#but this monumental film played before my eyes

[katkalis-the-fanartist]

I was trying out the classic hunger games sim online cause its amusing to me and I'm planning to do a bigger retry with it tomorow with more characters etc etc

This demo round though...broke me right before bed..so I'm showing yall the angst and hurt too

If you like submas, be ready. Summed up, this happened:

For context, Lorian is a Dark Souls 3 boss and is also probably one of my biggest comfort characters if not my top one. So this is super conflicting and I WASNT PREPARED FOR THE HEARTBREAK-

Someone HAS to have made a fanfic similar to this tho...and it would have been worse if Ingo and Emmet switched places imo

[queenshelby]

OSCAR SPECIAL (PART THREE OF FOUR)

Given Cillian’s recent success, I decided to jump ahead a little in my fics and give you a little Oscar Special. But don’t worry, I will cover off everything in between in due course and, for some fics, this Oscar part will hopefully get you guessing, while for others it will constitute a happy ending!

The Director (Oscar Special)

18 months later....Media Snippet -  E! News

"Cillian Murphy has just arrived at the red carpet, looking absolutely dazzling in a black suit and bowtie. Simple but exquisite nonetheless," one of the reporters said to another, a microphone hoisted between them.

The other beamed, while staring at the earpiece, where notes were fed to her. "And I can confirm that he arrived with Oppenheimer assistant director Y/N Y/LN as well as close friend Enda Walsh, both of whom he had worked with last year on his most recent movie called "Small Things Like These," she said, equally envious and enthusiastic as she watched the actor stroll down the red carpet.

"There is no sight of his wife Danielle Murphy which has sparked rumors afloat that they might be having marital troubles," her partner chimed in with, positioning a camera and focusing it commendably on Cillian without causing a scene.

"According to sources, it was rumored already last year that Danielle Murphy has moved out of their joint home shortly after filming of 'Small Things Like These' wrapped up, although no official statement has been released confirming it," she responded before the other reporter chimed in, announcing the arrival of yet another actor who was no other than your husband James McKibben. 

"There is James McKibben, dressed in a white tuxedo! He's looking utterly fabulous as well!" the other reporter said, noting James' presence on the red carpet. The camera flashed as he walked down the glossy red surface, charisma and self-confidence emanating from him with ease as security held him back from where you were standing with both, Cillian and Enda. 

"And here is a bit of trivia for you," the same reporter then announced quietly, pressing the microphone against her lips as if she was telling a secret. "Word has it that Murphy took out a restraining order against McKibbin following an incident at Universal in July last year," she paused for dramatic effect before going on. "It's not entirely clear what happened, but my guess is that involved Y/N Y/LN who, just earlier this year, filed for divorce from McKibbin," the reporter stated, feeling a little too much glee for having what seemed like an inside scoop before she went on to assess Cillian's chances of winning. 

"Well, let's just say that everyone in the industry is rooting for Cillian this year. He has been nominated for an Oscar for his portrayal of Robert Oppenheimer in the film "Oppenheimer", a true masterclass in acting," the other reporter gushed, addressing the first one.

"You've got it. All eyes are on him tonight and whatever the rumors floating around may be, none of them will matter once he holds this statue in his hands," his colleague responded, sounding equally enamored with Cillian's acting range and talent that could very well help him win. 

Hours later, he did, indeed, win the Oscar for Best Actor, and just like the reporter said, all eyes were on him as he accepted the award with grace and humility.

"Oh my god," he stammered almost nervously as he was handed his trophy. "Thank you so much for this great honor. Thank you Christopher Nolan and Emma Thomas for giving me the opportunity to play such a monumental role, one that I am still trying to process as the words come out of my mouth, and to all the cast and crew for their unwavering support throughout filming. I wouldn't be here without them," Cillian said with perhaps a slightly trembling voice.

It was not every day you get to be nominated for an Academy Award, let alone win one and, with that, his final thanks went to his adult children who believed in him along the way.

As expected though, Cillian did not mention his wife Danielle, whose absence after almost twelve years of marriage sparked rumors of ongoing troubles between them.

An usher arrived to signal him off the stage and waved to the audience before taking a seat again right next to you. 

"I am so proud of you," you whispered in Cillian's ear, your lips brushing against the delicate outer shell in a way no one noticed. 

"You know I couldn't have done it without you, right?" he then whispered back while, discreetly, taking your hand into his and giving it a firm squeeze, as if he needed you there just as much as you needed him.

The weight of the Oscar in his hand was surreal, the sheer scale of his victory even more so, but with you by his side, the feeling was no longer uncanny, but rather, comforting but what would come next, at the after party, was going to be an utter surprise for you both. 

Timeline Note for my fic:

Filming Oppenheimer - September/October 2022

Filming STLT - January/February 2023

Oppenheimer Release/Press Engagements - July 2023

Award Season 2024 - January/February/March 2024

To be continued...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

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[ac3may]

“ the wag diaries ”

How You Met

~ Sam Kerr ~

~~~~~~~~~~

your first day working with the Chelsea media team started by meeting the staff

a player of the men's team your younger brother refused to leave your side 

you proceeded to have lunch with the men’s team

until Connor Gallagher and Ben Chilwell physically dragged him away to training

and you continued your day by eloping with interviews of the women’s team about the past season

you weren't sibling-less long though as you moved to the other side of Cobham

your sister just finishing her own training session

although your first experience with Enya’s team wasn't the most professional

it was more watching them rehab…

post-training 

shirtless!

rippling muscles covered in water droplets

how could you not look and admire?!

Sam’s first impression is mid-interview though, captured on camera and saved for eternity

you had stepped out for a glass of water, returning with a tray for the whole team 

Sam could do nothing but double-take, surely you weren’t real

she could’ve sworn she’d just seen an angel enter the room

her first thought is ‘who is this girl? And how come I’ve never seen her before?’

she had never seen anyone pull off the basic blue training kit the way you did

how did you manage to make training joggers look good?

it wasn't until she returned to her teammates in a daze that she found out who you were, and that you’d be around for the foreseeable

your first impression wasn’t quite as monumental

you were surrounded by good-looking sportswomen all day, and trying to make a good impression on your first day 

your second however? much more so

you had been called in to film a ‘Matchday Unseen’ video for the Chelsea YouTube channel last-minute

most of the day was spent trying to find your way around 

accidentally stumbling into the wrong place a number of times

falling through another door you find yourself in the changing room rather than the cafeteria 

the sight of Sam Kerr in her underwear certainly wasn’t what you were expecting on your way to find a bacon sandwich

your one saving grace was that she was the only one in the room

but even that didn’t stop the red face you wore as you did everything to avoid eye contact 

while spluttering apologies

a spluttering mess was something you never were

but somehow that’s the only side Sam saw of you for the first few weeks

and she revealed in it, she lived for teasing you, getting flirty and watching you freeze up

catching your eye and seeing you stumble over your camera settings

her favourite was when she pushed her luck by playing it up for the cameras

the fans loved what they thought she was giving them and she loved what response she got in your pink cheeks

after months of open flirting and help from your siblings, she finally gets you alone to ask you on a date 

one that you end up missing… not on purpose!

~~~~~~~~~~

So for anyone familiar with my blog this may seem like a repeat.

That’s because essentially it is.

But I have so much more to build on this whole concept and relationship that I felt it would work better in wag diaries than as a stand alone reader piece.

Sorry if you came hoping for something new, I promise it will develop into new stories soon!

[fsbc-librarian]

WIPs Word Search

I've been tagged in two of these now - thanks @thisonesatellite & @xoxobuckybarnes - so I am going to combine the two into one (but I only have two WIPs to work from, so it'll be interesting to see if I can split the prompts down the middle or not).

Green: There’s something about planning, filming, and piecing together video clips that’s always excited Bucky, and it’s pretty much exactly what the opening video for their Glastonbury performance is - just a longer video clip. It’s pretty much fully filmed - the solo parts were mostly filmed on a soundstage in front of a green screen anyway, and all of the group shots were done in London either on location or with more green screens. There’s no talking by any of the band, so that made it easier, and it had actually been a lot of fun to film because they’d had enough explosions to rival a Hollywood blockbuster. All that’s really left now is to make sure the scenes look good, and the music matches the action.

Spoon: Breakfast is a bowl of cereal. He eyes the kettle with suspicion, but decides that’s a battle for another day. He’s not entirely sure how to use the coffee press, and there’s no room on the tiny counter for a coffee machine anyway. He drops the bowl in the sink, and is three steps away before he remembers that there’s no one else to actually wash it for him anymore. He wonders if there’s any point in filling the whole sink, small though it might be, for just one bowl and one spoon. Surely not. A couple of drops of detergent in the bowl, and a rinse with hot water later, he leaves the now-clean bowl on the tiny drying rack and heads for the bathroom.

Art: He knows Steve loves art galleries and history, and that he refuses to watch the news in case he learns of another art gallery or historical monument being destroyed. He knows Steve had asthma as a kid, that his ma was a single omega in a rough neighborhood and they couldn’t afford a television so he would sneak into the old movie theater which only played black and white films, which is why Steve knows next to nothing about pop culture except for some very niche references to movies from the 40s. 

Everything: Steve can only stare, heart thumping as he soaks it in as best he can, glad he’s comfy as all hell on his couch in their living room with the AC on even as he wishes he could be there.  He listens to the tracks, everything sounding even better than he had imagined that it could live, the performance not marred by any bad sound technician issues - though Steve had been sure it wouldn’t be.  The 107’s team were damn good, and Bucky was too much of a perfectionist to allow anything but the best, especially for something so important as this.

Sharp: Bucky cuts him off with a kiss, biting down on his lower lip with sharp teeth, soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. “I trust you,” he whispers against Steve’s mouth. 

Interesting: “It was certainly interesting to see you getting a dressing down like that,” Maria admits. “Every time I’ve seen someone try in the past, you’ve just walked away from them.”

“It was Steve,” he says, as though that explains anything. 

Eyeroll: “Cinderella lost her shoe, not her feet,” Wanda says from behind them, making Darcy jump. 

“I told you!” Bucky laughs. “I told you it was Cinderella’s shoe, but you didn’t believe me!”

Wanda rolls her eyes goodnaturedly. “Are you hungry? Logan made a stack of snacks earlier; they’re in the kitchen.” 

Well, this certainly made me realise that I use some phrasing more often than I'm overly happy with (and also using the search function on a 400+ page document in google docs on an older model laptop will almost make the laptop sieze up), but it was fun to look through my work.

No pressure tags for @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy @zenaidamacrouras1 @oh-i-swear-writes @musette22 and anyone else who wants to join in. Your words are: patch, behave, loud, genuine

[complicatedkiwi13]

To Love

Prompt: Harry and Y/n are big fans of each other.

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warning: None?

Raindrops drizzled on to Y/N’s perfectly curated outfit for the show tonight. She had worked hard on a few indie films and is in the process of starring in one with her long time friend and well known director, Y/BFF/N. She’s good friends with Florence Pugh and have been on numerous of the same projects. When Florence invited Y/BFF/N to her co-star, Harry Styles, concert in Brazil, where they happen to be filming, it was a no brainer to Y/BFF/N ask her to come along. 

Y/BFF/N had always known how big of a fan Y/N is of Harry, or H from what Florence calls him. There’s been times in serious conversations that they have that Y/N just had to slip in a Harry lyric or her not being able to hear the knocks on the trailer due to the volume she has Harry playing. 

Harry has been obsessed with Y/N’s work. He thinks she is such a powerful actress with great intention behind each scene and he can’t help but love her pretty face. When he found out that Florence was friends with Y/BFF/N and you two were well acquainted, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Flo was going to bring you both. 

All of that leads to Y/N being at her favorite artist’s show in her favorite weather and one of the best things she’s ever worn. Florence has been kind enough to loan her a midnight blue dress that ended right before the knee that she paired with black fleece lined tights and classic converse with a nice jacket from her latest for warmth. Y/BFF/N was in a black trousers, Florence’s Love On Tour shirt, and a blazer while Florence opted for a black Pleasing crewneck over a floral Midi Dress and a pair of docs. 

Her outfit wasn’t anything out of the ordinary but it was just the fact that she’s wearing during this monumental time that makes it her favorite. 

They all watched Koffee open in awe. She just has this big appreciation for music. Music just digs and there's always a song for every situation. She thinks that this very moment is definitely a What A Feeling moment. Y/N is in awe. It's all so incredible and obscene. 

When Harry entered on stage, Florence laughed at how Y/N immediately froze, mesmerized by the shirtless man on stage. 

Y/N couldn’t help but look at his abs, how defined they are and how they would feel under her nails. 

Harry could feel her eyes on him and he liked it. Even though he was too shy to make eye contact just yet, he decided to put on a show. Shimmering his hips and being a little extra bold to make Y/N’s time worthwhile. 

“Boa Noite, Brazil! I am Harry and I’m here to entertain you for the next 90 minutes. I hope you have fun and feel safe to be who you are. Te Amo Brazil!” he said as he made his way towards Y/n’s side of the stage. 

“I have a few friends here tonight, can we give them a warm welcome?” Harry said as the  crowd cheered.

“Alright! That's enough!” Harry continues to repeat as Florence, Y/N, and Y/BFF/N wave as they are projected onto the big screens briefly. 

Harry continued the show and focused a lot of attention onto Y/N’s side of the stage. He couldn’t stray away from her beauty and was feeling bold, giving her a wink as well as blowing her a kiss during Love of My Life. He thought that she was beautiful and it made him want to pause and stare.

He did exactly that during Watermelon Sugar. Y/N couldn’t help but blush. HIs dance moves were exaggerated and little does she know, it's all for her. Florence and Y/BFF/N were amused the whole show. Flo knew how Harry felt and filled Y/BFF/N in on it. They just can’t wait to see it all unfold. 

Harry thanks his fans one last time before doing the whale at the end of Kiwi.As he rushes backstage, Florence grabs Y/N’s wrist and does the same.

She was confused but still followed her. Why are we going backstage, she thought.

Well it turns out that she actually said that outloud and Florence had to explain how H wanted to go out after the show, completely abnormal for him on tour. 

They all see Harry backstage, still on his adrenaline high, and he runs to give Flo a bone shattering hug. He shakes Y/BFF/N’s  hand and introduces himself before yours.

“Hi. I’m Harry. I hoped you enjoyed the show,” he giggled, feeling a spark as your skin touched his,”I’m a really big fan of yours,” He paused and furrowed his brows before letting out a breathy laugh and apologizing for how that may come off as creepy. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Y/N smiled, “I found it endearing. And thank you for having me. You were incredible up there.”

“You should be more worried about letting Y/N backstage, she’s a crazy big fan. LOVES your work,” Y/BFF/N said, earning a playful swat on the arm from you.

Blood immediately rushed to her cheek and she heard Harry’s cheeky laugh. 

“Is that right?” Harry asked with a cheshire cat smile, “My ego would love to hear all about it later tonight if you’re going out with us.”

Y/N looked at Florence and she had a ‘I told you so’ look on her face. 

“Yeah. Why not, ” she said as everyone else cheered. 

Harry had somehow convinced her to ride with him. She didn’t think that it would mean that he would drive. Florence and Y/BFF/N ended up driving the car they all took to the concert to the bar on the other side of town, so it was just her and Harry.

“You may be good on stage but I can’t say the same on the road” Y/N said in a serious tone that Harry knew was the complete opposite. 

With an playfun offended look on his face, “Oi! Give me a break! I just gave you a show and I'm driving you around an unfamiliar city.” 

“All I hear are excuses,” Y/N exclaimed, shrugging her shoulders and getting out of the parked car. 

Harry’s hand falls on her lower back as they make their way inside. Everyone had already gotten there. Harry got lost a few times, even with GPS. They make their way to the table before Harry asks what she wanted from the bar. Y/N went with her usual, a dry martini. 

She had gotten lost in her conversation with Sarah and didn’t even notice that Harry was back with their drinks and had been staring at her. Everyone else at the table noticed, so they thought it was a good time to play pool and darts in the back. 

As Sarah said her goodbyes and headed to the back with Mitch, Y/N looked over at Harry to see that his eyes were already on her. She blushed but also noticed that the beautiful man in front of her only had chips and what seems to be a club soda in front of him. 

“You’re not drinking tonight,” Y/N asked. 

“I don’t usually drink while touring. Just try to concentrate on being the best version of myself every night. I need to take care of myself so that I can give them the best every night, ” Harry explained.

“That’s actually very sweet,” Y/N said as she sipped her drink. She found it charming how much he cared and saw it earlier that night. “Why did you even want to go out tonight then?” she asked.

“Why not!” he laughed. 

“So you just wanted to go out to a random bar in a completely different country after stealing the hearts of thousands at your stadium show?’’ she chuckled. 

“Yup! Though I only wanted to steal the heart of one person in the crowd,” Harry said, leaning into the table to get closer to Y/N with his fingers folded. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. They may or may not be right in front of me,” Harry whispered. He just wanted to put how he felt on the table to see what happens. You only live once. 

“Interesting,” Y/N said, taking another sip of her drink, feeling an extra boost of confidence. She whispered into his ear, leaving HArry stunned. She walked towards the exit before Harry let out a breathy laugh. He  said goodbye to their friends, telling them that Y/N wasn’t feeling well and that he was going to take her back to her hotel since he was the most sober one, and quickly followed her out of the door. 

As believable as Harry thought his little white lie was, Florence, Y/BFF/N, and the rest of the band placed a bet on how long they will continue what they started that night for before they start dating. 

As everyone got their final drink for the night, ”Let’s all cheers to Y/N and Harry,” FLorence suggested. 

“To falling in love,” everyone cheered as they clink their glasses and head their own ways like Harry and Y/N. 

[dragonoffantasyandreality]

Of Fear and Statues

Based on some of my fears manifested by watching a certain analog horror series :')

(Enjoying a lot of fun for the upcoming Halloween season 😅)

Hey, at least Gordon will suffer with me XD

@teapotteringabout @skymaiden32 @knyee @janetm74 @the-original-sineater @amistrio @thundergeek59 @riallasheng @katblu42 @yarol2075 @mariashades @room-on-broom

-0-0-0-

Virgil had always wondered why Gordon - a once military man within WASP and a fearless rescuer of International Rescue - was too darn nervous when around statues. More specifically, ones from their mainland.

It was something that he noticed since the Little Squid was a teenager.

He remembered the first time that happened: when Alan wanted to look at the Statue of Liberty, the 16 year old Gordon turned pale as a ice.

"Don't go! T-There's a giant ass horned snake in there! He'll zap you out of dimensions!"

What the heck?! Was everyone's first thought.

What was that "snake" was he talking about?

And why freaking out over a monument that just stand there? And existed for a very long time and representing the liberty of their people... for a certain time.

Usually, strange rumors and scary stories that his school friends would tell him just give Gordon something to make the old age "Unsolved Mysteries" joke.

But, since then, he was terrified for even seeing a face of one of those legendary pieces of sculped art.

Thankfully, his fear had eased for the poor Little Squid. And it seemed - at least what Virgil thought - that his phobia was long forgotten...

Until recently.

Coincidentally, Virgil was sculping a beautiful gargoyle based on a Kirin, when he heard a scream booming through the Tracy Villa!

It was Gordon's...

With wet clay on his face, hands and art apron, the pilot of Thunderbird 2 rushed out of his art studio towards his wing-man's room.

When he eventually arrived, another scream nearly made the poor Virgil deaf for a moment.

Then there was a loud crash.

And then there was silence. The Fish and the Tank simply stared at each other.

Beside a trampled Gordon, lay a film box that used the house a file cylinder, a discarded bowl of caramel-flavored popcorn, and some spilled spinach juice on the floor.

On the screen of the television, was a rather terrifying looking menu screen. The visuals replicated that of analog film nearly half a century ago, the colors were black and white. A certain statue of a warrior lady with a sword in her hand, flickered in and out in the background of the static. Along with some other strange anomalies in the semi-dark sky and a muffled vintage music was playing.

The older brother reached for the remote, convientely thrown at the edge of the doorway and turned the TV off.

"Gee Wiz, Virgil!" the aquanaut broke the silence, finding his breath, "that face paint of yours made me think you were 'Freedom' coming to chop my head off, bro!"

After another moment of awkward silence, the artist slowly put his hands on his hips, with the most deadpanned expression that rivals that of Scott's.

"Gordon? What on Earth were you doing?" he stood before the curled up joker for a brother.

"Trying to face my fears... The last ep of season one still killed me!" Gordon smiled with embarrassment as he gave the Tracy Puppy Eyes.

Virgil took the box and glanced at the cover. And then suddenly, all of the puzzle pieces just clicked into place!

He had found culprit of Gordon's odd fear, written in two words:

Monument Mythos

[petsgrief]

cont. @ncghtshifts

“would it be cheeky of me to say I wanted to hurry back to you?” a confession teasingly phrased through a fond grin and stacy should thank their luckiest stars his skin is already flush from the heated water beating down on him some minutes ago, having took to a shower as part-routine and to give her some time and room to settle in for the morning without his, surely, suffocating affections - little intimacies they’ve allowed each other; withheld and yet, simple physicality that both ache (deliciously so) and soothe (deliriously so). something wholly new to stacy love saller; keeps him. present. grounded. gentle-minded. nothing went beyond the touch of his shoulders, the brush over freckled cheeks, a million and one endless kiss and the comfortable dip in his bed and yet, it was everything he'd ever craved; it all felt rather monumental with rosa. fateful, even. all he'd held in his heart for her was always bound to reach her eventually. he'd cloak her with it if he could and had. flush as he beams again eyeing the book in her hands as he sat close, patting the towel perched at his shoulders into his dampened curls. “thank you, it’s my favorite.” a projector film of a flashy childhood in long island, the heydays of mrs. saller and to his own delayed surprise, the usual bitterness evades his tone. “my, uh, mom gave it to me way back when I was maybe, fifteen? yeah,” stacy then scoffs when he catches his own slip, reverse-freudian, she was never that intentional or even remotely aware of any grand potentials of her career. “gave, more like she tossed it away when plans of that godawful play they wanted to make of it fell through. seemed impossible, she said – well, sarah snook says otherwise.” it takes him a minute to be disturbed by what he'd casually indulged, a layer of intimacy he's yet used to so he resorts to what he's comfortable with; what she discreetly and shyly grants him when he swipes her hand into his, brushing his thumbs gently across her knuckles before bring them to his lips and pecking them twice. “so, breakfast?”

[juliasdowntonstuff]

Chapter 52

Chapter 52 is out now on ff and ao3 and I'm back with some Rosamund content in this one before focusing more on Cobert in what's left to come :)

Also: the third film has finally been announced and I could not be happier about that!

"What is my dear brother showing your Mama there? Surely it can't be about the flowers — he hasn't learnt about flowers and their significance within the last month and he certainly never had much interest in that sort of thing when he was younger. Mama tried to teach him a thing or two, hoping it might one day help him find a suitable match. Luckily for my brother, Cora has never been too bothered by all that."

Rosamund was quite casually sipping on her cup of tea, her eyes not leaving her brother and his wife standing near the folly even just once as she addressed her niece who was sitting next to her at the table. She followed them with her gaze as they slowly walked around the side of the imposing structure, Cora holding fast onto Robert's arm while they both appeared to be looking at the ground where flowers were beginning to sprout. Mary could not blame her aunt for finding this odd, but she also did not know about the additions she and her father had had made.

Mary, who had been rather preoccupied with watching George and Caroline play in the sun with all their cousins, then turned to look first at her aunt next to her and then at her parents a few metres away. It always amused her when her father was being addressed as her aunt's dear brother because she never quite knew whether Rosamund was being sincere in her use of the endearment or not. The chances were always quite high that she was being sarcastic, even more so when talking directly with him.

"No, he has not found himself a new special interest, he's showing her another addition we had the builders include to give the folly more meaning, to make it a bit more personal for Mama."

"And what might that addition be, pray tell? The folly itself is quite impressive and beautifully made. I am honestly surprised at my brother's inventiveness with this present. This is already a monument to honour your Mama for several generations to come."

"I think I should just show you," Mary said quietly in reply to this, getting up from the chair with some apparent reluctance. What she was about to show her aunt would not be easy and she somehow dreaded it. A small part of her had hoped to wait a bit before showing this to her aunt, at least until after the party when everyone had gone. There was no way she could predict her aunt's reaction.

One eyebrow sceptically raised, Rosamund followed Mary to the folly. However, instead of following Robert and Cora who had gone to the left, Mary went right and began to round the new building.

"You are really making quite the mystery out of this, my dear!" Rosamund said, the waning of her amusement evident in her voice. Mary could still hear her smile, though, which caused her to be at least slightly hopeful about her aunt's subsequent reaction and not only scared.

[canyouhearthevoices]

HALAZIA: First Reactions

Many people are, justifiably so, saying this is a HALAteez song. At this point I am pretty convinced that actually, we haven’t seen any HALAteez yet, and that FEVERteez are their own thing, same with TEH WORLDteez (who need a better name). I imagine that one of them (most likely THE WORLDteez) become HALAteez after some kind of disaster/failure. I’m still on the ‘Precious’ hype train.

The thing i found most fascinating about this one (other than the world losing gravity) was the monument to HALAteez - perhaps the people of the city, and/or the underground movement, remember HALAteez and the good they did, and thus semi-worship them? It’s also kind of funny that it is positioned like a scarecrow and possibly scares away the Guardians/government. It also has banners and chains hung over and around it like Nepalese prayer flags, which i found interesting. 

I also wonder why the old man (I think his name is One-Eye?) doesn’t show up here.

Anyway, I’ll just point out the things my film student brain noticed - full initial reactions below the line.

The same megaphones from previous MVs - correct me if wrong but I think they showed up in The Real and THANXX?

When I die I want a HALAteez scarecrow over my gravestone - not some angel.

This is one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.

This is what I mean about it looking like a scarecrow and Nepalese prayer flags. The megaphone are also, of course, key to ATEEZ breaking the control the government has over people, and are used to play their music. 

This space mirrors the round building they were in in Guerrilla, but it’s not the same place I don’t think. Eithe way, it’s in the process of being destroyed, and this is our first image of gravity being a bit kooky. The impression that this gave me was that the government restricting people’s thoughts and feelings was so wrong that even the laws of nature started to go a bit haywire too. Or perhaps it is just another indication of the Cromer and its misuse/being broken destroying the world slowly. Think the dimension convergences and the gravity issues they created in Thor: The Dark World.

And Hwa is of course with the statue and the other followers of ATEEZ.

Please no this reminds me of the Maze Runner. Anyway, San (sue me I can’t quite recognise the members by silhouette despite my best efforts) is not having a fun time in this abandoned shopping centre (?) I mean shopping centres don’t ever seem to exist in dystopia for some reason - perhaps because they’re so essential to capitalism and a lot of dystopias emphasise dictatorships only? Either way, it’s dead. I don’t like that this leads me on the path of thinking ATEEZ think capitalism is good, however, I would agree that it is, to some degree, a form of self-expression which would also be stamped out by this government.

It also has this ball which floats because of kooky gravity - does anyone have any clue what this is except for it reminding me of the ball-shaped megaphone/speakers from Guerrilla?

It’s a horrid screenshot, but I spy with my little eye the room from ‘Answer’ - another connection to HALAteez (and Treasureteez but tbh I wonder if we’ll ever see them again).

I’m liking the Woo lone-wolf thing - it again reminds me of him knowing things and possibly being some sort of traitor. And of course, I don’t think anyone missed the Black Pirate hat he has (found???).

And of course the HALAteez flag.

Earthbender Yunho?!?!?!?!

More gravity, and note the speakers in the back. This is also a very royal-toned scene, with the gold chair and columns, but the sand makes it seem like this kingdom is past its prime. Also, can we just imagine a flashback to every time Yunho has been on a chair in a wonderous set in ATEEZ Mvs?

There’s definitely something up with Yeosang (but we all knew that). He’s been imprisoned and left alone a lot - this makes me think that he was chained before he became the symbol of peace from The Real. But nevertheless, he is chained - just like the HALAteez monument, and he watches the city burn. Or maybe it’s just pollution and Strictland loves its coal - it probably does, actually. 

Note that the background is all grey, but near Yeosang there are bits of grass and other plants. A key theme throughout ATEEZ’s Strictland journeys is that they have most of the colour in the MV, while the city is largely in grey - we can see this in the gold of Yunho’s scene, the cream colours from the ‘Answer’ set, and the grass in San’s scene + the matching gold of Seonghwa and the HALAteez statue. This also alligns with them calling the world a ‘grey city’. Or was that TXT? Shit, the struggles of following storylines with similar themes.

I’m certain they both used that description at one point - it’s just that TXT used it metaphorically and ATEEZ used it literally. 

Jongho gets to be the head of an army this time. I despise the weird white-eye effect they did on him - that’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Reblog of he’ll appear in your room at night.

Oooooh yeah, Woo.

He knows something. But we also knew that.

 I just love this shot.

Again - he is the only colour, other than the green building (which reminds me of a toilet block) and is also very close to him.

Yunho vision time. Being seen through the eyes of the Guardians? Or did he just eat some shrooms?

There are either pictures being taken or lightning going off as Hwa becomes the Black Pirate. Very dramatic - either the photographers or the lightning sends a cool message. 

And please do note the Jesus imagery.

Omg they’re all there. From here the ball reminds me of the earth, but it has been smothered by grey - pollution and the loss of individuality and the arts.

Omg okay.

Well Joong has his throne/stage - as he should. And, of course, note the broken telephone pole, the followers around him, and the broken down car - they’re also in the courtyard of the same building from San’s scene (and presumably the rest of the MV). The colour literally frames and backs him up. 

He also has his Captain’s mark.

Mingi also shows up in the ‘Answer’ scene and is wearing gloves and a black hat - they’re not quite the same as the HALAteez ones, but that’s not the point.

I love this shot of him. He is, again, surrounded by and makes the colour, with his hair. Also note the ‘freedom’ written on the side of the monument, and that the base is surrounded by speakers.

I am IN LOVE with the ink staining on Mingi’s fingers - it’s a symbol of a writer and a creative, but also potentially of someone who is going a little crazy. Does anyone know how to do this? I want to wear my fingers like this if I get an opportunity to go to an ATEEZ concert.

Well, rip for Yunho sitting in a chair. He still gets to sit though, and this mirrors a similar angle shot from ‘Say My Name’ (and also of Yeosang in INCEPTION and Turbulence).

Omg I’m only halfway through the MV.

I know that this is just where the statue is kept, but this makes me think that Yeosang is going to fight in the Colosseum - which I imagine is something that the director of the MV considered.

So now we have three of them with the statue - Yeosang, the symbol of peace/prisoner, Mingi, who was by himself in The Real, and Seonghwa, arguably the most powerful member. 

Omg Woo, why?!?!!?

Traitorous behaviour, my dude.

Perhaps the black pirates weren’t able to fulfil their quest - or they are moving on to the next step.

Okay, they’re all there now. But it’s also a dance scene, so the importance is debatable.

I do love the choreo tho.

Yes, Yunho, arson is the way to go.

Dang, okay, something really went wrong with the Black Pirates, and I guess this version of ATEEZ are taking over. 

All of the followers are trying to pull the earth down again - to protect it? Destroy it? Heal it or something else? Goodness knows with ATEEZ. I never thought they’d burn a monument to the Black Pirates but here we are.

Is edgy Joong with a mic my favourite Joong? No and it’s not close, but I still like it.

Dang okay San.

Note the water - which is often used in the storyline to show that something is a dream. Especially when it’s also with my dude San.

He’s gonna die!

Alright, nevermind. What was the point of that? Was the ball just a dream?

Perhaps he’s just reached enlightenment, or become the demon.

It starts (snowing?) and these dudes, who I assume are from the government, turn up, too late. Makes me think that the ball thing was some type of MacGuffin.

But we do see that there is at least one bird left alive in this world, which is definitely a good sign.

And that’s it! An interesting piece of music and art to say the least. 

As far as the lyrics - they are relatively typical - they have lost their voices, they have lost their emotions and need to fight to get their freedoms back, they want to reach utopia and feel the actual sun and waves, and to have actual dreams and the freedom to follow them. 

I’m feeling a prequel to HALA HALA, since they talk about wanting to be alive, but the whole point of HALA HALA is that they are alive (until the song is over....)

And no one still has any clue what HALAZIA stands for - I would honestly be surprised if ATEEZ know, either.

What do you think? I love hearing other theories!

[wild-houseplant]

Chapter 14-- Have Warden, Will Travel

I can’t believe this chapter’s only 3500 words. By my standards, that’s practically a drabble. Anyway, we’re into Broken Circle territory now, and my god this was a MISERY to write. CW for death, suicide, gore (it’s really not pleasant in the first little bit), death (including people under 18), and emeto. If more specific warnings are needed, feel free to drop me a line :) Most of the chapter is under the cut, full AO3 chapter here.

As always, I hope today’s gorgeous for you, and do please keep up with the fluids! :) :) :)

Zevran had made a monumental error in being the first one inside after Rhodri. 

In the dark, stifling corridor they were now corralled into, the air was soupy with rot. Such was the stench that upon entering, Alistair immediately heaved up his breakfast, the contents of which would no doubt reach Zevran’s boots if it hadn’t already.

Boots, however, could be cleaned. What could not be washed or polished away was injury, and as Zevran steeled himself and glanced down at the Warden, the chances of coming out of this relatively unscathed had never looked bleaker.

In her place spread-eagled on the ground, Rhodri lay nestled in a small heap of mages and their entrails– though she was blessedly more alive than them. The source of her tripping, it seemed, was a sneaky, slippery loop of intestine that had departed its natural enclosure and covered a third of the cramped corridor floor, now mashed open under her boot and leaving a filthy skidmark over the stone.

Instead of being prudent and putting space between himself and the Warden, Zevran stayed where he was, pinned to the spot by some wretched, abstract sense of debt or loyalty, or, Maker help him, perhaps both. The crash was coming, suspended by a thin film of haze and blood, and the only thing he found himself able to do was sigh for the Warden who didn't yet know it herself.

  “What are we going to do with her?” Taliesen asked in a hush.

An ‘mm…’ was all Zevran could manage, his vocabulary apparently having died with their third member. He shrugged with one shoulder, eyes not leaving the bloodpool glimmering around her like liquid rubies. 

“Hey!”

He looked up; Taliesen was glaring at him. 

“What the fuck is this?” He gestured at Zevran with a push of his palms. “You were laughing a second ago. Don’t go soft on me!”

Zevran raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. 

“We did what we had to do," Taliesen hissed. "Who knows how long the little bitch was playing us false? Years, maybe!”

Zevran swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded. “We should leave her here, behind some of these crates. This warehouse is abandoned, nobody will think to look for her here unless we say something.”

Planning was not Zevran’s strong suit, but Taliesen was even worse at it. He barely needed a moment to turn the idea over in his head before he nodded. 

“Come on, then. Help me shift her and let’s get out of here.”

“Taliesen.”

The other Crow looked up impatiently. 

Zevran pointed his nose at Rinna’s body. “Close her eyes.”

Taliesen’s brows knitted, his eyes tightening into a squint, but no emotion came to Zevran strongly enough to change his own face in response. After a brief silence, Taliesen relented with a nod, squatting over her and sliding her eyes shut with his thumbs.

“There, Brother Zevran,” he waved his hands with a mocking flourish. “Our betrayer’s eyes are shut, as per the Chantry whore’s request. Now would you kindly get a grip and help me move this bitch? I need a stiff fucking drink, and I’m not getting it here.”

He sighed and took her by the boots to escape the necessity of touching the bare skin of her wrists. With far too much ease, they lifted her and took her over to the back wall.

“Zev.”

Zevran’s gaze bypassed Rinna's corpse to meet Taliesen’s eyes. His friend gave him a wry smile. 

“One less traitor.”

He summoned a smirk, nodding as they lowered the body behind the crates. “One less traitor.”

 The Warden, having peeled herself off the revolting floor, summoned fire. Her eyes fell on the source of her accident. She choked; the spell sputtered out. 

“Rhodri?” Alistair’s voice echoed softly in the putrid dark. “... Rhod?”

The flame returned, weak and unsteady in the trembling hand that had summoned it. Some of the bodies were charred, others exsanguinated, others in halves. In the dim glow, the Warden’s face was the colour of ash as she inspected them. Holding his place, Zevran braced himself for the inevitable snap- of sanity, of emotion, of his skin splitting open from a spell or fist thrown in rage.

But wouldn’t the fortune-teller in the brothel have laughed now, as a rumble from down the corridor waylaid it all in the nick of time. In an instant, Rhodri’s attention was snared.

“What was that?” Leliana whispered as she drew an arrow from her quiver.

“Rage demon,” Rhodri grunted. She lurched into a limping run, staff at the ready, and Zevran could have kicked himself for being surprised when she barked, “Stay behind me!” over her shoulder.

The demon in question was found one room over, a magmatic slug of considerable size. Zevran toyed with the idea of making a quip about the beast’s fiery appearance being poetic overkill on the Maker’s part. After all, if they were going to die, they might as well die laughing.

He opened his mouth. “You know– atiya Andraste!”

A spell, blindingly bright, had left the Warden’s hand and tore through the air with a painfully shrill hiss. Upon reaching the demon, it exploded, flooding the room with freezing mist and ice, cold enough to make Zevran’s lungs burn.

“Venhedis!” he heard Rhodri gasp. Another spell screamed through the air and made a boom that rumbled in his chest. “Fall back! Fall back! Wait for me in the corridor!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Alistair shouted back. “We’re not leaving you with a–”

“DO AS YOU’RE TOLD!” she roared. Her voice dropped to a frantic hiss, “No-no-no-focus, you idiot.” Another deafening spell preceded a shriek coming from what Zevran dearly hoped was a dying demon. “Focus-focus-focus-focus– ah.” The Warden sighed shakily. 

The air cleared in a swirl, melting the chill on Zevran’s skin until his arms were dripping with condensation. In the middle of the room, a pile of ash was strewn over several stones, and the Warden stood in front of it, her upturned hands twitching violently. She turned and eyed the party one by one, brows pinching into a deep frown.

“I don’t have the time,” she said forcefully, “to explain to you three why I know my magic or this tower better than you do. I need people I can trust to follow my combat orders, however unpalatable they may seem.” Her knuckles whitened as she gripped her staff tighter. “If your hearts insist on virtuousness over compliance, go back to the great doors and stand vigil over my dead students.”

Alistair winced. “Rhod, it’s wrong,” he protested softly. “There has to be some sort of middle ground. It’s Ostagar all over again–”

“Don’t argue with me, please, Alistair,” Rhodri said flatly. “With me or by the door, the choice is yours.”

With one last look at each of them, she turned and jogged out of the room.

  §

 The party checked in each room (most of which were locked and then kicked open with disturbingly little effort on the Warden’s part) for the children first, and surviving adults next. The process seemed to go on forever, partly because Rhodri forbade all of them from going into any place she hadn’t checked first, and partly because the Tower was a small, endless circle. Hence the name, Zevran supposed wryly to himself. 

Even the destruction looked near-identical from room to room. The ravaged remains of mages and Templars alike were strewn from wall to wall; charred, exploded cupboards and wardrobes with tatters of singed robes in the blast radius; books and possessions strewn, burnt, torn. And blood! So much blood! No wonder some of the bodies were shrunken down to skin and bone. Zevran’s stomach threatened mutiny whenever he paid attention to the smell of it all too closely. 

After what felt like hours, the search had yielded nothing but a variety of greedy Fade beasts. The ash wraiths had made an unfortunate comeback, along with the foul-tempered fire blobs (Zevran refused to dignify them with a fearsome name). Some other wretched thing– Rhodri called it a despair demon– cropped up a few times as well. More times than his preferred number of zero, certainly, not least because the Warden was beginning to tire. Her spells swung between their usual untraceability to crude explosions and as time drew on, she was leaning further into the latter. 

Something would have to give, Zevran knew, and he could have laughed with relief when they rounded yet another corner and saw a room of terrified– but living mages. They were mostly children, and with the gauntness to their faces, they could all have passed for blood relations to the Warden. Screams of recognition bounced off the stone walls; Rhodri dropped to her knees. Whether it was relief, exhaustion, or aural agony on her part was hard to say; Zevran fancied it was all three.

Zevran diverted his gaze as the Warden shucked her bloodstained robe and allowed the frantic group to swarm and throw their arms around her– and then each other, when there wasn’t a part of her available to cling to. Shrill little voices filled the air like mad birdsong, clamoured and fought for the privilege of being noticed more than the others.

“There’s monsters everywhere--”

“A wraith nearly got me!”

“It’s so scary-- ”

Merciful silence finally came by the third time an older mage called for it. She approached the party with purposeful, if weary strides, surveying them all with bafflement and vague mistrust.

“Why did you come back to the Tower, Rhodri?” she asked, pursing her lips a little. “More to the point, why did the Templars let you in? Are you here to warn us?”

Rhodri held up a hand to the woman and nodded. "I’m coming." 

Rhodri looked to the children around her, smiling gently.

“These are your Aunt Leliana, and your Uncles Alistair and Zevran,” she gestured at each party member respectively. “We brought you all a present. Go and get it, and stay with them while I talk to Wynne, yes? You’ll be safe with them, and I’ll be over here where you can see me.”

Zevran had to bite his tongue to conceal his shock as Rhodri mouthed a ‘ thank you’ at the three of them and led the other mage to the other end of the cramped room. Before the panic could set in, there were a batch of wary but intrigued children approaching them. 

To Zevran’s relief, Alistair appeared to have some experience with children and strode forward to meet them halfway. He kneeled down, and even from that height, he was taller than some of them.

“‘Ello,” he greeted them with a grin. “I’m Uncle Alistair. You’ll never guess what we’ve brought for you.”

Leliana, who had been carrying the cookies, stepped forward with a warm smile on her face, standing beside Alistair now as she opened her rucksack and fished around for the bag. The children calmed at once, interacting with the two adults readily. There was no need to complicate things with his distinct lack of expertise with the smaller folk; Zevran stayed put,

In the first pause he’d had all day, he cast an eye around the room. It was large enough that everyone could have laid down without touching each other, but ten children and three– no, there was a fourth mage on her knees in the corner– trapped in here for Maker-knew-how-long seemed a particularly unpleasant way to wait out a war. Books lay on the ground in a neat row along the back wall, undoubtedly serving as pillows overnight—-

Something warm wrapped around Zevran’s fingers. Forcing himself not to reclaim his limb to smite the offender dead, he gazed down and saw a small elven girl-- he doubted she could have been more than eight-- holding his hand and scrutinising him with liquid brown eyes. She could almost have been him at that age: same dark skin, same flaxen hair, only hers had some waviness to it. It was unnerving. He reassured himself with the reminder that he was unlikely to have offspring wandering around, especially in a Fereldan Circle, when the people he seduced died within hours of their coupling.

“Are you really my uncle?” the girl asked in a thick Fereldan accent, squinting at him pensively. 

Zevran was thunderstruck- he had knives strapped to his back and blood spattered on his cheeks, and yet this child saw fit to simply approach him and take his hand. This had to be where Rhodri got that absurd trustfulness from; the Tower mages were so naive it almost defied belief. Doe-eyed foolishness had stayed Rhodri’s hand when he lay at her feet, and that same quality made this girl so sure that she was safe with him. A lucky guess for her.

Wherever the reason, the girl was still grasping his hand; he was no threat to her, and she made it clear she wanted an answer when she gave the occupied hand an impatient squeeze.

Zevran chuckled and raised an eyebrow at her. “Your uncle?” he echoed. “I might be. Do you come from Antiva?”

She frowned and shook her head. “I come from a farm.”

“We have farms in Antiva.”

The girl took in the information with a nod. “We had cows. Big ones, with black and white patches. Do you know my ma and papa? They’re farmhands.”

Zevran stole a glance in Rhodri’s direction; she was speaking too quietly for him to make anything out over the din of children talking and crunching away on their treats. It was clear that she was resolute about something, though, with all the forceful gestures she was making at her audience of the woman called Wynne and two adult mages. 

Another squeeze of his hand informed Zevran that his answer was too slow coming. He laughed again. 

“I might know them. I have met many people on my travels.” He pointed at Alistair and Leliana. “You do not want some cookies for yourself?”

The girl’s eyes darted between Leliana and him. She looked uncertain as she shook her head. 

He gave her an arch smile. “I find that hard to believe.”

Slowly, the girl took her hand out of his. “Wait here,” she instructed, stepping away and approaching Alistair, who had just taken the bag from Leliana. He gave the girl a pat on the head and held up three fingers as he tipped the bag forward for her to put her hand into. The girl nodded, pulled out three cookies, and spoke a hushed thanks as she beetled back over to Zevran. She glanced up at him furtively and pressed one of the biscuits into his hand.

“Here, Uncle,” she murmured, closing his fingers around it.

Surprised by the way the gesture moved him, he had to clear his throat before he could give a nonchalant chuckle and shake his head. 

“Ah, no, you should have this. I will be going back outside again soon, and there are cookies for sale everywhere out there.”

That was apparently an insufficient reason for the girl, who shook her head back at him. 

“Family shares,” she insisted. “That’s what Papa said, and you’re my uncle. Or you might be.” She ate her own cookies in four bites, the first experimental tastes lasting far longer than the second bites that made the rest of the snacks disappear. “These are good. Eat yours.”

He broke the cookie in half and held one piece out to her. “Family shares, I am told,” he said through a smirk. It was an oddly satisfying succession of lies, much more enjoyable than what he had usually had to tell on the job. This career change had been a good idea.

The girl needed little convincing, not trying to give it back as he put it in her hands and pretended to eat his half, wrapping his fingers around it to keep it concealed. 

“I want to go with you and Rhodri,” she said out of nowhere. A second passed before her eyes moved up to meet his. 

This career change had been a terrible idea. 

He was not paid enough to handle these sorts of situations. Emotional outbursts had usually been handled with a soft word and a quick, merciful cut around the throat. They didn’t even have the time to cry, usually. 

This , however, was something else entirely, and he was damned to the Void and back if he knew what to do.

He pulled his mouth into a wry smile and quirked a brow at the child.

“Are you quite sure about that? Rhodri and I fight monsters all day, and sometimes through the night, too. We have to sleep in tents in the cold, and I do not imagine our food is as nice as what you eat here.”

Any hope he had had of convincing the child of the superiority of life in the Tower disappeared as her eyes started to fill with tears. 

Brasca. Brasca. Brasca.

“I miss Ma and Papa,” she uttered in a wobbly voice. “The Templars said nobody ever leaves this place, and I’ll be good. You can just drop me at the farm and I won’t tell anyone.”

Zevran felt his muscles ache as he forced the smile to stay in place. His eyes darted to Rhodri; she had finished talking with Wynne, and was making her way to Alistair and Leliana. Relief. Turning back to the girl, he chuckled. 

“Ah, the Templars say that to frighten children. I know for a fact that a number have left the Circle to travel, and you are very young yet. A little more time, and who knows where you will go, hmm?” 

She looked somewhat mollified, which soothed his surprisingly frazzled nerves in turn.

“I must go and speak to Rhodri, but allow me to show you a small magic trick before I do, hmm?”

As the girl nodded, he made one quick movement with a hand and pretended to pull the other half of the cookie from behind her ear and held it out for her to take. She stared at the piece with wide eyes (had mages never heard of sleight of hand before?).

“Are you a mage?” she breathed, letting him deposit the snack in her hands. “How do you conjure these?”

“I am not a mage, but I am a magician, and a magician never reveals his secrets,” he returned with a grin. “But if you think on it for a while, perhaps you will work it out for yourself, no?” Surprising himself as he gave the girl a tiny pat on the head, he left her staring at the cookie and strolled over to rejoin his teammates. 

The party, now with the senior mage, clustered by the doorway boasting a humming, purple barrier. Shafts of lightning writhed like snakes in its confines, and the barrier swelled like a cushion. Zevran refused to acknowledge the amount of self-control he had to exercise not to simply poke it, and scolded himself again for not paying attention as Wynne stepped past him and dispelled it with a wave of her hand. 

The two mages strode through first; Rhodri had barely passed through the doorway before spinning around to face the rest of the party. 

“This is your last chance to turn back and stay with the children,” she said, watching each of them in turn with a grave expression. “If you come with me, you must obey my orders.”

Alistair tsked irritably. “That was meant for me, wasn’t it?”

“It was meant for all of you. You three are out of your depth now, and I need you to trust Wynne’s and my expertise. Here or with the children, both are worthy choices.”

Between being repeatedly begged by the little mage girl and keeping an eye on the fool Warden, even with the occasional order to do so from afar, the choice practically made itself. And really, a little distance never hurt anyone. If anything, it made for a good excuse to use his bow and arrows for once.

With a smooth smile, Zevran stepped closer. “I am ready to do precisely as you ask of me, my lovely Grey Warden,” he declared, touching a hand to his chest with a tiny flourish. “Direct me.”

Leliana and Alistair shared a look, and stepped forward together. “Us, too,” she said simply.

There was something rewarding about the way the Warden’s face softened. At him, at the other two, and it made Zevran’s guts twist. There was not a hope this side of the Void that he deserved it or the resulting warmth it brought, and still he guzzled it unabashedly. But Maker be praised, he had no time for self-flagellation. Rhodri was beckoning them through the door so that Wynne could seal it, and with his stolen moment still in his possession, he marched forward.

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this Week #106 (Week 2 of year 3):

“Three great abstract artists died in 1944: Wassily Kandinsky, Piet Mondrian and Hilma von Klint”.

Even though it’s only the second week of January, I already discovered one of my favorite documentaries of 2023: Beyond The Visible - Hilma af Klint. Like Vivian Maier, Hilma was a female genius who lived in obscurity her whole life and left behind a body of work that equals and surpasses most of her contemporaries. Discovered 70 years after her death, she is now considered perhaps Sweden’s most important artist - ever. This astounding biography details her groundbreaking legacy, as well as her extraordinary life. The first abstract artist of the modern area, all her 2,500 painting and voluminous notebooks of 250,000 pages miraculously remained intact. She was also a mystic, a spiritualist, a feminist and a vegetarian. Until our age, history was busy erasing all traces of female participation from its re-telling. Hers is one happy reversal.(Slideshow Above).

I saw an exhibition of her large canvases at the Tel Aviv Museum in 2019 and they were awe-inspiring. 10/10. 

🍿

High maintenance, another biographical documentary. About the great Israeli sculptor and environmental artist Dani Karavan, known for his large site-specific monuments. It followed him around before his death at 90, as he travels to some European locations of his earlier, magnificent memorials, and as he re-assess his art. An uncompromising and head-strong artist with angry political views who had no patience for fools or fascists. He was also dealing with declining acuity and memory loss during that time. With Wim Wenders. The opening scene. 7/10.

🍿

Hit the road, an unforgettable Iranian road movie written and directed by Panah Panahi, Jafar Panahi’s son, in his feature debut. There are four people driving, but we don’t know who they are or where they are going and why. One of them is a precarious six-year old, the driver does not speak much, and the parents behave strangely. Slowly we discover more about them, but the background story goes unexplained.

It’s best to watch this without knowing more. By the heartbreaking end we are completely captivated. The trailer discloses too much.

The acting of the little boy is probably one of the best child acting I’ve ever seen. 9/10 - Best film of the week.

🍿 

"...Even with my eyes wide open, I can't see anything..."

Zaitochi is a traveling blind swordsman, one of Japan’s longest film series. The Blind Swordsman: Zatoichi (2003) is my first Zaitochi film, and my third by actor-director Takeshi Kitano. A tribute to the Samurai films of the 60′s, it is full of rivers of blood spraying all over whenever somebody is stabbed and killed, which is all the time. Also, including a subplot of a cross-dressing, maybe trans, geisha. It ends with a joyful and lengthy community tap dancing party.

🍿

First watch: “Tony, do you ever think about death? - Fuck off!”

The coming of age British Billy Elliot about an 11-year-old coal miner’s son who discovers that he loves ballet. A period piece about class, grief & masculinity. The boy who play Billy was wonderful. 9/10.

🍿

Another first watch: Before Sunrise, the first part of Richard Linklater’s ‘Before Trilogy’. A romantic story of two young people who meet on a train bound for Vienna. An interesting, minimalist concept that I didn’t love, because I couldn’t feel the connection between immature cynic Ethan Hawke and stereotypical-‘sweet’ French blond Julie Delpy. I wish they were played by other people. I will watch an updated version of this with more persuasive actors. Should I watch the other two parts?

🍿

2 by Zhang Yimou:

🍿 Raise the red lantern, the epic saga from the Chinese Warlord Era, tells a tragic story of a young ‘fourth Mistress’ to a very wealthy patriarch. The magnificent Gong Li and the other three concubines cannot leave the palace. They must wait each in their own opulent quarters until the master of the house (whose face is never seen) calls on the one he chooses to spend the night with. Restrained, tradition-bound and transgressive. 8/10. 

🍿 So I wanted to revisit a couple more of Yimou’s masterpieces, ‘Red Sorghum’, or ‘Qiu Ju’ or ‘To live’. Unfortunately, I picked instead his first English-language film The Great Wall, thinking, well, it was co-written by Tony Gilroy, it co-starred Andy Lau and Willem Dafoe, it was the most expensive Chinese movie ever produced, Etc. But it was a horrible disappointment. It’s a weak cartoon fantasy for young males about two mercenary amigos fighting an army of millions CGI alien monsters. Part of the trend to create spectacular Hollywood blockbusters which cater to the Chinese marketplace, the movie made $335 million and still lost money. 1/10 piece of shit. That’s why I don’t like and don’t watch special effect action movies.

🍿

2 by Ernst Lubitsch:

🍿 “Pure hooey!…”

Design for Living, a pre-code screwball comedy about - let’s face it - an explicit a ménage à trois between bohemian Gary Cooper, Fredric March, and Miriam Hopkins. That Hopkins was a modern, open-minded woman who wants to love and have sex with both men was a rarity and a delight.

🍿 His classic romantic comedy The shop around the corner, the original concept used later in ‘You’ve got mail’. It’s interesting how much appeal was there in Hollywood of that time to wax nostalgic about Austro-Hungarian life, and the reverence toward the class of the shopkeeper, aka, business owner .

🍿

Miss April ("Fröken April”), a lighter-than-air Swedish comedy from 1958 directed not by Ingmar Bergman but by one Göran Gentele. It features some venerable actors like Jan Kulle, Per Oscarsson and especially Gunnar Björnstrand who stars as an aristocratic, stuffy older banker (who, let’s face it, never “been in love” i.e. “never had sex”) and who falls for a cute, young ballet dancer. Silly & childish, and as enjoyable as a trip down memory lane to a sunny world that doesn’t exist any more. 7/10.

🍿 

2 with Gregory Peck, Robert Mitchum and Martin Balsam:

🍿 The original Hitchcockian 1962 Cape fear, with a sinister score by Bernard Herrmann. An uncomfortable story of threat and terror. The word “rape” and the act itself were not explicitly seen, but strongly felt as the middle class fear that a crazed psychotic sexual stalker is coming for our young daughters. 5/10.

🍿 Rabid Martin Scorsese made the 1991 Cape Fear remake more menacing, his buff, tattooed rapist Max Cady more maniacal and the whole story much more sadistic. The best element for me was the re-done score, and the anti-lawyers message. 4/10.

🍿

Assholes: A Theory, a Canadian documentary film, based on a book by professor of philosophy Aaron James. An asshole "allows himself to enjoy special advantages in social relations out of an entrenched sense of entitlement that immunizes him against the complaints of other people." Even though it was made in 2019, and touched upon many political, sociological & psychological trends, it didn’t mention even once the biggest asshole of them all.

🍿

The Matador, an unconvincing crime thriller starring Pierce Brosnan and Greg Kinnear. An unlikely friendship between two vastly different men, a milquetoast middle-class salesman and a burnt-out assassin who meet at a hotel bar in Mexico City. A male fantasy of what a life of a contract hit man is. 4/10.

🍿

4 Vimeo-type Shorts:

🍿 In Ruby, an elderly Irish couple, Len and Ruby, celebrate their 40th anniversary. Len has a history of of odd and outlandish gifts. Ruby hopes that this year will be different and that he'll arrange something "nice and normal".

🍿Sister, a different, Oscar-Nominated Stop-Motion Animation by young Chinese director Siqi Song. About being a single child. The figures are made out of wool.

🍿 “If Tuvsho was a superhero, this would be her origin story." I Am Tuvsho, a short Mongolian documentary about a female sumo wrestler.

🍿 School Portrait, Directed by Nick Scott, about a school photographer in a bad mood.

🍿

Bobcat Goldthwait’s satirical indie World's Greatest Dad started well but ended in a mess. Robin Williams is an amateur novelist with a rotten teenager son. But then this sex-obsessed, nasty kid auto-asphyxiate while masturbating, and father covers it up as a ‘regular’ suicide. What a perverted premise. Too bad it didn’t work. 3/10

🍿

After discovering Coraline last week, I decided to watch the parody of it on The Simpsons’ Treehouse of Horror XXVIII (29S 4E). Somehow edgy (because of Halloween?...). Including similar parodies of The Exorcist, Sausage party, and self-cannibalism trops. Alrighty then!

🍿  

Throw-back to the art project:

Chinese princess (还珠格格 HuanZhuGeGe) Adora

🍿

(My complete movie list is here)

[bleedingbeneathamantilla]

excerpt from The Libertines (2019)

June

2012

My lucidity died in the house I grew up in. I was raised in an arcane Hitchcockian mansion with a cupola. There were no servants due to my guardian, Scarlett Freeland’s, illicit exploitation, and her fear of it being discovered. Therefore, she let everything collect dust. Her mansion was tall and monumental. It reminded me of a Halloween sticker decoration one puts on a windowpane. On our street, Cupola Avenue, named for the cupolas on each house, I suffered many seasons of violent turmoil at the hands of Scarlett. She owned a video camera that she balanced on top of a tripod and told me it was my “surveillance.”

On several occasions, since the age of thirteen, I was raped by a multitude of strange men that Scarlett invited inside. She would put 80s hair metal on the stereo while they raped me and she sat in a red armchair, smoking numerous cigarettes. Sometimes, I wouldn’t get raped and instead it would be my deed, according to every person in the room, to kill a person in front of me. I’ve killed 37 people in Scarlett’s house, each one dissolved with acid in the cupola on film, and killed on film as well, before being doused with acid. Each time this event happened, it was recorded and burned onto a disc to be viewed on Scarlett’s TV.

There were only two other houses on Cupola Avenue: the Tarringtons’ house and the Miltons’ house. Clyde Tarrington lived in a two-story house painted white with black shutters. He lived there with his daughter, Blithe. On their front door was a poster of a symbol that held a cryptic enchantment for me: a cross with an hourglass in the center of it. It always reminded me of their time running out. I had wanted to kill Blithe for so many years. I felt her to be prettier than me with her lustrous black hair and piercing green eyes. She always loved to remind me of how I would have been killed by my twin sister, Adele, had she lived. Adele was called the alpha and I was, mentally, the omega. On a rainy day when lightning split the sky into slices, Adele and me were playing dress-up with red velvet gowns and silver high heels. We were twelve. I convinced her into a “baptism,” holding her head underwater. My newfound strength prevailed and she soon ceased to breathe.

When Scarlett found out, she didn’t seem to care. Neither did the rest of the neighborhood; they were always killing people. We melted her body into the floor of the cupola with acid.

My name used to be Lillian Freeland, but once my twin was dead, I uncontrollably became someone named June. She came to me, like a doppelganger, looking exactly like me, but bearing no evil intentions.

“I am here, and I am not leaving you,” June told me. I regret killing Adele despite her greater knowledge of schoolwork. We were both homeschooled and Scarlett never told us what she did for a living. I learned later on that she worked for the federal government.

My liberation from Scarlett’s persistent and unyielding abuse came on the day of my eighteenth birthday, April 17. After she made me read Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott” to two men, who raped me when I was done, and when they had left, I waited for Scarlett to go upstairs and watch one of her movies. I sauntered to the garage and snatched an axe, the same one Scarlett used in satanic rituals when she was young. I made the predatory ascent up the stairs and into her bedroom. Then, as though she were a chopping block and as though her sanguine bloodflow was sacred, I swung the axe down upon her skull. Hard. She was watching The Caretakers, a black and white movie about women in group therapy. She fell to the side, writhing in pain. I went to the front of the chair and brought the axe down upon her back until her spinal cord was severed and her tenebrous heart gave out. I left her there and ran back downstairs, screaming the whole way.

Next, I opened Scarlett’s freezer and grabbed a carton of Marlboro 100’s, lit one, and burned the subtle swastikas hidden in the patterns of an Oriental rug. I gazed around me, took in the contents of the living room: the Kit-Kat clock shaped like a black cat with bulging eyes, the white topaz chandelier, the gutted hearth, the period furniture. I decided it was time to leave my home behind forever. I grabbed a pink backpack and shoved the carton of cigarettes inside, along with a drawer full of working Bic lighters. I threw in three shirts, six pairs of socks, six pairs of underwear, two pairs of pants, a journal, a pen, and a gun. I topped off the luggage with some rubber vampire teeth I endeavored to save for a malevolent purpose: murdering Blithe Tarrington.

I put my hand on the gun as I walked outside, holding it securely within the large pocket of my forest green trench coat. To my knowledge, the Miltons across the street were always killing people (Scarlett always said so.), but I didn’t know how they felt about Blithe. I didn’t care. I rang the doorbell, staring down the cross and hourglass on the door’s poster. Luckily, Blithe answered the door. I pulled out the gun, and her face became as stricken as one being lashed with a switch.

“Get inside,” I gnashed, pushing her onto the floor  and slamming the door behind me. “And don’t get up. Don’t even talk.”

She talked anyway. “Lillian, please don’t kill me. You don’t have to - “

“But I want to, and I can, and I will kill you and nothing will ever be able to resurrect you!”

“What’s going on with that Freeland bitch? Why is she in my house?” screamed Clyde, who had just descended the stairs. I shot him in the head, and he slumped over, instantaneously dead.

“You’ve been killing people in this house for years, and it’s time to go!” I vociferated over her harrowed wailing. “Now, put these in.” I unzipped my backpack and handed her the rubber vampire teeth.

She stared at me, wide-eyed with feral fear. She did nothing. She said nothing.

“Your mouth, dummy. Put them in your mouth.”

I handed her the teeth, and she took them from me and placed them over her own toothpaste commercial-white teeth.

“You look the very caricature of Halloween,” I said, laughing as I blew out her brains. The remains flew against the wall and painted an inkblot test of blood smears everywhere. I walked into Blithe’s bedroom after I was sure she was dead, and saw a purple canopied bed, a bookshelf filled with many classic and contemporary novels, among them: the Bronte sisters, Oscar Wilde, Theodore Dreiser, Jane Austen, Anais Nin, D.H. Lawrence. I grabbed Nin’s House of Incest, Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray and Charlotte Bronte’s Villette, and left the house.

I didn’t make it very far. I was down the road not very far when I was arrested.  I always feared them coming for me. I fell onto the asphalt, scabbing my knees and not feeling it. I denied what was happening. I muttered to myself incoherently.

“We know you killed some people, Lillian.”

“My name is June,” was all that I said before my mind shut off and I suddenly woke up, vegetative, in a jail cell.

*

Eventually, I was labelled not guilty by reason of insanity. The police found Scarlett’s recordings and the recordings that the Miltons and the Tarringtons made of their own killings when I told them about the neighborhood, and what Scarlett had done to me. One day, I will get out of the forensics services ward, where the criminally insane are housed. I have spent many nights here, remembering the death and ravaging, my hair coiling like Medusa’s on the pillow of the restraint bed, the leather straps leaving black bruises on my wrists. Every night, I pray to God and Jesus and all the saints that ever were that I’ll be forgiven for my killings, and be accepted into a realm I can call heaven.

My lucidity will live again, resurged.

2019

June and Marcelle &

Cathleen Carter

She led me to the house with the cupola

Where she stabbed me in the backyard

Blood flowed glowing red from my pale skin

Staining my white blouse

And my throat ached

I haunt the halls

And my voice resides within the walls

I’m a phantom floating through the inmates

Living in my killer’s group home

Eyes stare from the cupola

I don’t know who saw me die

I’m buried under a thorny bush

Bones hidden by woods and tiny baby teeth

She scattered

Covering my grave with evidence from her recent infanticides

She stabbed my baby

And cut me for giving birth

In her bed

My lover carved our initials in a tree

And we’ll always be in touch

I eat strawberries off a plate in his room

We hung a dreamcatcher to capture his nightmares

Of me being tortured by her ringed hands

Bag placed over my head

Cathleen Carter, the snuff film queen

(I have killed many)

Choking on film reel

Always having to be polite

In the morning light drinking tea

Deirdre, the killer, laced it with GHB

Putting me to sleep

Separated from my lover

Pillow soaked in warm tears

His tears and mine

We drink them in vials and kiss under stars

Soon he too will be a ghost

Swallowing pills on a blanket in the cemetery

Deirdre will find us and take our picture

Maybe she’ll capture my phantom on camera

*

With curiosity, Marcelle Trahern saw from the window Deirdre Carter and her niece, Cathleen, arguing. The infant was dead, that much Marcelle knew. Cathleen Carter had given birth to a baby girl now with stab wounds, lying in red and white rigor mortis in her crib with blood on the teddy bear, in the dolls’ hair and on the lampshade on the side table. Most of the inmates, as they were known due to the group home’s strict rules, were gone for the day at an event and June Freeland was downstairs. Deirdre Carter quickly took over June’s life after leaving her post as nurse at the asylum where June was housed. June was incompetent to stand trial, declared insane and sent away for many years. She had returned to Scarlett Freeland, her former guardian’s, mansion to live. It had been converted into a group home for women with trauma issues.

All thoughts of June vanished from Deirdre’s mind when the knife blade shone in the sun, an ominous metal glint that suddenly penetrated the naked pearl throat of Cathleen. She collapsed to the grass in the fenced-in backyard and as the earth was fresh from the rain, Deirdre found a shovel leaning against the toolshed and dug a fresh grave. Marcelle had never liked Cathleen much because she was always harping on the girls to follow the rules: don’t smoke dope, don’t invite boys over without permission, etc. She had gotten herself knocked up by Miles Sutherland, and Deirdre highly disapproved of him with his leather jacket and cigarettes. Marcelle only saw him once when he drove to pick up Cathleen for a date, his handsome face a silhouette in the dark window. Marcelle decided to keep quiet about the death. She watched Cathleen be tossed into the grave liked a broken doll. Deirdre had tied a plastic bag over her face and stabbed her in the chest. For ten minutes, Marcelle watched Deirdre extract Cathleen’s heart from her chest cavity, holding the dead, lifeless muscle in her palm, her calm blue eyes narrowed and focused on it like a witch in a black magic ritual. June suddenly appeared beside Marcelle.

“The bitch is finally dead,” Marcelle said, breaking her vow not to tell anyone. “What is she going to do with the heart?”

“I don’t know,” said June.

The girls, both in their twenties and too old for Cathleen’s trashy immaturity, watched with morbid fascination as Deirdre snapped a polaroid   (after turning off the video camera)

of Cathleen’s corpse before throwing dirt back over her and packing it in. She laid stones over it and from her pocket, she took something white and scattered it over the grave. When she went back inside the house, Marcelle and June left the cupola to inspect what Deirdre had spilled. Six tiny teeth in the front yard, taken from a toddler’s mouth. A previous killing. When the cops led Deirdre away after June called them, June put on a nun habit and took over the house.

They heard Cathleen’s whispers of love for Miles and reassurances that Deirdre was gone. They buried her baby in an infant cemetery labeled merely “Infant Cemetery” in iron above a fancy gate bearing an entrance to the graveyard. June called the cops by her own policy, knowing hiding a murder is wrong.

“Marcelle, she’s a psycho, bats-in-the-head bitch and she could have come after us, too. It’s better that she’s gone.”

“I guess so,” said Marcelle, her mind on Nanny Cravat choking on her milk laced with Drano. Marcelle had fled the world of Christian broadcast rooms and the sex trade. While the cops dealt with Deirdre, she hid in her closet. Nanny Cravat had invited several men over to force themselves on her, and she was glad she couldn’t remember it in great detail. Dissociating was so divine. Girls wore meretricious makeup to school and church and their naked limbs stuck out from cheap, mall-bought miniskirts. Marcelle would have given them all Drano in a cup, too, if she knew how not to get caught.

But she was far from their bratty voices now, with June Freeland, Anika White and Marilyn Sanders to keep her company. In the meantime, the house became less of a group home and June began paying the monthly bills with Deirdre’s leftover income found stashed in a safe in her room. Marijuana smoke soon filled the rooms and the girls giggled at the enhanced cartoons on the television, making funny faces at the ceiling. Then, Cathleen appeared in the mirror behind them in her prom finery, staring sternly with her stab wound, The blood withdrawing and disappearing into the gash. Anika screamed. When the others asked what was wrong, Anika revealed what she saw.

“You’re too high,” Marilyn said, running a hand through her rainbow hair. But Cathleen stood behind them, strawberry juice the color of blood on her mouth, back when Miles contacted her spirit. She came when summoned and manifested herself in the flesh.

Cathleen

My baby is gone

In an infant coffin underground

I wear black to mourn her

And place flowers on her grave

Miles embraces me in the cemetery

Where we have sandwiches and milk

He marvels as the food disappears from the plate

And the milk drains from the thermos

He can see me fresh as daylight

A rose haloed in gold

I am fragile dust and fairy winds and gilded blond hair

They find him dead the next day

By the gravesite of his daughter

His lips blue from the pills

His hair plastered to his head

In the spring rain

His indolent heart gave out and from her prison, Deirdre laughed at the television giving news of Mile’s suicide and the note he’d left:

I’ve gone to be with Cathleen, who drew me into hear heart forever, and our daughter Melanie’s, too. Deirdre couldn’t kill my love, though she tried very hard.

I saw Deirdre from the corner where I stood, staring at ladies dressed in orange watch the television and play cards. Now that I’m dead, I can go anywhere I want to in the world. I’ve explored the moors of England and I’ve been to Alaska, the northern lights illuminating the night sky and I didn’t feel the cold nor the heat of Death Valley, California. I flew and touched the top of the Eiffel Tower.

“Anything can be done in death, it’s like magic is yours after you die,” I told Miles.

Down he went with me and they buried us side by side. We go into earth, then Summerland, then back again. When I haunt the group home, I conjure nightmares for the girls who tormented me, especially June Freeland who told me I looked dressed as gaudily as she had for one of the snuff films her guardian she murdered made her do. I know many murderers: the worst of them being June and Marcelle. I read the evidence of Marcelle’s Drano murders in her journal and her revelations of sex with strange men who came when called by Nanny Cravat, Marcelle’s godmother. But something told me not to be a hypocrite and tell on her. I never had a mother like these girls. She abandoned me on the doorstop of St. Xavier’s Orphanage and Deirdre, the nun (she was a devout Catholic before she moved on to work for the hospital) who knew her sister’s face and knowing I was her niece, took me in and after years of her impossible violence and nagging, I am finally set free and better off, even if by her hand.

The Ouija Board

“Miles committed suicide,” said Marilyn to Marcelle. “It’s on the news.”

“Oh,” said Marcelle. “I bet Cathleen’s ghost dragged him down with her. Anika keeps seeing her everywhere and is freaking out.”

Anika was fast asleep in her room, having taken a dose of Haldol to help the hallucinations.

“But you aren’t hallucinating,” Cathleen had insisted when she came to Anika late at night. Sometimes she wore a nun habit like June, who had taken to smearing on red lipstick and blaring Courtney Love from the stereo. Sometimes, she sang opera with a crucifix dangling around her neck, and quite good. The girls loved listening to her sing her songs of lovers who lost their loved ones like Miles and Greek tragedies where Persephone became trapped for six months in Hades with the Lord of the Underworld and six months on earth. Gods and monsters fighting their battles to the death. The Ouija board they used to summon Cathleen worked. Anika revealed the messages to them of their conversation she heard in her head. Anika directed the board marker’s movement in their hands.

“Cathleen, where are you?” Anika asked, finally facing her fear of the unknown.

“In Summerland, with Miles,” was the reply.

Anika spelled it on the board and all were shocked.

“I knew it was real, like heaven but better than clouds and angels playing harps, waiting at the gates to judge you,” Anika said. “In Summerland there is no judgment, or pain or violence. Just love, laughter and magic. I learned all about the theory of the afterlife in Summerland from a Wiccan book I found in the used bookstore downtown.”

“Are you sure it isn’t fake, Anika?” Asked June, who doubted the paranormal.

“I heard her voice, just the way it was when she was alive!” Anika stormed out of the room, offended by June’s remark. The Ouija board remained still. Out of all of the girls, Cathleen found Anika most vulnerable to her presence. Cathleen enjoyed scaring them a little. But she never spoke to June, who ascended the staircase with a boy from the nearby prep school, holding a candelabra and smoking a Marlboro cigarette. Marilyn played 20 Questions with Anika in their room and listened to her account of what she read in Marcelle’s journal.

“I saw too,” said Cathleen. “She sent people to their death same as insane June. I wonder what sort of terrorism Deirdre endured at a young age.”

“Probably witnessed something violent, or had no parents like you. I didn’t,” said Marcelle, who stood behind them listening and hearing Cathleen’s voice just like Anika.

Deirdre

High on a precious hill stands my home for abandoned, unstable girls.

I can’t return to it.

I’m in prison garb in the women’s prison surrounded by barbed wire and a river runs past, saturated in pollutants spilled by the nearby plants and factories.

I used to be a nun, then a nurse, mercy-killing the elderly, smothering infants and pretending they died of SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome), immune to the wails of inconsolable parents informed by the doctor in the corridor.

I spent my early childhood in a ramshackle farmhouse in Louisiana, smothered by my mother and her hot back coffee thrown in my face. How her knives danced before my eyes. My baby brother died when I was fourteen. I hated babies. My mother told me to kill it, it was a sickly, weak little boy and wouldn’t last the year. I fed him to a hungry feral cat and watched the skin like ribbon over her bones from the cat’s carnivorous snacking. My mother, a widow always in grey with shadows under her eyes the color of her sweater, watched the baby’s decomposition.

I felt an affinity for June the most out of all the girls in my home. We had killed and had bad mothers who abused our bodies and sucked our souls out through crazy straws, leaving us bereft and insane. I couldn’t plead insanity the way June could, though.

I wish I were out of this stale air and away from these women, with their murderous stairs and rancid shouting, their fights that lead them to solitary. I won’t put a hand on these women. I won’t go to solitary.

June

I murdered this whole neighborhood besides Clinton and Mary Milton and their twin son and daughter. The parents went to prison for murder, and the kids live somewhere else now. The house is vacant.  I never enjoyed what Scarlett made me do. They housed me in an asylum, where I spent the majority of my time in restraints staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes and Medusa coils in my hair that snarled on the pillow.

I dreamt of black widows biting me and in my dreams, Deirdre, who worked there at the time as a psychiatric nurse, didn’t tend to my bites that reddened on my hand. When I wasn’t dreaming, Deirdre liked me. Now she’s in prison where she belongs. I no longer handle nitric acid or kill people or endure stiff baseball bats tearing open my cunt.

Scarlett watched my defiling from behind the camera, recording the rapes in the dark room. I was smothered in her cellar and remembered it, screaming, spitting out the pills, refusing to take them. Deirdre heard my whole story, decided to move into the old Freeland estate and take over as group home director. I moved out of my trailer to stay there. It���s weird I should live here after killing someone here. I used to hallucinate Blithe, who I shot and killed, but I don’t see her lately. I dismiss Anika despite my own experience. Sometimes, the ghost of Cathleen gets old as a topic and I think all should  remember the living and forget the dead that can’t reach us, gone to nether realms.

But what if she was there? What if she can reach us?

I’ll never know. One day I’ll be a ghost myself. I have faith that there is something prettier to see than this insidious earth after our bodies run out of time and our souls transcend.

There must be something better than what I had, what Marcelle had, what Cathleen had, what all of us had.

I think I just heard a voice. Is it the still, small voice of God, or is it a spirit coming from some divine region, holy or unholy?

I am a combined angel and demon. I want to drink absinthe and sleep with that voice.

[playermagic23]

1 Year of Gadar 2 EXCLUSIVE: Anil Sharma claims, "I told Sunny Deol that you deserved to charge Rs. 50 crores each project. This film will help you attain that."; discloses that his next project with Nana Patekar is named Vanwaas: A Journey Of Life.

August 11 marked the one-year anniversary of the all-time hit Gadar 2. On this wonderful occasion, its director, Anil Sharma, spoke exclusively to Bollywood Hungama about the much-loved sequel, his relationship with Sunny Deol, and his upcoming flicks.

Time flies. I can't believe it's been a year since the pandemonium unleashed by Gadar 2. (Laughs) Ji Bilkul. Aisa lag raha hai, bas kal hi ki baat!

How has your life altered after Gadar 2? Is the industry viewing you differently now? Public ki pyaar toh kal bhi tha, aaj hai. However, the perspectives of some people in the industry have undoubtedly shifted, as is unavoidable when one achieves success. Some perspectives shift when you fail. But, personally, I believe that main pehle mast tha and aaj mast hoon. There is no change in my life. The only change since Gadar 2 is that I used to do one film every two to three years. But when Gadar 2 was out, I immediately began production on my next film, which stars Nana Patekar and Utkarsh Sharma. Its shoot is already concluded.

Sunny Deol's life has altered in one year, and people have understood that he is a force to be reckoned with. Do you feel good that you played a part in his comeback? When I told Sunny sir about Gadar 2, I said, "You should do this film." You deserve to charge Rs. 50 crores per project. This film will assist you in achieving that goal.

The film was in such high demand that screenings began at 3:00 a.m. I awoke at 7:30 a.m., and I had no notion. My wife told me about it and showed me videos of the chaos in the cinemas. She had tears in her eyes. Mere aankh mein bhi aansoo gaye. I called Sunny, sir. He was also viewing videos. 'Ho gaya na?' I asked. He responded, 'Haan, ho gaya'! It was an emotional experience for us. Sunny sir deserves it because he's always been a celebrity. But people assess stardom based on box office performance, and I don't blame them.

Except for me, no one in the industry could have predicted Gadar 2 would be such a monumental success. I emailed Zee Studios a week before its release, stating that "Gadar 2 would collect Rs. 500 crores." I told them the same thing when I signed the contract with them. Mujhe bharosa tha iswar pe. Aur ishwar ne baat rakh di. If God wills, man will succeed. And the individual believes he is accountable for it.

According to sources, your next film with Nana Patekar and Utkarsh Sharma is named Journey to Vanwaas. Is this true? The film's title is Vanwaas: A Journey Through Life. The title Vanwaas is fitting for the film. In the Ramayana, the father sends his son to Vanwaa. Nowadays, it works the other way around. Har ghar mein vanwaas ho rahe hai.

 Vanwaas: A Journey of Life is an emotional drama. My previous films include Shradhanjali (1981), Bandhan Kuchchey Dhaagon Ka (1983), and Apne (2007). This film is in that zone. Many people asked me, 'Aap action film kyun nahin kar rahe hai?'. I used to say, 'Main woh film kar raha hoon jo mujhe banani hai'. Vanwaas mein feelings ka gadar hai, and I want to show them to the audience. It's the most relevant story of today, based on what's going on with the elderly in society. It features one of Nana Patekar's best performances. The scenes between Nana and Utkarsh are breathtaking! Duniya dekhegi iss film mein ki performance ka level kya hai.

When is it scheduled to be released? We intend to release it before the end of 2024. We'll set the date in September.

Are there any updates on Gadar 3? Work on Gadar 3 is underway. Jab mere paas emotion ka atom bomb ayega, tab main phodunga!

You mentioned that you had money concerns with Gadar 2. That would not be the case with Gadar 3, right?

Yes, it is within budget! What about apne 2? It is in the pipeline.

What plans do you have for Independence Day? I wish you and all of our readers a wonderful Independence Day. Many revolutions and sacrifices were made in the hope of a brighter future. It's critical that people understand this and love their country. As for my plans, I intend to watch an excellent patriotic film, perhaps one featuring Manoj Kumar.

[darlingshane]

Sam Rossi x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ // Content/Warnings: Explicit, Smut, Blow Jobs, Oral Fixation, Couch Sex.

WC: 1,036 // Prompt: Netflix & Chill.

Summary: Sam is trying to watch a movie; you have other plans in mind.

A/N: This is my first contribution to Bernthirst Spring Fling @bernthirst-events​. Let this be the beginning of a very smutty week with Sam in this blog :P

The Sweetest Distraction

“Would you stop that?” Sam chuckles, having you nibbling at his earlobe and playing with his curls while you watch TV on the couch.

It's movie night and the film you've chosen from the Netflix catalog is not doing a good job capturing your attention, hardly any of them ever do. About twenty minutes in, you tuck your legs over Sam's lap, threading his hair with your fingers, and let your lips and hands steal his interest from the flick.

“What? Stop this?” you suck his earlobe into your mouth and release it; then run your nails on his scalp, “or this?”

“Everything that you're doing right now. You're a menace.”

“Am I now?”

“You know you are, sweetheart. You do this every time you say you wanna watch a movie, and I always fell for it. I get invested and halfway through, you distract me like this, and I never get to see how it ends.”

You shrug, amused, “have you ever heard about the term Netflix and Chill?”

“'Course I have… I'm old, but I'm not that old,” he scoffs, reaching out with his hand to grab the phone from the coffee table to press pause on the app, “but just for once I'd like to get till the end.”

“Alright,” you pat his shoulder twice, and remove your hands off him at once, “I didn't know you were such a film buff. You wanna watch, go ahead, but I can tell you right now that the movie is not going to be nearly as interesting as what I wanted to do with you.”

Then, you promptly stand up to get a drink from the kitchen, but he quickly grabs your hand, pulling you back down onto his lap, with one arm secured around your hips, and the opposite hand framing your jaw.

“That's how you like to play, huh?” Sam's sweet, chocolate browns shed a spicier shade when he captures your gaze, “you can't say that and then leave without telling what you had in mind, sweetheart.”

Grinning big, you wet your lips, leaving him in suspense for a moment, “well, I was thinking of something that starts with a… Brazen B, and it's followed by a Juicy J.”

“Hmm,” his thumb brushes your bottom lip back and forth a few times, stating, “you're quite the temptress.”

“Maybe I am,” you purr, sucking his thumb into your mouth, pressing your lips and teeth above his knuckle, capturing the salty pad of his thumb that tastes like popcorn on the plane of your tongue.

He pulls it out of your mouth, nice slow, as one of your hands slides at the back of his hair, running your nails at his nape, harder than before, aware of how much that turns him on.

“Say, what's gonna be, old man?”

“I guess the movie can wait.” He lets out a long, pleased sight, head lolling at the stimuli as your fingers reach the curve of his neck.

Not wasting a second, Sam takes a good hold of your hips then, coaxing you to shift your position, so you're straddling his lap instead.

You draw some air and tilt your face closer to his, your noses bumping together, before seizing the taste of his lips.

Kissing him sensually, your tongue swims smoothly with his, as you bury all your fingers in his curly mop, grabbing fistfuls in a moment of passion when the kiss grows more heated.

His palms are spread across your legging-covered ass, desperately pressing you down to grind against the straining building up behind his jeans.

When you're ready, you break from his mouth and undo the buttons of his shirt, leaving a trail of open-mouth kisses down the valley of his chest, on your way down to the floor, where you kneel between his feet.

Locking eyes with him, your deft fingers work swiftly– unclasping his belt, unzipping his pants, and pulling back his underwear to uncover his monumental erection.

You curl your palm around the underside of his cock and collect some spit in your mouth in order to wet his dry skin before making any hasty movements.

He watches you, enraptured, behind the sheer gloss that has formed above his irises.

The eye contact is broken when your head bows, lips wrapping slacked around the flare of his head, letting the copious amount of saliva run freely down his length.

You use your hand to spread it all the way around, as you start working your tongue. It's then that he pushes his hair back and lets his head fall back against the edge of the couch, enjoying the depth of your mouth as it swallows him, almost, whole.

Sam's not big on dirty talk or praises, but he does let out a few curses at your name. Sometimes he just breathes in delight that – sweetheart – that you love so much.

He doesn't push you to go faster either, but both his palms frame either side of your head, following your pace.

The way he throbs and tastes in your mouth has you aching badly at your core as you take him deeper; having him surrender with ease at the mercy of your lips, nearing that sweet edge.

Without even thinking about it, as your head bobs faster, you part your knees and shove your free hand between your legs, pressing as hard as you can over two layers of fabric, making yourself moan lewdly around him, letting that be the catalyst that makes his cock twitch and fill your mouth.

You climb back to the couch, while his breath catches, cuddling against him as one of his arms curls around you, hand cradling the back of your head.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he says coarsely when he can speak again, flashing that adorable, post-blow job smile, “that was…”

You trap your bottom lip beneath your bare teeth, proud of having him sated, basking in his afterglow while he trails off.

“Was that a good distraction, then?” you question; knowing the answer.

“Oh, that was the sweetest distraction, baby,” he sighs, slowly coming down from his high, “give me a minute, yeah?” I'll take care of you as soon as I can move.”

[duskholland]

Had to send this to you bc your writing is so amazing 😩 friend! Tom showing you pictures on his camera roll of a trip he was on and forgetting he had nudes in there, and you scroll to accidentally find them and you’re both stunned for a second but he shoots his shot by telling you that there’s more, you can look at them if you want. and you do, and toms behind you watching you look at them. he even tells you there’s a video too, if you wanna see it. and you’re like now or never, so you tell him yes. bc the sexual tension would be so high bc it’s uncharted waters and I could see Tom dragging you into his lap to watch the video together and him being like am I big enough for you? I was thinking about you and it would be SMUTTTTTTT whew I need to lay down 🥲🥵

ugh...your mind. I love this! 18+ nsfw !!!

– clearing out the askbox – 

“Hey, do you want to see..? I took some photos of it- Wait, let me just find them.”

You wait patiently as Tom digs around in his pocket, his tongue between his lips as he focuses on procuring the device. He makes a loud tada sound as he whips it out, his eyes sparkling as he quickly starts to scroll through his photos. You watch him closely, admiring his side profile discreetly.

You’ve known Tom for years, met him at a function in London through a mutual friend. When he’d moved into a large townhouse just in the outskirts of the city a few months ago, you’d been one of the people to move in with him. He’s been away for several weeks, on press in Europe, but now that he’s back, he’d dragged you down onto one of the sofas in the living room to share his stories and show off his photos.

“Is it really as big as they say?” You wonder. “I’ve never seen the Eiffel Tower before.”

Tom hums, and you watch as he scrolls through his photos, eyes focused. He looks very good today -- biceps pressing out against his black t-shirt, his Rolex glinting on his wrist. His hair lies naturally over his forehead too -- soft, brown, wavy. Your friend is very attractive, something you’ve always been aware of, but the time apart has made your feelings sharpen.

“Yeah, it’s bloody huge,” Tom muses. “Ah! Here you go, love.”

Tom carefully passes you his phone, and you swallow harshly when your fingers brush his and you feel sparks light off at his touch.

“Wow,” you exclaim, squinting as you admire the photo of the tower, soaring up into the sky. “You’re right. It is big.”

“Mmm. There’s more. You can scroll if you want.”

You start to flick through the photos, smiling as they change a little with each shot. Some of them are blurrier than others, and after a while they change as Tom moves from the ground below the monument, to climbing the staircase, then getting in the lift, then travelling to the top. You enjoy watching the story progress, seeing the shots of some of Tom’s friends, then a few selfies of Tom in sunglasses with a wide cityscape captured behind him, then--

You gasp softly as you scroll a little bit too far, and find yourself staring at a photo of Tom’s cock.

“Oh shit,” Tom mutters. You feel him go very still beside you. You’re sitting so close together that you can feel his thigh, warm to touch. “I… Forgot that was on there.”

You swallow dryly, suddenly feeling your pulse throbbing in your ears. You can’t stop looking at the photo, marvelling at the sight of Tom’s cock, red and erect, sitting in his hand. He’s clearly in a hotel room, and the lighting and the angle are very good, leaving little to the imagination. You bite your lip as you notice the way he has a strong vein curving down the side of his member, and find yourself squeezing your thighs together as you try, desperately, to snap out of it.

“It-it’s okay,” you mutter, voice hoarse. Your face feels hot with embarrassment, but you can’t deny the arousal coursing through your system too.

“There’s more,” Tom says, voice low. You can feel him looking at you, and there’s no doubt in your mind that your friend can tell, just from your reaction, that you like looking at his nudes. “You can look at them too, if you want.”

You tilt your head slowly, glancing at him, your eyes taking in his expression: cheeks slightly rosy, smirk on his lips, gaze pooled with lust. It makes you shiver.

“Okay.”

Tom moves closer, and you can feel his breath on your neck as his fingers slowly shift into your hair, moving it out of your face very delicately, gently. You swallow, your heart beating roughly in your chest as you continue to scroll, your eyes widening as you enjoy the different angles of his cock, each captured crisply by the camera. You feel yourself getting wet, partly from the photos, but also due to the way Tom’s so close. He dips his head down and your breath hitches as he ghosts his lips over your neck, kissing you so softly that it’s almost as if he isn’t there.

“There’s a video too,” he adds, husking into your ear. You moan softly when he sucks on the tender spot behind your jaw. “Watch it.”

You oblige, scrolling past more shots of his cock before arriving at the video. With slightly shaky fingers, you press the play button, biting your lip as you watch the short clip. The air fills with the sound of Tom’s groans, distant and buzzed with slight static, but still hearty enough to make you whimper. He’s kissing your neck with renewed strength, both hands wrapping around your middle, fingers caressing your sides as you stare at the phone. The sight of his arm veins flexing as he gets himself off makes you squirm, aroused not even beginning to cover how turned on you are.

The air is thick as the video ends, Tom cumming with a low cry, his seed shooting out over his hand as his upper stomach. You let the screen fall dark, your breathing heavy and unsteady as he stops kissing your neck.

“What do you think?” Tom asks, his accent hanging heavy in his voice. “Am I big enough for you, darling?”

You nod. With nervous hands, you put the phone down and turn to face him, feeling a surge of confidence as his hold on your waist guides you to sit in his lap. You straddle him, grunting as you feel his cock straining up against his grey sweats, and the pressure that it provides to your aching clit makes you whimper and repeat the action.

“Definitely big enough,” you mutter, looking at your friend closely. He seems to be just as aroused as you are, his hands guiding your movements as you slowly grind down against him.

“I was thinking about you,” Tom admits, “when I was filming the video. Thought about sending it to you, just to see if you’d like it.”

You bite your lip, realising that the attraction you feel towards Tom hasn’t been one-sided.

“Why didn’t you? I would’ve liked to see it.”

Tom’s eyes twinkle with arousal. “Wanted to do it in person, watch your face when you saw my cock.” One of his hands moves away from your waist, and he slips it between your legs. You’re so glad you’re wearing a skirt, because all you have to do is part your thighs and then he’s able to slip two slender fingers between your folds. Tom gives your clit a few teasing rubs before slipping his fingertips down to your entrance. You whimper when he slips them into your heat, meeting no resistance, and you moan loudly as he curls his fingers and starts to stroke up against your g-spot. “Fuck, darling. You’re soaked for me.” He leans in to peck your cheek, leaving his lips by your ear as he adds, “Do I turn you on?”

“Yes,” you whine immediately. Your moans grow louder as Tom continues to fuck your heat, his thumb shifting up to nudge against your clit. You reach up and grab at his shoulders, grinding down to meet his fingers every time they thrust up into you, feeling arcs of pleasure spiral out from your cunt with each movement. “You feel so good, Tom. Been dreaming about this for months.”

“Mmm, should’ve just said, love.” Tom’s back to nibbling at your neck. “Anything else you’ve thought about doing with me?”

As good as it feels to have his fingers working you open, you know there’s one thing on your mind.

“Yeah,” you admit breathlessly. You look him straight in the eye. “I want you to fuck me, Tom.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirk intensifying. “Oh, really?”

You hum. “Yeah. I want to ride you right here, right now. Feel how big your cock actually is.”

Tom swears, his fingers leaving your centre. “Okay,” he agrees, voice tight. “There’s a condom in my jacket, I’ll go-”

“I’ll get it,” you say instead. You kiss his cheek before standing from his lap, your legs a little shaky as you walk from the living room to the porch, thankful that you’re the only ones home. By the time you return to the lounge, Tom’s stripped off completely, sitting bare on the comfortable sofa with his hand around his cock. You toss him the condom as you take a few moments to pull off your tight shirt, your skirt, and your underwear, keeping your bra on before settling in his lap.

“You’re so hot,” Tom mutters, running his hands all over you. His touch against your bare skin feels electric, and you find yourself pushing into him as you enjoy feeling him map you out. “Bloody stunning.”

“Thank you,” you reply, almost a little bashful. You sit back and watch as Tom pumps his cock, hard and leaking precum, just like the video, before he rolls down the condom. Your eyes admire the lines of his abs, strong and defined, and the rest of him, equally attractive, and you feel your cunt clench as you imagine how good it’s going to feel to have him unravel you. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

With the condom on, Tom’s hands go back to your hips. He gently pulls you forward and you sit up, reaching down to guide his cock between your folds.

“Neither can I,” he admits, eyes trained between your legs. “Been thinking about- fuck- about your sweet little pussy for months, sweetheart, I--” He breaks off completely when you slide down onto him, your walls expanding to accommodate him. Your forehead falls to rest on his shoulder as you breathe deeply, moaning as he fills you up. “So good.”

“You’re so big, Tom,” you whimper. After leaving a moment to adjust, you sit back up and slowly start to ride him, taking your time as you get used to the fit of his body. You can’t stop yourself from whimpering, loudly, as his tip brushes up against your g-spot repeatedly, igniting a deep frenzy of sparks in the pit of your stomach. “Feels so fucking good inside me.”

Tom’s face is pulled tight with enjoyment, and you moan as you see his jaw clenching and the deep line of concentration furrowed between his brows. When he opens his eyes, you see nothing but appreciation and arousal webbed across the depths of his gaze.

“Love your pussy, Y/N,” he moans, cheeks flushing deeper. One of his hands stays on your hip, guiding you, and the other goes to touch your clit. He grins as he rubs your bud and feels you clench around him. “You like that, yeah? Like the way it feels for me to be inside you?”

“Yes, Tom,” you whisper.

“I know you do, I can feel how wet you are.” Tom’s watching you like you’re a spectacle, his words interspaced with small grunts as he lifts his hips to meet your movements. “So fucking snug for me, aren’t you, love? Your pussy feels so good... I’m not going to last long.”

“Neither am I,” you warn. You can already feel it building, building, building, and with each slap of skin on skin, coupled with the noise of your wet arousal getting fucked by his member, you get closer. “Fuck, Tom, ‘m gonna cum-”

“Do it,” he coaxes, his own voice strained. “Wanna watch you fall apart for me, love. Go on.” He rubs your clit a little faster. “I’ve got you.”

Tom’s grip on you is unwavering as you peak with a loud moan, your walls spasming around his cock as your orgasm sweeps across you in an intense wave of unyielding pleasure. You grip at his shoulders, shuddering as you continue to bounce on his length, not stopping until Tom climaxes as well. You feel his cock pulse as he finishes, his breathing coming out in low, grunting pants, and as the two of you ride it out together, his forehead falls to your shoulder.

“So good,” he whimpers, lazily kissing up your neck. You still in his lip, recovering your breath, and then both of Tom’s hands move to your face. He looks at you, eyes full of appreciation, and you find yourself smiling softly at him. “Can I kiss you?”

You giggle, nodding your head. “Seems like we’re doing this in a bit of a backwards order,” you point out.

Tom smiles before uniting your lips, his mouth feeling hot against yours. He’s still smiling when he pulls back, his eyes slightly nervous.

“We are,” he admits. “Would you like to come out on a date with me?”

You nod, your heart warming in your chest.

“Yes, Tom,” you say, pausing to kiss him again. “I’d love to.”

[hiraethenthusiast]

"I love you most."| t.h.

pairing: actor!tom x reader

warnings: floof attack.

synopsis: tom gives you the best wedding you could've gotten. he's in love with you madly, that's what he says.

a/n: guess who wants this? i do. i absolutely adore a loving husband no matter what, and i adore heartfelt gifts even more! i hope you all like this fic, this one's really close to me! tpwk everyone!

listen to clinton kane's i guess i'm in love

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“So do you, Y/N Y/L/N take Tom as your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest asks you while you and Tom look at him with impatience in your eyes.

“I do.” You say, making everyone cheer and making Tom smile.

“And do you Tom Ho-” “I do!” He shouts before the priest could even complete his sentence, making everyone at the altar erupt into laughs.

“Let him finish bubba” You laugh along, signalling the priest to go on when Tom mutters a small ‘sorry’ to him.

“Do you, Tom Holland, take Y/N Y/L/N as your lawfully wedded wife?” He asks again, while Tom looks at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“I do.” And everyone cheers once again, and you gently squeeze his hand.

“So I shall now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The priest says lastly before getting off the stage and as if on queue, Tom sweeps you under his arms and holds your waist before pressing his lips to yours. The moment was wholeheartedly content, his and your parents, both with tears in their eyes, even Paddy and Harry shed a few, because the moment was so pure to just not cry at. Tom kisses you as if he was the luckiest man on Earth, like he had achieved something which he thought he could never. He pulls back to look at you beaming with the biggest smile he’s seen on you in years, and smiles to himself once again.

This was the best day of both of your lives till now, and there was no doubt about it.

After 4 years of being together, Tom finally proposed to you, and then forgot where he kept the ring, but you couldn’t care less because the man you were in love with was now, going to be a forever favourite in your lives. And today, he was now your husband from your fiance, and you couldn’t be anymore happier.

You both settle down after roaming from one place to another greeting every guest that had attended your wedding, finally for a drink and some food. Harrison sits right behind you, completing the duties of best man with all his will, and you smile at him. The twins and Paddy come in a bit later, but your eyes are looking for someone else. Where’s Tom? Your question was answered when you hear the clinking of a glass, just to find your handsome husband there.

“May I have your attention please?” He looks directly at you and you blow him a kiss, him pretending to catch it making everyone laugh. Actors.

“Thank you all for attending and being a part of our very wonderful day, I swear you guys are our favourite people” He says while chuckling.

“Today is the day I married my wonderful and stunning lover, Y/N and in recognition of that, I decided to give you the best gift of this evening.” He says, making you wonder what he got for you.

“I remember when Y/N once told me that she always loves heartfelt and handmade gifts filled with love more than people buying her the gift of her choice. She likes the element of surprise, as she likes to say. So Y/N my darling, I thought you might notice and scold me for it but you didn’t, not even once in this 4 year old relationship, and trust me this is going to shock you. I’ve managed to record every important and goofy moment of our lives, from falling on a staircase to the time I proposed to you, I have it all. I’ve compiled them into one sweet video for you, while your favourite singer of them all, Mr. Clinton Kane sings a song for us! Please give him a huge round of applause!” You jerk your head to the place where Clinton enters from, and he waves at you making you wave instinctively as well.

You look back again towards Tom, who was smiling sweetly at your little fangirl moment and continues.

“I’d also like to thank Harrison and Harry for helping me edit this video, because I’m literally so dumb without anyone of these four with me.”

“Can you put the lights out and start the video please?” He asks one of the workers there at the venue, and jogs up to sit down beside you, giving you a small peck while you take a hold of his hand.

And on queue, the lights are dimmed and the video starts to play. You can hear the faint strumming of the guitar that Clinton is currently playing, but you aren’t able to identify the song just yet. You look ahead towards the screen, and your eyes light up when you see Tom dressed up in his wedding tuxedo, you finally realising that this bit was filmed just a few hours ago.

“Hello my lovely wife! Well, I’m filming this part before the ceremony starts but I think I’m pretty certain on showing you this video after we’re married. This was...boring. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the video my love, and don’t hit me when we get home! I love you so so so much, enjoy!” He says before shutting off his camera, while everyone laughs at his goofiness and you glare at him playfully. The video rolls again and you look forward, but suddenly realise the song. It’s ‘I Guess I’m In Love’, you say to yourself. Tom had proposed to you after a few days when the song came out, and somehow on the night of him proposing, this song was played. You labelled it ‘our song’ and he happily obliged. 

“Haz hold the camera correctly for god's sake...” You hear your husband’s voice and move your head towards the screen, smiling brightly.

“Oh I’m obsessed. With the way your head is laying on my chest.” Clinton starts, immediately soothed by the presence of your lover and the melody in your ears.

“I am holding the camera nicely mate bugger off! Nikki taught me well!” Harrison says in the background making everyone giggle.

“She’s coming shut up” 

“What’s this Tom?” You ask him, as he looks at you like a kid in love.

“Y/N”

“Tom” You say in the same manner, feeling anxious by the second.

“So we’ve been dating for 4 years and trust me those have been the most beautiful four years of my life. I know this is so out of the blue, but Y/N Y/L/N, will you do the favour of marrying the person who loves you immensely? A.k.a. Tom?" He says and you laugh. You hold on for a few seconds, looking in his eyes which were filled with desperation.

"Yes" You say and his face lights up like a Christmas tree. He can't stop beaming and searches for the ring in his pocket, only to find out that he didn't have it.

"Oh I'm a mess. When I overthink the little things in my head."

"I have the ring I promise." He says, moving frantically.

"Tom-"

"I swear I kept the ring in my pocket-"

"Tom-"

"How can I be this stupid you probably don't want to marry me anymore-"

"TOM!" He jerks his head towards you as you shout his name.

"It's okay. I just want you right now." You say and he immediately hugs you, the tightest of them all.

The clip ends and you knew the tears were coming very soon, Tom senses the action and rubs your knuckles., giving you a hearty smile.

The second clip rolls in soon, your eyes brightening almost instantly.

"You seem to always help me catch my breath. But then I lose it again, when I look at you, that's the end."

"Why the hell are we on the top of the Eiffel Tower? And why do you want your phone to crash?" You ask him, while he struggles to make a video with his phone while the winds roar at the top of the monument.

"Because I want to remember this moment!" He shouts, making you smile even more.

"My goof"

"Your goof"

"You're lucky I love you"

"I wouldn't have it any other way darling" He says and gives you a quick peck on the lips, this moment too pure to realise.

"Why do I get so nervous when I look into your eyes? And butterflies can't stop me falling for you."

"Now we may invite, a very handsome young lad, who happens to be Spiderman, Mr. Tom Holland!" Harry shouts in the video, while you all pretended to have a grand gala when you couldn't attend Tom's premiere.

He walks in wearing a black tuxedo, his shirt buttons open from the top, looking dashing.

"Thank you for inviting Harold, but please, call the star of today's night." Tom says, making everyone groan about how in love he was with you.

"Patience Thomas. Now may I present, the queen of today's night, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N!" Everyone applauds as you walk down the stairs as you hear your name. You reach the door wearing a red and black dress, the clothing complementing your body more than ever. Everyone seems to keep clapping but your attention is towards that one dummy, who's standing like he's seen a ghost.

"..Oh wow." He's speechless, and everyone knows it. You blush at your boyfriend's gesture and nudge him in the shoulder, as a signal to stop staring.

"I hope you all understand that I scored a jackpot, thank you" He sees and everybody laughs.

You laugh along with the other guests, remembering the faint memory from over two years back. This was one of the most fun nights you've had with Tom. While you laugh at the clip, all Tom can do is stare at you in awe. How did he get so lucky, he thinks. He watches how your face glows when you see someone happy on the screen. He truly was blessed.

"And darling this is more than anything I've felt before. You're everything that I want, but I didn't think I'd find. Someone who was worth the wait of all the years of my heartbreak. But I know now I've found the one I love."

"Please don't go" You sniffle on Tom's shoulder, asking him to stay one last time before his flight leaves for Atlanta.

"If it was in my hands darling I'd never leave your side." He says, trying to hold back tears.

"It's okay, I understand." You say, pulling back and clearing your throat.

"Awh Y/N please don't cry." Tom tries to persuade his emotions by telling you to stop, but a tear falls down his cheeks in an instant.

"I'm sorry." You say, chuckling lightly, making Tom chuckle too.

"I'll be back before you know it."

"I know you will be"

"Please board the flight for Atlanta which leaves at 1330 hours" The flight attendant announces, and you know it's time to let him go.

"Come back home to me soon okay?" You say, wiping your tears.

"As soon as possible"

"I love you" He says.

"I love you more."

"I love you most." You can't argue with that now.

"Bye bubba" You say, giving him one last kiss, a very long one indeed, that left you both searching for oxygen.

"Bye darling" And he leaves to board his flight. You look in the same direction until he disappears and you turn around.

"Harrison, are you crying?"

"No-" He sniffles and you laugh.

You knew you were going to cry as soon as you saw the location. This was one of the hardest moments of your life, letting your lover go away from you for so long, and you weren't ready for that. You wiped your tears while Tom rubbed your hand with one of his, the other cleaning his tear stained face. You look back to see Harrison crying once again, and you laugh a bit at him before giving him your hand for comfort. He really was the best man. You blow a kiss to your family and Tom's, who were currently high on emotions. Even the brothers had tears in their eyes. You really did get the best family.

"And I love the way. You can never find the right things to say. And you can't sit still an hour in the day. I'm so in love, let's run away because us is enough."

The rest of the video were some clips of you and Tom being goofy and so in love, which were a delight to watch. The song played in the background, adding its own special touch, which was necessary to bind this moment together. All these moments which Tom managed to shoot secretly were a lifelong reminder of how much your person loved you. He loved you.

And that is all you need.

The video gets over and Tom looks at you with puppy eyes.

"So, how was it?"

"You're the reason my makeup is ruined and I have mascara stains" You say, laughing while crying.

"That good, huh?"

"That good." You say and he pulls you in for a hug and kisses your forehead.

"I love you bubba"

"I love you more" He says, kissing your cheek.

"I love you most." 

He couldn't argue with that.

"But I know now I've found the one I love."

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tagging some friends who'd like to read!

@evanssimpybaby @hollandsmushroom @tomsoxytocin @scarletspideyy @leafy-holland @t-lostinworlds