#but like right after i had it stolen. i got on the bus and vented to my friend and he was like ''oh i have two copies of crystal''

[skeletalheartattack]

re: your recent tags about the gameboy sp! that boy's got headphone adapters i POMISE!!!

the magic of modern science. wow...

[agathasangel]

leave everything behind but me- part 4 (diane sherman x reader) (NSFW moment)

warnings: same as before, stalking (like full on irl stalking as well as online), drugging, some talk of emotional/physical abuse in this one, death mention. this whole fic is just kinda dark... sorry. Also brief nsfw moment.

summary: this part is from Diane’s perspective. as she looks for her neurotoxin ingredients in a panic, she reflects on how she came into contact with you in the first place, and all the highs and lows of your relationship up to this point.

where the hell are they? thought Diane, looking for the last, most important ingredient in her neurotoxin.

She couldn’t believe it had come to this again. Just like with Chloe.

Diane wondered where Chloe was, what she was doing. About five years ago, with an excellent defense lawyer, she managed to get out of jail for what she had done. She looked far and wide for her stolen daughter, who seemed to be nowhere to be found. She still worried about what became of Chloe, but knew she was probably doing alright. And one day, Diane found a new obsession by the name of (y/n).

It was nearly two years ago now. Diane was beginning to give up on finding Chloe, after three full years of searching anywhere and everywhere with no luck. But she did find something else. 

She was staying at a hotel in California, near the hospital where she gave birth to Chloe, in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, Chloe would be around.

Diane didn’t find Chloe, but she found something else from her past. Her college reunion was being held in the exact hotel she was staying at. She didn’t plan on attending, but then she came face-to-face with her college rival. This woman was the only person who did better in her classes than Diane. Not only that, but she had multitudes of friends, boyfriends, you name it, while Diane had no one. The woman never let Diane forget how much better she was either. It wasn’t the worst thing Diane had ever been through, not by a long shot, but it was a disappointment for sure. College was supposed to be the place where Diane could finally feel like she belonged, and she always resented this rival of hers. 

“Diane! We didn’t think you were coming! Oh here, have a seat!” said the woman.

“I’m so sorry about Roger. It was such a shock to hear about.”, she continued, reminding Diane of her dead husband

“Yeah, I still can’t say I’m over it, all these years later.”

“Yeah when the love of your life just drops dead like that, you never get over it, do you?”, she said, far louder than Diane would have liked.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Of course, I’m so sorry, Diane, I know it must be so hard for you!”

“Yeah. Um... what’s your family like?”

“Well we have one daughter. Her name is (y/n), and she’s a senior in High School,” said the woman. She then leaned into Diane and said, “But can I be honest? I never exactly wanted kids. Never liked them. I thought it would change when I had her but it didn’t. She’s so... difficult.”

Diane’s blood absolutely boiled hearing this, but she managed to keep a polite face, “But that’s your child. Don’t you love her?”

“There are some good things about her, I guess. I do love her in my own way, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. She’s just not what I thought she’d be. I’m sorry, I thought you may understand. I never get to vent my frustrations about her.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t understand. But, do you, um, by any chance have a picture of her?”

“On my phone, somewhere. Let me look.”

After a while, she found a picture of (y/n). It was fairly recent photo of you at a restaurant, at what looked like a dinner with the whole family. You looked sad and lost, but Diane thought you looked sweet.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” said the woman, almost stifling a laugh, as if there was no way Diane could have meant that.

“I’m sorry, I need to go to the bathroom.” said Diane, as she was starting to turn red in anger and the woman.

“I’ll join you, I need to freshen up a bit.”

“Fine.”

So Diane walked straight into a stall while the other woman followed. Diane started to cry, so angry at this awful woman. She had a child, a beautiful, sweet, girl who was alive, for God’s sake. Diane would kill for what she has, in fact she had killed for it before. But this woman didn’t care about her child, she didn’t appreciate you one bit.

She didn’t deserve you. 

Then she heard the woman get into the stall next to her and she decided to leave. But the woman left her purse on the sink. Diane looked into her purse and found everything. All her information was in her wallet, and she took pictures of her address, phone number, and credit card numbers, as well as a couple of photos of you and your father. Diane quickly threw the last photo back into her purse as she heard her enemy get up, and she ran away, all the way back up to her room. 

Diane looked at the photos, and started to look for your social media. You didn’t seem to post very often, or have many friends. Most of your photos were of you by yourself, or pretty things you took pictures of, and even a couple of sad poems you wrote. Poetry written by teenagers was usually laughably bad, but hers made Diane cry. She saw herself in you.

Poor little thing, Diane thought. She needs some love. But I can do that for her.

Diane spent about a month following you and your parents around, without any of you even noticing her presence. One day she snuck into their house and bugged it, so that there were feeds of different rooms streaming to her computer at all times.

Diane noticed you spent most of your time alone. You wrote in a journal a lot, and cried fairly often, hugging a teddy bear you had. You just seemed so burnt out from stress from school, stress from your job, pressure from your parents. You fought with both of her parents often. Well... fight wasn’t the right word. Usually, one parent would yell at you and insult you, and you would choose to either take it or not take it.

There was one particular instance where you snapped at your father, telling him how he abandoned you so many times. He didn’t take this well, screaming all kinds of insults. How Diane wished she could hold you, rock you, comfort you and tell you that aren’t any of the terrible things your father told you, and that she’s sorry that you never felt good enough.

Diane snuck into (y/n)’s graduation, too. She knew she couldn’t contact you yet, but she got so much happiness out of just seeing this milestone of your life. All you did was walk across the stage and take your diploma, but Diane beamed with pride for you as you did it.

After graduation, your parents were constantly threatening to kick you out, and the fights got worse, they crying got worse. Diane wished she was there, comforting you, holding you and giving you all the love that your parents didn’t. Diane looked for a window of opportunity into this girl’s life until she found the perfect one. You had put out an ad on facebook for anyone on the east coast looking for a roommate, and Diane put her plan into action. She made a fake account on facebook pretending to be a college girl named “Anna Johnson” and responded to the ad, starting to talk to and getting friendly with you. “Anna” suggested that you take a bus trip and offered to pay the fare, but you refused because you wanted to earn the money yourself. Diane’s heart warmed at your sweet messages, even though they were to “Anna” and not her. “I’ve never had as good a friend as you before”, “Who needs a mom when I have you giving me such great advice?”, “You’re the best!”, every little message that you sent to Diane made her fall more and more in love. Diane bought a little house on the East Coast with the money she got from selling her old house, and hoped everything will fall into place in her new life with (y/n). 

Now during the bus trip, Diane needed to follow you closely in her silver minivan, and make sure not to lose track of you during layovers either. Her detour into the coffee shop scared her at first, but once Diane found you, it was the perfect opportunity to finally, after all these months of dreaming, meet you face-to-face. Her new little baby girl, finally. Diane slipped a powdered sleeping pill into her already tired girl’s coffee to make you even more sleepy and suggestible, getting you to come with her to her hotel room.

Back in the present, Diane found the rest of the powdered sleeping pills as she was searching through her medicine cabinet and closet. She got so distracted thinking about you, and all the horribly wrong things she had done to you. 

It’s for her own good, all of it. She needs to be protected, she’s too pure for this world, to good, too sweet...

Diane searched through the drugs she had given you, thinking of all the best times the two of you have had.

The first day Diane had been with you in the little house was heaven on earth. Finally Diane had everything she’s been working for for almost a year now right there, in her arms. Diane wanted to give you everything you didn’t believe you deserved. The only catch was that you belonged to Diane, and Diane alone.

She got a job teaching Chemistry at the local High School fairly easily, as she had extensive knowledge (even more extensive than she may have let on in her interview), of the subject, and the school district was completely desperate for competent science teachers. Diane found faking the background check easy, she used her maiden name and an incorrect date of birth and they didn’t ask her about her arrest at all. And now she had her new life set up. A house that she owned, a job to put food on the table, and you.

The next best day for Diane was the day you finally kissed her. Diane was starting to fall in love with you in a more romantic, even a more sexual way, but didn’t know if you felt the same way about her. Then, during one of your movie nights, you kissed Diane, and she felt overjoyed. She kissed you back and finally led you to the bed and fucked you, like she had been thinking about doing every night at this point but was too scared to actually initiate until now. She was in love with the feeling she got from kissing you, from pleasing you. It had been so long since Diane had been this intimate with anyone, and she was your first. And it was a real awakening for the both of you.

It felt so good, you felt so good. This relationship you had was so incredibly wrong in so many ways, but it just felt so right.

Why did it have to change?

Of course, there were still some hard moments. Even Diane admitted that there were times when she could be irrationally possessive of you, getting angry when someone even looks at you the wrong way. She knew that her possessive, obsessive attitude could scare you, and you would even blame yourself for it, but she didn’t know how to stop. She knew that you were getting scared she would become more difficult to please, like all the other people that have been in your life.

Or the times that you would cry, and it happened so often. You would get sad and Diane would hold you and tell you:

“It’s ok baby, you’re here now, you’re with me. I love you more than life itself. You’re gonna be okay, my little angel.”

One night Diane woke up to you crying into your pillow, and immediately grabbed you.

“What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”

“I- I was afraid that you might- that- one day- you might not want me anymore... what would happen if you d-don’t want me....”

“Listen, I will never not want you. You are all I have, remember? And you’re all I need. Come here, that’s right. You’re my baby, all mine.. shhh....”

Or, there was the time you asked about the scars on Diane’s back. She was mortified, but finally told you about her terrible childhood. The horrible abuse from her mother until her death, the foster home, everything. Her desperation to become the mother she never had. You hugged her tight.

“I’m so sorry, Diane, I had no idea... and to think I complained about-”

“Baby, don’t compare your life to mine. All that matters now is that it’s you and me, and I need to take care of you.”

“Sometimes I think I should be the one taking care of you, Diane.”

“Trust me baby, you do so much more for me than you think.”

Then Diane found it. The rest of the paint thinner. And she was ready to take away all your sadness once and for all, and make you hers forever.

[friendlycybird]

Stanuary 2019 Week Two - Travel

Stanuary Week Two - Travel

Summary: In the space of 24 hours one March Day in 1974, Stanley Pines experienced approximately six “firsts”

Word Count: 1593

Content Warnings: Homelessness, Prostitution, Implied Gang Activity, Seeming Suicidal Thoughts, Actually just Call of the Void. 

Notes: Because I fluffed too hard last week have this fucking mess of a chapter for week two. 

AO3

Stan knew he was in trouble when the air from his engine vents started to smell like cotton candy. He probably should’ve pulled over then and checked the engine, but he’d been less than three hours from his destination, and he’d been making good time. He could check the engine when he got there. He was still the better part of fifty miles away when the Stanleymobile sputtered to a halt in the middle of the highway. Some colorful curse words later and Stan had managed to coast onto the side of the road.

His first impulse was to just try to do the fix himself. The puff of pure white smoke that billowed up when he opened the hood put an instant end to that fantasy. He was out of his depth. So then there was a tow truck and an assessment at a garage in the wrong town. A balding man in overalls named Mike outlined everything wrong with his car to Stan in a droning voice and Stan felt dread set in. Then the bills came, and dread gave way to panic.

They’d keep his car until he could pay them. What’s more, they’d charge him for keeping his car too. The irony was more bitter than the shitty free coffee Mike offered customers. Stan was days away from a big break, a job that could make him hundreds if not thousands of dollars overnight. He had a meeting scheduled tomorrow at one, fifty miles away, to get him started on the path to his fortune, but was currently too broke to get to it. He had three cups of the coffee and braced himself for his first night without even the shelter of his car.

Hours later, just before sundown, sitting on a bench with his jacket pulled tight around him against the still chilly early March evening, Stan kicked his own ass back into gear. He wasn’t gonna give up. He wasn’t gonna turn into some hobo begging on a street corner. He was gonna make it. This opportunity had fallen right into his lap and he’d be damned if he let a little car trouble keep him from it. He needed cash? He’d find a way to make the cash.

The next morning, the cash was on the end table beside the first real bed Stan had slept in for almost two years. It was in an envelope with the name “Oren” scrawled across the front in hurried, lazy script. That’d been the name Stan had given last night, he hadn’t wanted his real name attached to his only plan. Stan was grateful that morning.  Not only had he woken up alone, but the owner of the house he’d slept in had left him enough money to cover the cost of his car repairs but also enough for a round trip bus ticket to his meeting and back. He’d utterly failed to negotiate for that, too nervous about the prospect of what he was offering. Yet here it was, enough for that and a good meal after. Or several crappy meals if he skimped, which, when did he not?

Then he’d stood up and sharp soreness tore through him. He gritted his teeth, reminded himself that he was close to success and he would never have to do anything like this again. Then he walked out of the empty house. He was halfway across the lawn when he realized he absolutely should have stolen stuff while he was inside. It was too risky to go back. So he walked to the bus station, got on a bus, and made it to his meeting ten minutes late.

Half an hour later he wished he hadn’t.

The last twenty-four hours had been a lot of firsts for Stanley Pines. First time his car broke down, first time lying about his name, first time with a man, first time exchanging sex for money, first time on a greyhound bus, and first time having a gun pointed at him.

Things had gone badly. They’d been off to a rocky start when he’d been late, but he’d smoothed that over with a few jokes at his own expense and soon the meeting was well underway. The sales part of the job, Stan discovered quickly, was a front for casing homes for robberies. He wasn’t totally sure how he felt about that, and made a few jokes to that end. One of them crossed a line. Then there was a gun and Stan spent just under a minute trying to talk them down before he ran.

He just had nowhere to run too.

He wanted to just get in his car and drive away at top speed. That had momentarily joined the ranks of wanting to go home, or sail the world with Ford though. Impossible. He needed another plan. At first, he just thought he’d hide out at the bus station, but two men in dark suits lurking by the far door had changed that plan.

He killed an hour in an inconspicuous coffee shop with the best scone he’d had since he was a kid. You’ve got to enjoy the little things. It was an expensive little thing but it kept him at a table in this hole-in-the-wall long enough to come up with a plan. Not that it was much of a plan. Really, it was just the obvious. He walked.

He tried to stay off the highway at first. Take a back road. Back roads don’t have much shoulder though, and half a dozen cars blew past him at a matter of inches away. What’s more, one of them cut around a ledge and it was a choice between leaning hard into a jagged rock wall every time, or standing on the edge of a cliff inches from a foot-high guardrail. Stan chose the later, and spent a lot of time looking over the edge of the cliff. By the third time the unwanted thought that he could always jump crossed his mind, he’d decided the highway might be a better choice after all.

Stan didn’t know how long he was walking on the shoulder of the highway before he gave up and started sticking his thumb out when cars passed. He knew he was sore in a way he never had been before. The muscles in his thighs and ass and up through his lower back all protested the abuse he’d put them through. What with the walking and the running and the...and last night. Had that only been last night? He’d been so hopeful then that he’d have everything put together by this time today. He’d been so wrong. One dumb joke and he was out of a job and looking over his shoulder for someone who thought he’d picked up too much information on how their gig worked.

The dark blue four-door sedan that actually stopped for him looked almost as old as Stan, and the woman driving it looked old enough to be his grandmother. “Where are you going, young man?” her voice had the high, wavering pitch that one would imitate when attempting to sound like an old lady. She was wearing a mostly pink muumuu and had her bright white hair done up fancy. Stan said the name of the nearby town where he’d left his car, and the woman waved to him, flapping her hand inwards at the wrist. “Hop in, hop in. I’ll get you there.”

Stan did as asked and bit back a groan as he took the weight of his body off his legs and back, and swallowed a whine as that weight redistributed to his ass. When he trusted himself to open his mouth again, she’d been driving for several moments. “Thanks.” he breathed.

“Sure thing, sure thing.” the lady responded. “Were you walking very long?”

“Coupla hours.”

“Oh my.” and the lady was off, jabbering away about how many miles a day she would walk in her youth, and the scoldings she would get for ending up so far from home. Stan listened to her talk the way he’d listen to the radio, letting the noise fill the air and sink into his bones. He’d make noises of agreement or astonishment here and there to keep her talking. It helped quiet the spinning thoughts he’d been alone with too long that day.

Her name was Daisy Adams, and she drove through a McDonalds and got Stan a burger because he’d absentmindedly been honest about the last time he’d had more to eat than a small scone. She had four children and going on ten grandchildren, and she’d been going to the same town as Stan for a bible study. Stan wondered vaguely if she’d be helping him if she knew what he’d done the night before. She dropped him off at the garage, informed him that she’d be praying for him, and left to arrive late at her bible study.

Stan paid his bill at the garage. He shook hands with Mike and had another cup of coffee. Then he got in his repaired car and drove away.

A low, black, two-door pulled in as Stan pulled out, and a chill went down his spine. He spared a moment to hope it was nothing. To assume Mike would be okay. Then he pulled onto the highway, and did his best to never think of it again. Any of it. Meanwhile, it was time to put as much distance between himself and the last 24-hours as possible.

[angstkillmonger]

I Can’t Swim! (Peter Parker)

Concept: “our first kiss would’ve been a lot more romantic if it wasn’t CPR.”

Warning/s: fluff, peter parker

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Peter Parker

A/N: hi bitches it’s ya boy tommy i wrote this to save myself from the pain that is infinity war :))))))) and also this is my submission for @sighodinson‘s 5k writing challenge!! congrats on the 5k cum ily and the title is totally not a vine reference i mean like who does that 

You don’t know what Peter ate during the week. But whatever it was, it made him all soft on you and always wanted to find some time to hang out with you. Every day at school, he always wanted to be by your side, asking you if anyone was bothering you during classes or if you needed help with your studies. Then after school, he would always walk you to the bus station just to spend more time with you. Even if it meant he had to miss the train.

Then the weekends were beginning to peak through the horizon. During lunch, while you were seated in Ned and Peter’s usual table in the cafeteria, Peter suddenly asked Ned to leave. When Ned looked at him in confusion, all Peter did was wink at him twice, then he got the message and left the table. 

You turned your whole body to him, narrowing your eyes at him. “Okay, what have you been eating this week, Peter?” you asked him, suspicious. 

Peter grinned at you sheepishly, taking your hands in his and looking down at them. “I just like having you around.” 

“Okay, but why did you make Ned leave?” 

“Because I wanna ask you out on a date this weekend.” 

You snorted. “You could’ve done that without making him leave.” Peter rolled his eyes. “He can’t stand us being together, so I always have to warn him before I do cute stuff with you.” he said and pouted. You resisted pinching his cheek. He was too damn adorable. You’re lucky to have him as your boyfriend.

“So do you want to go on a date with me this weekend?” he asked, like he always did, even though you were already dating. You didn’t mind that he kept asking you, though. It was sweet of him to check if you wanted to go. “Of course! Where are we going?” 

Peter puffed his chest out and tried to put on a serious face, making you giggle. “To the beach!” he declared.

“Why the beach?” you asked, giving him a puzzled look. Peter shrugged and said with a straight face, “Buzzfeed said it costs like, $12.” You laughed at that, but agreed to go. It’s always fun at the beach, even if you can’t swim.

“This is such a nice place.” you said, looking around the beach and relishing in how the sun hits your skin. There weren’t a lot of people at the beach, and it was perfect because you weren’t looking forward to seeing your classmates from school. Today is supposed to be just you and Peter alone. 

“Let’s set up our picnic over there.” Peter said and pointed at a spot near the lifeguard tower, looking at you through his sunglasses. He looked so attractive just holding the beach umbrella across his shoulder and the picnic basket in his other hand. 

You subtly bit the inside of your bottom lip before you could get carried away with staring. “Okay, you set up the umbrella while I set up the picnic.”

Peter nodded and you both walked towards the spot. You both worked to make your little place look decent. After that, you both settled next to each other on the blanket and rested. Peter sighed and draped his arm around your shoulder, and you immediately snuggled to his chest. You hummed in satisfaction when he pulled you closer. 

“I wish I could nap here without having to worry about getting my phone stolen or getting kidnapped.” you blurted out of nowhere. Peter’s chest rumbled in soft laughter, and you lifted your head up to see him smirking. 

“What? I’m just saying.” you defended. 

“I mean, I am Spider-man, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry about getting your phone stolen or getting kidnapped.” he said, smirking. Before you could comment on how cocky he was being, Peter turned his whole body to you and cradled you into his chest, making you giggle when his breath tickled your neck.

“I’ll have you informed though; I don’t know how to swim. So you’ll have to hold my hand the whole time.” you told him. Peter nodded, grinning. “I’ll even piggy back ride you the whole time if you want me to.” he mumbled against your hair.

You rolled your eyes at him, and Peter snickered, kissing your hair.

You laid there with Peter for what seemed like hours, talking about anything that would come to mind. About his life as Spider-Man, what TV show you were currently binge-watching, all that kind of stuff.

“Does Tony tutor you about science?” you asked randomly. Peter didn’t respond for a moment, thinking about it. He looked like he wanted to say yes, but Tony is too busy being Iron Man to give him tutors about quantum physics. 

“No.” he said instead.

That went on while you both ate your sandwiches. You both shared a few laughs about the funny times Peter had encountered any of the Avengers. There was one time where he was tasked to get some files in Tony’s office when Hawkeye suddenly fell out of the vents and landed on top of him. 

“It was one of the greatest moments of my life.” Peter marveled. He looked too happy about it. “I mean, my head hurt because Mr. Stark’s floors are tiled but man, I got landed on by Hawkeye! Totally worth the head pain.” You laughed at his adorable, happy face.

After you’ve both finished eating your sandwiches, you dusted the bread crumbs off your lap and stood up on the picnic blanket. Peter looked up at you with a curious and confused expression on his face.

His eyes widened when you suddenly began taking off your shirt and shorts, showing off your swimsuit that you were hiding underneath. You turned to him, your smile growing wider when you saw Peter’s expression. 

“What do you think, Peter?” you asked him cheekily. Peter looked like a fish as he stared at you opening and closing his mouth multiple times. 

“Wow,” was all he could say after a moment of silence. You giggled and turned to the beach, stretching. “I didn’t think you’d want to swim.” Peter said. You turned back to him and saw him standing while dusting his shorts off from the bread crumbs. 

“It’s a fun day at the beach! Who doesn’t wanna have fun?” you told him. Peter looked at you the way a worried mother would. “You can’t swim, Y/N. You have to be - hey, HEY! Y/N! Y/N!”

He was cut off when you suddenly bolted away from him and towards the shore. The beach had big waves today, which made you terrified. But it was now or never, because you figured you’re gonna look stupid running towards the water and then running back to Peter. 

“WOO!” you shouted with your arms raised, like a lunatic. 

Peter’s spider sense was tingling to its maximum level. The moment your foot made contact with the sea, his first move was to start running towards you. 

“Y/N, I swear to god.” he mumbled through gritted teeth, speed-walking towards you. His heart stopped beating for a second when he suddenly noticed you were gone. His spider sense was practically beeping so loud inside his head it slightly gave him a headache. 

“Oh god, Y/N.” He frantically took off his shirt and ran to the shore, looking for you all around the waters. His heightened sense of hearing managed to pick up someone choking on something. He turned to his right and saw an arm waving furiously through the big waves. He instantly recognized it as your arm.

“Y/N! OH, GOD -” he screamed.

Peter had never ran so fast before. He jumped into the water and swam through the strong waves that was trying to wash him up to the shore. He saw your now limping and sinking body and instantly wrapped one arm around your waist tightly, swimming back to the shore as fast as possible.

Once his feet touched the sand, he immediately dragged your unconscious body underneath him, panicking so much. “Oh god, oh god. Peter, breathe. Do CPR. Do CPR! SAVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” he yelled at himself before he pressed the heels of his hand to the center of your chest, compressing steadily like how he remembered it. 

He braced himself and latched his lips onto yours, heavily struggling to not get distracted by how soft your lips feel as he gave rescue breaths. He focused on saving your life. He repeated it when he saw your chest wasn’t rising and falling like it was supposed to. 

He quickly pulled away when you suddenly jerked up and coughed water out of your mouth. Peter found himself crying in joy and in relief and all kinds of emotions washing over him all at once. He wrapped his arms around your neck, embracing you in a severely tight hug. 

“Oh, I thought I lost you. I thought I lost you.” he whispered against your wet hair, his eyes brimming with tears as salty as the ocean that nearly drowned you. You hugged Peter after a second of reluctance. You felt extremely guilty for making him worry about you and nearly dying. 

“I’m sorry, Peter.” you mumbled against his shoulder. You traced the broadness of his left shoulder, brushing away the sand that got stuck on it. Peter pulled away from the hug, but he made you sit up from the sand, staring at you deeply. Your heart wrenched when you saw his teary eyes. 

“Don’t -” Peter’s voice sounded teary, worried, but it was also evident that he was really mad. “Don’t do stupid stuff like that! You’re gonna give me a heart attack if you pull that kind of crap again!” he shouted. You don’t even flinch when he raised his voice at you. You felt like you deserved that for pulling that stunt. 

Peter wiped the tears in his eyes and held your face in his hand, tilting your head down so he could kiss your forehead. The kiss lingered. 

“I’m really sorry, Peter. I - I didn’t know what I was doing. Sorry for acting stupid.” you dipped your head down in shame. Peter pulled you into another hug, leaning his head against your hair and you leaning against his chest. You could hear how fast and hard his heart was beating. 

“I forgive you,” Peter sniffled, pulling away from the hug to look at you, “but you gotta promise you won’t do stuff that stupid again!” he scolded, sounding like a mother. You fought back a remark about how he sounded like his Aunt May. 

“I promise, Peter. I promise.” you said, and it was so sincere. Peter appreciated how genuine it sounded coming out of your mouth. It showed through the smile he sported. “Thank you for saving me.” you said, and his smile widened further.

It went quiet for a second. The wind wasn’t strong in the beach, but you felt it against your skin, soothing your heated skin. 

“Our first kiss,” Peter mumbled with an unreadable expression on his face. Your face immediately heated up, realizing that he did CPR on you. You daydreamed countless times during classes about how your first kiss with Peter would go. CPR wasn’t one of them, unfortunately.

“It would’ve been so much better if it wasn’t CPR.” you said meekly, ashamed.  Peter smiled wide at your blushing face and held your face close to his, forcing you to look at him. His lips was just a centimeter away from yours. Your face was probably on fire from how warm it felt.

“Tell me to stop,” he warned you, his voice dropping a few octaves. When you didn’t say anything, he took that as permission to kiss you. You nearly mewled at how soft his lips felt against yours. Your hand grasped at the back of his neck, deepening the kiss and making Peter gasp against your mouth.

You both pulled away, gasping for air. Peter had something gleaming in his eyes, something that you couldn’t decipher. 

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[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 6 paragraph iv

I still saw him—just not as much. More and more he spent nights with Kotku and her mother at the Double R Apartments—a transient hotel really, a broken down motor court from the 1950s, on the highway between the airport and the Strip, where guys who looked like illegal immigrants stood around the courtyard by the empty swimming pool and argued over motorcycle parts. (“Double R?” said Hadley. “You know what that stands for, right? ‘Rats and Roaches.’ ”) Kotku, mercifully, didn’t accompany Boris to my house all that much, but even when she wasn’t around he talked about her constantly. Kotku had cool taste in music and had made him a mix CD with a bunch of smoking hot hip-hop that I really had to listen to. Kotku liked her pizza with green peppers and olives only. Kotku really really wanted an electronic keyboard— also a Siamese kitten, or maybe a ferret, but wasn’t allowed to have pets at the Double R. “Serious, you need to spend more time with her, Potter,” he said, bumping my shoulder with his. “You’ll like her.” “Oh come on,” I said, thinking of the smirky way she behaved around me —laughing at the wrong time, in a nasty way, always commanding me to go to the fridge to fetch her beers. “No! She likes you! She does! I mean, she thinks of you more as a little brother. That’s what she said.” “She never says a word to me.” “That’s because you don’t talk to her.” “Are you guys screwing?” Boris made an impatient noise, the sound he made when things didn’t go his way. “Dirty mind,” he said, tossing the hair out of his eyes, and then: “What? What do you think? Do you want me to make you a map?” “Draw you a map.” “Eh?” “That’s the phrase. ‘Do you want me to draw you a map.’ ” Boris rolled his eyes. Waving his hands around, he started in again about how intelligent Kotku was, how “crazy smart,” how wise she was and how much life she had lived and how unfair I was to judge her and look down on her without bothering to get to know her; but while I sat half listening to him talk, and half watching an old noir movie on television (Fallen Angel, Dana Andrews), I couldn’t help thinking about how he’d met Kotku in what was essentially Remedial Civics, the section for students who weren’t smart enough (even in our extremely non-demanding school) to pass without extra help. Boris—good at mathematics without trying and better in languages than anyone I’d ever met—had been forced into Civics for Dummies because he was a foreigner: a school requirement which he greatly resented. (“Because why? Am I likely to be someday voting for Congress?”) But Kotku— eighteen! born and raised in Clark County! American citizen, straight off of Cops!—had no such excuse. Over and over, I caught myself in mean-spirited thoughts like this, which I did my best to shake. What did I care? Yes, Kotku was a bitch; yes, she was too dumb to pass regular Civics and wore cheap hoop earrings from the drugstore that were always getting caught in things, and yes, even though she was only eighty-one pounds or whatever she still scared the hell out of me, like she might kick me to death with her pointy-toed boots if she got mad enough. (“She a little fighta nigga,” Boris himself had said boastfully at one point as he hopped around throwing out gang signs, or what he thought were gang signs, and regaling me with a story of how Kotku had pulled out a bloody chunk of some girl’s hair—this was another thing about Kotku, she was always getting in scary girl fights, mostly with other white trash girls like herself but occasionally with the real gangsta girls, who were Latina and black.) But who cared what crappy girl Boris liked? Weren’t we still friends? Best friends? Brothers practically?

Then again: there was not exactly a word for Boris and me. Until Kotku came along, I had never thought too much about it. It was just about drowsy air-conditioned afternoons, lazy and drunk, blinds closed against the glare, empty sugar packets and dried-up orange peels strewn on the carpet, “Dear Prudence” from the White Album (which Boris adored) or else the same mournful old Radiohead over and over: For a minute I lost myself, I lost myself… The glue we sniffed came on with a dark, mechanical roar, like the windy rush of propellers: engines on! We fell back on the bed into darkness, like sky divers tumbling backwards out of a plane, although—that high, that far gone —you had to be careful with the bag over your face or else you were picking dried blobs of glue out of your hair and off the end of your nose when you came to. Exhausted sleep, spine to spine, in dirty sheets that smelled of cigarette ash and dog, Popchik belly-up and snoring, subliminal whispers in the air blowing from the wall vents if you listened hard enough. Whole months passed where the wind never stopped, blown sand rattling against the windows, the surface of the swimming pool wrinkled and sinister-looking. Strong tea in the mornings, stolen chocolate. Boris yanking my hair by the handful and kicking me in the ribs. Wake up, Potter. Rise and shine. I told myself I didn’t miss him, but I did. I got stoned alone, watched Adult Access and the Playboy channel, read Grapes of Wrath and The House of the Seven Gables which seemed as if they had to be tied for the most boring book ever written, and for what felt like thousands of hours—time enough to learn Danish or play the guitar if I’d been trying—fooled around in the street with a fucked-up skateboard Boris and I had found in one of the foreclosed houses down the block. I went to swim-team parties with Hadley —no-drinking parties, with parents present—and, on the weekends, attended parents-away parties of kids I barely knew, Xanax bars and Jägermeister shots, riding home on the hissing CAT bus at two a.m. so fucked up that I had to hold the seat in front of me to keep from falling out in the aisle. After school, if I was bored, it was easy enough to go hang out with one of the big lackadaisical stoner crowds who floated around between Del Taco and the kiddie arcades on the Strip. But still I was lonely. It was Boris I missed, the whole impulsive mess of him: gloomy, reckless, hot-tempered, appallingly thoughtless. Boris pale and pasty, with his shoplifted apples and his Russian-language novels, gnaweddown fingernails and shoelaces dragging in the dust. Boris—budding alcoholic, fluent curser in four languages—who snatched food from my plate when he felt like it and nodded off drunk on the floor, face red like he’d been slapped. Even when he took things without asking, as he all too frequently did —little things were always disappearing, DVDs and school supplies from my locker, more than once I’d caught him going through my pockets for money —his own possessions meant so little to him that somehow it wasn’t stealing; whenever he came into cash himself, he split it with me down the middle and anything that belonged to him, he gave me gladly if I asked for it (and sometimes when I didn’t, as when Mr. Pavlikovsky’s gold lighter, which I’d admired in passing, turned up in the outside pocket of my backpack). The funny thing: I’d worried, if anything, that Boris was the one who was a little too affectionate, if affectionate is the right word. The first time he’d turned in bed and draped an arm over my waist, I lay there half-asleep for a moment, not knowing what to do: staring at my old socks on the floor, empty beer bottles, my paperbacked copy of The Red Badge of Courage. At last— embarrassed—I faked a yawn and tried to roll away, but instead he sighed and pulled me closer, with a sleepy, snuggling motion. Ssh, Potter, he whispered, into the back of my neck. Is only me.

It was weird. Was it weird? It was; and it wasn’t. I’d fallen back to sleep shortly after, lulled by his bitter, beery unwashed smell and his breath easy in my ear. I was aware I couldn’t explain it without making it sound like more than it was. On nights when I woke strangled with fear there he was, catching me when I started up terrified from the bed, pulling me back down in the covers beside him, muttering in nonsense Polish, his voice throaty and strange with sleep. We’d drowse off in each other’s arms, listening to music from my iPod (Thelonious Monk, the Velvet Underground, music my mother had liked) and sometimes wake clutching each other like castaways or much younger children. And yet (this was the murky part, this was what bothered me) there had also been other, way more confusing and fucked-up nights, grappling around half-dressed, weak light sliding in from the bathroom and everything haloed and unstable without my glasses: hands on each other, rough and fast, kickedover beers foaming on the carpet—fun and not that big of a deal when it was actually happening, more than worth it for the sharp gasp when my eyes rolled back and I forgot about everything; but when we woke the next morning stomach-down and groaning on opposite sides of the bed it receded into an incoherence of backlit flickers, choppy and poorly lit like some experimental film, the unfamiliar twist of Boris’s features fading from memory already and none of it with any more bearing on our actual lives than a dream. We never spoke of it; it wasn’t quite real; getting ready for school we threw shoes, splashed water at each other, chewed aspirin for our hangovers, laughed and joked around all the way to the bus stop. I knew people would think the wrong thing if they knew, I didn’t want anyone to find out and I knew Boris didn’t either, but all the same he seemed so completely untroubled by it that I was fairly sure it was just a laugh, nothing to take too seriously or get worked up about. And yet, more than once, I had wondered if I should step up my nerve and say something: draw some kind of line, make things clear, just to make absolutely sure he didn’t have the wrong idea. But the moment had never come. Now there was no point in speaking up and being awkward about the whole thing, though I scarcely took comfort in the fact. I hated how much I missed him. There was a lot of drinking going on at my house, on Xandra’s end anyway, a lot of slammed doors (“Well, if it wasn’t me, it had to be you,” I heard her yelling); and without Boris there (they were both more constrained with Boris in the house) it was harder. Part of the problem was that Xandra’s hours at the bar had changed—schedules at her work had been moved; she was under a lot of stress, people she’d worked with were gone, or on different shifts; on Wednesdays and Mondays when I got up for school, I often found her just in from work, sitting alone in front of her favorite morning show too wired to sleep and swigging Pepto-Bismol straight from the bottle.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

TF2 Headcanon - Demo/Spy & Sniper/Scout

Requested by @camiluna27, re: an ask they got about Demo being handsome and the best kisser, bc I was too lazy to make a fic. Written in Chat, so continuity’s a crapshoot.

-Title: Constellation Consternation-

[Alternate title I was too busy laughing at to use: Speaking in Tongues] . . . .

The basic headcanon is that Spy KNOWS he's amazing, but maybe certain teammembers have all mentioned that Demo is The Best at kissing, and a handful of other things (and he's most concerned about Scout knowing that, bu the runner is really just yanking his chain and parroting what Sniper told him about the explosives expert).

Fed-up, Spy goes to confront the guy over this whole seducing his son and the rest of the team, nonsense. Openly outraged at such impropriety in their ranks. Demo listens, nodding along to each complaint and french curse with a deadpan expression, trying not to smile at the idea he'd stolen poor little Scout's innocence and Spy was (in the most roundabout way possible) trying to defend his son's honour.

But really, he knew what this was about.

When Spy finally stops talking, he tilts his head, grins and says, "So ye're jealous I hadnae gotten around to ye faster, is that it?"

And Spy reels for a moment before stuttering out something most likely blistering in French, and glaring.

"I'll take that as a yes, then, laddie?" Demo leans back in his chair a long moment, sincerely trying not to laugh at the whole scenario, then stands up. "Well, you know ye could have just asked, right?"

"I would never degrade myself to do such a thing," Spy snarls back, suddenly questioning why he even came.

"The asking, the kissing, or the fact you're seething with jealousy that I got to ye last, Spook?" Demo responds, backing the other into a verbal corner.

Spy's expression hardens as he tries to find a verbal retort; though the temptation to flip  the bird at the Scot and cloak was incredibly tempting. The worst part was he got the impression that the man was right... and that would sincerely mean he'd lost control of himself and his sanity.

He was the one who did the seducing, had people unconsciously adoring him, wondering what it would be like if he was to-... and he'd leave it open to interpretation. It was also a challenge, and he disliked someone claiming to be more skillful than himself.

Indeed, there may be some other personal motivations, but still... Spy must be the best. Ironically, he was the one who nearly jumped out of his skin when Demo suddenly appeared closer than before, placing a hand to his shoulder. Spy must have gotten lost in thought, been quiet for far too long for the other to think of invading his personal space so significantly.

"I know I'm a lot to take in, lad, but do ye want a drink to help you get over the shock of wanting tae kiss a Scotsman?" Demo offers, half-jesting, but still holding a bottle of Scrumpy in his free hand.

Spy actually snaps out of his pensive stupor to laugh at that; unfortunately, it just so happened to be the ugly laugh he tried to bury all those years, much to his horror. "Oh, mon amie, I do not think that will be necessary... but the offer is appreciated." he finally says, switching on the suave tone he usually uses, as if that will erase all the deplorable lack of decorum from before(um).

"Alright then lad..." Demo beams, sliding the hand on Spy's shoulder up to caress the man's masked cheek. "How about we skip right to the fun part and compare abilities, aye?"

Spy's lips quirked up in amusement, before snaking a hand around to the other man's nape, guiding them closer together. "Oh oui, I can give you a few pointers..."

- - -

Sniper, on the other hand, had not exactly been lying about how great Demo just so happened to be at kissing, and quite a few other things. Which had a tendency to put his boyfriend on edge, seeing as Scout wasn't going to admit it, but he was pretty insecure about a lot of things and therefore was twice as loud and flashy to cover over it.

When the mercs had originally banded together, it'd downright pissed Sniper off; not to even mention the others, who were less laid back, overall. But it didn't take the world's most skilled psychologist to work out the reason.

To be fair, Sniper had definitely messed around with a few of the others over the years... but Scout had been hung up on Miss Pauling, so he'd seemed off limits for casual fun. Not to mention, like the other mercs, they saw Scout as kind of this brash, bignoting brat when he arrived... and even daring to glance at physique made them feel old, mortal and vaguely guilty.

Perhaps it was the fact he came off as emotionally immature, a child at heart... and 'at behaviour' if that was a thing. Medic had clearly tried to make it so, in his documentation of the matter.

But since he'd settled into the team, the  kid had... dunno, grown up a little? Sniper couldn't think of a more delicate way to say it, really. Didn't change who Scout was at heart, 'cause he was this great big ball of energy and enthusiasm and sometimes bad ideas like whether he could do a backflip off the base roof and land safely (he couldn't), but he did have a slightly more mature outlook on things. It was in the way he thought before he spoke, unless riled up; how he tended to act more strategically than before, worked with the team instead of racing ahead and dying a thousand times to get to the intel or capture a point.

Sniper could appreciate the change, and so did many of the others. However, Sniper was the one that Scout attached to most strongly from day one for some reason... and that'd been fine.

At first he'd been under the assumption that the kid either needed a quiet person to vent to, or just some sort of pseudo father figure... But then he realised that Engie was clearly playing 'Pa' with the kid (and Pyro), and if the runner wanted to speak to someone who wouldn't respond, he could have talked with any of the others. Sniper was the one person who actively listened when Scout talked, and responded; the others were... well, busy, and often commented they did not have time.

But the longer you work with someone, especially as closely as RED did, the more you knew them. Their eccentricities and insecurities; strengths and flaws.

Scout was personally offended that Sniper had vegemite on his toast of a morning; specially shipped in by Mann Co. as an 'essential supply' for the aussie. And Sniper was often infuriated to find Scout had left stuff all over the base, in a subconscious effort to remind them all he still existed.

But all that downtime moved them from teammates to friends, to... whatever this was. Not quite lovers yet, there were a few hangups. Mostly Scout over-analyzing the whole thing and wondering if he'd ever liked Miss Pauling at all, or he'd led her on...

Sniper had made Spy explain the very concept of bisexual to the stressed out runner, so he'd stop agonising over the whole 'attraction to both' thing. To be fair, he's pretty sure the topic had just never come up in Boston... after all, the runner's third-eldest sibling had a boyfriend, and the family was totally fine with it. He was tying himself in knots for no reason.

But then, Sniper could relate. He used to overthink things to the point of near paralysis, when he was younger; sometimes even now, if he was too stressed out or they'd had a really bad match. The rest of the team would just designate someone to go out and stargaze with him, until it wore off; usually Scout, but Demo did it frequently too.

Because that was how his Mum had managed to snap him out of it. They'd go outside, stare up at the stars, and she'd point out constellations and celestial stories until all the constricting thoughts just ebbed away.

And after the first few times on base, it just became normal practice for a stressed-out merc to come out to the Camper at night, say nothing, and have Sniper usher them to the roof ladder. He'd tell them stories, point out constellations, even ones they'd done a thousand times before... because it was soothing. The main issue was getting everyone off the roof, when (usually the stressed out party) conked out from emotional exhaustion.

Sniper now had a box up there, bolted on so it didn't fall off whilst driving, full of blankets an stuff. Made the whole thing a little less stressful.

Just had to get up before morning, though, or you got a wicked sunburn. Engie was working on some sort of automatic sunshade rig to shield any late-night worriers when the sun rose; but it was still in progress for now.

Still, it was his favourite thing to do with the runner. Especially when it was just the two of them there because they wanted to be... no stress between them. It felt... right, had for a long time.

The insecurities were a hang-up though. Sniper had realised things had changed when Scout slowly, painfully slowly, took his hand, a few months back while staring up at the stars. Could feel how tense the runner was, like he was going to bolt if Sniper even breathed wrong. To be honest, it'd been a bit since someone had wanted to hold his hand, high school maybe?

Still, it was a thrill of unexpected warmth, intimacy. And he slowly, just as painfully slowly, gave the bandaged hand a reassuring squeeze; hearing the runner exhale in relief and just about deflate beside him. They'd woken up leaning against one another, and sunburnt as a crisp; Medic had found it HILARIOUS as he treated them.

Sniper never should have brought up the Demo thing. He'd only been joking with the others about it, one night when everyone was a bit drunk, a bit less guarded about the things they said.

He thinks that was the night Demo finally managed to seduce the stoically insular Heavy/Medic duo... but he can never be sure. Not that switching it up between the mercs was inherently wrong, or even seen as promiscuous... they'd been here years, relationships formed and fell apart 'secretly', and flings happened. The only real issue was if someone from BLU was making eyes at a RED; and vice versa. That had to be dealt with before the Admin found out. But as far as they knew a few people had gone out of their way to subvert the no-interaction clause in their contracts... just because they could, and also... predominantly because it was thrilling.

Sniper was incredibly aware of what the Scouts had done, and he's pretty sure the other Sniper was too. Scopes, and all. But was the battlefield really a good place for that sort of thing? Scout still hadn't admitted making out with the other runner, and neither had the BLU to his team. Sniper really wanted to ask why, but he's pretty sure it's the same reason he saw Spy seducing the BLU Sniper in July last year at Vanguard...

...because they could.

What else was there to do around here... but each other? That is to say, breaking rules was fun.

But even with all that daring action out there, most agreed that Demo was the best at what he did. And he's pretty sure Scout was developing as much of a complex about it as his father...

Sniper really should have checked if the runner was there before joking about it with Engie. Now he couldn't even get the lanky bloke to hold hands, it was pretty frustrating.

He'd told Demo, on a night when the explosives expert had come to visit him at the camper to stargaze, with an obscene amount of booze; the logic behind it being there were twice as many constellations if you were drunk enough. The Scot had laughed, thought about it, and asked if he should try to woo 'the loud lad' to fix it. Even though it was in jest, Sniper had gotten defensive over it, and turned it down.

"I was kidding lad..." Demo had reassured. "For one, I think maybe Spy has taken a fancy to me but he dinnae know it yet, and it'd be weird to mention I'd Frenched his son... or, well, half-Frenched, his mother's American, aye?"

Sniper burst out laughing at the statement, and Demo took the opportunity to sneak away the fourth bottle of beer, deeming the Aussie a tad too drunk to climb down from the roof safely as it stood.

"What I meant was... if you and the others are always talking up my abilities, to other blokes who have a lot of experience with other lasses and lads and a few inbetween... then how would it make ye feel if you had none of it?" Demo questioned, sobering the conversation for a bit. He grinned, "Oh aye, I know about the Scout Class' attempt at snogging on the battlefield the other day, caught 'em by accident as I jumped past. But that isnae more or less experience than high school fumbling about when ye think your parents aren't watching. And to have to follow someone like me, well, I don't think he's comfortable with the idea... not yet, at least."

"Huh..." was all Sniper managed, suddenly realising a few things. He scratches the stubble on his chin, pensive. "So what should I do about it?"

"Oh that's easy... just tell the lad everyone's a bit shithouse when they first start out, and it's like those video games he likes... you've gotta learn how through experience to, uh, level up." Demo grins, nudging Sniper with his elbow in camaraderie, before immediately grabbing the sharpshooter so he wouldn't topple over from the impetus. No sense of balance when he's drunk, Sniper.

"Thanks mate."

"Aye, no problem. Now, did I tell you about what I managed to do to that bloody BLU Spy today? Well, everytime  Engie left spawn the bastard would..."

The tale echoed out into the night as the two men exchanged light-hearted stories of the more hilarious murders and deaths they'd experienced during that day's battle.

-

Of course it was on top of the van, when it happened. Most things of importance tended to happen there...

After a long fortnight of no contact whatsoever, Scout was suddenly on his roof, snuggled in a blanket and staring up. Sniper saw it was his chance to talk things over with him, and climbed up slowly. Remaining in sight the entire trip.

"Hey..." Scout mumbles, not looking at him.

"G'day," Sniper returns, he doesn't like saying it much because it's a stereotype, but Scout always seemed to like it. "Nice night. Mind if I sit?"

"S'your van, Snipes..." Scout's still distant, mentally if not physically, Sniper realises.

He sits beside the runner.

"Look, you might know a few of the other guys... have spent time together in the last few years. Not all of them were flings, but they weren't long enough for any of us to start getting anniversary gifts over. And yeah, I might have had a thing with Demo a few times... and some of the others... but it doesn't mean I have any expectations from you."

Scout's eyes widened, and Sniper realised he needed to rephrase that statement.

"Calm down, bilby, I mean... everyone's different. Some people have a lot of experience in some areas, and others don't... but everyone starts off at zero, right? I mean, were you born playing baseball? Nah, you learned how, and you got better. Probably fucked up a few times, hit the ball the wrong way, fell on your arse, knocked over the wickets, got distracted running towards the goal before you could get a touchpoint-... what?" Sniper pauses.

Scout's laughing pretty hard. "Y-you don't know how baseball wo-works do ya, Snipes?" He's just about in tears at this point, pink-cheeked and gasping for air between gales of laughter. He's never looked more adorable.

Sniper lets out a slight huff of amusement. "I know how to Sports, Scout. There's a ball, and running, sometimes sticks and you score a touchpoint if you get the wicket in the goal or something..." he says, getting it more wrong with every word just to see Scout continue laughing like that. Carefree and relaxed.

"Oh my god, I can't-... Snipes... oh my god... I am teaching you baseball next time we get a weekend free... 'touchpoint'." Scout was in hysterics, leaning against Sniper as he tried to catch his breath. Every now and again he'd wheeze 'touchpoint' to himself, and start laughing all over again.

It took a while for the runner to calm down. He wipes his eyes on bandaged hands, an errant wheezy giggle escaping now and then, but finally relaxes against Sniper. Who can't resist any longer and pecks him on the forehead. To which, the runner squirms and complains like a little kid.

"Aw man, Sniiiiiiiiiiipes, Ma used to do that in front of all my freakin' friends... you have no idea how much I never heard the end of it..." Scout whines, turning to look at the Aussie. The bandaged hand closest grabs hold of Sniper's own, and the grip is rock-solid, like the smiling runner is making a decision.

"I uh, I ain't as good as Demo... probably shit at it really, but would you mind if we, uh... fuck, I had a whole thing for this but now all I can think about it 'touchpoint'..." Scout nearly chokes suppressing a laugh at the word again.

He really was pretty fucking adorable when he was like this, Sniper grinned. "You don't need to ask, Scout, it's fine... 'course we can." He assures, and moves in closer, watching for any signs that they were about to have a loony-tunes moment... where he'd lean in to give the runner a kiss and find nothing but a Scout-shaped cloud of smoke. Wouldn't past the speedy merc.

But no, Scout's still there when their lips meets. He seems to have some idea how it all works, which is a surprise, but Sniper tries to lead things in a direction that will circumvent clashing teeth.  A hazard of excited teenage make-outs...

It was pretty good, all things considered, and he could see that realisation dawning all over Scout's face. Slightly flushed, a little chocked, and grinning as they pulled away.

"See? You're pretty good at it... just need a bit more practice and you'll be right as rain." Sniper says, putting an arm around the runner's shoulders and delighting in the way Scout leaned back against him.

There was a lengthy silence, which was starting to concern the sharpshooter, before Scout spoke up.

"...I dunno, Snipes, it wasn't that great..." he pauses, just long enough for Sniper to become slightly alarmed and a tiny bit offended, before continuing. "Think we might need a loooot of practice..."

The aussie sharpshooter chuckles, kisses the smartass on the forehead just to watch him squirm away laughing, and says, "Much as you want, mate."

-

Spy left Demo's room the next morning, striving desperately for immaculate attire despite the evidence of rumpling. He straightened his tie as Engineer and Medic came around the corner, talking animatedly, only to pause and look at the espionage agent with expressions of incredulity.

They looked at him, his attire, the class symbol on the door behind him, and then back to Spy, with growing grins of amusement.

Spy snorts derisively. "If you think I look  sufficiently dishevelled, you should see the other guy..." and walks off, not even bothering to cloak. Pleased to have won, if not the kissing segment of their little game, then the other various challenges instead.

-

When the pair finally do come face-to-face with one another again, that day, everyone in the room is suddenly Very Busy and Definitely Not Listening.

"Lad, ye've one-upped me in some areas and that was a surprise... but I'm pretty sure I still hold the title for best kisser on base..." Demo announces, grinning.

Spy closes the book he had been reading, carefully placing it down on the sofa before standing up to look Demo right in the eye. "Oh, you still cling to that notion, do you?"

"I won, ask any of the others, I'm good at what I do, Spook..." goads the explosives expert, making a sweeping gesture at the few other mercs gathered in the common room.

"Truly?" Spy says, appearance utterly nonchalant. And then the man smiles almost predatorially, and Demo knows he has him.

"Round Two, then?" Demo queries.

"Oui... but let us have dinner together first, like civilised people." Spy responds, heading for the kitchen.

It takes the other man a moment to catch up, and it hits him like a lightning bolt. The last the other mercs saw of Demo that night was the man racing out of the room, after Spy, yelling, "Did ye just ask me on a date, Spook?"

To which the answer was a slightly distance-muffled "Oui."

- - -

The End

- - -

Random Extra:

When Scout and Sniper finally came inside half an hour later, no one would look them directly in the eye or explain where the missing mercs were.

Sniper elbows the runner in the side genially. "Look at it on the bright side, bilby... you might end up with two dads outta this."

It took Scout an hour to stop screaming.

[weevil-underwood]

For the drabble asks: Solace. You can take your pick of who is comforting who c: (from Jurassicjerk!)

@jurassicjerk  wow this ended up WAY longer than I intended, but here you go! I hope you like))

Tak!Weevil’s eyes twitched behind closed lids.Tak!As the small, sharp noise repeated itself, he stirred, giving a drawn-out moan of dislike at being awakened.   What time was it…?   He squinted at the digits of his alarm clock in the darkness, trying to force the numbers to swim into focus without having to paw blindly for his glasses.THOCK!!!The glass of his window shuddered in its frame from the force of the impact, making him bolt upright with a start.   Startled confusion quickly gave way to anger - Weevil’s default response to any sort of intrusion on his plans - as he threw back the covers and swept the folded spectacles off of his nightstand.By the time he’d reached his window, he’d situated them across the bridge of his nose, the lenses doing a wonderful job of accentuating his glare as he hoisted it open to locate the source of the disturbance…….just in time for another stone to come zinging at the glass, missing his head by inches and bouncing across his carpet.  “What the hell, Rex??” he hissed into the darkness.   Because, after all, who ELSE would go to the bother of slinging rocks at his window at just-past-midnight on a school night?“Good, you’re still up.”    Rex Raptor, presumably having hopped Weevil’s parents’ backyard fence, stood on the lawn, still holding the handful of gravel and rocks he had been launching one-by-one to try and get his friend’s attention.“I’ve got class in the morning.”  Weevil told him tersely.  “….so do you, for that matter.”   He braced his hands on the window, preparing to slam it closed again and return to bed when it occurred to him…….didn’t Rex live two hours away?“Hey, look, can I–” Rex began and stopped, rubbing at the back of his neck as he shifted his weight awkwardly.  “I gotta come in for a little while, okay?”“What?  Forget it!  My mom would come down on me like a swarm of hornets if she knew I’d had you over!”     Mrs. Underwood didn’t care for Rex, and wasn’t shy about saying so.   The few times Weevil had invited him over, she’d kept a suspicious eye on the dino duelist, urging her son to check his belongings after he’d left, and make sure nothing had been stolen.    When nothing had turned up missing, it was always something else - he was loud, he was rude, he chewed with his mouth open, his hair was dirty.  Eventually both boys had decided it was far less trouble for the two of them to simply meet up in public places to go about their business instead.“Weeve, c’mon!”  His tone gave Weevil pause.   “I won’t stay the night or anything, I just–”  he cut off again, reaching up to swipe the sleeve of his green jacket across his eyes impatiently.   “Are you crying?”   Weevil asked, sounding somewhere between incredulous and surprised.  Rex neither confirmed nor denied the question.  Instead, he gave a long, watery snuffle and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You gonna let me in or what?” he asked sulkily.   The response was the window shutting..and then a few minutes later, the sliding back door grinding open quietly on its tracks.  “Hurry up.”  Weevil commanded, still in his lime green ladybug-print pajamas as he motioned Rex inside.   The two of them were silent as Rex crossed the patio into the family room, Weevil shutting the door behind him.   They made their way through the darkened downstairs, up the steps and down the hall with no incident until, at last, Weevil was closing them up safely in his bedroom.   “Ugh, you stink like smoke.”  he noted.  “Where did you come from?  And what was so important that you couldn’t–”Rex. having made a herculean effort of holding out as long as he had, chose that moment to loudly break down into braying sobs, with such force that it seemed to derail the insect master entirely.     “Wh–h-hey, don’t–!”  Weevil faltered in the face of the storm that was Rex’s misery.“Everything’s gone…” he moaned, burying his face in his hands.“What is?  What are you talking about, Raptor?”  Weevil demanded to know, finally having regained enough ground to properly inject his annoyance into the situation.  “Don’t wake me up in the middle of the night and then be cryptic about it!”   The heels of Rex’s hands pressed into his eyes a moment before he dragged his nails down his cheeks, beginning to pace the neatly-kept bedroom.“I mean everything!” he began.   “My cards, my disk, just–everything! Gone!”   “What kind of idiot loses their entire dueling kit?” Weevil asked, acid in his voice as he placed his hands on his hips, watching his friend’s erratic movements.   Weevil had little patience for others’ incompetence, and he found his mind could easily conjure up images of Rex falling asleep on a city bus and forgetting his disk on the seat beside him after finally stepping off four stops beyond his own.   Or becoming distracted by some busty girl in a tank top at the mall, and leaving it on a bench while he dropped everything in pursuit.Instead of seeing guilt creep over the other’s face when confronted with the accusation he’d probably done something stupid, though, Rex suddenly looked furious as he drew back and punched the wall with a curse.   “Will you STOP?!  You’re going to wake up–”“I didn’t LOSE’em, okay??”  Rex snarled, his grief swallowed up by a roaring stampede of anger.    It was enough to bring Weevil up short on words as Rex bristled, teeth pulled back from his lips in a grimace of rage.   “Remember that local tournament you were talkin’ about?  The one you said we should do together?”Weevil remembered.  “That hardly would have been worth our time. We’re miles ahead of a bunch of local nobodies.”“Yeah, well, *I* went.”  Rex continued, withdrawing his fist and observing the raw redness of his knuckles from the impact with the wall.   “I thought—I dunno–thought maybe I WANTED to duel a bunch of nobodies.  Start at the bottom and work my way up again, find the same groove I had before that got me to the regionals instead of havin’ my ass handed to me over and over again.”On that much, at least, Weevil could grudgingly empathize.  There were times he’d considered doing similar, in fact.   Though his pride, as well as the knowledge that he’d already been the regional champion, would not allow him to lower himself back to the starting line.   Rex was pacing again, breath huffing with such force that it was easy to imagine plumes of steam venting from his nostrils and mouth, like one of the dinosaurs he so revered.    “I did good, came in second.  That’s not so bad after the streak I’ve been on lately.”  he went on.   “Except afterward these two guys came up.   Hadn’t been up against any of’em in the tournament, so either they got kicked out early-on or they’d just been watchin’.    I dunno, but–”  he drew in a shaky breath and let it out again.   “–but they knew who I was.  And they knew who you were.”“I don’t know why that’s surprising…” Weevil shrugged.  “You and I are practically a household name in the dueling circuit.”   “And they did the usual fan BS.   Said it was good to see me gettin’ back in the saddle after my ‘hiatus’.   Said they were big fans of my deck and asked if I’d meet up with’em later and give some pointers.   And–and I figured what the hell, right?   What else was I doin’?”     He stopped in the middle of Weevil’s bedroom, head lowering as he went on.   “They said they had some homework and shit to do, but that we could meet up at the park afterward if i wanted to wait.   So…I hung around until it got dark.”“Oh my god, don’t tell me you got mugged.”  Weevil groaned, giving an exaggerated roll of his eyes to properly express his exasperation at the idea.“It was worse than that!” Rex snapped, jabbing a finger at Weevil accusingly.  Again, the smaller male quieted himself, finding he actually wanted to hear this story.    “So they finally showed up, only it wasn’t just them.  They had more guys and said they were friends from school.   And just as I was thinkin’ those guys look kinda old for school, they just–”   tears were welling at the corners of his eyes again, beginning to spill over.   “–it happened so fast, Weeve.   One minute they’re askin’ me about Uraby, the next minute the two big guys have me by the arms while the guys from the tournament are draggin over a trash can.”“I read an article once that compared yours and Weevil Underwood’s dueling career to a garbage fire.”  the stouter of the two boys said, producing a lighter and flicking it on before introducing the flame to a napkin that was sticking out of the can.   The night air was soon alight with the crackle of flames and the stench of burning trash, accompanied by a ripple of laughter from the other three.   “So we figured this would be a fitting send-off.”“Let go of me!”  Rex demanded, thrashing in his captors’ hold. “Get his deck.” the one who’d lit the fire demanded as his taller companion moved forward, rifling through Rex’s coat pockets until he found it and brought it over.   Amid his furious attempts to free himself, Rex watched with worried fixation as the stranger opened up the box and began to idly leaf through his cards.   “You know what my favorite part of your guys’ career was?  The Duelist Kingdom tournament.” “We had WAY better wins than that!”  Rex argued, watching worriedly as Two-Headed King Rex and Fossil Excavation shuffled through the guy’s fingers.  “Yeah but you know why it sticks out in my mind?” the kid pressed, the firelight lending his eyes an ominous glint.   “Because of what you guys did to Yugi Muto’s Exodia cards on the boat.”“Th–I had nothin’ to do with that.  That was all Weevil.”  Rex huffed, trying yet again to wrench himself free before dangling there, subdued, though only in the way an animal caught in a trap temporarily stops struggling to consider its next move for escape.“That’s right, where were you again?   Trying to chase Mai Valentine’s tail, right?”Damn, those big-name duelists sure liked to run their mouths in interviews, didn’t they…?“I always wanted to see Exodia in action.  Somebody like Yugi probably could’ve put that thing through its paces, but I guess we’ll never know now.   Did he cry when you threw it into the ocean?”Rex remained silent, receiving a thump between his shoulders from one of the goons holding him that jarred him back to attention. “I dunno.  Weevil said he did.  Weevil says a lot of shit, though.  He probably didn’t even stick around to see.”“i’m just saying.  I’D probably cry if someone tossed my rare cards into the elements where I couldn’t do anything to save them.”   He leaned forward a bit, a thin, musing smile on his face.   “Where IS Weevil these days?”“School?  I dunno, man, come on!  I’m not that little gnat’s keeper.”    That guy was standing far too close to that burning trash can for Rex’s liking.  “That’s okay.  You can just pass this along for him, then, on behalf of those of us who don’t want to see clowns like you becoming the face of Duel Monsters.”  He was back to rlfing through Rex’s cards, putting him on-edge as he watched the stranger pause, his smile becoming a grin as if he’d found what he was looking for.   With a flourish, he produced a card, the firelight playing off of its holographic surface.  Just as Rex recognized which one it was, the boy flicked it into the can.  “Say goodbye to Tyrant dragon!” he jeered.   Rex immediately went electric in the others’ hold, to the point they had to struggle to keep him restrained.  “What the hell?? NO!”  he cried, lunging ineffectively as a frantic voice told him it wasn’t too late.  He could still save it.  A little crispy around the edges, sure, but if he was fast enough, he–“Bye bye, Megazowler!”  in went another card.   Rex’s heart dropped into his stomach.  “Ooh what’s this?  Crawling Dragon #2?  Wouldn’t want HIM to get lonely!”   It was like watching a burning comet crash through a chapter of his life and wipe it right out of existence as, one by one, his dinos were fed to the devouring flames.  Dinos he’d spent years searching out in packs, and wheeling-and-dealing in the schoolyards for.   It reminded him of the gut-coiling feeling of having to hand off his Red-eyes to Joey Wheeler, being forced to reflect on the endless odd jobs he’d done and the countless bottles and cans he’d pulled out of gutters to tote to the recycling center in order to afford its lofty price tag.  Even though, on some level, he’d at least been comforted to know that Joey would treat Red Eyes with the respect it deserved.   This was…“Oh my god, dude, he’s actually crying!” one of the older guys clutching him announced with a shrill laugh.   “What a little bitch!”Rex barely heard him, and certainly not on a level that the mockery or laughter from the others would have registered.  Was he crying?  He didn’t know.  He was too busy watching Serpent Night Dragon join the other three in the blaze, followed by Trakodon, followed by–By now, the words were tumbling out of Rex at a fever pitch as he recalled the happenings in the park, talking faster and faster the more upset he became until he was barely making any sense at all.    What Weevil was able to collect out of the word salad was that the punks had finished tossing his deck into the garbage fire they’d created, one of them had socked him in the belly to knock his wind out, and for their final trick, they’d taken his duel disk and thrown it against a tree until it had broken before leaving him there among the ruins.  “And I just–I didn’t know what else to do.  So I came here.”  he finished, his eyes and nose both reddened and streaming freely.   Weevil tensed, possibly in disgust at the mess of bodily fluids Rex was turning himself into, or maybe in guilt at the fact his friend had taken a punishment he hadn’t exactly earned.   No, it was definitely the former, he decided, before crossing over to his bedside table, snagging the box of tissues perched there and offering it to Rex, who gratefully grabbed up a few to begin mopping up the mess his face had become.“Idiots.”  Weevil snarled.  “Why go after you for something *I* did?”    He’d never exactly been ashamed of what he’d done with Exodia, and had even relayed the story a few times himself.  When Rex didn’t offer an answer to this, Weevil vented a sigh, reaching out to his friend, pausing to find a place on Rex’s sleeve that hadn’t been snail-trailed in tears or snot, before patting his arm reassuringly.   “It doesn’t matter. You can bounce back from this.” he told him.   “You can get more dinosaurs, and–”“Me and what money, huh?” Rex challenged, anger flaring again as he loudly blew his nose.   “All those packs?  All those boxes?  I can’t do all that again!  It’d take me an ice age to get’em all back!”There was a long pause that hung between them, the only sound being Rex’s hitched breathing as he tried to calm himself down.   “Not necessarily.” Weevil offered at last, dropping down to one knee to pull a box out from beneath his bed.    “What we need here is a stand-in.”“I don’t want any of your crappy proxies.”  Rex sulked, looking at the floor as Weevil unlidded the box.“They are NOT crappy.” the bespectacled boy shot back, rifling through the rows of them he’d sorted by name and type.  “They’re tournament quality.  Duel Disks read them flawlessly.”   He’d already begun plucking out cards and clutching them between his thin fingers.    “And besides, do YOU want to explain to everybody that you had your whole career torn down by Yugi’s fanboys?”Rex considered, his face souring, before finally bringing himself to look over at Weevil who’d nearly finished picking through the stacks with the precision of a mantis.   “Here.” he said at last, thrusting the makeshift deck at his friend.   Rex frowned as he sifted through them.   He knew they were fakes but…damn, Weevil was right.  It was almost impossible to tell.  “Wait…” he said, a thought seeming to dawn on him.  “So you just HAPPENED to have my entire deck in with your dumb bug copies?”    At this, Weevil notably bristled. “I’ve got MY entire deck in there too, you dino dumbass!” he shot back.   “After I had to give up my Insect Queen to Wheeler and have him rub my face in it, I wasn’t about to give anyone else the satisfaction of seeing that hole in my collection.  And I thought I may as well back up the rest too, just in case.”“…yeah but mine?”  Rex asked, sounding a bit awed.   Weevil rolled his eyes in return.“I don’t have time for setbacks”  he explained.  “And since I rarely make mistakes, I have to take into account that everybody else might.  That goes for my partner too.  So…that’s why…”  he gestured at the proxy dinosaur deck now in Rex’s possession.  “You can just replace them as you go along so nobody has to kn-REX!!”Weevil’s shrill proclamation was in response to the fact that Rex had flung his arms around the smaller male’s shoulders, squeezing him in a bear hug.  “Lookit you! Weevil Underwood lookin’ out for me and helpin’ me save face!” Rex chuckled, his throat still sticky from crying.   “Partner, eh?”“I didn’t say–”“You did!  You said partner!” Rex goaded, tightening the hug until Weevil wondered if his chest might collapse.  “No take-backs!”Weevil wheezed something that was probably more profanities before a sound that every kid up past their bedtime equated with horror made both of them freeze.  Slippered footsteps chuffed down the hallway, drawing closer to the closed bedroom door.  Rex and Weevil both exchanged a wide-eyed look, and then like the world’s most bizarre synchronized dancers, they simultaneously leapt into action as Rex scuttled into the nearest hiding spot he could find - under Weevil’s bed - and Weevil grabbed the box, diving atop the mattress and ignoring the muffled grunt from beneath.  By the time Mrs. Underwood had tapped twice on her son’s bedroom door before opening it, she would be greeted with the tranquil scene of Weevil sprawled on his belly, sorting through his cards with idle fascination.  “It’s late.” she remarked as Weevil looked up with mock-surprise, having long ago perfected his poker face where his parents were concerned.“Is it?  Sorry, I didn’t notice.   I got some new ones today.  You know I hate it when they’re out of order.”She nodded faintly as he spoke, as if she were full-aware before folding her arms. “Were you…talking to someone in here?” “Someone from school.” he answered easily.  “They had some questions about an assignment, and I put them on speaker because i wanted to keep doing what I was doing.   Was it too loud?”    The innocence in his voice ought to have been criminal…and it seemed to work exactly as he’d intended it to.   She lingered in his doorway a moment more before sighing, crossing the room, and gently removing the proxy box from Weevil’s bed to transplant it to his desk.“Get some sleep.” she told him, tousling his crown of seafoam-colored hair as she passed back by him on her way out.   “The weekend is coming, you’ll have plenty of time for cards then.”   Weevil completed his illusion of the eager-yet-obedient son with a disappointed sigh.“Right…goodnight, mother.”It was a full minute after the footsteps had retreated and Weevil’s parents’ bedroom door had shut once more before Weevil’s head appeared in the gap between the floor and the mattress, upside-down, as he leaned over the side of his bed to peer into Rex’s hiding spot.“How are you getting back?” he whispered.“I dunno, the buses stop runnin’ at midnight.”  Rex whispered back.   Weevil promptly disappeared from view as he scrambled back up top and, a moment later, a pillow paffed Rex in the face.  “My parents leave for work at six.  The buses should be running by then.”  Weevil informed him as Rex blinked at the offering.“I can stay?”“We’ll figure out your duel disk this weekend.”  Weevil went on as if he hadn’t heard him.  “Just be quiet.” Rex hesitated a moment more before cramming the pillow beneath his head and settling in as best as he was able in the cramped space.   Seeming satisfied with this, Weevil, again, withdrew, the bedside lamp clicking off and the springs creaking and jostling a bit as he, too, got settled.After a few moments, the bedroom was silent.   Until Rex nudged the mattress with his knee.“Partneeerrrrrs~”  he sang up at his friend teasingly.“I’m about five seconds from creating YOUR extinction event.” Weevil warned.  “Go to sleep.”   Rex gave a snort of laughter, settling once more.   He listened, though.  He went to sleep.

[the-scot-blog1]

Scrolling through Twitter one afternoon, I stumbled upon an amazing little feature by blogger Liam McNally – he had posted a text post with a number of different film titles from each year of his life. Bloody brilliant.

So I’ve decided to give it a go. I’ve been on this wonderful planet for almost 19 years now, and although I wasn’t alive for the release of Jurassic Park, there have been a fair few phenomenal films in my lifetime.

This is my longest post to date – I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. (2730 words – bloody hell).

  1998: Pleasantville

Oh my God. I didn’t realise how difficult this post was until I searched ‘1998 films’ into Google. The Trueman Show, Saving Private Ryan and The Wedding Singer all in the one year? God, anyone alive and kicking back then must have been having the best year of their lives.

But despite the 10 minute long decision process, I’ve decided on Pleasantville. I watched it when I was very young and hadn’t ever worn a bra, much less watched anything like that bath scene. Despite my mortified eyes however, the film will always be one of my favourites. I remember seeing the main character for the first time and just constantly thinking god, this is a weird film for Spiderman and Elle Woods to be in.

  1999: 10 Things I Hate About You

Again, this year is bloody difficult. The Iron Giant, The Mummy and Toy Story 2 – they just don’t make films like them anymore. Although I wasn’t a fan of Star Wars Episode 1 – it has to be one of my least favourites. Anyway.

10 Things I Hate About You was one of the first chick-flicks I ever watched. I knew Heath Ledger as ‘the strangely cute singing guy from that movie’ before I knew him as the Joker. I felt like I related to Kat – I wasn’t big on getting a boyfriend, and I was pretty much destined to be a wee bit strange since birth. Plus her name is so cool.

  2000: X-Men

At the time of watching, I was right into Harry Potter. I loved the idea of special schools dedicated to supernatural people – it made my own secondary school even more boring. I’d often just sit in class and daydream about being able to fly or have the ability to imitate people.

But in all honesty, the one person I was most envious of was Quicksilver. And not because I wanted to save the world or any of that pish. No. When I sat in my third year physics class, the smells from the cafeteria always decided to sneak up the vent and attack my nostrils. I would get so unbelievably hungry, and my stomach would always tell my classmates just that. So I used to daydream about running faster than time, sprinting down into the dining hall, grabbing a steaming hot spicy chicken panini (and maybe some soup, if I could manage) and munching it before heading back up to class. Yeah – I wanted superpowers so I could eat my lunch early.

  2001: The Princess Diaries

AH. I’ve got a feeling film directors are deliberately messing with me right now. Legit, I had a look at the films from 2001, and I was floored. What an amazing year. The first Harry Potter movie came out this year – the beginning of an absolute era. Shrek debuted as well – but I was always slightly offended when people heard my Scottish accent and compared me to a giant green ogre when I travelled abroad. The first Lord of the Rings film came out as well – see what I mean about them messing with me?

But despite all of my favourite film franchises beginning in this year, I gotta say, the Anne Hathaway/Julie Andrews combo that is The Princess Diaries absolutely stole my heart. I had never related to a character more – I had frizzy hair, buck teeth, oversized glasses and a tendency to prioritise spending time with my cat over hanging out with real-life friends. So when she went through her beautiful princess transformation, I was floored. I mean, I’m still waiting for that to officially happen, but I’m still holding out hope that I have a long lost relative that’s gonna tell me I’m a princess (no, not you mum).

  2002: The Pianist

Originally, I had written the first Spiderman as my favourite film of 2002. But that quickly changed.

The first time I watched The Pianist, I was 13 years old in a stuffy history classroom. I still hold the belief that this was definitely not the right time to watch this film. It felt as though my teacher didn’t have any material to convey how horrific the Holocaust really was, and so instead she stuck on one of the most distressing and hauntingly beautiful films of all time. I didn’t fully appreciate it back then – I cried when I watched the horrors that took place in the ghettos, and got even more upset when immature people around me started to laugh.

But I watched it for a second time a few years later. Although I cried again, I gained a much deeper understanding of the film. I still listen to the soundtrack when I want to write a particularly moving or sad chapter of a book. The film has such a disgusting beauty to it, it is astounding – it makes me question my morals when I say it is one of my favourite films.

  2003: Peter Pan

Again, there were so many amazing films this year – I can’t explain my guilt at not choosing Finding Nemo or the last instalment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

But I found my first love in the live-action remake of Peter Pan. Just a few years after it was released, I found myself watching it time and time again. I was young, and there was a boy with messy hair and a fairy to keep him company. Honestly, I was head over heels. I grew to absolutely despise Wendy Darling. How dare she take away my Peter, with her stupid bow and annoying accent. And the fact that Lucius Malfoy was Captain Hook just made it that little bit better.

  2004: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

You’re lying if you say that this isn’t one of your favourite films.

Again, it was tricky not choosing The Incredibles or Mean Girls – even The Notebook made it to my shortlist. But the way the Weasley twin’s hair sat and the introduction of the marauders just made my life complete. Except for Pettigrew. Fuck you, Pettigrew. I’d read the book before I saw the film, and while I was slightly disappointed with the previous two, I didn’t stop talking about PoA for months. In fact, I still talk about it. It’s great.

  2005: Sky High

This year was going to be beautifully simple – I absolutely love Star Wars Episode III. In fact, it was possibly the only film I was certain of when I started this post. But, never the less, I looked at the list of 2005 films anyway, and was reminded of the best thing I’ve ever watched. Ever.

Remember earlier in the post when I said that I frickin LOVE schools for supernatural people? WELL HERE WE GO AGAIN. I watched Sky High recently with my friend Ross, and even although the acting was abysmal and my cringe levels were off the chart, I couldn’t help but smile. As if the flying school bus wasn’t enough, the euphoria I felt when Will and Warren won Save the Citizen was something I don’t think I’ll ever feel again.

  2006: Pan’s Labyrinth

I feel like if I choose any film other than this, my Spanish teacher would kill me. Again, it’s another film that we watched at way too young an age in my opinion. Sure, it looks all mystical with fairies and creepy monsters with eyeball hands, but it has this underlying story-line of the horrors of war and escapism that you can’t fully understand until you’re a bit older.

I watched it again when I was 17 and studying Advanced Higher Spanish, and knew the film as ‘El Laberinto del Fauno’. I could go on for 20 minutes about this film and its director (which I did by the way, in the final exam).

  2007: Ratatouille

WHAT A FILM BTW. I’ve always loved Disney – my sister and I would spend nights staying up way past our 8pm bedtime watching Aladdin and Peter Pan, with a fair few stolen After Eight mints from my mum’s bedroom too. This film just completely blew me away – the animation was new and cool and it was set in PARIS.

Even now, ten years later (omg ten years wtf) I still think about the scene where Remy combines the cheese and grapes, and little fireworks and swirls form in his mind. I once ate a McDonald’s chip and then took a sip of my strawberry milkshake, and legit I’m pretty sure that’s what happened in my mind.

  2008: The Chronicles of Narnia – Prince Caspian

Enter stage left – my second love. At the age of nine, Prince Caspian had everything I could ever want in a guy (or so I thought). He had a sword, long hair, an accent I had never heard before and he fought Peter Pevensie (I seem to hate a whole lot of Peters).

I thought it was the coolest combination of Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, and it was while watching this that I began to have a crisis about my true Hogwarts house. I had always thought myself a Gryffindor – I had the scarf, the pens and the egotistical ‘I’m-better-than-you’ attitude that all young Gryffs seem to adopt. But I found myself siding with Edmund Pevensie about a whole lot of things. I didn’t fully accept Slytherin as my true house till a good few years later.

  2009: Star Trek

I watched Star Trek before I even touched Star Wars, and I was absolutely hooked. It was what introduced me to science fiction, really. After Star Trek, I moved onto Doctor Who, and although I couldn’t really get into the Star Trek TV series, I found my love of sci-fi growing.

It was my love of Star Trek that caused me to accidentally find Star Wars. My brother would constantly go on about C3PO and lightsabers, and I decided very early on that it wasn’t for me. But after trying (and failing) to find Star Trek online, I accidentally found Star Wars instead, and thus began my love of the Skywalkers and giant wookies named Chewy.

  2010: How To Train Your Dragon

Other than Aladdin, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was one of my first (of many) cartoon crushes. I thought he was the most adorable lil guy ever – he was clumsy, dorky, and absolutely loved animals. He was perfect. I thought the animation was absolutely incredible, and the Scottish accents were just a bonus. I much preferred being compared to Gerard Butler than a green ogre, in all honesty.

And don’t even get me started on how he looked in How To Train Your Dragon 2 – oaft.

  2011: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two

HPDHP2 is right up there with the Prisoner of Azkaban. I remember heading to the midnight release of the last Harry Potter book – I was decked out in a Scream robe that we’d stitched a Gryffindor badge onto, with curly hair that reached my shoulders. And yes, I won the costume contest. But I remember staying up that night and reading the book until 7am, and having to head to school the next day without a wink of sleep. And yet I didn’t care – I had just finished the last book in a series that completely shaped my childhood.

So when the movie hit the cinema screens, I was praying that I wouldn’t be disappointed like I was with some of the others. And apparently, my prayers were answered. Even although the Deathly Hallows is split into two parts, I always consider them the one film. And it’s most certainly my favourite.

  2012: The Perks of Being a Wallflower

This film really got to me. I bundled up in warm clothes to see it in the cinema with my friend Ailish, and it was the first ever film I had cried at. I’d read the book before hand and cried my eyes out, but the severity and meaning of the story didn’t hit me until I watched the film. Logan Lerman and Emma Watson were two of my favourite stars at the time: I knew Emma from Harry Potter obviously, whilst Logan stole my heart as Percy Jackson.

But what struck me most was the way I related to these characters. I often found myself standing next to the wall in school dances, watching people having a good time but being physically incapable of joining in – it was as if my feet were constantly glued to the floor. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t alone in this, and it lead to me being able to open up to my guidance teacher about my struggles with anxiety.

I also wrote about the original book in my piece ’13 books to help get over a break up’ – check it out.

2013: The Hobbit – The Desolation of Smaug

When the making of the Hobbit was first announced, I was ecstatic. But my excitement somewhat wavered when I heard they were turning into three films. It was a small book – tiny in comparison to the three Lord of the Rings texts – how on earth would they stretch this wonderfully small work into three different films?

And yet somehow, they managed it, and subsequently made one of my favourite films of all time. Why, you ask? The barrel scene. 

2014: Guardians of the Galaxy

Not gonna lie, this one was a toss up between the hilarious Chris Pratt and the absolutely adorable Baymax. But, as much as I love Disney’s tale of superpowers and love therapy in Big Hero 6, it didn’t win this year for me. The best thing about the film is without a doubt the soundtrack – even four years later, I still listen to it when I wanna get psyched.

I wanted to cosplay as Gamora for last year’s MCM Comic Con in Glasgow so bad, but then I realised that I’d more than likely sweat off the green body paint and the leather would more than likely get quite uncomfortable.

2015: Star Wars – The Force Awakens

Up until 2015, I was losing interest in Star Wars. I’d watched the films countless times, but as much as I adored them, I couldn’t stop thinking about the shabby effects. So when Finn, Poe and Rey lit up my local cinema screen in December 2015, it was as if I was born again. I suddenly dived back into the world of lightsabers and gun-wielding Wookies, and I genuinely haven’t looked back since.

And although I cried my eyes out when that thing happened, I agreed with it – it was about time.

2016: Finding Dory

I actually travelled Australia for a month last year – I left school and just decided to get away from everything and everyone for a little while. So after I met my brother and we began to explore Sydney, we decided what better place to watch the latest instalment in Finding Nemo than the place where it’s set??

I was slightly disappointed to find out that Nemo and Dory did not, in fact, stay in Sydney for the duration of the film, but even so – it was just amazing.

I was going to write a segment for 2017 but then I realised – I legit haven’t watched any new releases yet. I’ve simply not had any time. And yes, that means that I haven’t even watched the new Beauty and the Beast. For shame.

But even although I haven’t watched anything yet, there are tonnes of films that I’m looking forward to – Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2, Spiderman Homecoming, and Star Wars: The Last Jedi to name a few.

Hey, maybe I’ll revisit this post at the end of the year and add in my favourite film.

I’m tagging the fantastic Emily and Lucie in the ‘Film for every year of my life’ tag.

What are your most loved films from these years? Do we share any favourites? Or do you think my choices are just downright wrong? Let me know!

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18 films in 18 years: My favourite stories since I was born was originally published on Ellan