes. For the most part, his lips were pressed together tightly.

Tony frowned and leaned over to whisper at him. “You alright, kid?”

All traces of discomfort disappeared from Peter’s face as he quickly flashed his mentor a smile. “Yeah, of course.”

When they got to the swimming pool scene, Tony jokingly tossed a throw blanket over the kid’s head, blocking his view of the screen.

“Aw c’mon!” Peter complained, his voice a little muffled by the blanket. “It’s PG-13. You don’t even see anything.”

“No minors will be viewing sideboob under my roof, kiddo,” Tony declared.

Natasha smirked at him. “The hypocrisy is rampant.”

“Nah, I’m with Stark on this one,” Clint said. “Kid’s got plenty of time for that later.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “You two are such dads.”

Still comically covered by the blanket, Peter got to his feet. “I’ll just use this opportunity to go to the bathroom,” he mumbled. “Enjoy your sideboob, everyone.”

The team snorted in laughter as the blanket-clad figure shuffled out of the living room.

X

When twenty minutes passed and Peter still hadn’t returned, Tony was starting to get antsy. Finally, he slipped off the couch and headed out to the hallway.

Upon discovering that the closest bathroom was unoccupied, he paused. “FRIDAY, where’s the kid?” he asked.

“Peter is currently in his bedroom,” the AI replied.

Tony’s brow furrowed. He’d just been teasing the kid about the sideboob thing—he honestly didn’t give a shit if Peter watched PG-13 or even R rated scenes for that matter. But maybe calling Peter out in front of a group of his literal heroes had embarrassed him more than Tony thought.

Figuring an apology was probably in order, he made his way up to Peter’s room. Technically, it was one of the guest bedrooms, but Peter stayed in it so often that it had morphed into his own space.

When Tony got there, he saw that the door was just slightly ajar. Through the gap, he could see Peter sprawled out face down on top of the bed, arms circled around his pillow which he was clutching to his stomach. His head was tilted away from the doorway so Tony only saw the back of it.

Tony hesitated a second before rapping the back of his knuckles against the door. “Hey kid? You planning on coming back?”

Peter pulled his head up and turned towards the doorway. Seeing his mentor, he immediately pushed himself up to sit up on the bed against the headboard. “Oh, sorry!” he gasped. “You didn’t pause the movie for me, right? Because you can totally keep playing it.”

Tony pushed the door open further and stepped inside. “They’re still watching, don’t worry,” he assured. “But you disappeared on us. What’s going on?”

Peter glanced down at the bedspread and shrugged. “Just got kinda tired. Wanted to lay down.”

Tony frowned as he moved closer to the bed. “Too tired to sit on a couch and watch a movie?” he questioned. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Peter mumbled back, but his stomach cut him off with an angry-sounding growl. A grimace flashed across his features and Peter snaked an arm around his middle.

It was a gesture Tony knew all too well. He blinked at the kid. “You have a stomach ache.” It was a statement, not a question.

Peter gave him a sheepish look.

Tony blinked again. “Why the fuck do you have a stomach ache?” he demanded.

“Uh...sorry?” Peter mumbled.

“No, I didn’t mean-” Tony cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. “I just don’t get it. Nothing you ate should have had dairy, so why is this happening?”

Peter gave a half-laugh. “Welcome to my world, Mr. Stark.” He hugged the pillow back to his obviously cramping stomach. “It's fine—I'm used it it. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve ordered soy milk in drinks at Starbucks and got regular milk instead.” He shrugged. “Now I just get that iced tea lemonade thing when I go there.”

“This is unbelievable,” Tony muttered irritably. “FRIDAY, call up the catering company. I want to speak to their manager. Now.”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Peter said quickly. “You don’t have to get anyone in trouble! I’m sure it was just an accident.”

“No, they can’t get away with this shit,” Tony argued, the feeling of righteous anger rising in him. “If they’re gonna advertise their menu as dairy-free, it better be fucking dairy-free! I mean, what if you were someone who had an actual dairy allergy instead of an intolerance?” he demanded. “Then we’d be talking about anaphylactic shock, not an upset stomach. This is serious, Peter—they have to be held responsible.”

Peter rubbed a hand at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, so about that...”

“What?”

“Um…I wasn’t gonna tell you, but if you’re gonna yell at someone—” Peter steeled himself with a breath. “It might not be totally their fault?”

Tony narrowed his eyes at the kid. “What did you do?”

If possible, Peter looked even more uncomfortable. “Uh… it wasn’t really me either…” He glanced up at the ceiling nervously. “I was kinda checking with FRIDAY before you got here to see what might have gone wrong and it turns out this place has two different specialized menus you can order from.”

“Right.” Tony nodded slowly. He was well aware of that. “One is dairy-free, and the other is gluten-free. I ordered off the dairy-free one.”

Peter’s stomach grumbled again and he pressed a hand to it with a wince. “Yeah, so, the two menus have pretty similar sounding stuff…”

Realization suddenly dawned on Tony. “Oh my god,” he muttered, a sick feeling coming over him. “Tell me I didn’t…”

“No no, not everything!” Peter cut in. He gave a humorless laugh. “Trust me, Mr. Stark, I would be like, on the bathroom floor, praying for god to just finish the job if that were the case.”

That image didn’t make Tony feel even remotely better. He squeezed shut his eyes and pressed his fist to them. “Which dishes did I order wrong?”

“Just um… just the cheesecake,” Peter mumbled. His stomach grumbled again. “And like, also maybe the cannolis?”

Guilt flooded through Tony. “Great. Fantastic.” He huffed out a sigh. “I fucking poisoned you.”

“No, no it was an accident!” Peter said quickly. “And it was probably my fault anyway—I should have known there was no way that gloriousness was made of tofu,” he said with a half laugh.

Tony ran a hand over his face. With all the shit he usually gave the kid about eating things he knew would make him sick, knowing that for once Tony was the reason for Peter’s current suffering made him feel terrible. “God, kid, I’m so sorry.”

“It's fine! I wasn’t even gonna tell you because I knew you’d feel bad but then you found me and…” Suddenly Peter paled and hopped off the bed. “Um, I gotta go, be right back.”

“Pete, I swear I’m gonna make this up to you,” Tony called after the kid as he headed for the en suite bathroom. “Christmas is in five days and I am an actual billionaire, so dream big kiddo!”

Peter threw a mock salute in Tony’s direction as he scurried off. Just as he got to the door, he looked back and locked eyes with his mentor. “It was really good cheesecake, Mr. Stark,” he said sincerely.

As soon as the door was shut behind him, Tony let out another sigh and muttered at the ceiling, “FRIDAY, get my Audi dealer on the phone. Tell him I’ve got a rush order.”

Read Part 4 of the Lactose Intolerant Peter series

Fic Masterlist

[chloemill]

On what I’ve been up to the last nine years

I have always been obsessed with food. It seems silly, honestly, to be obsessed with something that’s a basic human necessity. Food, water, shelter. Too bad there aren’t water disorders or I’d be all over that. Alcoholism, I guess, is a liquid-based disorder? This is getting dark quickly but I guess we should all know what we’re getting into with this one, shouldn’t we.

So, yeah, I’ve always been obsessed with food. I have alarmingly clear memories of food from childhood, and the sad(dest) part is most of it’s not even real fucking food, it’s like, cartoon food. I could probably describe every illustration from the Berenstain Bears installment where the dad bear and the kid bears randomly decide to go balls to the fucking wall and just mainline junk food until the mom bear is like “what the fuck is going on here” and gives them all apples or some shit and then everyone chills the fuck out. The pizza in A Goofy Movie when Goofy and Max randomly stop at a themed motel and the kids eat pizza while Goofy and Pete share what I remember to be a vaguely sexual moment in the hot tub? (There was definitely at LEAST a questionable power dynamic at play.) The kid at school whose weird helicopter mom came at lunch and hand-delivered her McDonald’s nuggets to the playground. Bake sales in the second grade - the cookies and brownies and “nachos” that were just round Tostitos with that terrifying and delicious fake cheese sauce that still honestly casts a spell twenty years later. It wasn’t quite normal, but as a kid, I didn’t think twice. When your parents are feeding you and your brain is the size of a baseball, you just kind of roll with the punches and settle for buying as much crap as possible at the bake sale with the two bucks your mom gave you. Shortly after I finished elementary school, actually, I think they stopped having bake sales as fundraisers because the school was trying to promote healthy eating. Go figure.

In high school we were allowed to go off campus for lunch and once or twice a week my sainted mother would give me money to buy lunch. It very rapidly became the bi-weekly Let’s See How Much Shit We Can Stuff In Our Body For Ten Dollars Challenge, but that’s not at all uncommon for high schoolers. At home we ate healthily, and I have a pretty fast metabolism thanks to my Slenderman of a father so I was more or less the size of a pencil for first few years of school. We’re talking, like, size double zero at Hollister. I actually used to peel the 00 size stickers off my low rise (!!!) jeans whenever I’d get a new pair and stick them on the side of my desk in my bedroom, which, as I became a normal-sized adult with not-normal-sized body image problems, morphed into a very creative form of self-inflicted psychological torment. I have some journal entries from the first few years of high school with “diet and workout plans”, but in teenage girl fashion, most of them were quickly forgotten about or amended with “forgot and ate mac and cheese today - whoops!” Stupid teenage shit. It’s actually kind of hilarious reading it back now until I remember how spectacularly fucked up everything got. ANYWAY!

My first real memory of hating my body was on a school trip to Scotland my junior year. I was fully indoctrinated into the cult of high school musical theatre and we were performing at the Fringe Festival in Edinburgh, which was an incredibly cool experience that I absolutely did NOT take full advantage of and instead did shit like drink way too much rum (fucking RUM because apparently I was a character in Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean franchise), try to climb out the window of the dorms we were staying in to go see my boyfriend in his building, quickly remember I was on like the fucking fourth floor, throw up all over the carpet of my room and then pass out. My room smelled like puke the rest of the trip but that, though tragic in its own right, is not the point of this anecdote. Being both across the pond and left to my own devices, I was eating nothing but beige-colored fried food to the point that I’m certain ketchup and fruit juice used solely as a mixer for alcohol were the only things saving me from full-blown scurvy. My clothes felt tight, and not in the 2010s way that everything was tight, but bad tight. My stomach poked out of my jeans in a way that my stomach wasn’t supposed to poke out of my jeans. Keep in mind - I was probably a size 0 instead of 00 at this point, and most of this change was just a product of being sixteen instead of fourteen and growing, but to me it felt ominous in a way I didn’t know how to explain. During a group trip to some Scottish landmark or another (see how much attention I paid to this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity my parents spent their hard-earned money to give me?) I remember sitting next to my close friend on the bus as we pulled over to stop for food. I was having relationship trouble with the aforementioned boyfriend, one of the first of many Musical Theatre Straight Boys™ that I would lose my fucking mind over, and I was getting emotional - more emotional than I expected. I realized something else was bothering me, and I turned to her and said “On top of everything else, I just feel… fat. I know I’m not fat, but I’m fat, like, for me.”

Two things here: first and foremost, yes, for that I know I am now the recipient of the Most Annoying Sentence Ever Spoken Aloud award and will provide the mailing address for my trophy at a later date. Second, I said that over ten years ago, and I remember it so clearly that I’m entirely sure that’s exactly what I said, verbatim. We got off the bus, and I walked into the restaurant and, after scanning the menu desperately trying to convince myself I should order something “healthy”, I ordered large steak fries and got back on the bus. I think this was the first time I ever really, consciously used food as a coping mechanism - the first time something small but powerful snapped in my head that told me fuck it - who the fuck cares? You’ve done enough damage already, what’s the point of stopping now?

High school ended, I graduated and we sang “Journey On” from Ragtime at the ceremony (baffling choice but the school was doing Ragtime next year and wanted to squeeze a promo out), I got into several of my top-choice musical theatre colleges and was so excited to go to the one I picked, which, you’ll be charmed to hear, was the absolute worst choice I could’ve made. I was 18 and a little bigger now, firmly in size 0/2 instead of 00 territory, had maybe graduated to a 32B bra instead of A, but still very thin by most standards. This was my first summer as a Very Online Person - I would stay up tlil probably 3 or 4 AM most nights blogging and watching Harry Potter movies for the umpteenth time. Because the rest of my family was, how do I put it, fucking normal, they’d go to bed at 11 or whenever and I’d be up alone for hours on the  computer. This is when I started bingeing. We didn’t really keep junk food in my house, nothing legit like Cheetos or Ben and Jerry’s or whatever, but we did have sugar cereal and reduced-fat Oreos and cheese and the occasional box of Triscuts. It became a nightly ritual for me - I’d wait for everyone to go to bed, then tiptoe in to the kitchen and, though I’d eaten dinner hours earlier, start eating again. Stacks of Oreos, multiple bowls of cereal, shredded cheese out of the bag. After a while my mom heard me banging around in the kitchen and told me (in so many words) to shut the fuck up, so my methods changed. I’d bring the box of cereal - Rice Krispies or Cocoa Puffs or whatever - a bowl, and a carton of milk into the bathroom with me. I’d run the sink and open the box and pour the cereal with the water running so no one would hear, and then I’d creep back out to the couch and eat it. Box of Oreos into the bathroom, water on, peel open the plastic, take out the biggest stack I thought I could with no one noticing, eat. Three or four granola bars into the bathroom, water on, wrappers off and hidden behind my bed or the couch or wherever, eat. Rinse and repeat.

I didn’t really know what binge eating was at this point, and some tiny, dark part of my brain buried way in the back told me that this wasn’t normal and it wasn’t good, but I pushed it away because of course I did. I did a few Google searches about it and came across the term “binge eating disorder” but was convinced that could never be me. This was just a thing, just a thing I was doing, and it would go away at the end of the summer when I went away to college because that’s when life was actually starting and it was going to be awesome and I wasn’t going to let this - whatever this was - fuck that up.

But I did, in fact, fuck it up. I fucked it up fast and hard (that’s what she said, ok back to being depressing) and college was not awesome, it was difficult and painful and I was drowning in something I had absolutely no chance of controlling on my own. I accepted very quickly that this thing I was doing had a name, and it was binge eating disorder, and I was all in. I gained weight - not a ton, maybe twenty pounds, and I was never actually overweight, but to me that didn’t matter. I hated how I looked. I overdrew my bank account spending money my mom gave me for groceries on binge food. I spent hours alone in the dining hall eating till I felt physically ill and sometimes threw up involuntarily because my body couldn’t handle what I was doing. One time I stood in the bathroom of my dorm and drank mustard mixed with warm water because I read online that makes you puke and I was so full I wanted to die (it didn’t work, please for the love of GOD don’t drink mustard water or, for that matter, anything else for the express purpose of making yourself vomit). I cancelled plans with friends and skipped classes to stay in and binge, or because I’d binged already that day and could barely move. I stole food from roommates, convincing myself no one would notice, even though of course they fucking noticed. I hid food and packaging and wrappers under my bed, in my closet, in my backpack, wherever I could because I didn’t want anyone to catch on. Lied about why I needed money so my parents would send me some and I could buy more shit. I ate stale food, food from the trash, once I literally ate straight up chocolate sauce (mustard water and chocolate sauce: 10 out of 10 doctors recommend!) because I had nothing else. Waking up for 8 AM ballet classes and seeing my body in a leotard under fluorescent lighting felt like a form of torture Dick Cheney might think was a little too harsh. I saw a therapist over the summers and ate with my parents at home, and things got better, and then I’d go back to school and everything would unravel again. I’m still kind of shocked I made it through.

I’ve been done with school and living in the city for five years now, and I can honestly say that things are better. I mean, not “better”, in the sense that this chapter of the book is still pretty fucking open. But I’m better at dealing with it. The majority of the time now, I eat normally. I still binge, sometimes a lot and sometimes a little, but I carry on and try again the next day. I don’t really restrict to make up for binges anymore. I can eat some foods now that used to send me straight into Eatin’ Town USA, like cheese and bread and maybe even Oreos sometimes. I started enjoying working out, not just logging time on the treadmill as a punishment and feeling like Jean Valjean in the opening number of Les Mis (look down look down you’RE HERE UNTIL YOU DI-IE). 

To be honest, I think I’m writing this mostly because the last couple months have been hard. I’ve fallen into some old stupid shitty habits, and I’ve been plugging along like normal and trying to claw myself out. But it’s not quite working like it normally does, and I don’t know why. I know I’ll make it through, because I always have, and what other option is there? But some days lately, I feel like twenty-year-old me, sobbing (very theatrically, natch) on the floor of my apartment because I should be over this by now - how am I not over this by now? This is my ninth year as a binge eater. Almost a decade! Far and away my longest and most committed relationship. When I hit 10 years strong, I should take myself out to a fancy restaurant or something but I don’t know what I’d order.

When I tell people this, I usually get some kind of “I had no idea”/“I’m sorry I didn’t notice”/“I would’ve never guessed” and the truth is that I didn’t, and still don’t, want anyone to notice. Of course I don’t. You don’t hide candy wrappers and empty pizza boxes in your closet with your winter boots because you want people to notice. It’s a very strange and secretive brand of shame that binge eating disorder brings and no one really get it unless they get it, and that’s not something I’d wish on anyone. (Okay, honestly, I’d wish it on some people, like it’s hard as hell but some people suck ass and probably deserve it? Anyway.) As I’ve grown up, I’ve started talking about this more and more. The first time I went public with all of this shit - I think I made a dramatic Instagram post a few years ago whilst day drunk during National Eating Disorder Awareness Week (absolutely incredible and Very Me start to a sentence) - I was shocked at how many people reached out to me privately and were like, hey, me too, and thank you for saying something. I’m still ashamed, but I’m trying not to be, and the more I talk about it the less alone I feel. “There are dozens of us! DOZENS!”

I guess one nice thing about this whole stupid nightmare is it’s kind of a reason why I am who I am. Not the only reason, but still. I started using jokes to cope with this while I was in school, and my sense of humor, whatever the fuck it is today, grew out of that. Except now I don’t joke about this stupid shit because I’m in denial, I do it because it’s real and I’m staring it in the face and it’s not going away, and the absurdity of something so excruciatingly difficult yet so entirely in my control gets fucking terrifying. I guess laughing at it makes it seem small.

[gray-autumn-sky]

Sleepless in Seattle, Chapter 7

February 17, 1993- Seattle, Washington:

Robin rings his hands as he sits in the booth, staring at the door and waiting for his date.

He cancelled a few days before, and really, he thought that Emma would call off the whole thing.

He felt a degree of guilt over using Roland as an excuse—saying that his son was sick and needed him at home, and though the excuse had sounded fake and flimsy to him, Emma didn’t argue with it. Instead, she said that she understood and that his son should always come first—and then, she confessed that she was feeling a little uncomfortable about that date, anyway. Valentine’s Day brought a certain amount of unnecessary pressure, suggesting that maybe later in  the week would be better for them both.

He was glad for the less formal setting and for the proximity to home. This was a place he and Roland went often, and several of the wait staff knew him well—and when he regretfully informed them that he was not dining with his son and confessed that he was actually meeting a woman for a date, they offered pats on the back and high fives and congratulatory wishes that momentarily set him at ease and made him that that maybe this wasn’t the worst idea.

But still, he was nervous and his stomach was in knots—and of course, the two conflicting voices in his head didn’t help the situation. One told him to get up and leave, that he wasn’t ready for this and it wasn’t fair to anyone involved to carry on with a date if there was no chance at something more developing, and the other voice told him it was just pizza and conversation, that if anything, it’d be good for him to be social.

The second voice was winning out when Emma came in to the pizza shop and a slight smile tugged on to his lips as he spotted her.

Ruby and Belle were right—Emma was pretty, though not typically his type. She had long blonde hair that was curled at the ends and the boots she wore made her seem taller than she really was. She wore tight, dark jeans and a red leather jacket over a tucked in what shirt, and as she came closer, she offered him an awkward little wave and a grin.

“Robin?”

“Yes,” he nods. “You’re Emma, then.”

Nodding, she slides into the booth across from him. “I am.”

“You, um… you obviously found the place alright.”

She nods. “Yes, your directions were… very clear.”

For a moment, neither of them says anything and then a little laugh bubbles out of him, and she laughs, too.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m a bit rusty.”

“I am, too.”

“My sister mentioned that you just got out a relationship? I’m sorry—“

“I’m not,” she cuts in. “I just wish I’d gotten out sooner.” He nods. “I’m new in town and staying with some friends from college—“

“David and Mary Margaret,” he supplies. “I am the architect designing the addition on their house.”

“Oh, now I feel the need to apologize. They are so indecisive about every last detail.”

“So the bay window fiasco wasn’t an act to try to put us in each other’s orbit?”

“Not entirely. I was running late, but after you left, they had tape up the walls, still debating where the window should go.”

“Oh no,” he laughs. “It’s really not that serious.”

“When you called to cancel, they were still debating and I didn’t have the heart to tell you you’d probably spend Valentine’s Day redrawing the blueprints for the addition.” His brow furrows and she laughs again, “There’s a new discussion about a skylight,” she tells him. “They didn’t tell you yet?”

“No,” he sighs. “They probably haven’t committed to it yet or they’re afraid I’ll quit.”

“You might as well just design a room for a teenager—put the window by the tree so he can sneak out in the middle of the night. That seems most considerate.”

“Or he’ll simply have to stay a baby forever.”

“I am sure Mary Margaret would have no arguments about that.”

Leaning back against the booth, Robin grins—talking to Emma is easier than he thought it’d be.

The waitress comes and they order a pizza—settling on pepperoni and jalapeño peppers—and by the time the waitress bring their beers to the table, they’ve fallen into a conversation that’s only mildly uncomfortable.

She asks about his son—a topic he could stay on forever—and so he takes the opportunity to brag. Emma listens and nods along, smiling when she should at cute little anecdotes about the antics of a six year old. She admits that she likes kids, but isn’t sure that she wants them for herself, and when he apologizes for going on and on, she brushes it off, telling him she enjoyed listening and Roland seems like a sweet boy—and that earners her a couple of points in his book.

He shifts the conversation as the pizza arrives, talking about movies and books and TV shows. Outside of a few random things, they don’t have many of the same interests, but in some ways, that’s refreshing and gives them more to talk about—and when Emma suggests a film they could maybe watch together, he takes it as a good sign, and again feels himself relax.

By the time they’ve finished their pizza and ordered slices of cheesecake for dessert, he’s feeling more at ease. And while he’s not entirely sure of its something about her that he likes or something about talking to someone who isn’t his sister or his child, he does like it and he finds himself mentally preparing a list of possible date ideas.

He likes serious films, like documentaries or comedies that he can laugh at, while she prefers mysteries or horror films; he likes leisurely hikes while she prefers rock climbing. He seems himself as a family man while she is more of a loner who occasionally likes company, and they both avoid cooking for themselves whenever they can.

She laughs at that part, telling him she now understands why Ruby is always over, and he smiles and nods and pretends that that’s the real reason.

Their dessert comes as Emma confesses that she’s never even seen a horse up close and the idea of riding one terrifies her—so, naturally he adds horseback riding to his list.

They part ways after they eat, agreeing that they’d like to do something like this again. Emma pulls out her pocketbook and suggests a movie date, and he finds himself nodding in agreement as he adds dinner—and just like that, he has a second date planned.

He spends his walk home  weighing what this actually means, and by the time he arrives at his front door, he decides that it doesn’t really matter—the company is nice and he forgot how fun it could be just getting to know someone. Emma might not be someone he ended up with for a long time, but maybe that was the point—and maybe he’d spend the rest of his life with her.

That was the fun of it—the possibilities—and he’d completely forgotten how good it felt to have possibilities, to not have everything charted out and predetermined, to just see where life would take him.

In a lot of ways, Marian had been a wonderful surprise—they’d shared a cab ride on a particularly rainy day, and the only reason he’d been in that cab was because he’d lent his car to Belle so she could take a road trip to visit a friend from high school. By the end of that cab ride, he’d been convinced that he wanted to ask Marian out, and when he helped her out of the cab, he knew they’d have something special.

But that feeling hadn’t taken away from the spontaneity of it all—and maybe, he thought as he turned his key in the lock and braced himself for the onslaught of questions from Belle and Ruby that were sure to come as soon as the door opened—he really could get that lucky as second time… perhaps not with Emma, but someone.

Only time would tell, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was actually looking forward to uncertainty that lay ahead of him.

_____

February 17, 1993- Greenwich, Connecticut:

To her relief--and oddly, to her disappointment--Daniel did not propose to her on Valentine’s Day.

He’d taken her to a nice restaurant and they’d had a nice meal, and their dinner was filled with easy conversation. He seemed to sense her anxiety, so he kept things light. They’d gone into New York City for the evening, and he’d planned a walk in Central Part, but the rain foiled those plans, so instead, they rented a few movies and went back to the hotel, ordering ice cream and laying in bed, laughing until their sides hurt, thanks to Cary Grant and movies like Arsenic and Old Lace and Bringing Up Baby.

Daniel was out of town—some business meeting or something that came up a the last minute—so she invited Lily and Mal over to eat the meal she’d prepared.

As always, Lily and Henry went off to play video games—this time, giggling together as they played Duck Hunt in his bedroom while she and Mal settled in the living room with a bottle of wine.

“You should stay the night.”

Mal’s brows arch. “We're not sixteen. We don’t do sleepovers anymore.”

Regina shrugs. “The kids are having fun and it’s sleeting and I want to watch old movies, but I don’t want to alone.”

Mal grins. “Sounds like you’re subbing me in for your boyfriend.”

Regina shrugs. “Or maybe I was subbing my boyfriend in for you. I’m not really sure he’d be into the movie I picked. It’s… kind of a chick flick.”

“What is it?”

“An Affair to Remember. I’m… I’m kind of on a Cary Grant kick, so I got it and then I read the description.”

“That is absolutely a chick flick,” Mal says, nodding as she sighs. “I’ll stay if you give me ice cream.”

“Deal.”

“Do you have that snickerdoodle kind that—“

“That my kid is obsessed with? Of course.”

“Excellent. You get the ice cream and I’ll let Lily know we’re going to stay.” Getting up from the couch, she sighs. “I’m sure this will be an argument.”

“I've got some cookie dough, maybe that can sweeten the deal.”

“Maybe.”

“Henry is going to be thrilled, you know. He loves when Lily’s here… even if she doesn’t want to be.”

“Lily can move in, if you want. I swear, she’s no trouble at all… ever. She’s an absolute delight!”

Regina grins as she gets up. “I really do think she’s a delight.”

“That's because you’re not her mother so she likes you.”

“Things still rough after the smoking incident?”

Mal nods. “Rough is my new normal. This morning she and I got into a fight about eyeliner.”

“Was she wearing too much?”

“No,” Mal says, rolling her eyes. “I was, and apparently me dropping her off at school is embarrassing.”

At that, Regina giggles and shrugs, watching as Mal starts up the stairs.

She retreats into the kitchen and flicks on the radio before flicking on the oven—and all of the sudden the familiar voice of Doctor Archibald Hopper fills the room.

Grabbing the cookie dough from the refrigerator, she listens as he switches topics.

I’m sure you all remember our most famous caller from Christmas Eve, a little boy from Seattle who was worried about his dad not sleeping and being alone…

Looking up, she stares at the radio, listening more intently as she grabs a okie sheet from the drying Araceli and forms little balls of dough.

...I say most popular because since Christmas hundreds of women have called in for his address—hundreds of concerned women who want to help—

Regina’s eyes roll. “Yeah, help themselves into his bed,” she mutters.

Several of you have reached out to check in on him, calling into the station for an update, and while I would love to talk to Sleepless in Seattle again, he has not answered any of my calls…

“He has a name.”

“Who does?”

Regina looks up to see Mal standing in the kitchen. “Oh…”

“Is that that radio program again?”

Reigna nods. “They’re talking about Robin… about Sleepless in Seattle from…”

“Christmas.”

“Yeah? What are they saying?”

“Not much,” Regina says, lowering the volume dial so she can hear Mal, but not turning it down completely.  “People are curious about him—“

“People like you.”

For a moment, she just glares. “I suppose.”

“Women have been writing to him.”

At that, Mal’s brow arches. “Soo, you’ve got some competition.”

“No—“

“Regina, come on. It’s not wrong to be curious about him. You heard his story and you felt something—“

“It was a sad story, Mal.”

“I’m not saying that it wasn’t. I’m just saying you felt a connection—“

“That’s a bit strong.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“It’s ridiculous, Mal. I don’t know this man. I heard one story from his life, this one little thing—“

“This one huge thing.”

She shrugs. “Still, it was one thing that has to do with the life of a complete stranger.”

“So?”

“So… I… I’m involved with someone. Someone who is great and—“

“And you spend all of Valentine’s Day hoping wouldn’t propose to you.”

Regina bristles as she lops some Cookie dough onto the sheet. “I’m… I’m just not… not there I don’t want to rush things or—“

“Or maybe, despite the fact that you’re dating a great guy, he’s not the guy for you.” Regina’s shoulders square as she focuses on the cookies, trying to formulate some sort of zinger to reply with that’ll shut the conversation down. But before she can, Mal leans against the counter and completely derails her train of thought. “You should write to him.”

Regina's eyes widen. “You mean...write to…”

Mal’s eyes roll as Regina’s voice trails off. “To Sleepless in Seattle.”

“Robin.”

A grin twists onto her lips “Oh, so you’re a on a first name basis now?”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. You should write to him.”

“And sound like all the other crazy desperate women who want to bed him? No, thanks.”

“But you’re different.”

“Yeah,” Regina says, nodding as she spoons the last of the cookie dough onto the sheet. “I am different. I have a boyfriend. I shouldn't--”

“Regina--”

“Mal, this is insane. It’s unhealthy it’s--”

“You’re attracted to it. Admit it.”

“He’s a voice on the radio!”

“That you recorded so you could listen to him as a bedtime story.”

Regina’s eyes widen. “Oh god. Mal. I’m just as crazy and desperate as those other women. I’m--”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Mal sighs, taking the cookie sheet from her and sliding it into the over and spinning the timer. “Let’s change the subject. We’ll get some wine and watch a movie, and forget what a psycho you are for a little bit.”

Regina pouts as Mal grabs her hand and a bottle of wine, dragging her back into the living room. Regina curls her legs underneath herself as Mal puts on the movie, and aside from a very short break to take the cookies out of the oven, she doesn’t move--instead, she gets too invested in the movie and finishes off a bottle of wine before the its even over, and all the while, she pictures herself waiting for Sleepless in Seattle--for Robin--on top of the Empire State Building, and how terribly romantic that would be.

She sighs as the credits roll, and when she looks over to Mal, she finds her curled up in the armchair beside her, asleep. “So much for a movie marathon,” she says, setting down her glass and feeling a little wobbly as she stands, moving toward Mal and carefully pulling away the carton of ice cream from her--and when she does, Mal curls into a tighter ball.

She takes the empty wine glasses, bottles and Mal’s now-empty carton of ice cream into the kitchen and sets the on the counter to be dealt with in the morning, and she grins as the handful of cookies left--Lily and Henry obviously came down for seconds, and maybe even thirds. She transfers the rest of the cookies onto a plate and puts the cookie sheet into the sink, again leaving it for morning to clean.

Turning off the light in the kitchen, she goes back to the living room to toss a blanket over Mal, then dims the light and heads up the stairs. She finds Lily and Henry curled up on Henry’s bed, video game controllers still in their hand and the music to Mario Brothers playing as Game Over flashes repeatedly on the TV screen on Henry’s dresser. She turns off the TV and kisses them both on the forehead, pulling away the controllers as she dims Henry’s lamp--and then as she retreats down the hall toward her bedroom, she realizes she’s not tired.

Biting down on her lip, she turns toward her office. For a moment, she just stood there, feeling a bit dizzy as she stared at her Macintosh--and then, drawing in a breath, she pushed herself toward, pressing her fingers to the keyboard to boot it up. Chewing at her lip, she watched as the computer started, and she held her breath as she opened up the Word Processor, then once it was open, all she could do was stare at it.

It was… like magic, she thinks, remembering the soft yet hesitant way he described that very first moment he knew that he was in love with his wife--and it made her heart ache in the best possible way.

Pulling out her chair, she sat down at the computer and started to type…

Dear Sleepless in Seattle, she types, grimacing as she looked at the words. They sounded so.... Impersonal. And then she rolled her eyes. How else would it sound, writing to someone who didn’t even know she existed.

I’ve never done something like this before.

She blinks and rolls her eyes. “Of course, you haven’t--and neither has all the other psychos out there who are writing to him.” With a sigh, her head dips forward and her face falls into her hands, and she can’t do it--she can’t write this letter, much less send it. So, she powers down her computer and goes to sleep.

[nataliesewell]

blank pages ;

ALIZA / SCHOLAR - CENTRIC; sweet elite. she may want to take the entertainment industry by storm and make a difference through scriptwriting, but first she must navigate the hectic hallways of high school. a series of oneshots and drabbles, all centered around aliza shah’s time at the prestigious arlington academy.

part one: aliza moves into her dorm room.

“That’s the last of it,” Hareem says, setting the last of the boxes down. She rests her hands on her hips as she takes in the sea of boxes littering the dorm room. “So. You’ve officially moved out, at sixteen. When I was your age, I was lucky to even be allowed to go to the movies with my friends.”

“I guess Dad and Mom trust me more than they trusted you.” Aliza’s lips twitch into a grin.

Hareem rolls her eyes. “Uh huh, laugh it up. We’ll see if you’re still smiling when you have to make your own food... do your own laundry... clean your own room...”

Aliza’s smile had disappeared by ‘do your own laundry’. “Dude, stop scaring me more than I already am.”

“Just telling it like it is. Now, you want me to stick around for a bit?”

“Uh, hell yeah.” While she may not outright admit it, her stomach’s in knots at the thought of staying at Arlington Academy. All alone. No familiar face in sight. (Plus, she wants to put off unpacking for as long as she can.) Aliza’s dreading the inevitable: when Hareem has no more reason to stay, and drives the two hours back home. “You don’t have anything important to do today, right?”

“Nope. I finished my assignment early so I’m good.” Hareem opens the door. “If I remember all those pamphlets Dad insisted on getting for this place correctly, there’s a cafe nearby. Wanna get something from there? My treat. Least I could do, since I don’t have to see your ugly mug at home anymore.”

“I both hate and love you,” Aliza told her sister as they leave her dorm room, locking the door behind them.

“I just hate you,” Hareem counters, even as she puts an arm around Aliza’s shoulders.

They walk down the hallway; the other rooms’ doors are closed, not a soul in sight. Thank god for that. Aliza isn’t prepared to meet the other girls. Not that she’ll ever be.

Hareem looks around, whistling appreciatively. “This place is awesome. Even with all the info and pictures, the pamphlets didn’t do Arlington justice. I mean, we’re walking on a literal red carpet.”

“You getting green with envy?” Aliza teases.

“Very,” her sister says. “My high school looked nothing like this. Hell, even my college is subpar when you compare it to Arlington.”

Aliza hums. “Must be thanks to the rich neighbourhood and richer parents.”

“Oh, definitely. You know, in class, we actually discussed how property taxes play a huge part in determining a school’s budget---” Hareem continues with her anecdote, and Aliza listens intently, even as she finds her chest constricting.

She’s going to really, really miss this. When will she have the chance talk to any of her sisters in person? Or her parents for that matter? A knot begins to form in Aliza’s throat, and she swallows thickly. No, she will not cry. She refuses to.

Aliza holds up admirably, throughout the time they spend at the campus cafe---which is sleek and polished, much like the rest of Arlington---and lasting until she’s seeing Hareem off.

“God, this is so weird,” Hareem says, about to step into the car. “None of us have ever left for school, and now...”

“You’re telling me. I still can’t imagine living here, as nice as it is.” Aliza hesitates for a moment, then moves forward to hug her sister. “I... might miss you. Kind of. A little.”

Hareem laughs, wrapping her arms around her. “Yeah, well, I’m a text or phone call away. And you know Mom will want to FaceTime literally every single day; I’ll pop in from time to time. You’re still in the family group on Whatsapp, right?”

“Unfortunately.” Her family loves Whatsapp too much; her phone pings a million times a day. Normally she doesn’t check the app, but now... Aliza steps out of the hug, watching as her sister gets into the car.

“Have fun being independent,” Hareem tells her.

Aliza rolls her eyes. They both know how shit she is when it comes to being responsible. Still, it looks like she’ll have to learn. Fast. “Thanks for helping me with moving.”

“No prob. Later, nerd.”

Aliza snorts as Hareem rolls up the window, waving when the car peels out of the parking lot. The lump in her throat from before returns with full force, and she hastily blinks away tears.

“Stop acting like a baby, Aliza,” she mutters to herself, stuffing her trembling hands in her pockets and beginning the trek back to the dorms. “I should be happy to get away from Dad and Mom’s nagging. And... and Hareem won’t be able to boss me around anymore. I’m free.” The words don’t reassure her whatsoever.

But it’s whatever! She needs to focus on tomorrow, when classes begin. When her time at Arlington becomes all too real. She’s in the department of performing arts, and will be learning more about writing, just like she had imagined ever since she was offered the scholarship.

As excited as she is, Aliza’s still morose. The moment she enters her dorm room, closing the door behind her, her chest only grows tighter. With a sigh, Aliza carefully walks around the numerous boxes and throws herself onto her bed---she needs to unpack her sheets and blanket, but she can go without for one day---and tries to relax.

She’s crying in earnest within seconds.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i originally wrote this for the se 30 days challenge (writers edition), but this... took a turn i did not expect. as you can clearly see, lmao. but it would be pretty overwhelming, to move away from home at a fairly young age?? that’s what i think anyway lol.

this series is kind of lax, and won’t be updated all too much at first. mainly because i’m hesitant to introduce the entire cast of sweet elite, since the demo isn’t even out yet. wouldn’t want to mischaracterize anyone. >< and it definitely won’t always be angsty, lmao. promise.

[mrmichaelchadler]

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

This review was originally published on November 12, 2000.

"Planes, Trains and Automobiles" is founded on the essential natures of its actors. It is perfectly cast and soundly constructed, and all else flows naturally. Steve Martin and John Candy don't play characters; they embody themselves. That's why the comedy, which begins securely planted in the twin genres of the road movie and the buddy picture, is able to reveal so much heart and truth.

Some movies are obviously great. Others gradually thrust their greatness upon us. When "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" was released in 1987, I enjoyed it immensely, gave it a favorable review and moved on. But the movie continued to live in my memory. Like certain other popular entertainments ("It's a Wonderful Life," "E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial," "Casablanca") it not only contained a universal theme, but also matched it with the right actors and story, so that it shrugged off the other movies of its kind and stood above them in a kind of perfection. This is the only movie our family watches as a custom, most every Thanksgiving.

The story is familiar. Steve Martin plays Neal, a Chicago advertising man, sleek in impeccable blues and grays, smooth-shaven, recently barbered, reeking of self-confidence, prosperity and anal-retentiveness. John Candy plays Del, a traveling salesman from Chicago who sells shower curtain rings ("the best in the world"). He is very tall, very large, and covered in layers of mismatched shirts, sweaters, vests, sport coats and parkas. His bristly little mustache looks like it was stuck on crooked just before his entrance; his bow tie is also askew.

Both of these men are in Manhattan two days before Thanksgiving, and both want to get home for the holidays. Fate joins their destinies. Together they will endure every indignity that modern travel can inflict on its victims. What will torture them even more is being trapped in each other's company. Del wants only to please. Neal wants only to be left alone.

John Hughes, who wrote, directed and produced the film, is one of the most prolific filmmakers of the last 25 years. He is not often cited for greatness, although some of his titles, like "The Breakfast Club," "Weird Science," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and "Home Alone," have fervent admirers. What can be said for him is that he usually produces a real story about people he has clear ideas about; his many teenage comedies, for example, are miles more inventive than the recent sex-and-prom sagas. The buried story engine of "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" is not slowly growing friendship or odd-couple hostility (devices a lesser film might have employed), but empathy. It is about understanding how the other guy feels.

Del, we feel, was born with empathy. He instinctively identifies with Neal's problems. He is genuinely sorry to learn he stole his cab. He is quick to offer help when their flight is diverted to Wichita, Kan., and there are no hotel rooms available. Neal, on the other hand, depends on his credit cards and self-reliance. He wants to make his own plans, book his own room, rent his own car. He spends the movie trying to peel off from Del, and failing; Del spends the movie having his feelings hurt and then coming through for Neal anyway.

The movie could have been a shouting match like the unfortunate "The Odd Couple II" (1998). Hughes is more subtle. The key early scene takes place in the Wichita motel room they have to share, when Neal explodes, telling Del his jokes stink, his stories are not interesting and he would rather sit through an insurance seminar than listen to any more of the fat man's pointless anecdotes. Look at Candy's face fall. He shows Del as a man hurt and saddened--and not for the first time. Later he remembers how the most important person in his life once told him he was too eager to please, and shouldn't always try so hard.

At this point, Del wins our hearts, and the movie is set up as more than a comedy. But a comedy it is. Not one movie a year contributes a catchphrase to the language. We remember Jack Nicholson ordering the toast. "If you build it, they will come." "E.T., phone home." "I'm walkin' here!" "I love the smell of napalm in the morning." "Are you talking to me?"

And we remember the scene where Del and Neal wake up cuddled together in the cramped motel bed, and Neal asks Del where his hand is, and Del said it's between some pillows, and Neal says, "Those aren't pillows," and the two men bolt out of bed in terror, and Neal shouts, "You see that Bears game last week?" and Del cries, "What a game! What a game! Bears gonna go all the way!" This is not homophobia but the natural reaction of two men raised to be shy and distant around other men--to fear misunderstood intimacy.

The other great comic set piece in the movie is responsible for its R rating; nothing else in the movie would qualify for other than PG-13. This is Neal's verbal symphony for the f-word, performed by the desperate man after a rental-car bus strands him three miles from the terminal without a car. He has to walk back through the snow and mud, crossing runways, falling down embankments, until he finally faces a chirpy rental agent (Edie McClurg) who is chatting on the phone about the need for tiny marshmallows in the ambrosia. When she sweetly asks Neal if he is disturbed, he unleashes a speech in which the adjectival form of the f-word supplies the prelude to every noun, including itself, and is additionally used as punctuation. When he finishes, the clerk has a two-word answer that supplies one of the great moments in movie dialogue.

Neal is uneasy around ordinary people and in unstructured situations. His mind is organized like a Day-Timer. He's lived in a cocoon of affluence and lacks a common touch. Consider the scene on the bus where Del suggests a sing-along, and Neal, awkwardly trying to be a good sport, begins "Three Coins in a Fountain" (and doesn't know the words). His fellow passengers look at him like he's crazy. Del saves the moment with a boisterous rendition of a song everybody except Neal knows: "Meet the Flintstones!"

The last scenes of the movie carry the emotional payoff we have been half-awaiting all along. For Neal, they reflect a kind of moral rebirth such as Scrooge experiences in another great holiday tale: He has learned his lesson, and will no longer judge people by their appearances, or by his own selfish standards. There is true poignancy in the scene where Neal finds Del waiting alone on the L platform.

One night a few years after "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" was released, I came upon John Candy (1950-1994) sitting all by himself in a hotel bar in New York, smoking and drinking, and we talked for a while. We were going to be on the same TV show the next day. He was depressed. People loved him, but he didn't seem to know that, or it wasn't enough. He was a sweet guy and nobody had a word to say against him, but he was down on himself. All he wanted to do was make people laugh, but sometimes he tried too hard, and he hated himself for doing that in some of his movies. I thought of Del. There is so much truth in the role that it transforms the whole movie. Hughes knew it, and captured it again in "Only the Lonely" (1991). And Steve Martin knew it, and played straight to it.

The movies that last, the ones we return to, don't always have lofty themes or Byzantine complexities. Sometimes they last because they are arrows straight to the heart. When Neal unleashes that tirade in the motel room and Del's face saddens, he says, "Oh. I see." It is a moment that not only defines Del's life, but is a turning point in Neal's, because he also is a lonely soul, and too well organized to know it. Strange, how much poignancy creeps into this comedy, and only becomes stronger while we're laughing.

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[sending-the-message]

It's my first time in an American forest, and to hell with this shit, seriously. by EmilyBlue-242

So I'm one of those 'long time lurker, first time poster' people (howdy!). Anyway, a few years ago I (Welsh, born and raised) ended up sharing university accommodation with Cassie, an American who had for some reason decided to attend Aberystwyth University. I'll spare you our long and colourful history along the path to becoming best friends. Suffice it to say, Cassie and I are pretty tight.

Even now, years after leaving uni, and despite being on different sides of the Atlantic, we're still practically sisters. So when she invited me and my fiancé Jim to spend a week indulging in drunken shenanigans in a cabin in the middle of nowhere? Who am I to say no!

Cassie met us at the airport, she even had a board with our names on it. "Blue & Jones", we almost sounded professional. From there she whisked us out to meet a group of her friends - her brother Kit, her girlfriend Rice, Alex, Jay, Craig, Curtis, and a pair of twins who looked like cheerleader stereotypes brought to life. One was Ruby and one was Topaz, but I lost track of which was which before we even got in the cars. One started out with a camera, but since they were passing it back and forth that didn't help.

Rice drove a minivan, Curtis had what he called a 'truck' - cab up front, flatbed, that sort of thing. It was a pretty uneventful drive up, mostly just catching up on things with Cassie. The boys, apart from Jim and Kit, were in the truck. I'm assuming a minivan wasn't quite manly enough for them. We were getting pretty far out from civilisation, eventually turning onto this narrow, gravelly trail through some real dense forest. Like I said, I'm Welsh, so a one-track road in the middle of nowhere didn't upset me.

What did upset me was when Curtis suddenly slammed the brakes on up ahead. I didn't see what happened - I was in the middle of an hilarious anecdote when Rice suddenly stood on the brakes. We slid a little on the gravel before stopping, and by the time I looked out through the front windscreen the boys were already piling out of the truck, running around to the front.

Naturally we followed suit. "We hit a deer!" Jay called back, "Motherfucker came out of nowhere!"

The twins let out matching cries of horror, and I did the same. My first glimpse of American wildlife, and it was splashed all over the bonnet of Curtis' truck. Still, I went up to take a look with the others and it... It wasn't what I was expecting.

I don't know how to describe what was wrong with the deer. There was just something about it which didn't quite look right, you know? Like something about the angle of the legs, or the shape of it's antlers, or even just the way its eyes sat in its head.

I mentioned this, and though a second before I swear everyone had been looking just as unsettled as I felt, they all started laughing. What did I know about white-tailed deer, after all? Especially one which had been hit by a car. Of course it wouldn't look right. Besides, maybe it had a birth defect, or old injuries that hadn't set right, maybe it had been slightly mutated by pollutants.

Everyone had a reason for why I was wrong. Craig and Jay both know how to butcher a carcass, apparently ("Remind me again why we're going into the woods with these people?" Jim whispered to me), and since we were on Cassie and Kit's private property there was no reason to let Bambi lay by the side of the road and rot. Curtis' truck was, miraculously, still drivable, so off we headed.

The place was your typical quaint little log cabin, set dead-centre in a circle of green lawn. Around the edge of the lawn was this circle of stones, only about a foot high, set two or three feet apart from each other. They looked almost like a boundary marker, and Kit said that's what they'd used them as when visiting the cabin as kids. Their grandfather let them play outside unsupervised all they liked, so long as they stayed on the house side of the stones. I can see why, too. Even discounting the deer-stop, it had taken us about two hours to drive out here, dense forest stretching away on every side. Thinking about a child wandering off into all that made me shiver.

We took the rest of the day to settle in, and that evening the boys presented us with a firepit. We were having a cookout, involving not just the BBQ stuff we brought with us, but also fresh venison steaks. I couldn't stomach eating the deer. I don't even know if it's because of the 'wrongness' with it, or if it was just the memory of it being wrapped around Curtis' truck. I did have a few drinks, though, and we were all getting nicely into the groove when we heard it - another party, somewhere off in the distance.

Like I said, this is private land. Acres and acres of it. Anyone out here who isn't us is trespassing. Cassie was pissed off, but Kit was already pretty drunk and he kicked right off. Suddenly he's got a rifle and we're all marching out into the woods towards this group of other people, with me just stumbling along in the back, clutching Jim's hand and praying my first visit to America doesn't end with me burying a dozen bodies in the fucking woods.

Luckily (sort of) we never found the people making the noise. It seemed to fade in and out, not like it was being blown on the wind, more like someone turning the volume knob on a radio or something. Eventually Jay pointed out that all we were doing was getting ourselves lost in the woods, especially since by this point it was fully dark. We all agreed, and as we did the sounds stopped, just like that, as if someone had finally switched the radio off altogether.

We were all in a rough circle at this point, and I'd ended up alone, slightly away from the others. I was sighing in relief at not having to cover for a multiple homicide when I heard branches crackling in the trees behind me. It sounded huge, but before I could turn around it was right there, right behind me, so close I could feel its breath on my neck, so close if I reached out backwards I could touch it. I tried to call the others, but the smell of musty fur and carrion was so strong it came out as more of a retch instead.

That still got their attention. They turned to me, and despite the terror on their faces nobody screamed. It's funny, how it's possible to be so scared you just turn into a useless statue. My head was screaming for me to run, but my body had apparently decided to play that shit like I was facing a t-rex.

"What is it?" I managed to gasp eventually. No one answered at first. I don't think they could. Finally, though, Cassie managed to grit out three words.

"Emily... don't look."

Seriously.

Whatever it was, it reacted to my speaking. I felt movement behind me, and suddenly that hot, stinking breath was right by my ear. At the same time I felt a gentle pressure on my shoulder, as if it was resting a paw, or chin, there. I expected it to bite me at any second. What I didn't expect was for it to start whispering to me.

I don't remember anything it said. I think my brain just stopped functioning at that point, like it couldn't handle anything else and had just given up and gone to sleep. I felt drugged, useless. I just stood there and let the whispering wash over me, like I'd already given up.

I don't know what would have happened next without Kit. The sludgy daze I'd been in was blown apart by the loudest sound I'd ever heard, which I later realised was Kit shooting into the air. The whispering stopped, the hot breath receded, and suddenly everyone was screaming for me to run - run, and whatever else you do, don't look back.

I didn't look back. I did, however, look up. That got me moving. It had antlers. Fucking antlers. I couldn't make out any features through the thick hair all over it, except its eyes. They were glowing, milky-white, like twin moons hanging over me. And teeth. I definitely saw teeth.

They all followed me. Kit and some of the other guys eventually caught up to me, then passed me. Behind me I heard the sound of something huge and heavy crashing through the trees, and then the shrieking of one of the twins. She'd tripped on a branch and twisted her ankle, because apparently she decided now was the time to take a leaf out of the horror-movie handbook. Her sister was screaming after us, saying we had to stay and help. Then, distantly, they both started howling, howling like people being torn apart.

The rest of us made it safely into the house, locking the door behind us. Do I feel bad about leaving the twins? I'd love to tell you yes, but no, I didn't, not even a bit. It's not like I twisted her leg, is it? It's not like they'd have come back for me or Jim. So why should I feel bad about it? Shut up.

It all turned out to be a moot point, anyway. We kept people on guard for the rest of the night, watching the edge of the woods. Obviously they do get reception out here, but it's seriously not reliable. Plus I dropped my phone out there somewhere. Still, at 3am, Craig wakes us all up. The twins are outside, he says.

No one believed him at first, not after the screaming, but no, there they were, waiting at the door. They were smiling, and looked exactly as they did earlier in the evening.

Now, they said the thing we saw was a costume, worn by some Mikey guy who apparently couldn't make it up this week. He could, however, make it up for one night to scare the shit out of us, apparently, before heading back to civilisation without speaking to anyone else.

Everyone accepted this without question and headed to bed, but it was light before I could get to sleep. Am I nuts, or what? The idea of one guy bringing himself up here, luring us into the woods, pulling that shit and then vanishing back to society in time for work just doesn't sit right with me. Then again, what's the alternative? Seriously, what? Evil ghost deer? Hulked-out Bambi's dad? Elementary, my deer Watson?

I wanted to go home this morning, once I'd actually grabbed a few hours of sleep, but Cassie and Jim managed to talk me out of it. It doesn't help that the twins are supremely pissed off that we left then to 'die' last night. Oh, they say they're not, but that doesn't stop them staring at people when they're not looking. I've caught them looking at me more than once today, turned around to see those totally blank expressions, suddenly twisting into beaming, fake smiles before they turn and walk away. If they're pissed off, I'd rather them just say so.

Worse, I'm pretty sure they've got something similar cooked up for tonight. Jim keeps saying he can't hear anything, but while I've been writing this out (typing away on the laptop he told me not to bring, hoping to catch the barest smidgen of reception) I swear I've started hearing people calling my name out in the trees, just beyond the boundary ring.

So I suppose my question for you, my fellow Reddittors, is this - should I stay or should I go?

[movietvtechgeeks]

Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/michael-adamthwaite-gets-thoughtful-war-planet-apes-supernatural/

Michael Adamthwaite Gets Thoughtful About ‘War for the Planet of the Apes’ and 'Supernatural'

One of the new films that had a presence at Comic Con was "War for the Planet of the Apes," which opened two weeks ago and had a panel showing off the artistic and visual effects of the film. As a long time fan of the entire "Planet of the Apes" series of films (I even read the book by Pierre Boule and loved it), I was excited about the last in the sequel trilogy. The film focuses on Caesar and the war between his quest for revenge and his innate empathy, as well as on the actual fight between humans and apes. It also introduces the de-evolved young human girl Nova, a familiar name from the original series of films and the first group of sequels. The movie tackles deeper themes than might be expected, which makes it even more intriguing to me. So having an opportunity to chat with Michael Adamthwaite, who played Caesar’s lieutenant, Luca, was a real treat. [caption id="attachment_48557" align="aligncenter" width="450"] 20th Century Fox[/caption] Lynn: I was a huge fan as a kid of the original films and even read the book. Michael: Oh, so you’ve got a lot of the lore down, okay! Lynn: What I remember anyway, which makes this new film exciting to me. One of the things that has really evolved as the films have evolved over a long period of time is the portrayal of the apes. There’s just so much expression and emotion imbued in them now, which is amazing. Michael: Yeah, it is a huge thing to behold. The emotionality, the quality of that emotion comes directly from the performance. We’re just so grateful that we have such artistry and such technical wizardry. I can’t even call it anything other than that, to be able to put all this together to convey the raw natural emotion. And a lot of people have been asking me online hey, are we ever gonna see a cut of the movie where there’s no rendering, and it’s just you guys in suits? Some people have been calling for that, but I’m telling you, they’re going to see the same thing. The emotion comes through directly from Steve and Karin and Terry and myself, and it’s a huge privilege to watch it transform that way. Lynn: That’s so fascinating, and actually I do think that would be cool to see. I have no doubt that you’re right, but the whole process is just fascinating. Michael: Oh it’s next level every day. Lynn: So tell me about how you went about the process of really bringing Luca to life. [caption id="attachment_48558" align="aligncenter" width="696"] 20th Century Fox[/caption] Michael: Well, thankfully I have Terry Notary to rely on, probably the best motion choreographer working today. He’s got everything to be porud of. He’s created a tremendous world with characters that – for me, even in the last several years, working on Warcraft and BSG, creating these characters, they’ve come from a place that Terry just pulls out of the actors. You show up in a state and Terry takes you apart and puts you back together, and before you know it, there’s a beautiful sense of self. And you don’t think about anything, you drop in, and you’re not thinking, you’re present. And that’s the gift that animals have, they’re totally biology, so it’s next level for sure. Lynn: Were you also familiar with Planet of the Apes and had you seen any of the original or sequel films? Michael: I am a huge fan in all of its forms. I’m on the younger end of the spectrum, so some of the older properties haven’t been onscreen for a long time, but I really love the world created by this one question: what would it be like if it was a planet of the apes? That to me, it can beautifully be explored. So yes, I’m a huge fan. I was so excited just to get to audition let alone be considered for the role, let alone find myself playing Luca. So this is all a dream come true. Lynn: I think as a psychologist I’m sort of fascinated too by why we find this both fascinating and terrifying. Michael: So true. Lynn: There’s something in us as humans that always makes us question our place among the rest of the animals, and especially those that share like 99% of our DNA. There’s an ambivalence there that makes this extra interesting and maybe has that core of anxiety there to pull from too. Michael: I think that regardless of what species you are, you can achieve some kind of sentience and knowledge, some awareness outside of your biology, then you’re gonna question how long it’s gonna take for something to try to take you out. That’s nature/nurture, right? Lynn: Yeah. Michael: We survive, no matter the language, parents communicate to their children, we must survive. So yeah, it’s a pretty close to home idea for sure. Lynn: What makes this particular film special and appealing, because it seems to be pretty popular? Is it the fight scenes, the story, the way the apes are portrayed? What’s your take on that? Michael: My take is quite frankly that the power of story trumps any visual because we’ve seen films where the money has been tipped towards one area, like the visuals or the fight scenes or the explosions, and there’s no story! And it doesn’t work. Call them bombs or flops or whatever, but people don’t respond. But if you can take a couple of guys and a wonderful lady and put them in pajamas and get this kind of response, I think people should wake up and stop spending their money foolishly just on effects. We’ve seen so much, we’ve been completely desensitized by all the visual exposure, we don’t care anymore. Where’s my narrative? Who do I root for, who do I love, who do I hate? Give me story and give me performance, don’t just blow stuff up and tell me I’m supposed to give a crap! Lynn: Oh, I couldn’t agree more, it’s all about the story. That makes me want to see this movie like yesterday. There has to be something to anchor your emotions around. Michael: Life is often visual first, and if you can find yourself in an audience full of people and you can connect with what you see onscreen even for a moment, you have transcended, and it has transported you, and that is a gift. That’s what you pay your ticket price for. Otherwise, you feel empty afterwards because there was no connection. So you and me are on the same page. Lynn: Agreed. Do you have any behind the scenes anecdotes? I’ve read some things about the comedic aspects of Steve Zahn’s portrayal of “bad ape.” I don’t know what that means, but it sounds interesting… Michael (laughing): I have to say, there were times when Steve just naturally just dropped into his love of play and his love of theater and craft. He really is just someone who almost sometimes forgets where he is for a moment and just has fun, but man oh man, that scene in front of the fireplace, he was Marathon Zahn for sure. I think he got upwards of like 37 takes. Lynn: OMG! Michael: God bless him, he’d be like with legs throbbing, but saying I’m okay I’m okay, just this absolute tour de force of leg strength. He’s a very physical comedian and a talented actor; I love him. Lynn: That’s impressive.  What was your favorite scene to film? Michael: Oh that’s such a hard question to answer! Every scene has such a relevant contribution to the overall arc; it’s hard to pick out one moment. But as a performer I really looked for those times when the frame kinda gets a little blurry, and you sort of forget the world and who you are, what you are, where you are, and you’re just alive in a body in a moment and that moment for me was giving Nova the flower. My wife thankfully was present that day and was able to watch filming, and it was beautiful. At times, I was just a being on a mountain with a girl showing her compassion in what was a really difficult and dangerous and horrific reality. That was pretty big for me as an actor. Lynn: And again, that basic human emotion that comes through, those are the moments we all relate to, that are memorable. Michael: Yeah it definitely was for me. Lynn: Switching gears for a minute, I write a lot about the television show Supernatural, I’ve written five books about the show, so can I ask you a Supernatural question? Michael: Ohhhh you’re a super fan, right on! Lynn: Probably an understatement. Interestingly, you’ve been on the show, and Ty Olsson and Aleks Paunovic have also been on Supernatural and are in this film. Michael: Yeah, we’re fortunate local boys.  We know the rules; if you want to work, get on Supernatural! They are not messing around, and lucky us for having them. Lynn: So you had a scene with Jensen Ackles and with Felicia Day too. And apparently, it became a meme?? Michael: (laughing) It was a wonderful little scene, and of course the rule is there’s no such thing as small characters, only small actors, and this was at the time, it felt like a nice little role, but to see it blow up as a meme and to be part of all this, and asking Jensen Ackles a series of questions was really fun, and Felicia was really great.  I think at one point she was miffed that her video game wasn’t loading on her phone which was really sweet and we all laughed about that. Lynn: (laughing) Michael: She’s a true fan and just an absolute gamer goddess, so it was great to hang out with her, she’s such a huge part of fan culture. We’re just all geeks on the inside trying to have fun. Lynn: Absolutely. Somebody needs to send me that meme! Michael: I think it’s on my twitter, it’s just me and Jensen and Felicia and of course what’s added isn’t dialogue from the show by any means, it’s just this interesting three-way meme by implication. Lynn: I’m so gonna stalk your twitter! And I had no idea you were on another of my favorite shows too, Dirk Gently! Michael: I was very fortunate to be on Season 1 of Dirk Gently, playing a really fun character by the name of Zed, who of course they defended the machine, they sought the kitten, they created havoc, and that was the role. Lynn: I didn’t know who you were then, but that was so awesome! Michael: You have to be invisible for things to work, so I take pride in that. And stepping out with Apes right now, I couldn’t be prouder about that. Lynn: Last question, what was the most challenging part of filming this movie? I can imagine some of it was quite challenging. Michael: Well, of course, I have to acknowledge the logistics of filming and some of the conditions we were in – the snow, the sleet, the rain – all of that was incredibly difficult on the crew and cast. But that wasn’t the hardest part for me. For me it was just letting go and dropping down and doing away with everything that was afraid of things when they happened or commenting on things when they happened or thinking I didn’t want to be vulnerable at this moment, it was really just doing away with myself. Not me as a human but doing away with fear and cautiousness. You have to become an animal, and ape or alligator it doesn’t matter, there are certain behavioral patterns you have to work towards, so you have it give it everything you have.  Finding Luca was a big thing because, in a way, I found myself, and that was the biggest challenge. Lynn: There’s always that need to put your own identity aside to play another character, but is this sort of an extra layer of challenge, putting aside your humanity as well? Michael: Yeah, even devaluing labels and not getting my mind locked in by the titles and names of things and what we call things and how things get fed into a hierarchy, but instead how does this make me feel? Then feel it or trust it or defend it. Regardless of where the emotion goes, it all comes from the same place. There’s this center, your power cell we all operate from, and for me the challenge was doing away with everything that got in the way of that. Lynn: Is a take away message of the film that there are a lot of similarities between the humans and the apes and at the core more is the same than different? Michael: I think it’s a central theme but not the be all end all. The idea that we as conscious creatures, having a higher consciousness in a fictitious world, we definitely blend the line for sure and start to see both the similarities and the differences but really, if it was about any one dynamic, it’s about the self. There’s a very old saying, the lion who conquers a battlefield is not nearly so accomplished as the lion who conquers himself. It’s really about that war within Caesar, that war for humanity and for peace and that sense of mercy. It’s a very complex film; I’m really excited for you to see it. Lynn: Did Andy Serkis do a really kickass job portraying Caesar? Michael: Oh man, kickass is like the greatest understatement ever. If Andy doesn’t get an Oscar, there’s going to be a huge army of pissed off people, me included. At that, we were out of time – our conversation had been so enjoyable I didn’t realize how much time had passed! Lynn: Thank you so much, I can’t wait to see this film! [caption id="attachment_48559" align="aligncenter" width="432"] Kristine Cofsky[/caption] Michael: Thanks so much and hey, look out for the next big thing! Guess what I’m off to see?? If you’ve already seen Battle for the Planet of the Apes, what did you think? And if you haven’t, catch it in theaters now! Oh and somebody please send me that meme!

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