#considering how much his bad childhood shaped him into the man he is today

[20001541]

Remember when people theorized that AFO was born with a silver spoon and had everything and therefore wanted all for himself? So what would Canon AFO think of this version of his that hasn't suffered anything in life?

yes I remember 😭 used to argue with people all the time about how that wouldn't make sense because of how hellish the dawn of quirks era was for quirk users, but I just got told I was trying to woobify him. glad 407 put an end to that theory.

now if afo saw a version of himself that didn't suffer and had everything handed to him, he would be violently jealoous. the glowing baby died because they had the life afo wanted, so if he saw a version of himself that didn't have to suffer like he did he would hate them more than anything.

because it's one thing to see someone else live the life you want for yourself but it's another to know that there is an alternate version of yourself who has that life and for some reason the universe decided you should struggle from the moment you were born.

if afo ever met that version of himself he would want him dead, HE deserved to have everything handed to him from the moment he was born. HE should've been the one given things freely rather than having to forcibly take from others just to survive. for having the life he wishes he could've had his other self deserves a fate worse than death in his eyes. jealousy can be ugly.

I think he would also view them as weaker than himself, remembering how afo said that he believes that tragedy engenders true strength, he would view his own tragedies as something that made him strong. so while that other version of himself may have had everything given to them, their soft life made them weak which means he could easily overpower them if he wanted to. and to him power means everything so he's better than them in the end. he would deny being jealous of them as he doesn't see any reason as to why would he be jealous of a weak pathetic thing like that lol. the denial is strong in this one.

overall he would be spiteful and ugly towards this other version of himself. he hates then while simultaneously wants to be them.

[nicklloydnow]

“The trials of his childhood and forestalled career shaped Percy’s belief that loss and grace can keep close company—or, as he put it, that in every life “a good deal of luck, good luck and bad luck, is involved as well as, I firmly believe, God’s providence.” The idea rested at the heart of his Catholic faith and was an abiding reality in his fiction. Now, more than 30 years after his death, the Library of America has gathered his first three published novels in a single volume, along with a handful of Percy’s other writings that help illuminate his major works. In touching on the corruptions of mass media, the dissolution of community and the corrosive effects of polarization, the works collected here —“The Moviegoer” (1961), “The Last Gentleman” (1966) and “Love in the Ruins”(1971)—continue to resonate.

Consider Binx Bolling, the New Orleans stockbroker in “The Moviegoer.” A middle-class bachelor who’s materially satisfied but spiritually empty, Binx dulls his anxiety by watching TV or going to the movies. “The fact is I am quite happy in a movie, even a bad movie,” he confesses. “Other people, I have read, treasure memorable moments in their lives. . . . What I remember is the time John Wayne killed three men with a carbine as he was falling to the dusty street in Stagecoach, and the time the kitten found Orson Welles in the doorway in The Third Man.” (Now that binge-watching is a national pastime, Binx seems in many ways quite up to date.)

Percy’s first novel, which earned him a National Book Award, endures for many reasons, not least the writer’s keen eye for how mass media seeks to commodify every experience. Our basest pathologies are easily converted into theater. As Binx’s aunt laments, there’s nothing “new about thievery, lewdness, lying, adultery. What is new is that in our time liars and thieves and whores and adulterers wish also to be congratulated and are congratulated by the great public, if their confession is sufficiently psychological or strikes a sufficiently heartfelt and authentic note of sincerity.”

Yet in the aftermath of the New Orleans festival of Mardi Gras, a study in decadence as spectacle, Binx is moved to wonder if something profound can glimmer beyond the profane, if God might dwell even within the winking vulgarity of Carnival. There’s no narrative flourish of trumpets near the novel’s conclusion when Binx, who consults his inner self as habitually as a wristwatch, addresses his anguished life by joining it with someone else’s. “The Moviegoer” remains powerful both as a critique of our tendency to favor the performative and as an answer to the hollowness of living merely to be indulged.

(…)

The victories in Percy’s novels are never decisive, since he was much too nuanced a writer for tidy resolutions. A recurring theme in both his fiction and nonfiction is humanity’s inability to fully grasp its condition. “Life is a mystery, love is a delight,” he told readers. “Therefore, I take it as axiomatic that one should settle for nothing less than the infinite mystery and the infinite delight; i.e., God.”

As a writer who often speculated on the future, Percy acknowledged the complications of the crystal ball. “Let me hasten to say that I am not setting myself up to be a prophet,” he cautioned readers of “Love in the Ruins.” “A prophet aims to be right. A novelist prophesizes in order to be wrong. A novelist likes to think he can issue warnings and influence people. This is probably not the case.”” - Danny Heitman, ‘Wall St Journal’ (3 May 2024)

“The short list for the 1962 National Book Award in fiction was remarkable, including a number of works today regarded as classics, like Catch-22 by Joseph Heller, Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates, and Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger. Yet the prize went to an obscure first novel by a 45-year-old Southerner, a doctor who contracted TB during his residency and turned to writing instead. No one predicted The Moviegoer by Walker Percy would win, and 50 years later, as we prepare to hear this year’s winner, it remains one of the great upsets in the history of the National Book Awards. But was the fix in?

(…)

Catch-22 was considered the favorite, and yet Percy’s greatest opposition, ironically, came not from Heller or any of the other nominees but his own publisher, Alfred A. Knopf. When the charismatic, mercurial founder of the house that bears his name learned it was Percy the judged had tabbed, he exclaimed, “They’re running the prize into the ground!” Knopf, who had been in the business since 1915, was known for his acuity and taste, for taking a chance on authors other publishers were loath to sign but later wished they had. He had failed, though, to recognize Percy’s talent, and had recently fired Stanley Kauffmann, the editor who acquired The Moviegoer and worked with Percy through four rewrites. In the days before the winner was announced Knopf endorsed another one of his books, The Château by William Maxwell, and knew it reflected poorly on him to be seen missing the mark so widely.

Knopf had no idea how The Moviegoer had been nominated to begin with. According to National Book Awards protocol, only judges could put forward a book. Yet with Kauffmann fired, neither Knopf nor anyone in his house had brought Percy’s novel to the attention of the jurors, and no one—in such a fertile, competitive year especially—was talking about The Moviegoer. The book had not even sold through its initial printing. When Knopf did find out how it ended up on the short list he was mortified. The man responsible was none other than A.J. Liebling, the great sportswriter and New Yorker reporter—and an author Knopf had published before the two had a falling out.

The day after the awards ceremony Liebling told a gathering at Columbia University The Moviegoer “got in by the sheerest chance.” Percy’s victory, it turned out, could be traced to a single morning. On May 28, 1961 Liebling was paging through the New York Times. He had just completed a book about Earl Long, the conservative, erratic governor of Louisiana, brother of Huey, and with his mind still on that state, Liebling paused over a review that began, “Every night at dusk, when the Gulf breeze stirs the warm, heavy air over New Orleans, a 29-year-old wanderer named Binx Bolling emerges from his apartment, carrying in his hand the movie page of his newspaper, his telephone book and a map of the city.” Liebling went out and bought the book under discussion: The Moviegoer. Later he recommended it to his wife, the novelist Jean Stafford, who happened to sit on the National Book Awards fiction jury.

Liebling had a Falstaffian presence, was fat and jowly, brilliant and egoistic. He wanted in this context to be seen as a crusader for justice. Knopf, he told the audience at Columbia, had failed in its promotion of The Moviegoer. Without A.J. Liebling, one was left to presume, a masterpiece may have been forever lost to posterity. But there was more to the story: A decade before, Knopf had published Liebling’s book Chicago: The Second City, and Liebling had never forgiven Knopf for not pushing the book vigorously enough. Now, given the opportunity to embarrass his old publisher for failing to champion Percy’s text, he did not hesitate to put the boot in.

(…)

Gay Talese was 30 years old in 1962, and had recently moved from sports to news in his coverage for the New York Times. The book awards was “the worst possible assignment you could get,” he says. “The sanitation department would be much better than book publishing. Athletes never complained. People in the literary world are always complaining.” But a letter to the editor or an aggrieved call to the Times office was nothing compared to what Talese was about to experience. Reporting on the seminar at Columbia he wrote, apropos of Liebling and Stafford: “Judging what he deemed inferior novels for the National Book Award, he told her about The Moviegoer. She picked it up and also liked it. Apparently she convinced the two other fiction judges of the merits of the novel.”

Thus a legend was born: that The Moviegoer emerged victorious because of the partisanship of a husband-and-wife team, one that bucked procedure (and ethics?) to railroad home a book others were reluctant to anoint. A lot of bluster and outrage ensued. The magazine Show printed an editorial protesting that the judges had cheated Heller of an honor that was rightfully his, and both Stafford and Liebling had to issue statements averring the process had been conducted fairly. Stafford admitted to nominating The Moviegoer on her husband’s recommendation but added, “What is not true is that I ‘convinced’ or made any attempt to convince my colleagues of the merits of the book. Our meeting was not long and it was conducted in remarkable peace and agreement.”

Herbert Gold, a novelist who was also a member of the fiction jury that year, confirms Stafford’s description. Talese’s report, he says, “is complete bullshit. The fact was I loved The Moviegoer. I went to New York with that book under my arm hoping to convince the other two judges. But I can’t claim credit because Jean also loved the book.” The third judge, Lewis Gannett, a columnist for the New York Herald Tribune, was reportedly happy to comply. In fact, according to Gold, Gannett was not on intimate terms with the books on the short list. “My wife liked that one” was about all he could muster in response to some, and The Moviegoer won unanimously on the first ballot.

But Talese’s story was the version on record, and it was cited for years after. Stafford had to answer to the controversy until her death in 1979, and to this day Talese stands by his report. “If I wrote it,” he told me last month, “then it’s true. I am not a fiction writer like Walker Percy.” Which means the only explanation for the affair is that Talese was fed bad information. When an irate Liebling asked how he knew Stafford had coerced the other judges, Talese said his source worked at Knopf. He might as well have said his source’s name was on the spine of Knopf’s books. Several had heard Knopf complaining of “a conspiracy engineered by Joe Liebling,” and it seems the publisher was eager to deflect some of the attention he was getting for not supporting The Moviegoer.

Percy’s novel, in other words, was simply caught in a joust between two proud, self-assured men bent on slighting the reputation of the other. But that novel was given new life, with thousands of copies sent out in paperback. So if what happened in 1962 reminds us of the worst of what a literary fete can entail—infighting, a cliquish grievance made into national news—we should remember it also demonstrates the best. What are prizes for, in the end? Sure, the culture machine needs them, publicity departments and the gaggle of blogs, but does literature? The glitzy rah-rah of the awards dinner, the indignation suffered on the losers’ behalf: None of it factors into the progression of tradition. What the Booker, Pulitzer, and National Book Awards pretend to accomplish—identifying which works of poetry and prose are superior—takes generations to work out, and we can all name authors, the Julia Peterkins and Conrad Richters, who are known today only for being forgotten, who claimed one medal or many in their lifetime but whose work no longer resonates. Rescuing an overlooked but deserving title—that’s the most these awards can do, and Percy, though he had gotten a late start, would never have to worry about securing a publisher or a readership again.

Percy knew that, and responded to the fracas with nothing more than a shrug of bemusement. Of all the principals he behaved with the greatest aplomb. After accepting the award he returned home to Covington, La., across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans, and resumed work on his next novel, The Last Gentleman. In a letter of thanks to Stafford he acquitted Knopf of any neglect and, marveling at the fortuitousness of his situation, reflected on how unlikely the ultimate source of his gratitude was. “If I understand it correctly,” Percy wrote, “had it not been for Mr. Liebling (and his recent interest in Louisiana) The Moviegoer might never, would never have been considered. To think then, that if it hadn’t been for old Earl, etc. For the first time, I feel kindly toward the Longs.””

[lolita-lollipop]

Hi hope you’re having a wonderful day! Could I please get a bnha coraline au story. So like y/n has had a pretty bad life like a whole bunch of stuff and now they have to basically parents their own parents at the age of 15 cause they’re lazy alcoholics who just go to work come back and drink. One day after they move in y/n gets curious and finds explores around the house while they’re alone and discovers the door to the other world and meets their dream parents. The parents are aizawa and present mic who just genuinely love the reader, they don’t want to take readers soul that just want to help them. They have a sister eri and a brother shinso and when reader tries to leave they all beg and threaten reader not to leave cause “your parents never cared for you anyways” and “we’ll love you more then they ever would” and force reader to be the new baby of the family gender neutral reader if possible, please and thank you ( 03^)~💚

YANDERE CORALINE AU ERASERMIC FAMILY X READER

GN READER

-I do apologize if you wanted a shorter work, because this ended up being kinda long, sorry!

-there are a few grammar and spelling mistakes here and there, this is unedited, I will fix them :)

(I don’t know if you actually wanted the reader to be treated like a baby, literally like an infant, or just like the youngest in the family, I needed up doing the second option, tell me if wrong.)

——————————————————————-

You hummed a tune as you wandered the hallways, your footsteps dragging, you had tried to tell your mother to drink some water and put the strong bottle of vodka down before she ended up killing herself. She yelled at you, told you to “shut the hell up ya damn brat”, god knows where your father even is. It had only been a day or two in this house, and they had already made it feel like a prison for you, oh my, A SINGLE DAY.

In all honesty the house was nice, old, yes, but still nice. It seemed as if the last owners hadn’t been here for hundreds of years, let alone clean the place, as all embellishments on the walls were antique styled, and everything, I repeat, everything, was covered in dust. There were a few different pieces of furniture that looked as ancient as the neighbors, including a dresser filled with a different articles of clothing, a few dusty chairs here and there, curtains clawed away by... something, and little tables with droors filled with little trinkets.

One room in particular was exceptionally creepy in your eyes, it seemed like a child once slept there, probably long dead by now, the walls were covered in a striped floral wallpaper, chipping at the edges, various stuffed animals that hadn’t been touched in ages, what looked to be a changing table, and a smaller sized bed placed in the middle, fitted with dusty purple bedsheets, probably that color because of the gathering dust, you sat down on the mattress, inhaling the scent of the room. It smelled oddly of lavender, not a musty mildew smell you were expecting. You spent a moment just finding comfort in the warm smell, before noticing a small dent in the wall behind what you thought could be a changing table. Almost looked like... a tiny door?

“What the heck is that?” You questioned or yourself, narrowing your eyes at the wooden frame that looked like a small threshold, cautiously standing up form the bed, and making your way over to the door, you struggled to move the large piece of furniture, pushing back gains the groun and shoving it out of the way. It was indeed a door, and it was indeed tiny. There was a small cobweb strung across the mass of it, which you batted away with your little hands, pulling at the doorknob a few times to reveal the fact that it was locked, you let out an exasperated sigh. Well... it’s not like you have much to do, might as well find the key.

Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken long for you to find the small, heart shaped key that fit the locked door, it was tucked into one of the white droors of the small table in the corner. It was the first place you looked, almost as if it’d been calling out for you. It only took a few moments for you to push the key into the lock and turn, you let out a sigh of relief when you heard the satisfying click of the lock opening. Wondering what was going to be on the other side, you pushed open the mini door, to reveal a tunnel of sorts... today’s just full of surprises isn’t it.

“Man this tunnel is lo... whoah.” You stood, still balled up in a crawli mg position, shocked at your own surroundings. Everything looked so... new, and polished, you stared Jan absolute awe at everything, literally everything. Where are you?

“Oh, honey you’re finally here!” A male voice rang out from behind you, immediately large hands were lifting you off the floor from under your arms, holding you like a baby, this guy cradled your head in his chest, no matter how much you squirmed, the iron grip he had on you did not loosen. You snapped your head up to meet his eyes, only to be met with buttons of such a piercing yellow it almost hurt your own eyes. A shrill scream left your lips, as you flung your feet back and forth in attempts to free yourself.

“Oh, oh right. I’m sorry , I should’ve been a little slower, it’s scary I know, you’ll get used to it I promise. I’m hizashi, your other father, re you alright?” He questioned, backing up a little to give you space, bringing his hands up to tell you he wasn’t going to hurt you, ever. You were usually a calm person, but given the situation, like some random person living in your house with buttons for eyes, the reaction was warranted. You breathed for a small moment, inhaling the even stronger scent of lavender that was oh so comforting, before standing back up, giving whatever this was at a chance of explanation.

“Who- who are you?” The question left your lips faster than tryouts could hold it in, he gave you a smile and walked closer again, booping your nose and once again pulling you off the ground. He was tall, slightly lanky, and his hair was a bright yellow to match his eyes, little dangle earring wee attached to his ears, you just stared in awe at the inhuman man who was holding you.

“Silly little thing! I just said it! I’m your other father, like your real father, just perfect for you! Dinners almost ready, so let’s go meet the rest of the fmIly okay bubs?” He questioned m, speaking down to you like one would a child, even though you are a fully capable human. He grabbed your hand, and gently rigged you off into some hallway, you slightly dig your feet in, staring back at the little door that got you here in the first place.

———

“Honey, this is your reality, if it was perfectly fit for you! We love you, unlinke those scum who call your your parents, don’t your bat to be loved for once y/n?” He spoke, the two of you arrived at what was probably the kitchen, him explaining what was happening pretty thoroughly considering he had to do it in a few minutes, barging through the doors, a few other pairs of button eyes were scattered thievhiur the kitchen.

“Daddy! I helped bubba make dinner tonight!” A little girl, probably not even over the age of five, came running towards the two of you, smiling fully. She was sporting a pair of red buttons, which matched her little jumper, you had your face buried in this ma- hizashis chest, his arms wrapped around the entirety of you. He sent an exited stare towards the little girl, who jsut gasped and smiled even harder. She made little grabby hands towards you, so hizashi set you down on the ground, whispering a “time to get down” in your ear. Instantly, the little girl attached herself to your torso.

“Bubba/sissy!” She squealed, patting your stomach, as much as you would love to knock her off of you, she’s a kid, you don’t do that to kids. This young girl claimed to be your other sister, which at this point you were led to believe because apparently anything is possible at this point, she was pretty adorable.

“I-uh, yeah?” You spluttered, visibly flustered, you tried to get a grip of yourself, it was kindof odd, although the girl seemed much younger than you, the way she carried herself presented that she was much older than she came off, from the maternal glint in her eyes, to the planned movements, it just seemed... mature.

—————small time skip—————

It had been maybe an hour, you had been seated at a dinner table, quite the large one actually, in between a black haired man that you could tell was staring at you, and a purple haired teenager who looked to be a similar age to you. You sat there just kindof awkwardly trying to not touch any of them. At one pint. The purple haired guy tried to feed you, which was an unfortunate suprise because you were off in dreamland, and were ckmoemteky confused as to why he was even trying something like that.

“You’ll probably hurt yourself trying, just let me do it” he spoke, it is safe to say that this button eyed family is an odd bunch. First the woerd door, then a creepy guy tryna pick you up, then some little girl who probably wasn’t so little claiming you to be her “younger sibling”; then the offpdutirng glances front his beanbag guy, than this? What is happening.

Sooner or later, after the really odd display that was dinner had finished, and you had help washing your hands, because for some reason they thought you needed it, it was announced bettime, and with a snap of the man him you learned name was Aizawa, food was gone, along with all the dishes. If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you almost lied this, of course not the babying thing, but the fact that you weren’t cooking or cleaning or trying to snatch a bottle from your parents, it almost made you wnat to cry how perfect this family was. God how much you wished this was your own.

It’s sounds selfish, and unreasonable, but you never had a childhood, the day you were born your life was already sighted off as “servant of my own parents”, you lived them, you did, these people were so nice thiugh, they were odd, maybe a little quirky, but still jsut a perfect little family. Apparently one that includes you.

“ALRIGHT! time for bed!” The yellow haired man exclaimed, seeeping you and eri right off of your feet, holding you in his arms as eri giggled at the sudden swish sound. The two men on the other side of the large room cracked small smiles at the sheer adorable ness of the position, the two little ones of the family and their father! What a sight to see!

“Shhhhh, I think y/n is gonna sleep with us to Tonight okay eri?” Hizashi whispered to the young girl, loud enough for you to hear, she nodded and smiled one of her sickeningly sweet smiles, hr eyebrows raising before her button eyes. She motioned to be put down ‘, waving goodbye and latching her own hand onto shinsos, who also waved his hand.

“Goodnight daddy! And y/n!” From there, you walked alongside them to their room, or what you supposed it was. This was the first time you’d really talked to Aizawa, and it was pretty embarrassing because he asked if he was aloud to change you out of your day clothes. You were a little too scared to say no, so you let him, it was probably one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to sit through, and that’s saying quite A lot.

When all was done, you had brushed your teeth, and wrrrnchanged into a set of lilac pajamas, silken and slippery, you were pulled on top of the yellow haired man, who then wrapped his arms around your waist and started “shh-ing” you, patting your head while rocking back and forth slightly, the other man slipped in next splaying his arms over you, rubbing circles into your beck

Mans with that, the lights went out, and you fell asleep.

——————————————————————

From there, everything in your life changes, you wake up the next day in the dusty lilac bed, wondering if it all was a dream, so the next night, you go back, and the next, and the next, until you started to spend your days there. Playing with eri, or cuddling with either of the three men, or just having fun without any worries or cares int the world. By that’s when it all starts, they kindof... changed.

They became overprotective, it showed in some more than others, but it was present either way. Al you wanted to do was check up on your dad to see if he was still alive or not, and eri had a whole crying fit, begging you to stay, and telling you she’d die if you left.

“No no! You can’t leave me! I-I I’m gonna die if you leave! I’ll die, please don’t keVe I promise il be good!”

It took a little shushing from you, but eventually you convinced her you weren’t going to leave, and so she went back to her normal self. You were with shinso once, and walked near the little door, he had immediately blocked it as if you were going to do something, then scolded you for going near such a “dangerous object”.

“You shouldn’t. Go close to that evil little thing, it might hurt you m, I don’t want you to get hurt, so stay away from it”

And then your other parents, they didn’t let you do anything by yourself, scared you would run off and get lost in the maze of nothing outside. You can’t even mention your real parents, you’ve been down here for at least a week now and haven’t been able to check on them, so when you did ask to go back for a day, hizashi slicks dying up and told you to cut out the nonsense, while Aizawa bubbles in anger, telling you that they lived you ten times better than your parents Eve could.

“They don’t deserve you, they don’t love you, we do, they’ll never live you half as much as we do, we can protect you here, why would you wnat to leave?”

Ans so one day, when your “other papa” or Aizawa, tried to take the key from you and lick you in here, you had enough. These people were supposed to be perfect, instead they turned obsessive, little button eyes showing up everywhere, watching your every move, you had thought your old life was a prison, now look at this.

You turned back, checking to see if anyone was watching, waiting to stop you, before pulling the key out of your pocket, ripping the boarding off of the door, pulling the panels of wood off one by one, shoving the key into the black door knob, you were just about to turn it, when a voice rang out behind you, no longer was the sweet girl who you played trains with, in the stead was something else just In ther body, you could hear it in her voice.

“Where are you going? You aren’t trying to leave are you?” She spoke, you froze on the spot, hands moving faster, ymtrying to get the stupid door to unlock, before you could even blink, the key snapped in half, not in your hold, in another sudden figure, your other brother. You didn’t even get the chance to speak before be t down and ripped the whole door knob off of it, giving you a knowing glance.

“I told you to stay away from it, I told you didn’t I? Now look, it’s broken” he hissed, throwing the iron knob somewhere else, you knew that I’d both of the siblings were here, the two parents were sure to be here along with them, you were proven right, as a pair of black and yellow buttons popped up behind the Eric girl, carrryijg... what is that?

“Oh my god... OH MY GOD” you screamed, the heads of your parents were in these men’s holds buttons sewn over the eyes, blood seeping out of their decapiated necks, you reMiedn screaming as the heads were discarded, jsut thrown off somewhere else. You were lifted up off the ground in your crying state, hizashi a hands stroked your hair, while his other hand went and wrapped around your butt to support you up.

“We told you baby, we tried to tel you at least. Now there’s nothing up there for you, there was never anything anyways, your safe now... they’ll never hurt you again. You’re ours...

Forever”

———————————————————————————————————

Tell me if you liked it, I can change things if you want:)

[hehebread]

[BKDK] Izuku keeps mentioning a Kacchan to reporters and they think that's his gf

this was a request on twt that i had way too much fun writing. warning for suggestive language!

--

“And is there…. a special person….or a group of people you would like to thank on air today? Anyone who inspired you? Anyone you would attribute your success to? An image of victory per say?”

Izuku’s eyes glimmer as the bright lights of the studio reflect on his irises. “Oh!” He jumps in his seat, his perfectly- coiffed curls bouncing as he nods frantically to the show’s host. “Yes! Yes!” Leaning forward with his hands on his leg, the camera zooms in on his face where the blush is painting his cheeks. “I wouldn’t be the hero I am today if it wasn’t for Kacchan!”

And it’s as if an earthquake alert dropped on the talk show. The host grows this devious grin on his face as he turns to the camera team and says, “Well, well, well, behind every great man is a woman after all.”

Izuku isn’t quite sure why the host is bringing his mother into this since the interview is reaching its end and he has already discussed her influence in detail very early on, but he doesn’t get a chance to ponder.

The host, Yamaguchi-san, leans into Izuku’s space with renowned interest and an interesting glint in his eyes. Izuku feels himself sweating in his oversized maroon-striped suit.

“So, Midoriya-san, Hero Deku, Rising Symbol of Equity and Hope, can you tell us more about … Kacchan?” His voice goes higher at the last syllable, almost sing songs, and Izuku is not sure if he should be worried or not, but he won’t pass an opportunity to gush about Kacchan!

“Ah, Kacchan is very … confident, hardworking, strong, and smart. Kacchan is a hero who knows how to lead a team and perform under pressure, an inspiration to both myself and our entire graduating class, and a”—Izuku can feel the heat rise in his face as he tries to hide in his colour— “a shining star who was closer to me than All Might!”

The host makes a loud ‘AWWW’ noise at the same time as the small audience in the studio. “My, my! Sounds like Kacchan is very important to Hero Deku! Don’t be shy! Tell us more! Is there a physical description to go with your precious person?”

“Ahm!” Izuku fiddles with his fingers as he avoids the gazes on him. There a long beat of silence before he manages to say, “Muscles….Blonde…..Sharp eyes….” With a vague gesture to his middle section, he mumbles, barely audible, “Big, ugh…..” Heart.

“OOOOOOOOOH!” The host goes wild and so does the audience. “So are we talking Hiromi Oshima type big or maybe Rio Natsume, or aaaah Aki Hoshino even ….?”

Izuku feels his ears ring in humiliation as he tries to process what they’re talking about. Something Kacchan has in common with all these beautiful women is his big successful career so Izuku nods. “Yes!” Then, a thought occurs and he rises in his chair. “Even bigger!”

After all, Kacchan’s net worth is higher than these ladies.

“BIGGER?”

“The biggest!”

“Oh my god!” The host is losing his mind now! “And is it … natural? Or did Kacchan get a little help from professionals?”

“No, no, no! Kacchan was a natural ever since we were in school together!” Izuku’s eyes shine with a fire to defend his childhood best friend, no longer trying to hide in his big suit. “No one helped Kacchan get this big!”

“That’s … amazing!” The host shakes his head in both awe and disbelief. “Now we want to see Kacchan in action! When the hero works around the city, defeating villains, does the size get in the way?”

Does Kacchan’s fame get in the way of his work? “Sometimes,” Izuku muses, “But Kacchan never lets the restless and perky nuisances stop him, y’know. With a little shake from his hands, and a few colourful words of wisdoms, nothing gets in the way!” Izuku laughs as he remembers Kacchan’s way of dismissing fans and reporters alike.

“Wow!”

“Of course, there are times where Kacchan’s big firm moulds become springy and hard to control, but I have yet to see an instance where that has been a major issue. ”

Kacchan is still having some adjustment problems with his new hero costume, particularly his grenade mould, but that’s as far as distractions go.

“Does Kacchan not use support?”

“Uhm, only when it’s a dire situation! Sometimes I’m even allowed to provide assistance!”

“You must be very lucky…”

“I am! It feels … exciting and … very special! Kacchan doesn’t trust just anyone, y’know! I can never quite get used to the trust we built together. We are one unit working together.”

“Do you use your hands…. Or something else?”

“Oh, hands! Yes! But anything works really! Whatever Kacchan is comfortable with and needs at the time. Black Whip, combo moves, an iron grip...”

The host furrow his brows and seems to be considering Izuku’s answer before he opens his mouth again. “Uhm, never mind.” He then turns to the camera, smile back on. “Our time is almost running out! Thank you, hero Deku for your time! We look forward to seeing you again in the big screen!”

--

The next day, Izuku wakes up to the headline: Hero Deku And His Mysterious Busty New Girlfriend: The Beautiful and Spunky Kacchan!

He’s doomed

--

He sees Kacchan early the next day.

Having spent the morning talking to tabloids and the host show agents about the misunderstanding and whether or not it was possible to take down the episode at least, Izuku slumps his head on his desk in defeat.

Oh, this is very bad.

He starts thumping his forehead on the wood in sync with the bleeps noises in the phone, already planning his funeral in his head.

Okay, so it seems the suspense around this girlfriend is raking up his popularity, but god, at what cost.

“Nerd, we need to talk.”

Izuku’s soul near flies to the roof at the sound of the door to his office slamming close. Fuckfuckfuck.

Kacchan stands before him with his hand on his hip, teeth snarled and looking ready to tear his flesh open. Oh, this is going to be fun!

After flashing a haughty glare at the glass door to scare away the nosy friends hanging about, Kacchan continues, “About the interview.”

Of course! Yes! His final hour is approaching. “Haahahaha, what about it?” Izuku feels his undershirt cling to his torso, sweat collecting on his face. He directs a shaky hand to a nearby chair. “Feel free to take a seat, Kacchan! You want me to get you anything? Water, tissues, uhm, a knife, a body sized bag, or uhhh, a shovel? I think I have some spare sheets of paper if you’d like to give me a chance to—“

“So…” Kacchan starts.

“PLEASE TELL MY MUM I LOVE HER!”

“…this Kacchan, huh?” Having completely ignored every single word Izuku just said, Kacchan crosses his arms and scowls. “Is she strong? How come I never heard about her before? Since when did you start dating this gravure idol and pro hero, huh?”

“Wha—?”

“So, you just go around giving everyone pretty nicknames now?” Kacchan snorts and his expression darkens before he slams his hands on Izuku’s desk. He looks at Izuku from under his chin, and Izuku swear he can see flames behind his eyes. He growls, “What’s her actual name?”

An alarm bell rings in Izuku’s ears and he stutters, “Ka— Ka— Kat— Katsuko! Bakugan Katsuko…….”

Kacchan’s expression doesn’t change and Izuku feels his heart leap to his throat. God, Kacchan is gonna call his bluff at any minute now. He’s going to reject him then he’s going to break his heart and his bones.

“What’s she like?”

Kacchan shifts forward slightly and Izuku is just know noticing the ample cleavage in clear view. Right there. In front of Izuku’s face. “Uhm. Ah, she’s very, ugh, im- pec— impeccable!! And strong! Muscl— mature!! Breasty too – I mean, pretty! PRETTY!” Izuku bites his tongue then swallows thickly. “Beautiful, actually!” Lifting his gaze to meet Kacchan, he whispers, “Gorgeous. Just the most amazing person in my life.”

Kacchan is staring intently with his sharp red eyes, and Izuku feels his chest swell with confidence he never had before. “Kacchan is my inspiration, and I just … love … Kacchan so much. I wish I had the courage to tell him— um, her that.”

“Are you two serious?” Kacchan asks, impassive but there is silent rage hiding behind his words.

Something flashes quickly through Kacchan’s eyes before he narrows them. It takes Izuku a second to recognise that it’s /hurt/ and then he realise what he has just done.

“No, no, no!” Izuku backtracks immediately. “I don’t even know her that well! In fact, she kinda smells and definitely has sweating problem.” Izuku needs to do damage control and come clean NOW. “You know what? I will call her and break up with her right now. Ha ha ha.”

What the hell is he saying? Who is he going to call?

Kacchan stands up while Izuku fumbles with his phone. “Don’t be a dick,” he says, before he heads to the door.

Izuku jumps from his chair and is ready to chase after him when Kacchan stops him. “How big?”

“Huh?”

“You said Bakugan was big.”

Ah, yes, he did. Tragically.

“Um, y’know just…” Izuku motions with his hands like he’s moulding two doughballs, palms up and fingers wiggling because he’s lost control of his life once he accepted his funeral date, but that’s not even happening anymore so what is he doing really.

He then makes am hourglass shape in the air and belatedly realises that he’s just outlining Kacchan’s shape in front of him. Izuku retreats his hands and puts them behind his back in shame.

Kacchan is looking at him funny. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Does she shoot aerial bomb or something? Is that a combat-style quirk?”

Izuku blinks.

Kacchan just sneers and turns around.

“Whatever. I’m doing a photoshoot this afternoon. The Sekushī clothing line is dropping a new summer set and they asked me to model.”

“Se- Sekushi?? You mean, like—” Izuku feels his face go impossibly red. “You’re saying that, you’re going to wear, like…..” his voice goes down to a whisper when he says “…..a b-b-b-b-b-bikini?”

“Swimwear,” Kacchan turns to say over his shoulder, “Among other things.”

The sexy smirk he sends Izuku’s way is doing very, very weird things to Izuku’s body and imagination, things too inappropriate to describe in a work setting.

Kacchan leaves but not without offering the most dangerous challenge to Izuku’s mental wellbeing. “Feel free to drop in.”

Oh, he absolutely will.

“Bring Bakugon.”

Oh, he absolutely will not.

Actually….

Maybe, he will.

Kacchan is going to ruin Izuku

[maximumjinx]

Steven Universe Gravity Falls AU

~Yknow what they say, if you run out of content, ya gotta make it yourself. This is a ? shot (I might continue or not who knows not me) please don’t ask for more I have 18 unfinished fanfics on this site.~

California was nice, Steven had to admit. The people were nice, the food was fantastic, and the weather was splendid. It reminded him a lot of Beach City. Though there were just so many people, and traveling north, Steven was beginning to long for something small and simple again.

Oregon was the perfect place for that, right?

“Ronaldo wants pictures of Bigfoot, and if anyone can find him, its you Steven.” Petey’s voice was faint on Steven’s phone speaker, tossed into the passenger seat as Steven blindly picked a highway exit.

“Sure Petey, but couldn’t Ronaldo just go to a circus?”

“Not big feet Steven,” Petey emphasized, “Bigfoot.”

“Saying it twice isn’t helping buddy.” Steven was half paying attention. He was focusing on the winding roads and the looming trees surrounding him. Deep, in the pit of Steven’s stomach, he felt something start to tug him toward one direction farther away from the highway. He wasn’t quite sure if it was a good or bad feeling yet.

“Forget it, I’m going to take a blurry photo of that mean Gem in the woods and say its Bigfoot.”

“Just don’t let Jasper catch you, she’s no joke when she’s angry.”

“I saw her ripping grass out of the ground I think I’ll be fine. Later dude.”

Steven heard a small click and smiled to himself. He’s happy to see how far the people of Beach City have come and how they’ve taken to the gems. He remembers when the Crystal Gems were once the outcasts of town that locals warned you to stay away from.

He looked up to see a welcome sign.

“Gravity falls. Well, that’s a funny name.”

—

Steven wanted small and simple but he feels he may have overshot it.

This small town had exactly three attractions. A town museum that mentioned marrying woodpeckers (Steven couldn’t figure out if that was a normal human thing, like taxes and velcro), a small diner, and as one local described it ‘some tourist trap’ deep in the woods. It was a sticky summer day and the former two attractions didn’t have airconditioning. Steven gambled on the last stop in hopes of stretching his legs and maybe finding a source to the strange feeling in his gut. It had become much stronger since he entered this small town. Alluring, but nothing related to Gems as far as Steven could tell.

He parked in the nearly empty lot and stepped out. Jacket wrapped loosely around his hips, Steven made his way inside.

A girl that looked about 13 was petting a pig on the front porch. She was incredibly reflective, and depsite the heat wore a knitted bedazzled sweater that made her glow like a disco ball in the sun.

She looked Steven up and down as he approached, a wide smile taking up her face and Steven saw bright braces with colored bands.

“Hi!” She launched upwards, startling the pig away, “I’m Mabel, but you can call me anytime.” The girl winked and stuck out her hand, palm facing the floor.

Steven blinked.

“Mabel, stop scaring away the customers!” A gruff voice yelled through the screen door, and soon an older man stepped out in a suit, wearing a fez and eyepatch.

Immediately the old man squinted at Steven, sizing him up.

Stanley Pines knew this teen wasn’t local, but he wasn’t sure if he had any money. For all he knew he was another boy trying to hit on his giftshop cashier, Wendy.

Oh well, a customer is a customer.

“Come in, come in, and see our mystical and magical wonders!”

“Magical?” This could be it, Steven could figure out why this town has felt off. Maybe it was gem related after all.

Quickly this older man who had introduced himself as Mr. Mystery gave Steven a tour of what looked like failed taxidermy projects. Now Steven may have a lived a sheltered childhood, but he felt pretty confident there was no such thing as a Sashcrotch. And so far, nothing had felt magical or mysterious.

“That concludes our tour! Here is our mistifying giftshop and it’s purchasable wonders!”

“Right...” Well, at the very least he was able to spend some time in airconditioning.

There was a girl behind the desk in plaid that looked about Steven’s age, and just a half inch shorter than him. She looked bored, flipping through a magazine as a young boy that looked a lot like Mabel made googly eyes as he swept by the door.

Steven guessed there was no harm in asking around.

“Hi, I’m Steven.” He smiled easily, walking up to the register.

“No refunds, even if an exhibit bit you.” She sighed, peeking up before turning back to her magazine.

“Oh no, nothing bit me, I just wanted to know something.”

She looked up to get a better look at Steven and gave a small smirk.

“Sure, but only because I like your shirt. Mr. Universe merch, now that’s a deep cut.”

Unbeknownst to Steven, Dipper Pines would had been watching the exchange felt a twinge of uneasiness as this out of towner talked with Wendy.

“Have you ever seen anything strange or weird actually happen in this town?”

Wendy’s smile dropped.

“Why do you ask?” Her eyes flickered to Dipper, just for a moment, and that was all he needed to rush over.

“Excuse me sir, please buy something or exit the store.” Dipper spoke in the deepest voice he could muster.

Steven looked over with a questioning expression.

“Oh sure uh-“ He blindly reached for the wad of bills that his dad had given to him before he left. Steven pulled out a hundred dollar bill and put it on the counter. Wendy looked up baffled as Steven stuffed the other cash back in his wallet.

“Boy was I wrong about you kid!” Mr. Mystery, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, now bounded over. He had loosened his tie and lost the eyepatch which turned out he never needed.

“Whaddya wanna know? I’ll tell you everything. There’s gnomes in the woods you know-“

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper protested loudly, dragging his Stan away and harshly whispering at him.

“Did you steal that money?” Wendy asked as Steven watched the pair whisper fight in the corner. He turned back to the girl and gave a sheepish smile.

“Uh no, my dad gave it to me before this roadtrip. He’s actually Mr. Universe.”

Wendy lit up.

“No freaking way! Your dad is Mr. Universe? I only got into him since he managed Sadie Killer and the Suspects and they always perform covers of his songs on tour, I can’t believe he’s your dad!” She rambled, stars in her eyes. Steven beamed, he loved when people praised his dad’s music. Greg really deserved it.

Steven learned Wendy’s name and they swapped stories back and forth, only interrupted as the girl from outside slowly rose from the behind the counter beaming.

“A cute musician that loves weird stuff, take me now.” She swooned. Steven blushed profusely, not used to the attention.

“Sorry, my girlfriend Connie probably wouldn’t like that very much.” He said gently. Mabel looked him up and down and pouted.

“I can wait, but not forever.” She warned, and winked, bounding to break apart her grunkle and Dipper, who are now whisper screaming with arms flailing.

“I wasn’t going to mention that Dorito shaped jerk! Just the normal stuff!”

“It’s dangerous! He could be a spy, or government, or another stack of gnomes!”

Steven raised an eyebrow and looked at Wendy. She chuckled and shrugged. Steven carefully approached them.

“He can hear everything you’re saying anyways so might as well tell him!” Mabel interrupted, nodding towards Steven as he came up.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m definitely not government.” Steven technically didn’t exist at all. He never had a social security card and didn’t have a birth certificate.

Dipper only glared. Rich strangers with an interest in the paranormal didn’t come through gravity falls without some kind of agenda.

Steven hated the conflict he was starting. No information was worth this family fighting.

“Okay,” he surrendered, hands up, “I’ll just go. I’ll stick around town until tomorrow if you change your minds”

“Wait Steven-”

“Let him go Wendy,” Dipper glared as the boy in pink walked out, “We can’t trust him.”

“But I was going to ask for Sadie tickets...” Wendy groaned, defeated.

“There’s something weird about him.”

“Great!” Mabel beamed, “He’ll fit right in.”

~.~

Steven wasn’t crazy about sleeping in his car, but was seriously considering it after seeing the state of his motel room. It looked like it hadn’t been used in decades, a thin line of dust covering every surface. He was also pretty sure they didn’t even have free ice. 

“Wish Pearl were here..” He mumbled, exhausted. He curled up on top of the covers, fully clothed, and let sleep take him.

Being Steven Universe however, meant rest was sure to allude the half alien. 

Steven found himself in a dark space, fog all around him. Before a word could come out of his mouth he heard a fast, repetitive muttering. 

“Stranger...Wendy looked pretty today..Can’t trust...Tell no one...Ford isn’t here..”

“What, the-” Steven quietly walked toward the source of dialogue, and saw the faded silhouette of the boy from the Mystery Shack. His back was turned to him, but Steven recognized the blue vest and mosquito bitten legs. 

“I thought I was over the dream hopping.” Steven spoke a tad too loudly, starting the young boy - Dipper.

“What-” Dipper’s eyes grew wide in panic, and the boy fell back harshly.

“No, no, you can’t be in my head!” 

“Wait, I’m not-” Steven tried to reassure him, stepping carefully towards the boy but Dipper let out a screech of terror, sweat gathering around his temples.

“Bill sent you didn’t he?! He’s not really gone- he’s going to hurt Mable again-” Dipper began to hyperventilate. 

“Dipper please,” Steven took a step back, arms in the air in surrender. 

“I-”

“I’m not going to hurt you I swear on the gems.” He placed a hand over his heart. “This is a total invasion of privacy but it’s something that happens when someone’s emotions are out of control-”

“How are you here?” Dipper demanded, scrambling to his feet. “Tell me what you are and what you want.”

“I’m just passing through!” Steven insisted, then lowered his tone to calm the younger boy. “I’m kinda of magnet for weird stuff. I just wanted to help in case anything was going on.”

“We deal with things just fine around here.” Dipper spat, then watched as Steven deflated. He seemed tired, like he hasn't slept well in a while. 

“So what are you anyways? How can you be here?”

Steven winced, and laughed nervously. “It’s kind of a long story..”

Dipper raised and eyebrow and swept his arm around the void dramatically. 

“You have until dawn.”

~

“I thought that was a conspiracy theory, it wasn’t even covered by major news outlets.” Dipper look exhausted, cross legged on the unseen floor as he ran his hands through his hair. 

“I think Garnet is pretty persuasive when it comes to government and reporters. They all kinda fall in love with her.”

“She’s the one that’s really two aliens?” 

Steven shook his head with a small smile. “It’s hard to explain but yes, I guess that comes close.”

“That’s actually insane. I’m insane, aren’t I?” Dipper stood up, leaving Steven on sitting next to an empty space. “It’s been too quiet around here and now I’m so desperate for weird, that I’m making it all up in my head.”

“I get that feeling.” Steven smiled without humor, “but no, this is real. I’ll prove it when you wake up.” Steven felt a shift, the fog in the void getting denser. 

“Sooner than I thought, you’re an early riser huh?”

Dipper looked back at Steven, panicked. “You’ll come to the Shack again right? In just a bit?”

Steven smiled. “Promise.”

~

Dipper woke up to his sister braiding his hair. Mabel still had her pjs on, and a make up kit next to the bed. Dipper frowned, tasting strawberry shortcake. 

“Stop testing party looks on me, Mabel.”

“Stop having my face structure and maybe I will.” She grinned, covered in blue glitter. 

Dipper quickly washed up and got dressed for the day, feeling like he was anxiously waiting for something but not quite remembering what. 

He felt like he had a strange dream last night...

He quickly remembered, choking on cereal as Steven walked into the shack right as it opened. Hair slightly frizzy from the heat and eyes strangely tired. Maybe dream hopping took energy that he anticipated. 

“Steven!”

“Meal ticket!” 

“Grunkle Stan.” Mabel chastised as Dipper rushed over to the older boy. 

“Good morning everyone.” 

Dipper stopped short, slightly hoping that everything he experienced wasn’t just his imagination. That everything exciting and weird and interesting wasn’t always trying to kill him, ruin his life, or steal his candy. 

Steven looked tired, like he had been doing this much longer than Dipper, but he had still come out with enough energy to smile. 

“Not insane?” Dipper asked hopefully, quietly. Steven snapped his attention from his Grunkle and Mable bickering down to the Dipper. He gave a reassuring smile, eyes quite serious. 

“Not insane.”

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

jacqueline wilson’s ‘love lessons’

tw: abuse, pedophilia, characters making Bad Decisions, long unnecessary spiel about my childhood like I’m running a recipe blog

It’s funny how loads of the authors who helped shaped me into the vaguely humanoid being I am today have names beginning with the letter ‘J’; Judy Blume, Jeff Kinney, John Green, J.K. Rowling (yikes, I know) … and Jacqueline Wilson.

I’ve never owned a Jacqueline Wilson book of my own; they were always borrowed from a friend, or from a friend of a friend, or from a friend of a cousin- you get the gist. Her books, for me, come with an entire aesthetic: something reminiscent of yard sales, and reading under the covers with a flashlight, and being lulled into a false sense of security by the deceptively innocent Nick Sharratt illustration on the cover until someone’s best friend gets mowed over.

So I knew what I was getting into when I picked up Love Lessons. I knew this was going to be Fucked Up; and boy, was I right.

(Here’s the part where I warn you about spoilers.)

From an abusive dad to creepy child predator teachers to slut-shaming and victim blaming, this book has it all.

The main character is Prudence ‘Prue’ King, who is homeschooled at the beginning of the book, along with her sister, Grace. Their parents remain rooted in the early twentieth century, and are very strict about- well, everything. No TV, no computers, not a single mobile phone in the house; their clothing worse than the orphans’ from Annie; and their father remains distinctly distrustful of modern institutions like the school and the hospital; and so on, and so forth.

Daddy King suffers a stroke, and has to be taken to the hospital. Meanwhile, Mrs. King (a floppy, spineless woman who lives in fear and awe of her, frankly horrid, husband) sends the girls to school, behind the then invalid Mr. King’s back. Cue Prue and Grace being the freakshows of the school, with their strange clothing and overbearing mother.

Grace manages to make friends, but Prue remains alone. The kids are dicks, the teachers are dicks… well, all of them but one. And that’s the art teacher, Mr. Raxberry (I just couldn’t get over that name; it seems like something you’d name a mythical plant from Pixie Hollow or some shit. I’m assuming it isn’t an actual name, since the spelling & grammar check on my computer doesn’t seem to recognize it), or Rax, as he’s called.

Oh, yeah; Prudence’s favorite subject in school is art, and she’s a whiz at it. This is relevant, because reasons.

And here’s where stuff gets murky. Prue develops a crush on Rax- which is perfectly normal. I’m definitely no stranger to it; I’ve had crushes on my teachers, my mum admitted she used to think one of her professors was cute. And yeah, as I grew older, I grew out of those crushes and now have a markedly more refined taste in men (unless he’s 5’ 7’’, born in ’97 and named Bang Chan, I don’t want him); and my mum married my dad, so I’m assuming she did, too. Admittedly, now that my dad teaches at a university, it’s icky to think that there might be students who have crushes on him- but I digress.

My point is, loads of us have liked our teachers. But I doubt the majority of us have acted on it.

And Prue actively showing her interest in Rax isn’t the worst part. That’s a spot reserved for Rax reciprocating her feelings.

Guess Ezra Fitz and Ms. Grundy (yes, I watched Riverdale; please don’t cancel me) have a new addition to the Creep Club.

The age of consent in the UK is 16, if I’m not mistaken. Prue is 14. She’s just barely become a teenager, and she’s being preyed upon.

Because that is what Rax is. He’s a predator; he preys upon this vulnerable girl who’s never been in a relationship before- hell, she’s never even had friends- her father’s abusive, so she obviously doesn’t have the best experience when it comes to men- she’s unpopular at school, with the students and staff alike- and he lures her in. I don’t care how bloody nice he is to Sarah, or what a good dad he is (well, he’s really not, seeing as he cheated on the mother of his children WITH A BLOODY FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD)- the guy’s a fucking pedophile.

I was staunchly stuck at a yellow light with him; like, sure, maybe Prue thinks he’s flirting with her- maybe she’s looking at this all wrong, she doesn’t know how relationships work- see, he drew a picture of Sarah, too, in his secret notebook- Prue’s just reading into this too much- up until he says he loves her.

Dude. Humbert fucking Humbert. She’s fourteen, for Christ’s sake, and you’re married. You have two children. She’s a child. She’s probably closer to your son’s age than she is to yours.

(This is the part where I bury my head in my pillow. And scream. Extensively, and with passion.)

The book does make some genuinely good commentary on slut-shaming and victim blaming and abusive parenting. And on one hand, I can see why so many people find issue with the romanticization of the when I kissed the teacher trope- but I can defend it, too.

The book is in Prue’s perspective. She thinks she’s in love with Rax, so obviously, she’s not going to throw in some valuable moral at the end- because she’s too young and inexperienced to think otherwise. And sadly, there are loads of instances of child abuse that go unreported because the victims just don’t know better.

What I have issue with is how the school dealt with it, ultimately. Prudence, a child, has to deal with the consequences of the actions of a literal child predator. Sure, Rax ‘clears his name’ by cooking up some bullshit story about how it was only a crush and he didn’t encourage it, but you’d think other adults would know better and, oh, I dunno- dig deeper into it, instead of blaming it on a child?

“She says you told Mr. Raxberry you loved him and he held you in his arms and fondled you.”

Which Prudence denies, because, again, she doesn’t know better. She then goes on to say that they did nothing wrong. To which the adult speaking to her, in this case, the principal, Miss Wilmott, goes on to say:

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true… I feel that there are some aspects of your friendship that could be considered inappropriate.”

FYI, lady, he kissed her- multiple times (not that kissing her once makes him any more redeemable), and told her he loved her, and admitted to fantasizing about running away with her and leaving his family behind. Fun fact: do you know Prudence is underage?

You’d think that Miss Wilmott would maybe give this whole fiasco a favorable ending, but it turns out she listens to school gossip;

“I haven’t been at all happy with your attitude. You don’t seem to understand how to behave in school. I’ve heard tales of unsuitable underwear and then a silly romance with one of the boys in your class. I feel that in the space of a few short weeks you’ve made rather a bad name for yourself… I don’t know whether you intend to be deliberately insolent but you certainly come across as an unpleasantly opinionated and arrogant girl… I can’t help feeling that you’ll be much better off elsewhere. I shall try hard to engineer a suitable transfer to another school.”

And then she comes out with this gem:

“If you won’t leave, then I shall have to ensure that Mr. Raxberry finds another position.”

“No, you can’t do that! He’s a brilliant teacher.”

“You should have thought of that before you started acting in this ridiculous and precocious manner. If I were another kind of headteacher, I would have Mr. Raxberry instantly suspended. There could even be a court case. He would not only lose his job, he could find himself in very serious trouble. Did you ever stop to think about that?”

Girlboss, gaslight and gatekeep. The fucking trifecta.

Also, by ‘another kind of headteacher’, does she mean the kind of headteacher WHO DOESN’T LET CHILD PREDATORS ROAM FREELY WITHIN THEIR HALLS?

This bitch is out here blaming a child, a literal child, for the crimes of an adult man.

The only time Prue seems aware of the fact that Mr. Raxberry is actually a very shit person is her immediate thoughts that follow after she tells Miss Wilmott she’ll take the fall;

I so wanted to save darling Rax- and yet why hadn’t he wanted to save me? Had he told Miss Wilmott it was all my fault, that I’d got a ridiculous crush on him, that I’d made ludicrous advances to him? … I wanted to tell this horrible, patronizing woman how hungrily he’d kissed me, but I couldn’t do it. I loved him. I had to help him.

NO, SWEETHEART; YOU MOST DEFINITELY DO NOT.

And maybe I’m going overboard with all these excerpts, but here’s what Rax has to tell Prue, after school, following her expulsion:

“I let her think the worst of you, the best of me, just to save my skin. I said it was ridiculous talking about a love affair between us. I said you simply had a crush on me, and that I was just trying to be kind… You were brave enough to stand up to me and force me to acknowledge the truth… I love you… That’s why I had to take a risk and see you this one last time. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care… Every night when I close my eyes, I’ll think of us together in this car and how badly I wanted to drive off with you. I’ll imagine us walking hand in hand at the water’s edge… I wish I wasn’t such a coward.”

(I burrow into the pillow further. I’m trying to suffocate myself.)

And that’s where I think Wilson went wrong. Sure, Prudence getting expelled for something that was completely out of her hands is unfair, and horrible, but it’s real. That shit can happen.

What’s bad is showing Rax in a positive light after all that. If only Wilson had written Rax to not be the Romeo he thinks he is. Make him ignore Prudence, throw her under the bus in front of her face, instead of this star-crossed lovers bullshit it’s made out to be. Show your younger audience that Rax is not a good man. I’ve got a little over two weeks left for my twentieth; I can see why this is unacceptable. But I was a little younger than Prue when I watched Pretty Little Liars, and my only gripe with Aria dating Ezra was that Noel Kahn was so much cuter.

It shows when you scroll down the Goodreads reviews; you’ve got adults giving it one or two stars, and teenagers giving it four or five, with their biggest complaints being, “but Toby was cuter!!!”

Other non-pedophilia related complaints regarding the book include: Prudence being unlikable- which I didn’t really notice, considering she reacted to some people way better than I would’ve, even at 19 (which probably says a lot more about me than it does about Prue, but oh well). Still, Prudence obviously isn’t the most prudent of people- and again, she’s fourteen. Look me in eye and tell me you weren’t an arsehole at that age (unless you’re fourteen now, in which case, I assure you that you’ll look back on yourself someday and go ‘wtf was I thinking’). Bringing up Toby’s dyslexia in an argument was low, though.

There were people who thought the Kings’ almost-Amish lifestyle was exaggerated and unrealistic, but I assure you, it may very well be real. There are 8 billion people on the world- it’s fair to assume that several of them are complete weirdos.

Grace was a sweet character, and I adored her with every fiber of my being. As were her friends Iggy and Figgy. Honestly, I would’ve loved a book about Iggy, Figgy and Piggy’s (mis)adventures too.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Philosophy 101

Philosophy 101 Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: FuyuPress Summary: FuyuPress Week 2021 Day 2 Prompt Fill: Soulmate - “Soulmates?” he asked with a brow raised. He reached up with his prosthetic hand to rub at his chin thoughtfully. “What a peculiar thing to ask about.” Minor Warning: Implied Hanky-Panky but nothing explicit. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more.

When she was just a child, she loved stories about soul mates. Things like true love’s kiss and handsome princes’ come to save the day on horseback became her idealistic view of the world. She clung to those fairy tales and how they could be applied to the real world, asking Mother often is that was what Father was to her. Back then she hadn’t noticed how the smile never reached the gray depths of Mother’s eyes, but she came to understand it as she got older. A prince wouldn’t belittle, berate and beat the princess he so adored. Her parents’ marriage being something born of financial comfort and narcissistic ego rather than loyalty and love had been a heavy blow.

The accompanying realization that there may never have been any love between her parents had been somehow more terrifying.

In high school, her disillusionment with the idea of love and soul mates had been given even more evidence. Between herself and her friends, so many of their “charming royal suitors” turned out to be nothing but façade and hormones. They would be cruel in so many different ways, in ways she still bore the physical and emotional remnants of, and she’d resolved herself to be content on her own. She had her family and her work and her friends – the ones that had been with her through it all – and she determined that she would commit to that being enough for now. She resigned that she would most likely settle for someone Father selected, someone who would be financially secure and – if she was lucky – gentle enough that rearing a family would be tolerable.

And then there was Sako Atsuhiro, more enigma than man.

Their first meeting had been anything but graceful. It had been on a field trip day to a local museum for a more hands-on experience involving pre-Quirk society. Her little problem child, Toshiro-Chan, had been fiddling about with his Quirk as he was prone to. His Quirk was that he could temporarily make any item - even ones that lacked any metal component - magnetic for a short period of time. Thinking that it would be a fun little prank, he’d magnetized one of the plastic line poles used to keep the children from getting too close to the exhibits…

And ended up dragging poor Sako over through the means of his prosthetic arm.

Fuyumi had been absolutely mortified, offering frantic apologies to Sako and stern words to Toshiro-Chan as she tried to help separate his arm from the pole. Sako had been a darling and taken it all in stride, though. He made a few teasing remarks to help alleviate some of her distress and the young tot’s guilt, reassuring that he was in as many pieces as he’d entered the establishment in. He had ended up trailing along with her class after that, the students all fascinated more in his prosthetic arm than the sights they were there for. Once the students were all loaded back up onto the bus and with one final plea from Fuyumi to find some way to make it all up to him, he made a suggestion.

“If you insist, young miss,” he mused, producing a small slip of paper between his fingers from thin air, “treating me to a beverage some time would be a welcome gesture of apology.”

And that first little coffee date had bloomed into something unexpected but new. Fuyumi was used to the polite and suave gentleman act that he seemed to play at, but she found the big difference to be that it wasn’t an act with him. THe more she grew to know him, the more she realized he was very much a “What You See is What You Get” kind of man. He wasn’t afraid to purr softly in her ear of the things he’d relish in doing to her once they were alone and then hold true to those words when they were. He was as polite and respectful and responsible behind closed doors as he was on the street and this concept was absolutely earth-shattering for her. For Todoroki Fuyumi, who presented herself as the sensible and mature daughter most would expect of a Pro Hero, the idea of someone who was so unabashedly themselves in every aspect of their life, it was new and enticing and hypnotic in a way.

Which was probably why her mind wandered back to childhood fantasies, blurting the question out before she could think better of it as they lounged together in his bed one night.

“Soulmates?” he asked with a brow raised. He reached up with his prosthetic hand to rub at his chin thoughtfully. “What a peculiar thing to ask about.”

She shuffled to nuzzle into his pillow a bit more, hiding the lower half of her face and muffling her words a bit. “Is it?” she asked uneasily. A flash of panic coursed through her. Had she crossed some strange line between them? Would such an immature question turn him away from her? “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to. It is a kinda weird question. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

He blinked, brown eyes twinkling as he fixed his gaze back on her, before a small smile tipped up on his lips. “Nonsense, my dear. If you were thinking about it to a point you wanted to mention it, it is clearly important for you to discuss it,” he said, reaching out with his flesh hand to gently stroke along her cheek. She shifted to tilt up into the touch more, relaxing a bit at the soothing familiarity of his touch. “If you are asking as to whether I believe that soulmates are real or not… I don’t believe in something as basic as one singular soulmate for your whole life long.”

She perked up and made a small confused noise. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I feel like every partner - good or bad - has qualities indicative of what a soulmate is meant to be. For elaboration, what is a soulmate as you see it?”

She hummed thoughtfully as she pushed herself to sit up with the help of her elbows more. She steepled her and tapped them against her lips as she tried to sort her thoughts properly. Atsuhiro had moved to gently trail his hand over her shoulder to draw little shapes along the exposed skin of her back instead. “Well, they’re someone who is there for you when you need them and not always in ways you expect. They accept you as you are, and inspire you to be a better person. To work to be the best side of yourself. The side of you that they see you as,” She watched as he nodded along with her words, smile widening a little bit. She shifted to move a smidge closer to him. “And what about you?”

“I would agree with what you’ve said,” he hummed, holding up one finger on his other hand, “and would also state that there are parts or what you said that I learned from past lovers.”

“So you’ve met your soulmate before then?” she asked, cocking her head and knitting her brow.

He chuckled and shifted to lay on his side beside her. “Not quite. Perhaps they are not your soulmate for all of time, but they are in that moment. And I think that there is something to be treasured in that,” he explained, lifting his arm to invite her closer.

She frowned as she shifted to laying on her side as well, hands sliding to rest on his shoulders. “But… Doesn’t that kind of lessen the significance of having a soulmate? If every person you’re with is a soulmate?” It made little sense to her and felt a bit like a cop-out, if she were honest. After all, the idea of her past partners being considered soulmates make her stomach churn uncomfortably. Sure, there had been points where she’d thought it could be possible, but… Well, hindsight was 20-20, right?

“Perhaps, yes, but I do not feel so,” he mused. He settled his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to himself, looking down at her with a fond expression. “If not for those past experiences, I would not be the person that I am proud to be today, the man who is happy to spend his time with you and treat you as you deserve. And I needed all of those past lovers and the times with them - both the good and the bad - to be able to come to certain realizations about myself. To teach me what was important to me in the kind of partner I was as well as the kind of partner I wanted.”

Fuyumi blinked and nodded slowly, letting his words turn over in her mind. It… Did make a certain kind of sense, actually. She was only able to determine the things she wanted in a serious, committed relationship because of what she’d been through with her past partners. If she hadn’t dated them, would she still be as naive as she was at age seven? Believing that her ideal partner would be someone who was perfect and handsome and, realistically, didn’t exist? And that wasn’t even taking into account the little things she’d learned to perceive from a handful of dates. Would she still be able to spot a wolf in sheep’s clothing? Or would she just be a sheep to the slaughter, of sorts?

“Does that help at all, my dear?” he asked, pressing a small kiss to her forehead and snapping her from her internal ramblings.

She flashed a small smile before curling into his chest. “Yes, I think it does, Atsuhiro. Thank you,” she hummed, closing her eyes as he began to gently stroke her hair, fingertips grazing along the shell of her ear.

Perhaps his definition was a bit more romantic than she’d thought.

[jennbabeyy]

Tis the Damn Season.

A/N: Happy New Years babes!! I’m back with this Ez imagine to wrap up the holiday season. I hope you all had a great holiday break and I wish you guys the happiest, healthiest new year. Stay Safe 

Song: Tis the Damn Season- Taylor Swift 

No happy endings, sorry :/

_______________________________________________________________

“It’s the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass

But I felt it when I passed you 

There’s an ache in you, put there by the ache in me” 

She should’ve known coming back was a bad idea, though it never really hit her until her eyes laid on the damn town sign welcoming those who passed through. Everything inside of her screamed as she passed the familiar town scenery. One that she grew up idolizing but one day ended up cursing at. It was a love hate relationship, she has with Santo Padre.  

She grew up here, the memories of her as a young child are often replayed in her mind. They are cherished and kept in good shape, grasping onto the small details, she knows she’ll never feel again. But with the good memories, there’s the ones she keeps hidden. Ones she knows she’ll always remember no matter how much she tries to make herself forget. 

He will always be in her mind, he had claimed that spot years back. 

It’s been years since she last saw him but when she finally saw him standing outside his dad’s shop. And it doesn’t surprise her that he still looks the same, expect for a couple new tattoos. But he’s still the same kid who used to walk her home every single day after school just to make sure she got there safe. Except she’s not the same girl. She will never be. 

But it doesn’t surprise her, that he doesn’t greet her. It’s usually never cold in Santo Padre but she swears she felt the temperature drop by a couple of degrees, when she passes by.

And it was her doing, so she keeps her head down; wondering if she made a mistake. 

“ So we could call it even

You can call me “babe” for the weekend

‘Tis the damn season, write this down

I’m staying at my parents’ house”

She doesn’t know whether it was the couple of drinks she had before they arrived at the bar. But the sudden boost of confidence allows her to say hi to his brother, Angel. He was always kind to her and it gives her a chance to finally stand up close to EZ. Finally see the ways he’s grown. And it was a beautiful sight in front of her, one that takes her breath away.

A silent nod given by Ez makes Angel suddenly leave the bar, claiming the pool table was calling his name. And the Ezekiel that she once knew was right before her eyes. 

They laughed, they shared stories, ones that made her heart beat faster. Stories that made her face heat up when she catches the way he still stares at her the way he used to. 

Ez walks her home after the bar closes up, by this time Angel had already left home. And it takes her a while to agree, but one look at Ez’s brown eyes and she melts right there. 

“Can’t believe after all these years I’m still walking you back to your parent’s house.” Ez smiles at her as they walk down the street, in the middle of the night. It's comforting and she welcomes it, even if it’s just for a couple of days while she’s back in town. 

And just for once, she feels like nothing has changed between them. 

“The holidays linger like bad perfume

You can run, but only so far 

I escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave” 

She groans, as she walks to Felipe Reyes’s carniceria on behalf of her parent’s orders. It had been a couple days back to her childhood home but she soon realized that nothing’s changed between her parents and home. The feelings of being stuck in this small town have once again made themselves known. She suddenly feels like she’s 15, walking to her favorite place after school looking for Ez. It seems like no matter how many years pass by, her parents seem to treat her like she was still in high school. The same reckless teenager who has thrown everything away in order to escape Santo Padre. 

The walk there feels like forever even though it’s only a couple minutes in walking distance. But she can’t help but see how much the town she once grew up in changed throughout the years. Only now, it seemed like everyone was in the festive spirit, the bright colors covering every inch of the town. Her eyes followed the people that walked around without a care in the world. How she wished to be one of them.

The last time she was here, she had left everything she once loved behind, She could still see Ez’s face when she had come over to break the news to him. 

She was leaving, and she didn’t know if she ever wanted to come back to this awful town that pretty much killed everything inside of it.

But Ez could never understand her urge to leave this town they both grew up in. And because of that she felt smothered by not only her parents, but by the idea of their relationship as well. He wanted to settle down and of course her parents loved the idea of their wild child being tied down to Santo Padre’s golden boy.

As much as she loved him, she was still young and she wanted the chance to explore the world, and she knew he wouldn’t leave his own family behind to go with her. 

So she left and she didn’t dare to look back at the man she loved with her entire heart. 

Because she knew she wouldn’t leave if she did. 

“I won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay.”

It doesn’t surprise her when she wakes up in a room that’s not her childhood one. The memories of the day before creep up in her mind, and she lets out a soft smile. There weren't any words between them but she felt every emotion he had in the way his hand caressed her body. It was like they were never apart but she also felt like the missing part in her was complete. She could still feel him as she laid there staring at the ceiling. 

The house was quiet and she knew that neither Ez or Angel were home. It was probably for the best, considering today was the last day she had before leaving this town again. And she wasn’t sure she would be coming back after this. 

Her heart tugged at the thought of leaving Ez again. She hadn’t planned to end up in his bed, she hadn’t planned to see him at all. But just one look at him and she’s suddenly her teenage self. Hopelessly in love. 

“Hey, sleepyhead” Ez smiles, as he breaks her away from her daydream. She knew he saw the surprise look on her face, but thankfully he didn’t comment on it. He instead passed the coffee cup in his hand towards her, sitting at the edge of his bed. 

His eyes lingering at her face, and she couldn’t make herself meet his. He knew, he knew that she was going to leave him behind once more. And there wasn’t anything he could say or do to make her change her mind. 

She was stubborn, god she hated that about herself. But that’s what he loved most about her, she needed things done her way. 

“You’re leaving aren’t you.” It was soft but she still heard it. 

Her eyes finally meet his, and she swears she can hear both their hearts breaking. But she doesn’t hear that one word that she’s been longing to hear, especially from him. Maybe if he did say it, she could stay. 

But it never comes.

“And wonder about the only soul 

Who can tell which smiles I’m fakin’ 

And the heart I know I’m breakin’ is my own

To leave the warmest bed I’ve ever know”

Her parents sent her off with only a hug and safe travel wishes. They don’t even bother asking her to visit soon. It was a lost cause and her father doesn’t hide the disappointment in his face when he closed the front door. 

She’s disappointed them a handful of times throughout her life, but it had never occurred to them that she just doesn't want to be stuck in the same town like the rest of them.

She had dreams and to her parents she was just a failure who runs away from the people who love her the most. But what they don’t know is that her heart breaks every time she thinks about the man she’s left behind. The only one who can make her feel like she’s on top of the world. The only one who truly knows her deepest darkest secrets and her dreams.

It was like something came over her and before she knew it she was at Ez’s house. She sits there maybe hoping, she’ll come to her senses and leave without him noticing her car. A soft laugh escapes her mouth when she see Ez leaning against the doorframe, watching her. 

“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye first.” She speaks first as he approaches her car. She silently curses herself when she feels her eyes fill up with tears. She’s usually good at hiding her feelings from others but this time she just couldn’t. This time she doesn’t hide them from him. 

His large hands cup her face and for a moment she leans towards its, feeling him one more time. His thumb catches the tears that streams down her face. 

She tries to smile at him but he knows her better than that. He instead places his lips on hers, making their last kiss way better than she expected. 

“Make me proud.” He leans his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent and closing his eyes. 

Ez steps away from her car, giving her a last smile before nodding at her.

She leaves and she hopes he knows that her heart is breaking as she drives away from everything she’s ever known.

This time she does look back because she wants to see his face one more time before she leaves him behind. And she come to terms that he’ll always be in the back of her mind, the future she could’ve had with EZ. 

It was always him. 

“And the road not taken looks real good now

And it always leads to you and my hometown.”

[horrorslashergirl]

The Collector finding and collecting his childhood friend because she was the only one who was kind to him as a kid.

The Collector x Reader- The memories that persist

Authors Note: Another Collector one? Well yes, because I have many requests with him, so gotta work on them.

Warning: Just some good ol’ kidnapping

Words: 1.8k

Asa had two moods that put people at distance, being socially awkward and having a stone-cold exterior were like protection, like a scorpions needle ready to pierce whatever got close to him. He never found the need to have friends or bond with another human being, for his opinion on humans and the society were that there are either predators or prey and he sure as hell wasn't the second.

The idea of someone being nice meant they wanted something, people don't do charity, there is always a secret reason for every action, be it good or bad.

He somehow had to thank his father for this unique education that he got until he was alone; it made him the man that he is today, untouchable. 

Asa was waiting patiently in front of the coffee machine in the hallway of the university, he needed the caffeine after a night of no sleep and working on his collection; sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when there was so much to do.

Usually, the hallways were filled with professors and students, chatting and discussing, but when he was near, people preferred to keep the distance and find another place for conversation. Maybe it was the way his black eyes would take glances at them and create an uncomfortable vibe without even trying.

Some of the more daring staffs of the university sometimes joked on Asa that he was close to forty and he should consider settling down, an aspect the Entomologist never thought about.

Now, he wasn't ugly or unappealing, perhaps on the contrary; he was tall, bulky, sandy brown hair and his eyes that at first, you might find intriguing, but once you meet his cold interior, his way of making anyone feel stupid using his superior intelligence, you would back away. None wanted to put up with him, none wanted to feel inferior next to him, so they all left him to be; alone.

He took the plastic cup from the machine, ready to head to his office, when someone called his name, making him turn around in the source of the voice.

Obsidian eyes looked at the person who called him; hair flowing down shoulders, eyes sparkling with knowledge and recognization, a big smile showing pearly whites.

"Asa? Is that you?" you asked, stopping in front of him.

His brows pulled into a furrow, confusion evident on his face.

"Do I know you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Does 'Bugaboo' ring a bell?" you asked with a mischievous smile.

One minute passed, then two, then his eyes widened as memories from so long ago crashed back onto him. He was looking at you like he'd seen a ghost, like he believed what he saw was just a hallucination.

"[Name]?" He tested the name on his lips and tongue, it felt so foreign.

Your lips pulled into a grin and you nodded.

"So, you did remember?" you asked, chuckling at his shocked expression, which you found cute.

It's been years since he said your name, memories of two little kids spending their time on the edge of the forest close to the town, basking into the beauty of nature.

If Asa had to recall a good memory it would be that his little hands holding a book as he read aloud, you leaning on his side, listening to his voice as he read paragraph after paragraph. It was probably the only time he felt not constricted by his fathers' rules, in your presence he felt peaceful, not afraid or uncomfortable.

You were the only one who had the time and patience with his awkwardness, the only one not to judge, and the only one who was genuinely nice to him, never expecting anything in return.

As a kid, Asa was very shy and his self-esteem was just dust, the only ability he was very sure of himself was his academics, but even that if it wasn't molded to perfection his father would destroy.

Perfection.

All his life resorted around it, be it in all kinds of aspects, but that's what Asa thrived on, quintessence.

"What are you doing here?" Asa found himself asking.

Before the massacre of his family, probably one or two weeks prior, you left, your family left; you pretty much disappeared, leaving him alone and he could recall his father's mean words.

'People are temporary, son. They come and go, none stays forever. They seek you until they found you unneeded.'

"I'm in my last engineering year and they transferred me here, but I'm glad they did. I didn't expect to see you here, but I'm very happy so." you genuinely said, making him gulp down, nervous.

Asa wasn't nervous.

"I work here." Asa simply stated.

"Ahhh...So your dream to be a successful entomologist finally happened. I knew you would make it." you said with a grin, pulling your backpack over your shoulder.

You took one some coins and put them into the coffee machine to get your own beverage. 

Now that you were closer, his eyes inspected you. He recalled when you were kids you were both the same height, but now he pretty much towered over you. Your hair used to be shoulder length, but now it was past your middle back in loose curls, a loose red wine-colored sweater covered your upper body, the material a little past your hips, your legs hugged by black leggings and brown Uggs on your feet.

"I really need some hot coffee. Its cold outside and I think it won't take much to snow." you said, but Asa was more so comparing your actual form to that of your younger self.

As a kid you were cute, he remembers that, but now you were a woman, and what little warmness he had for you as a child now it came back, but in a much different shape. Both of you were adults, no longer children.

"I guess I will see you around, Bugaboo?" you asked with a raised eyebrow, using the childish nickname and making him look away, but alas nodding.

You gave him one last smile and marched away down the hallways, his eyes trained on you until you disappeared around the corner.

Asa couldn't believe what just happened, he still debated if everything was just a very realistic dream, but his confirmation was made when he saw you around the university, always flashing him a smile and waving at him.

Some staff members even teased him, asking if you were his girlfriend or so.

'Emory! I didn't know you had a woman. You sneaky bastard.'

'She sure is a pretty one. Wonder what she sees in you.'

He wished he could take a scalpel and cut the brown-nosing idiots from neck to groin, but he had more self-restraint than most. 

What he really felt towards you wasn't just an attraction; yes, he was attracted to you, but there was also a catch. Everyone who fell as victims to the Collector knew that if Asa Emory was attracted to you, it meant a death sentence or a complete nightmare.

He was patient, he was a strategist and planned everything with the utmost precision, and that leads to you being chained to a bed, makeshift gag to prevent you from screaming, although Asa doubted that someone will actually hear you, probably only his guard dogs and the collected ones that were still alive.

The hotel was isolated outside the city and not even cars passed by to wonder what odious things were going inside.

You had tears running down your face, and the bonds on your wrists created uncomfortable bruises that you knew will be purple by the end of this nightmare. Your attention was pulled from trying to break free to the door of the room as it opened slowly, revealing a tall man dressed in all black. He closed the door, locking it and putting the keys on the utility belt around his waist.

Even in the dim-lit room, you could make out some sort of his appearance; he was white, very bulky, so fighting hand to hand against him will do you no good. As he came closer you could make out his eyes from behind black carapace-like a mask. Your eyebrows were pulled into a furrow, these eyes looked so familiar, that certain spark in them, it was then that your body froze in shock, like you were struck by a lightning.

Maybe it was only your imagination playing with you. As he stalked oh so slowly towards you, his gloved hand coming up to take your gag out of your mouth, making you take a deep breath and close your eyes as a whimper escape your lips.

"A-Asa?" You tried to say his name, wondering if it was really him, although you could never mistake his eyes for anyone else.

"Not Asa." he replied, his voice all too recognizable, but what did he mean that it wasn't him?

"W-What?" you choked out, only for his finger to press against your lips and you swore you could taste the blood.

He looked over you, calculating eyes taking you in, then you squeaked as he swiftly got on top of you, his nitrile covered hand coming to gently cup your chin, his eyes absorbing every little detail that made you a whole.

"P-Please...T-This is not you. This is wrong." you tried to kick some sense into him, not wanting to anger for God knows what he is capable of.

"No. Of course not." he whispered, his mask brushing against your cheek as his breath hit your ear, the close proximity between your bodies making you feel anxious.

Eyes widened when you saw the glint of a blade, his hand grasping the handle of the weapon as the steel trailed up and down your legs, then between your breasts and resting under your chin, making your gaze never turn away from his.

"Please don't kill me...." you begged, closing your eyes to let around a set of tears fall down your face.

He tilted his head to the side, curious at your desperate words. That was a habit of Asa, you remembered how cute it was when he tilted his head in pure genuine curiosity when he saw something that piqued his interest, but now, it was downright disturbing.

"I'm not gonna kill you." he answered your beggings, his mouth against your ear, and you had to fight the urge to kick your legs when his tongue came out to lick behind your ear.

"I'm gonna punish you for leaving....little pet." your eyes widened, heartbeat stopping at the dark suggestion of his sentence.

Next thing, your ears were meet with the ripping sound of your blouse, a scream tearing from your mouth, only to be silenced by a hand around your throat.

"A-Asa..." you choked out, his lips pulling into a sadistic smirk, obsidian eyes sparkling with lust.

"The Collector."

[namjoonchronicles]

bones | nj

↳ pairing namjoon, reader

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 3.0k

↳ summary namjoon’s only dream is to change the world, and sometimes when he couldn’t, he would turn to no one. even as it eats him up, spit him out and left him lifeless. the greatest mistake in love is to hand someone else the responsibility to your happiness, but is it really a mistake?

↳ warning depression; loosely inspired by the recent the return of superman show

↳ song shawn mendes ‘wonder’, maggie lindemann ‘couple of kids’

↳ author’s note new year greetings came four days late this year, sorry about that... i was searching for a suitable theme to write, so i opt for a non-serious one. i planned to engage in a 7-day writing challenge this week, starting with namjoon on monday. wish me luck! and happy reading! <3

“Please turn them off…” the deep grovel of his voice took you by surprise. It wasn’t like you to not have noticed when he walked in. The television had the show ‘The Return of Superman’ playing. By the sound of the troubling huff he let out, as he stood, hanging his long coat on the coat hanger, it seemed like he had a rough day. He didn’t look at you in the eye when he walked in, and it seemed like he would like to disappear today. You blinked to the view of his back disappearing into the hallway to the right, heading to his home studio. Hanging your face down to your lap, you pointed the remote to the screen and it turned to a black screen. Long story short, the kids in the show wanted to see him. And long story short, they weren’t able to reach a meeting point resulting in the kids meeting another artist instead. By the looks of it, Namjoon isn’t taking it lightly. By the looks of it, he seemed a little disappointed. And for that, you don’t really know how to interfere, or if he wanted you to.

Namjoon and you really stood in the grey area sometimes, when it comes to trespassing each other’s boundaries. It’s really difficult to read him sometimes, because he keeps so much to himself. It was something you both mutually understand when you both ended up together. The go-no-go point had always been a grey. There’s so much at stake and your intricated mind combined with his sometimes doesn’t allow room for negotiation. When something like this happens, you have to analyse where he stands. And sometimes you miss your hit. The more time you miss, the more frightened you are where the next one comes. They say, if you don’t have to watch your words with someone, you’ve found the right one. But when it comes to Namjoon, you refuse to say the wrong words because you don’t want to hurt him. Not after all he’s been through. So you took light, careful steps towards the door to his home studio. Watching him bended over his chair, mouse running wild. His face shone by the light from the computer screen.

“Hey,” you softly whispered. Leaning your face against the door frame, hand clasping the edges of the door.

He hollowed his cheek, tutted his tongue out and said, “Hey” to the screen instead. A short silence followed. Then,

“I didn’t know they were coming to see me. They lied to those kids saying they’ll meet me, and they didn’t. They must have felt so betrayed.” He hung his head low. He rubs his nose. “What can you do? It’s a show… It doesn’t make you a bad person,” your voice, gentle, persuasive as ever. It was the only way you think would get to him.

Since when did it matter what others think of him? You would be foolish to say that. Knowing Namjoon as long as you did, you know criticism no matter how constructive or harsh, they dent the same deep to him. Be it his music, be it his words. Silence from his side, yet again. Moving away you decided to say one last thing for his consideration.

“There’s always more than one way… My husband used to tell me,” you shut the door behind you, a lopsided smile on your lips.

Stunted by the pitch darkness he sat in, your words resonated in his mind and he looked down the keyboards and grinned. You are right, there’s always more ways than one.

More ways than one. To say that Namjoon had a perfect childhood would be vastly inaccurate. His brilliant mind was not without a cost. You both hid behind words you didn’t say. The pain that felt so familiar and the fear that is mutual. For a while, he somehow convinced you to push through. And with him, the glass is always half full. And by glass full, Namjoon’s quiet determination and drive would inspire you to keep going. When he is sound asleep at night, the dim light draws the shape of his body, you would place your palm on one side of his face, thumbing his cheek, just to feel him there. His breathings would slow down. His most vulnerable state, and just hours ago, he was reading to you a poem he wrote. The stirs would stop and you pulled the blankets further up his chin. You brushed his bangs back and placed a kiss on his forehead, letting your lips linger a second longer than usual. It just felt a while. Like it was a dream.

Gravitating towards Namjoon, it only seemed natural. The bike nights rides along the Han River, he bulleted through the summer night breeze while you opened your arms wide sitting behind him. The moon and the stars were witness to it all. He blew air bubbles to the sky while you tried to catch them all with your open palm. Sitting on the grass, his arms around your waist. You were falling heavenly, recklessly. Sharing lilac cotton candy, and meeting each other's lips through it. He tasted like cotton candy, sticky and sweet. You could feel him smile against your lips. “We can’t save everyone, Joonie,” you spoke softly, “Those we can, we could…”

With his shut eye, he said, “I did all that I could… but why didn’t it feel enough?”

It’s a terrible thing to feel helpless. To feel restricted, to feel limited. The barricades are held up and for someone like Namjoon who is adamant to strike barriers head on, there seems to be places he couldn’t break through. And that feeling is discouraging. It is limiting and groundless. Namjoon is determined to make changes in the world, wherever it fits. There are places he couldn’t go though, despite the remarkable footsteps he had already pioneered. Namjoon is brave, relentless. He refused surrender and the louder his voices are, the more shackles they put on his ankles. It is only due time that he would explode. He just had hearts too big for his body, and if you think he doesn’t have more to give, you’re wrong. He is as possessive to the things that are his, you just need to name it.

Possessive. The word would seem so harsh. But it was everything Namjoon is. You had just bawled the night away for having to marry a family friend’s son who had gotten divorce from two of his wives. You had never been so scared because not only was the man twice older than you are, he was also your tutor when you were 15. He had been eyeing on you since then, and it disgusted you so. With no words from Namjoon for days after you told him the story, your faith in him was fading. You felt so unprotected and sold away by your own parents. No one cared. The next day, the predator will come and he will take your hand in marriage whether you want it or not. You considered running away. But where would you go? Anywhere would have been just fine.

That same night Namjoon stormed into your parent’s house, drenched in the rain, pounding on the door. Then you heard your father open the front door to the porch.

“I may not be the son-in-law you dreamt of, nor am I a perfect son to my parents. I have nothing to give her. I am not adequate but I have dreams larger than myself, and that dream is to have your daughter as my wife. I am not the son-in-law you want, but I am the husband your daughter needs. My name is Kim Namjoon and I cannot let her marry anyone else but me.”

His wedding vows were immaculate. The night before your wedding, you asked him, “You want to take care of my heart?”

“Absolutely,” he said, without an ounce of hesitation and crinkly eyes, with a big smile.

When you think about those impeccable moments, you know his devotion is pure. That’s why loving him is easy and difficult.

What do you like most about me? What an odd thing to ask. Watching the people cross the road as the traffic light turned red for them. The fine dust reading shoots off the roof again today. The wedding ring on your ring finger, curled around the steering wheel of your worn out car. The diamond catching the light, decorating the roof of your car with little rainbows. You smiled to your chest then to the side. When is it ever not strange when it comes to Namjoon. Of course he had to ask you the easiest yet the most difficult question as you were rushing out the door with minutes to spare. Hopping on one feet, holding on to his stomach to keep your balance.

But you couldn’t forget those eyes. Those pleading eyes. Felt like it mattered to his life what your answers were.

The light turns green. You dropped the brakes and gently pressed on the accelerator. It could have been easily his heart, or his mind, mostly both. And possibly everything in between; no, most definitely everything in between. Or is it his arms, that feels like an asylum or a fortress, depending on the situation? Or his lips, with the things it says or the things it does? Or his ears that continue to earnestly listen to you whining or screaming or the static silence he demanded to make sense of?

Why did it have to be what he offers you? Why can’t  you love him for what he didn’t offer you?

The answers aren’t simple at all.

And as the answer you said loomed over you, hours on end at work and through lunch and important meetings, you feel like the clock is ticking in your ear. Why didn’t you look at his expressions when you left? What were you rushing for? You made it on time but you left things unsettled at home. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right at all.

“Namjoon, you’re a firework.” The words you threw ringing in his ear like it was only yesterday, since he said he wanted you. It was the most remarkable, most detrimental, most damaging words he had ever heard someone say to him. It didn’t help that he was deeply enthralled by you. He was broken, so beautifully broken. The way his edges are both sharp and blunt and in patterns unique to him; he was a deliberately planned masterpiece. He understood what you said; and you talk in riddles he is fluent in. You hide in metaphors and intricate words of a poet. Your true feelings never fully revealed. Sometimes he feels like he is walking in circles, or falling in a bottomless pit. Sometimes he feels like he’s found home away from home and finally talking in a language someone spoke.

Firework. It could be a compliment and an insult. They are the prettiest in the darkest night, the glittering lights, the adrenaline inducing sound of explosion; always the highlight of a celebration, an achievement, the peak--everything good in life. But when the fireworks ended, the darkness loomed again, the adrenaline fell as the silence grew; anticipations dug its grave with each moment passing without sound--excitement, plummeting to the ground. Fireworks are temporary happiness. You said you were a mere spectator. It was both a compliment and an insult. Namjoon realised that what he projected wasn’t the same thing you were looking for. You wanted forever. He looked in your eyes the same way he looked at you when you left for work this morning; with longing he didn’t quite fathom the depth of.

When he sits in his room, getting lost in the words carried by the author, he forgets about all the things that worry him. With the desktop lit up of a wallpaper of you mashing his face between your hands, face so close to each other, smiling contently, behind him. This house is littered with love. They are in the walls, on the floor and all over the ceiling.

“I am terrified of you,” you said, laying next to him in bed one night. It felt like an untimely confession. The words he never expected from you. At first, he thought it was due to how intimidating he looks. He’s almost six feet tall, he frowns at everything, almost tactlessly blunt to anything about quality-- terrified is a weak word. He looks like he hates everything and won’t stay behind for anything that doesn’t interest him. But it wasn’t. Your fear was not from how he is built but the way that he stayed. You always expected people to leave after a certain time spent. But he just keeps coming back and everytime he does, you get scared.

“I had never had anyone stay that long before,” you looked up at the ceiling while he looked at you, counting your eyelashes.

“I don’t know what to do…” you turned to him and casted your eyes downwards, “People like you aren’t supposed to be with people like me.”

Everyone deals with pain differently. In the commotion of a subway station, in front of the crowded cafes, the congested road and the beeping from the cashier’s counter. These faces staring at the floor, these fast-paced steps, the little jogs to the closing elevator door. The beginning of the year always feels overwhelming. The expectation is high, the spirits and passion is off the roof. Guess it was the disappointment that scares you the most. How many years did January begin the same way and December had it all taken away or drained till you are hollow on the inside?

A pair of supple lips, butterfly kisses trail up your shoulders to your cheek, a pair of strong arms snaked around your hips, pulling you in a rib-cage squeezing hug. A smile grew on your lips.

“What are you thinking so hard of, it's’ not even noon yet?” the deep grovel of his voice disrupted your train of thoughts, much to your dismay. Then you switch to face him, pointing your index finger to the ceiling as his hand rests on your bum.

“There’s a time in your life that you’re scared of me pushing you away when you kiss me,” your eyes twinkle at him and he wanes in his stance.

“Why are you making me nervous so early in the morning?” throwing his head back, showing you his frustration, “We’re married now, you can’t push me away…I wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

When the light caught his luminacing brown eyes, you thought about how astonishing it was; to be loved, to be understood, to be broken and healed at the same time--all by the same set of eyes. The way it catches the sun, rain and storm. There’s something a pair of eyes could say without words.

In autumn, when those eyes cried a river, head filled with broken dreams and dreaded nights, and you caught the net, the whirl of the still moments stole your spineless sanity. The dizzying concoction of despair and anger the year had. And in a few more days, the new year will come. With every year passing, the more you dreaded the things you didn’t do. You blame yourself for the things you couldn’t change. The year felt like a dream; floating in the air, weightless. With no stone to keep you in place, you wandered like a lost soul, the only thing familiar was those lumineering brown eyes. Those eyes, when you see them--home.

As he sat there, talking, endlessly, chuckling, showing you his phone screens and wishes he got for both of you, you drifted into space. You didn’t hear a thing he said, you just, existed. And you watched him, in all that he is. All the troubled nights he didn’t speak to you about, the pain he hid away, the things he didn’t say and everything he felt. Then you think about all the times that he saved you when you’re in pain. When his hugs were as strong as the deteriorating war in your head, when his whispers were louder than the demons, and the hand he held tighter than the things you couldn’t fight against. There’s forever in his eyes. And you hadn’t seen that in years.

In winter, when the cold is numbing and the only thing warm is his breaths, the world is white in snow and those eyes searching the crowds land on you and turn into a pair of crescents. No stones left unturned, the battles he faced-- Namjoon was the war you chose. It was then you realised that even if the world collides and the ground turns to skies, it's his hand you want to hold. Driving along the same route you came from, your tired eyes in the reflection of the rearview mirror, you heard yourself asking, “What do you love most about you?”

Namjoon. Loving Namjoon is what I love most about me.

He shows you that no matter how self centred you were, you were capable of infinite love.

Namjoon might have lain awake for hours before you did. Arduously, he loved. Silently, he thought. In his mind, he would have kissed you awake. Then, when he asked you what you loved most about him, he least expected a deep answer, not at the time frame that was given to you. He felt found and kept safe. He found forever in you. No words would have sufficed. 

“Bones.” “Bones?” “Bones… I love your bones. They make up everything you are.”

Curling his arms around your waist while you sleep soundly, he nudges his face in the back of your hair as he pulls you close. These bones love you too. Ferociously, immensely, profoundly. . . . . . Namjoon sent a video to the kids that wanted to see him that day. The kids are more excited than ever. They may not have met, but Namjoon’s sincerity flourished through the video message. You are absolutely right, there’s always more ways than one. We can’t save everyone, but we could save those we can. .

.

.

.

copyright © january 4th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for your time

[letterboxd]

In Focus: The Truman Show.

Inspired by Letterboxd data that revealed it to be a lockdown favorite, editor-at-large Dominic Corry looks at the ever-evolving importance of contemporary masterpiece The Truman Show.

It has long been apparent that The Truman Show is an unnervingly prescient film. The story of a man who becomes aware that his superficially idyllic life is, in fact, a live-streamed television show has gone from being high-concept to every-day.

Thanks to the three Ps—the prevalence of mass urban surveillance, the proliferation of reality television and the pervasiveness of video in social media—the notion of cameras filming our every move is no longer a paranoid fantasy, but real life. The twist being that, for the most part, we all willingly signed up for it, and did all the filming ourselves. As Yi Jian saliently observes in his review: “Not to get all ‘we live in a society’ on Letterboxd but I know a person or two in real life that would actually give anything to trade lives with Truman, it do be like that sometimes”. It indeed do, Yi Jian.

So it’s something of a cliché at this stage to point out how we are all living in some version of the The Truman Show, and you don’t have to be a member of the royal family to feel that way. Yet, somehow, the film has become even more pertinent over the last eighteen months. And it’s a pertinence reflected in the massive uptick in viewership for the film as seen in Letterboxd activity.

During the month of February 2020, the last moment of the Before Times, The Truman Show had a modest 1,235 diary entries. That number tripled in April of that year, by which time the seriousness of the pandemic had become clear. And by July, deep in the worst of the pandemic, Truman fervor peaked, with a further 178 percent leap over April’s numbers, firmly placing it in the top 200 films watched by our members in a year of lockdown. (By the way, ‘diary entries’ mean activity where the member has added a watched date; many thousands more also marked Truman as ‘watched’ in those dark months, but didn’t specify a date.)

It’s not difficult to imagine why we might become more interested in revisiting this eminently re-visitable film. During lockdown, social media—including Letterboxd—took on a greater presence in terms of how we communicated with each other. We got used to seeing footage of faces more than actual faces. We were all the stars of our own ‘Truman Show’, and simultaneously the audience of everyone else’s ‘Truman Show’.

Christian Torres boiled it down effectively when he wrote: “Now every movie I see seems to be related to my life in quarantine. I am Truman and I want to escape.” And Sonya Sandra eloquently captured the film’s increased contemporary significance in her review: “This is a real-life daylight horror film. The best kind. Even more relevant in 2021 than ever. We are all Truman, we all want to find what is real in our fake lives filled with media, capitalism and ideology. And it’s our job to fight the storm and get to the truth of it all. Nothing is real, everything is for profit, and everyone is selfish. Go out and find what is real, because it’s definitely not here.”

With its deft, dazzling blending of the profound and the humorous, the optimistic and the cynical, it’s difficult to think of anything released since The Truman Show that comes as close as it does to being a modern-day Frank Capra movie. It’s hopeful, but has its eyes wide open. There’s a darkness in the themes of the film that is never replicated in the colors on display.

While everyone involved delivers career-best work, we must principally credit the triumvirate of talent at the center of the film: director Peter Weir, screenwriter Andrew Niccol and star Jim Carrey.

Star Jim Carrey and director Peter Weir on the set of ‘The Truman Show’ (1998).

Weir is a director who inspires much online love whenever his name is mentioned, but he isn’t really mentioned all that often. Or at least as often as he should be. The Australian filmmaker has delivered masterpieces across multiple genres, and it’s extremely sad that he hasn’t directed a movie since 2010’s not-quite-true World War II drama The Way Back, arguably one of his lesser works. That’s also, insanely, one of only two movies he’s made since Truman, the other being Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, the wide and rabid affection for which regularly kicks up on Twitter (not to mention demand for a sequel).

Weir doesn’t do many interviews, and while this 2018 Vanity Fair article marking Truman’s twentieth anniversary has many quotes about the film’s modern relevance, Weir doesn’t offer any commentary to that effect, presumably preferring to let the work speak for itself—though in this 1998 interview he did talk about the relationship between the media, the general public and the people we become fascinated with, as a “complex situation”.

The Vanity Fair article does, however, reveal a fascinating ‘what if’ scenario relating to Christof, the god-like director of the in-movie TV show played by Ed Harris, who offers up a pile of pretentious auteur clichés: mononymous, beret, etc. (beyond the whole god thing, that is). When Dennis Hopper, originally cast in the role, wasn’t working out, Weir considered playing the role himself, which would’ve added yet another meta layer. It brings to mind how George Miller styled Immortan Joe (played by Hugh Keays-Byrne) after himself in Mad Max: Fury Road, or how Christopher Nolan’s haircut shows up in most of his films.

Ed Harris as Christof in ‘The Truman Show’ (1998).

And, at one point, it could have gone mega-meta. Weir, in the 1998 interview, talked about a “crazy idea” he had, a technical impossibility back then but easily achievable with live-streaming now. “I would have loved to have had a video camera installed in every theater the film was to be seen [in]. At one point, the projectionist would … cut to the viewers in the cinema and then back to the movie. But I thought it was best to leave that idea untested.” Imagine.

Weir also played a role in helping to shape the originally much more overtly dark screenplay into the cheerier (on the surface at least) shooting script, which is solely credited to fellow antipodean, New Zealand-born Niccol, also a producer on the film. Both men have done the majority of their work in America, but it’s tempting to credit the film’s tone-perfect sense of heightened Americana to the degree of separation offered by their foreign provenance. In any case, it’s clear that open-air mall designers were paying attention.

Niccol’s original screenplay made his name in Hollywood, and revealed a storyteller excited by big ideas. He moved into directing with the smaller-scale Gattaca, released a year prior to Truman (itself delayed to meet Carrey’s availability). Niccol’s subsequent filmography includes several legit bangers (Lord of War hive step up!), and his endearing dedication to lofty allegories in a genre setting makes him an increasingly rare breed in Hollywood.

Like Weir, he is not the greatest fan of giving interviews, but the Vanity Fair piece quotes him making an interesting point: “When you know there is a camera, there is no reality,” thereby making Truman “the only genuine reality star.”

It’s a sentiment echoed by MusicMoviesMe, who writes that “‘Truman Show’ beats all other reality shows out there like Bachelors, Survivors and Kardashians. Come on, when you know there’s a camera at your tail, there’s no reality. So yes, Truman beats all reality shows out there bar none!”

The role was perfectly suited to Jim Carrey’s affected mannerisms, and his status as one of the world’s biggest stars meant he could relate to Truman more than most people. Then, at least. Nowadays, of course, we are all Truman.

“It is always incredible to see how far The Truman Show was ahead of [its] time,” observes The Closer79. “In a world where celebs are monitored 24/7 and we are showered with unnecessary private information on the web, where talent-free wannabes become famous and where you sometimes [wonder] what kind of surreal show society you are in—Truman and his fake show life cleverly have anticipated all of this. Only Truman knew nothing of his luck and he was granted an escape from his glass prison. We don’t really have this possibility… Aren’t we all Truman? Sometimes even voluntarily…”

Austin Burke concurs: “I have always known that I really enjoyed this film, but I had no clue that it would hold up so well years later… Could this be because the strange world that he finds himself in is far more similar to our world today? Possibly, but the idea and themes are so much more relevant now compared to when this originally released.” And while DallasFrance is conscious of piling on about the film’s prescience, his review highlights how there really is no limit to the film’s meta qualities:

“Instead of writing a review about how this film predicted social media, or how we’re all Truman, or yadda yadda yadda, I’ll instead fixate on the miraculous fact that two absolute legends were cast as primary viewers of the Truman Show:

1. The old lady from The Running Man who starts betting on Ben Richards (Arnold Schwarzenegger). ‘He’s one bad motherf*cker!’

2. The villain from The Karate Kid Part II:

‘Live or die, man?!’ ‘Die!’ ‘Wrong!’ *hooooonnnkkk*

I’ve never seen either of these actors in any other roles. With the second one, I felt like I was watching a character from my childhood watch a character from his childhood come to realizations about the characters in his childhood. So actually… the movie’s really about me.”

Never change, LB membership.

We are all generally pretty aware of how ahead of its time The Truman Show was, but that doesn’t lessen its impact. Maddie’s review shows that there’s always some new angle to consider: “Imagine being an extra in this movie… You would be an extra, playing an actor, playing an extra. Think about that long enough and tell me that doesn’t make you want to walk into the ocean.”

Kev goes even further: “Watching other people watch somebody else while also watching that person while also watching the person watching over that person is a great reminder that watching is weird, and to be watched is to not own yourself. Don’t watch, don’t try to be watched. Just live.”

Or perhaps Will encapsulates the film’s ability to present an ever-evolving message best, writing that, “clearly, this is video proof that we live in a simulation.” Beyond mere prescience, The Truman Show is a telling mirror to whatever era it is viewed in. Its message will continue to evolve.

Now that we’re finally (touch wood) emerging from the pandemic, it will be fascinating to see what The Truman Show has to say about its audience and the world they live in, in years to come. Rest assured, it will be well-documented by you, the Letterboxd audience.

Also: can Peter Weir please make another movie? Like, seriously.

Related content

A Meta-Reality: Robert’s list of layers of film in life and life in film

Follow Dom on Letterboxd

[everybodyscupoftea]

rockin around the christmas tree

pike jj x reader

you and jj decorate your first apartment together

this is in the future when you and jj are in nashville :)

(warnings: cursing, implied drinking, very very little editing)

At the words, “I’ve never really decorated a tree before,” you knew immediately that you were going to go all out for JJ. You knew his childhood wasn’t great and that he didn’t really experience it in college either with living in the dorm and then the frat house, but you didn’t consider that meant he’d never really done the tree and lights shebang.

Over the month of November you started gathering up random decorations, here and there, that you thought could fit in your apartment without being a nuisance. One afternoon you convinced your mom to drive over from your hometown with some of your favorite ornaments and decorations from childhood.

She loved JJ and was plenty happy to part with them for his sake. You made sure all the bags and boxes were put away in the second bedroom and made a promise with yourself to not tell him until after Thanksgiving.

Then you got slammed with paper after paper and quiz after quiz which led you to truly forget about everything until you went in there to make sure things were all clean for guests and tripped over a box full of lights.

“Ow, fuck!” you yelped, looking down to see what you’d hit, stomach dropping when you saw it all and heard JJ coming to see what was wrong. Before he could quite get to the door, you waved him away, “All good, just stubbed my toe.”

He backed away, hesitantly, toward the kitchen where he’d been cutting the turkey for dinner. Cody and Tyler were coming into town, and you were doubly excited that they were staying the night so that you could rope them into putting up the once forgotten decorations.

Just as you finished pushing everything out of the way and clearing off the bed, there was a knock at the door. JJ called from the kitchen, “Can you grab that, sweetheart, I’m almost done with the turkey?”

“Got it,” you yelled back, practically skipping to throw the door open for your friends you hadn’t seen outside of FaceTime in months. As soon as you threw the door open, Cody, who was closest, was pulling you into a tight hug, face pressed firmly into your hair. He sighed, “Damn, smell the same, kinda nice.”

You snorted, squeezing back, “That was soft.” 

“Forgive me,” he answered sarcastically, “I just missed you is all.”

“Move,” Tyler interrupted before you could respond, elbowing Cody out of the way to hug you. You hugged back just as tight before grabbing both of them by the arms to pull them inside.

“JJ is finishing up the food, so I’ll give you guys a tour real quick and you can drop your stuff in the guest bedroom.”

“Sweet,” Cody nodded, “though I’m not sure how I feel about JJ being in control of the food.”

“Let him have it, I need to tell you guys something.”

They followed you around the whole place and ended in the second bedroom where you shut the door, Tyler smirked, “Getting us alone to pitch a foursome?”

You blinked, not prepared at all, “I-” after a few seconds gathered your thoughts, “no, I just wanted to know if you guys needed to be anywhere early tomorrow or if you could help us decorate for Christmas. JJ never has before, so I thought it could be a fun family activity.”

Before you even finished, Cody, who loved Christmas and decorating for it was nodding eagerly, “Oh fuck yeah. I’m so down. Is that why this room is so messy? Christmas decorations.”

You snorted, “Please, I haven’t forgotten how messy y’all are, I spent so much time in that disaster of a dorm room.”

Tyler waved you off, “We’re much better now.”

“I’m sure,” you answered sarcastically.

“I am, my girlfriend whipped me into shape,” Cody told you, “our apartment looks so dope.”

“Yeah, because your girlfriend has her shit together and a Pinterest board.”

Tyler snorted, “True, you have no eye for interior design.”

Cody rolled his eyes as JJ yelled for everyone to come eat. The four of you sat around the small table you and JJ found on sale with plates heaped full of food. Before anyone could take a bite, you cleared your throat, “Okay, everyone share their lists.”

A tradition the four of you started in college was to share at least three things each person was thankful for before eating whatever you’d managed to put together for dinner, usually takeout because no one was thankful for cafeteria food and the shitty dorm kitchen.

“I’ll go first,” Tyler started, “I’m thankful for the Sixers finally playing well, my girlfriend for getting me a new job, and for you guys having a nice enough apartment to play host.”

“Wait wait wait,” JJ held his hand up, “your girlfriend got you a job?”

Tyler shrugged, “I figure if I play my cards right and don’t fuck anything up, when she finishes law school and has a nice job, I can become a trophy husband. I’ll be supportive as fuck and the  best arm candy on the planet.”

You snorted and said, “Okay, poor Emma first of all. It’s my turn though. I’m thankful for my therapist, she’s really done a lot of heavy lifting this fall, I’m thankful for JJ not burning the building down while cooking, and I’m thankful for you guys driving to see us because my separation anxiety was getting pretty bad and my poor therapist needs a break.”

Cody gave you a thumbs up, “Live to serve. My turn, I’m thankful for Liverpool sucking ass this season, I’m thankful that my girlfriend is good at everything I’m bad at because I’m pretty sure I’d have died by this point, and I’m thankful that you guys live somewhere interesting enough that I want to come visit.”

“Okay, me last,” JJ started, “I’m thankful for you guys being here even though it was kind of an inconvenient trip, I’m thankful for my boss for giving me a holiday bonus, and I’m thankful to finally get to spend a holiday in my own space. A safe space.”

Cody and Tyler, both great with emotion, held out fists for him to bump and then started eating.

-

“Okay,” you clapped your hands, startling JJ awake the next morning, “it’s noon, we’ve slept off most of the hangover, and now we have shit to do.”

“What?” he asked, voice cracking, as he rubbed his eyes.

“It’s Christmas season, we have to decorate.”

JJ groaned, “Shopping? While I feel like this? No.”

“No need to shop, I have it all. Now get up, get dressed, and let’s do this.”

Tyler was already up when you walked out of the bedroom, and he waved, “I ordered breakfast but couldn’t find your coffee pot. Cody is sorting through the decorations, did you have a tree?”

“Yeah, I have one in the closet, we always did a real tree at home, but I figured we should start small and see how it goes.”

“Good plan. I think Cody has a Christmas playlist ready. He’s so excited, could barely sleep.”

He followed you to the kitchen and leaned against the door frame while you made coffee. You chuckled, “Yeah, I know how much he loves Christmas. I’m honestly kind of surprised we never did a group decorating thing like this before.”

“Well,” Tyler crossed his arms, “we did the small trees in the dorm, but JJ didn’t want to buy one for himself so it didn’t really count. And then decorating the frat house was just not worth the effort.”

You passed him a mug and he took a sip while you answered, “JJ never really seemed super interested either. I mean I was going to keep it chill this year too but he brought it up.”

“Cody said you had a whole bunch of homemade stuff.”

“Yeah, my mom brought it to me. I was thinking of making JJ do some of the ornaments to make it even but I’m not sure he’d go for that.”

Tyler snorted, “Man’s a simp, he’d do it for you.”

“Who’s a simp?” Cody asked, walking into the kitchen to take the second mug.

“All three of you,” you told him, grabbing the creamer out of the fridge for him.

He took a sip and shrugged, “Yeah, true. But who are we discussing in particular now?”

“JJ. Whether he’d made homemade ornaments,” Tyler responded.

“He definitely would,” Cody nodded, “I would too. Is that on today’s agenda?”

“It is not. But I mean, if you guys want to make us some in the future and mail them, I’ll gladly hang them on the tree.”

“Deal.”

 “What’s the deal?” JJ asked, finally joining the rest of you.

“Nothing, drink some coffee and we’ll decorate.”

-

After the food arrived and everyone ate, Cody did in fact have a Christmas playlist queued, and he hooked it up to the speaker to blast in the living room. Tyler strung lights around, and JJ told you, “We should just keep these up after Christmas.”

By the time the two of you had struggled to get the tree put together and in a good spot, you added, “Maybe we don’t take the tree down either. We can just decorate it for every holiday.”

Tyler laughed, “Don’t be those guys.”

“We will,” JJ vowed, “we will absolutely be those guys. I just broke a sweat.”

“I will come back for New Years and start a riot if the tree is still up. You laugh like I’m joking, but I will,” Tyler told the two of you.

Cody was barely paying attention, reaching up to put an ornament on the tree when you stopped him, “JJ has to put the first one up.”

JJ gave you a weird look, “What? Why?”

“Bro,” Tyler told you, “lowkey this is a foursome.”

“No, it’s so not.”

“But, it kinda is. We’re taking JJ’s Christmas tree decorating virginity.”

“That’s so-” JJ paused, “okay the logic works a little but I don’t like it.”

“I hate you all,” you groaned, handing JJ an ornament and gently shoving him toward the tree.

“You don’t,” Cody singsonged from his spot across the room.

When everything  was done, Cody turned all the lights off in the room and JJ plugged the tree in. Tyler flipped all the lights he’d put out on and the four of you stood in the doorway to take it all in. 

JJ sighed, “Kinda love it. It’s going to be such a pain to take down, but it feels good.”

“A good family decorating day,” Cody added, “next year we’ll make ornaments.”

You laughed, “Sure.”

Wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, JJ hummed, “Gonna miss our Christmas this year.”

Tyler looked a little teary eyed, “Yeah, we can FaceTime though.”

“Are you crying?” Cody asked incredulously.

“It’s the hangover,” Tyler denied, wiping his eyes.

Cody rolled his eyes, “Sure it is. I’m gonna miss you guys too.”

“Group hug,” you said, holding your arms out. For the first time in a while and the last time for an even longer while, you hugged your boys close. You sniffled, pulling back, “Bring your girlfriends next time. They’re always welcome too.”

They nodded and left after one more hug. JJ and you sat on the couch, soaking in the sudden silence. You leaned into his side and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “Movie, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you answered, “Home Alone.”

~

day four of @obxmermaid​‘s holiday challenge: decorating the tree

[loverofthousands]

Ceaseless Despair// Dazai Osamu

"Tell me, Dazai-san. What causes tragedy? What causes despair? How can one truly call something as tragic?"

The glass was cold to your lips as you drank the golden liquid it contained, bitter yet sweet to your tongue. Alcohol had never been your friend. Shattered, empty bottles of it were lined up in your childhood home, cutting you with its sharp shards, but your father never seemed to care. He piled it up, higher and higher until you saw a stranger who once called himself your father. Only bad memories came from alcohol. How ironic that you now seek its bitter taste in the darkness of the night, haunted by memories you'd rather forget. You turned to the bandaged man standing at the steps of the stairs, beckoning him to come sit beside you. Dazai smiled and walked on over, no doubt fighting against painful memories as well. This might have been the reason why you two got along so well. Your fights were different, but similar in nature.

He sat next to you and ordered a drink of his own, though he barely drank it during the entire encounter. "What do you mean? Tragic, by definition, is when something incredibly, irreversibly bad has happened. Tragic is the broken, the shattered, the irreparable. In other words, something like me." He smiled then, playing with the ice in his drink. You were sure you will never forget the sound of the ice clinking against the glass. You shifted in your seat, leaning against the wooden counter, your head resting at the palm of your hands. "Ah, yes. The tragic story of Dazai Osamu. If you wrote a book loosely based on your life, it might sell for some good money." He laughed, but you can tell it was devoid of any emotions. You knew won't be able forget that too.

"But what of the fairy tales?" You asked. Dazai tried to meet your gaze, but you were already caught up in your own fantasy world. "By that logic, every story is tragic. Snow White was chased out of her own home and was poisoned by her own stepmother. Aurora was cursed from the moment of her birth and then never met her parents until the moments before the curse was fulfilled. Cinderella was treated as less than human by her own stepmother and stepsisters all the while mourning her father's death. Those traumas and heartbreaks are sure to torture them all throughout their lives. But still they had their happy endings." Dazai Osamu, the former executive of the renowned Port Mafia, Demon Prodigy, and a man who was barely considered a human. He is broken like shattered glass, but still, you didn't believe he was tragic.

"Happy endings, huh? I never pegged you to be the type to believe in those." You merely shrugged at him in response. Your mother used to read to you every night, all curled up in your pink blanket, a teddy bear in hand, her voice drowning out the nightmares that came with the dark. He hummed as he nodded his head, a cynical smile still plastered on his lips, playing with a thought in his mind. For awhile, you two sat there in silence. No one, but you and him at the expanse of this bar, finding a twisted sense of comfort in each other's company. "But, you see, it is because they have their happy endings that they are not considered as tragic. They were reparable. That's the difference between me and them. I am not..." Dazai trailed of his words with grim finality.

"Dazai-san," You can feel his dark brown eyes look at you, but you didn't turn back. You stared head on to the selves of alcohol in front of you, not daring to even catch a glimpse of him, your eyes filled with fervor, burning with a flame that threatened to burn him alive. He looked at you with awe like a moth drawn to a flame. "Do you think there are things in life that are irreparable? Objects are often broken, but given time and patience, will be repaired. With cracks and scars, yes, but still repaired." You paused, gathering your thoughts, latching unto an idea, desperate to not let it slip your mind. "Humans are even more so. They have vitality and resilience, granting them the power to bulldoze through the toughest times."

He laughed a broken sort of laugh containing disbelief instead of humor. "Don't you think that all fairy tales are tragic? After all, despite the golden castles and gowns, death will soon take them all. Life is a tragedy. It gives then it takes with no remorse. Death is its inevitable ending." His face grew darker and darker as the conversation passes. You took a deep breath and let let it out as if letting go of an extremely heavy burden that nestled itself deep into your bones. "First of all, fairy tales aren't usually tragic, but they are dark and morbid. After all, they carry that truth of reality, designed to teach young children. Secondly, how could you say they are tragic if they had once found happiness in their lives? Happiness, despite it being called a happy ending, is usually found in the journey rather than the ending."

Dazai shook his head, an empty smile never disappearing from his face. "Pretty words for a pretty girl. How fitting. So what do you call a tragedy then, hm?" Pressing a finger to your lips, you stared at one of the yellow lamps that hung from the ceiling of the bar. "Sakunoske Oda..." You muttered under your breath, but he heard it. Dazai's face contorted to that of anguish and despair as if he had just been slapped in the face, but in a blink of an eye it was gone, hidden under the many masks he has perfected his entire lifetime. He held his breath, listening carefully to what you had to say with narrowed eyes. You chose your next words carefully, not wanting to offend the memory of his dearest friend. "I believe that tragedy is an ending and the sadness that followed up to it before. Humans, in all their vitality and resilience, have the potential to find happiness all throughout their lives. And although Sakunoske-san wanted to, he still chose death without truly reaching happiness and contentment. That is what I call a tragedy." You felt like melting under his gaze, but still you held your ground. He fell silent, the atmosphere getting heavier and heavier by the second.

"What's your point? If you want to say something to me, just say it." Dazai snapped at you. He shook with anger, but it was barely noticeable, almost as if you merely imagined it. You steadied your breath, your heart pumping loudly in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. "A while ago you said that you were tragic. I don't believe that's true. You, after all, despite not believing it yourself, still have the potential to find the happiness in your life. Tragedy is sad from start to finish, but your story isn't over yet. You can still shape how you want it to end. You know why?" You turned to him with eyes as clear as day. "Because, even if you don't realize it yourself, you, Dazai Osamu, are still undeniably human." His breath hitched, and although he tried to desperately hide it, he was clearly shaken by your words. It cut him deep in the heart.

Silence fell once again. His gaze never went up to you, but instead stared at the drink on the counter, its ice already halfway melted. "Is that why you've come here? To torture me and then scold me for my patheticness?" He laughed darkly. From your point of view, you can clearly see the hollow shell of a man. You almost felt pity for him, but you dared not to. Pity wasn't what he wants, nor does he need it. What he does need is love and understanding, things that he was depraved of as a child. You weren't sure whether you are able to give him these things, but you're sure as hell going to try. Was it out of pity? No, it was out of empathy, because you too made friends with the very darkness that drowned him now. Sometimes you still felt trapped under it, but it wouldn't hurt to shine a bit of light unto a fellow companion.

"Do you remember what you said to me the second time we met?" You started, your gaze distant as you walked through memory lane. You and Dazai only met three times, all of which took place in this very bar. First was when he went here to meet up with Ango and Sakunoske, but found you instead. The second was the wretched night his best friend died. And the third was now, when he found you sitting at his friend's designated seat, waiting for him. Dazai composed himself, shifting in his seat. "Yes, of course. How could I forget? That was the time I anguished at the fact that you are unable to erase my painful memories due to the nature of my ability, right?"

Forget-Me-Not: The ability to tamper with one's memories. That was your ability and you hated it so. It can tamper with everyone else's memories, except yours and Dazai's. How truly loathsome. It was a curse that took everything from you, as well as the happiness of only one you had ever loved your entire life. "Yes. Do you still believe that forgetting them would make you happy?" He opened his mouth, and closed it again in quiet contemplation. A few seconds had passed before he broke the silence. "Well, it's much better than to be haunted by them constantly, right?" He waved his hand in the air in a disregarding manner. His eyes dropped once again to the glass.

"I met my mother today," You started. Dazai didn't move to look at you, but you knew he was listening, an unreadable expression on his face. "Well, not exactly met. I meant, I saw her from afar at the train station. She carried herself pretty well in public, but you can clearly see the dark circles in her eyes. She probably is still unable to sleep due to her misery." From your second meeting, you had opened up to Dazai about your mother. When your drunkard of a father passed away, it took a heavy toll on your poor mother. In his drunkenness, he had abused both you and your mother, but she still cried out to him every night since his passing. That was until the fateful night, the night your ability activated. Your mother shook from the nightmares that haunted her, and you consoled her, but deep inside your heart you wished for something you regret up to this day. You wished your mother would just forget him. A bright light blinded you and the next thing you knew, your mother was screaming "Who are you? What are you doing here?" Yes, she forgot about your father, but along with him, you were forgotten too.

"I had accidentally erased her memories of us that night, of the heartbreak and trauma and pain. So why is she still miserable?" Dazai didn't answer, or rather, he couldn't. He didn't know the answer. "Seeing her today reminded me of you, and a certain fairy tale I had read a long time ago. It's called "The Boy Who Fed On Nightmares." Do you want to hear it?" He was silent, but soon found the courage to look at you, solemnly nodding. You smiled at him. It was genuine this time, filled with warmth. You told the story from memory. "It starts like this: The Boy woke up from another awful nightmare. Bad memories of the past that he wanted to erase from his head were replayed in his dreams every night and haunted him nonstop. The Boy was terrified of falling asleep. So one day, he went to the Witch and begged "Please, get rid of all my bad memories, so that I won't ever have a nightmare again. Then I will do everything you ask." Years went by, and the Boy became an adult. He no longer had nightmares. But for some strange reason, he wasn't happy at all. One night, a blood moon filled the sky and the Witch finally showed up again to take what he has promised in return for granting his wish. And he shouted at her with so much resentment. "All my bad memories are gone, but why... Why can't I become happy?" Then the Witch took his soul as they had promised..."

You paused, grabbing the glass and drinking the alcohol in one gulp. Your throat burned and your tongue cringed at its bitterness, but at that moment you didn't care. You stood up from your stool. "And?" Desperation leaked from his voice. Dazai no longer bothered to hide the anguish from his deep, brown eyes. "What happened after that? Why didn't he become happy?" You turned to him, still smiling the same smile of warmth. "The Witch told him this, "Hurtful, painful memories, memories of deep regrets, memories of hurting others and being hurt, memories of being abandoned. Only those with such memories buried in their hearts can become more stronger, more passionate, and emotionally flexible. And only those can attain happiness." So don't forget any of it. Remember it all and overcome it. If you don't overcome it, you'll always be a kid whose soul never grows old... That's how the story ends." Back then, you didn't fully understood the tale. You did now.

You turned your back to him, walking towards the stairs. At the third step, you looked back. "Dazai-san, in every fairy tale bad things happen, yes? But those with happy endings have always defeated every adversary. They didn't run, nor did they hide. They slayed the dragon, defeated the wicked witches and created a happy ending for themselves. I hope, with all of my heart, that you find the courage to create yours..." And with that, you left, your words still hanging on the silence of your departure. Dazai was alone once again, staring at the space you had once stood on proudly. He sat there in silence, replaying your last words over and over again in his head. After a few minutes, he smiled and left the bar, leaving his drink completely forgotten and untouched in the wooden counter.

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

A/N: I’ve recently watched the Kdrama, “It’s Okay Not To Be Okay” That’s where I got the inspiration for this one shot. The fairy tale, “The Boy Who Fed On Nightmares” is from there too. Thank you for reading <3

[wildlittlefoxsworld]

Loving you against all odds | The Old Guard | Andy x Fem!Reader

Part 1

A/N: I got this idea from a prompt of @promptsforthestrugglingauthor.

You find it here.

Summary: Andy meet the reader in San Francisco in 1929. The reader is twenty-three years old and will marry her fianceé in a few weeks. Andy and the reader get very close, but is this enough for the reader to stop the wedding? Leaving her family to be together with Andy? A family curse makes the reader's life difficult and the reader will need to fight for what her heart desires.

Warnings: slow burn, family curse, minor character death and temporary main character death (in later parts), soft Andy, more tags follow

The Old Guard Masterlist

***

San Francisco, 1929

As the firstborn, you had never worried about the family curse; every second child was doomed to short life of misfortune, but everyone else was left unharmed.

But after your father passed and your mother remarried a partner with a child older than you, you discovered that the curse considered step-siblings as part of the order. But you only noticed it when it was almost too late.

The life of your younger sister Mary, the second the child of your mother, was filled with castastrophic incidents since the day she was born. As a premature infant the pediatrists gave her a loss expectation of life, but your mother called Mary a miracle when she was allowed to take yor sister home after twenty weeks in the children's hospital.

Mary was of slight build, always smaller as the children of her age, caused by the consequences of two months born premature. Children were cruel and made fun of her. You were three years older than her, which made you her protector on the schoolyard. It was something your mother had wished for, but you were well-informed about the family curse. Unlike your mother you understood the impacts the curse had on Mary. Everyone were powerless, nobody could stem Mary's future of never ending misery.

Nobody, until the day your mother married a rich, kind-hearted man named Chandler Prescott. His first wife died a few years ago and together they had a son, Jonah Prescott. Handsome, tall, icy-blue eyes, dark-brown hair. A boy that broke every girl's heart one day. You never hated him, nor did you liked him.

The summer you, Mary and your mother moved in with the Prescotts will you never forget, it was very sticky for early June and you remembered the smell of azaleas, this time changed your life irrevocable.

You were curious of the new town where you lived now. Unknown and mysterious places to discover, but always the voice of your father in the back of your head: never trust strangers. You did follow this rule on every day and it came a day when you didn't. In a little café a half hour by feet away from your home, you met a brunette women, a few years older, maybe in her early thirties. Pretty green eyes, tall, slim figure, very athlectic. You couldn't tell what was special about the woman, but you were impressed by her.

The curve of her mouth formed a charming smile and you felt your stomach doing a flip. It was a foreign feeling when you looked at her, but you ignored it and left the café hurriedly.

The next Wednesday you found your way miraculously back to the little café you liked so much. And there was a spark of hope you would see the stunning woman with the green eyes again. Your eyes roamed the room for her, but you were dissapointed when she wasn't anywhere to find.

“Hello,” spoke a melodic voice behind you and you flinched slightly. You turned your head and looked at the woman that haunted your mind for an entire week. “Hi,” you replied shyly.

“I hoped to meet you again,” she acknowledged and smiled at you. Her gaze was earnestly and you felt your cheeks heating up. You had the same feeling in your stomach as last Wednesday, it was familiar with your typical reaction when a handsome man had complimented you.

“I'm glad to see you. My apologies… for leaving so fast … last week.” You wondered that her presence made you nervous and stuttering. “Well, you came back today,” she appreciated.

She told you her name was Andy. No surname. You respected it and she was relieved that you didn't ask questions about her origin. You spend the whole afternoon together, time flew by like the wind. You talked about casual things, your childhood and parents, but the curse wasn't a topic. And Andy simply listened. You had the feeling that she was the first person in your life who was really interested in you. The moment for your goodbyes came and she hugged you like an old friend. You agreed to meet on next Wednesday at the same time.

At the weekend your mother was buzzing with excitement when the daily newspaper arrived and she read the announcement on page three that the heir, Aaron Grey, of the richest bank director of San Fracisco will marry you on 28th of July in St. Margret's Cathedral.

At twenty-three you could call yourself lucky to get a outstanding match with an noble man like Aaron Grey. You met him at one of the countless parties your step-father hosted. You danced the whole evening with Aaron and you fell in love his his dark brown eyes and warm-hearted laugh. At least you thought it was love you felt.

You couldn't await Wednesday. Andy sat at the same table and you sat down across from her. Her charming smile was back the second she looked at you and a warm feeling spreaded in your chest. You felt bad for the blink of an eye, because you never were so happy when Aaron smiled at you. But you brushed it off, you needed to know him better first.

You forget about Aaron on this afternoom completely. Andy spoke of the places she visited in her life and you decided that you want to see them, each of them. Andy chuckled and responded vague she would take you there someday, but you saw in her eyes she wished for it.

When you walked home, after you promised Andy to come next Wednesday, you thought about your up-coming wedding and if you should tell your new friend about it. Shouldn't you be happy to marry a good man like Aaron Grey. You weren't. In your mind were only green eyes and a charming smile.

Aaron picked you up for dinner with his parents in one these fancy restaurants at Friday night. His parents were very polite and friendly. Aaron and his father talked about business and his mother couldn't wait to have grandchildren. In your opinion the evening was a disaster. But you assured Aaron how lovely his parents were and you looked forward to marry him. You lied to him. You were dissapointed of the outlooks for your future, but you still hoped it will get better. Anyway you liked Aaron and you were sure he would be a caring husband.

The meetings with Andy on Wednesdays were becoming a routine. You entered the café punctual at 2.30 p.m. and spotted Andy in your usual corner. You learned she loved her coffee black, no milk or sugar. You approached her and noticed the white mug with hot chocolate. She remembered your favorite and you beamed with delight. A simple gesture that showed you she cared.

Your conversations were easy, you found always topics you could discuss and you were impressed how adept Andy was in arts, history, languages and travelling. She talked about those things like she had expierenced all of it, like she lived hundreds of lives. Yet you didn't know what she did for living, but you knew she lived with good friends in a cottage at the outskirts of town, near a forest with a lake. She was always vague with informations of her current life and spoke only about her past. One time you asked about her family and she went silent, her mouth a thin line and her eyes cold that it made you shivering, she answered they were passed away a long time ago. You never asked her again.

At home you didn't tell your mother or sister about Andy. She was your only friend here and you wanted something for yourself. You knew it was selfish, but you were sure Andy wouldn't like to be pomped for information about her life.

On the Wednesday three weeks before your wedding she brought you a gift. A box full of conch shells she collected all over the world in different shapes and colours. You loved it. You took a few in your hands and admired their beauty. But you had to admit you never saw more appealing or dazzling than Andy. Sadly you weren't brave enough to tell her. Little did you know she thought the same about you.

The box got a special place in your room.

A week later you had your usual drinks. Andy seemed pensive.

“Are you alright?” you asked her worriedly and knitted your brows together. Andy nodded slowly and glanced outside on the street. It was a sunny day, no cloud in the sky and pleasant warm.

“Would you like to take a walk? There's a park around the corner,” she suggested smiling suddenly. You were excited. You never went anywhere else with Andy than the café.

“Sounds good,” you agreed. Your mugs were already empty and you followed her out of the café. She walked elegant, her back straight and head up. Andy was confident and you wished sometimes you would be like her. She was free to go wherever she wanted and you would marry a man in one and half weeks who you didn't love. The more time you spend with Andy, the less you were in Aaron's company.

The park was marvelous, pink and red and yellow and white flowers everywhere. You weren't the only people here and you walked along the gravel walks.

“It's long a time ago that I was in park. Well, with someone else than the people I live with,” Andy confessed. “I feel honored,” you replied truthfully.

You knew that Andy didn't have many close friends and you were happy that she considered you as a friend. You were lost in thoughts and didn't notice that you went into an area of the park where was only Andy and you. You didn't mind privacy, but it took you by surprise when Andy interlaced your fingers with hers. You watched her with widened eyes, but when you noticed her insecurity, you felt sorry for your reaction. Your expression softened.

“Is this okay?” she asked carefully. You nodded smiling slightly and squeezed her hand in reassurance. Andy's touch, feeling her warm and smooth skin, made your heart beating faster and your stomach flutter. You thought a lot about the feelings you had for Andy and admitted it was more than a friendship between two women. You read about feelings for the same gender and it wasn't common in the society. But your private life wasn't an issue of the society. You knew your mother expected from you to marry and have children, but in this moment you got doubts if you could ever be a loving wife for Aaron and if the wedding was the right decision. Andy made you to question every decision of your potential future and you thought if you could have a future with Andy.

Andy savoured every minute with you. She felt so alive like she hadn't in centuries and you made her life brighter. She hoped that you cared for her as much as she cared for you. Andy was happy when you didn't pull your hand away and it was a milestone. She knew that you were mortal, but maybe the both of you could make it work, even if these thoughts were ridiculous.

Andy felt like someone watched you both behind her back and glanced over her left shoulder. Not far away stood Booker and nodded once. Something was wrong and she knew it was time for her to leave today.

“I'm devasted, Y/N, but I need to go. I know we usually spend more time together,” Andy declared and her heart ached a little when she saw you were dissapointed. “It has nothing to do with you. A friend need my help,” she added hastily.

Andy didn't want to leave you and she thought about what would make you smile. She looked down at your hands and got an risky idea. She lose your hands and pulled you in a gentle hug. She rubbed the small of your back and then shortly before she pulled back, a feathery kiss was pressed on your cheek. You felt your heart racing and the blush rised up your neck. The skin tingled where her lips touched and you smiled bashfully.

“I'm fine, Andy. Go help your friend,” you responded. Of course, you were sad that she wanted to leave so early. You only had one and a half hour together, usually you spend three to four in the café and you were glad about Andy's choice to walk in park. It made up for her early leaving.

With a small nod she went the way back you came before and you watched after her until you couldn't see her anymore.

*****

“She is a pretty, young woman, boss,” Booker remarked with a half grin.

“I know,” Andy answered simple.

“She seems nice.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Is it then wise to make her any hopes?” Booker accused and Andy stopped walking. She looked back to you and shook her head. “It's too soon to assume that.”

“I don't think she was uncomfortable when you kissed her,” he interjected. Andy snorted and went to the car she parked down the street.

“I didn't kiss her,” she gainsaid.

Andy groaned annoyed. “I don't know if I tell her. I know her for five weeks. It's not like… well, I will see.”

“But it was close. Next time it will be her mouth,” Booker said shrugging. “I only recommend you to be careful. She's mortal. She will age. Does she know you don't?”

Booker glanced at Andy when she started the engine of the car and pulled out into traffic. She didn't want to think about the possibilities she could have with you, how it felt to be loved by someone she loved back. You were the first human that catched her interest in her entire life. She spent time with you, because she liked you, but she didn't know it was worth it to risk everything because she could fall im love with you.

“How got you here?” Andy asked to switch the topic. She needed to be focused and concentrated for the mission. There wasn't any other reason she knew about why Booker would come to get her.

“Nicky and Joe dropped me off. Their already on the way. We will meet them at a dinner,” he explained and Andy nodded.

“Good.” The drive was silent and Andy tried hard to suppress the memory of the shimmer in your eyes after she kissed your cheek.

The job went off without a hitch and Andy was statisfied with the precise and flawless teamwork. She only suffered a few injuries from gun shots and a knife, but she didn't die this time and everything was already healed.

“Good job,” she told her family members and they drove back to the flat they stayed in a small town in the north Texas.

Andy's thoughts wandered to you and she asked herself if you would want a life like that. Always on the run, without knowing what will come tomorrow. And could she on the opposite settle down with you. Spending fifty or sixty years or a little more with you before the nature would take back the life it gave you.

Andy took a deep breath. She had to make a choice: destroying the tender bonding between you or letting her feelings grow for you and risking that it could break her heart.

***

Like, comment and reblog ;)

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Secrets 5

Harry Potter Marauders Era post Hogwarts

Link to Part 4 

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: T

______

The next morning you awoke before Regulus. You had healed most of his injuries the night before and figured letting him sleep was the best thing for him at the moment. Slipping out of bed, you went downstairs, where judging by the sound of it, Remus was back. You immediately smiled. “Best friend time” was definitely what you needed.

Remus was on his feet the moment that you came in.

“I was wondering where you were.”

You said, throwing your arms around his shoulders. Remus smiled, hugging you back. When he backed away, you couldn’t help but groan at the healing scars on his face and hands.

“I swear, I should have been a healer. Sit down while I make you something to make you feel better.”

Remus sat down, knowing better than to argue.

“You just woke up. Wouldn't you rather have some tea first?”

You shook your head.

“Nope, I’m going to take care of you. Figure out what injuries Regulus still has and play doctor with him than practice for the new ballet I have to do.”

Remus’ face went white. That was the last thing that he wanted to hear. After the eventful night in the bar, Remus was convinced that the younger Black brother was out for his blood. Any time that the two men saw each other in public, Regulus seemed to have a new death glare reserved just for him.

“Regulus?! He’s here? Since when?”

“Yeah, it's a real kick in the balls isn’t it?”

Remus, Sirius, and James all turned as Regulus stepped into the room. James gave Sirius a smirk. The quicker James got Regulus' attention away from his crazed vendetta of hating Remus the better things would be.

“Well, you didn’t perish in the night. I knew my sister can fix people well.”

Regulus’ eyes flickered in James’ direction but went right back to Remus who was glaring at him just as coldly. Remus turned back to you in hopes of some kind of answer. When he left for his last mission, you were dead set on never forgiving Regulus. In fact, if you hexed Regulus, Remus would not have been surprised.

Now here was Regulus Black, looking like hell, in James’ kitchen and you were acting as if nothing was new.

“Y/n?”

Remus questioned again. You finally looked up.

“Remus, he and I are back together now.”

Remus blinked as Regulus sat down with a shit-eating grin on his face. As much as Remus shouldn’t have been surprised by you taking Regulus back; he was.

This is going to be bad…

Remus thought as you walked over and held out a small vile to him.

“Try this one.”

Remus sighed and downed the bottle without making a face. He had tasted a lot worse in all of his days on the planet. Whatever it was that you gave him was nothing new.

“Remus, he makes me happy.”

You softly commenced. Remus couldn’t help but scowl.

“I’m sorry but can you and I talk...in there...without him?”

“Just a second. I have to take care of him too.”

You felt bad for dismissing Remus especially when he was within moments of having a nervous breakdown but he didn’t see the shape that Regulus was in the night before. He didn’t see how broken and battered Regulus was. If he had then maybe Remus would understand.

Regulus, meanwhile, was grinning at Remus when you dismissed his request. He didn’t know why he was still so pissy with Remus. Regulus knew that Remus really hadn’t done anything. The poor guy was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and now Regulus wanted to unleash unholy hell on him. Jealous...that was the best the Regulus could come up with. He was jealous and not afraid to admit it. Remus had been your best friend since childhood. Remus was the one that you went running to when something unconvinced you. Given the nature of the secret relationship between Regulus and yourself, you weren’t able to come to him with your problems. If Regulus turned up to beat the cream cheese out of that other Slytherin boy that gave you such grief, there would have been questions. Those were questions that Regulus couldn’t answer at the time. Remus and the rest of his friends “setting the other boy straight” wasn’t anything less than expected. What if you still chose Remus over him as the one to help solve your problems? Was Regulus just supposed to sit back and watch? That wouldn’t happen…Regulus would see to that.

“Reggie.”

You said his name gently enough to pull Regulus from his thoughts. Grey eyes rolled up to you as you reached out to touch his face. Regulus winced when your fingers traced over a few hidden bruises were.

“Does this still hurt?”

Regulus shook his head as you moved your hand to stroke his hair. He wasn’t about to say, yes...you poking my face hurts in front of Sirius, James, and Remus. Regulus would let his arm fall off before he admitted to being in pain in front of the others.

“You’re so difficult.”

You hummed, as Regulus closed his eyes. Whether he would admit to it or not, the moment that you started messing with his hair the boy turned to mush in your hands. He would probably do whatever you wanted.

“You look pretty.”

Regulus said with a smirk when James rolled his eyes.

“I don’t want to watch.”

James whined. Regulus turned his attention to James before pulling you on his lap.

“Then close your eyes.”

Remus, meanwhile, was still off in his own world taking in everything about Regulus and yourself being a couple again. While Remus saw you as only his best friend, he still would have preferred to have been the one with you over Regulus Black. The whole idea seemed like a disaster in the making. Regulus had broken your heart once. What would stop him from doing it again? A better question was what if his mother or father came back into the picture? Surely, they wouldn’t let their child prodigy go off and marry James Potter’s younger sister. Something seemed very “off” about that picture.

Why wouldn’t Y/n want him was the bigger question Remus. Regulus was good looking and rich. Both of those were good qualities to have in a lover. Remus didn’t consider Regulus anymore clever than he considered his own self. Maybe it was the fact that he had been the Slytherin seeker and had those “dangerous” eyes? Whatever it was Remus didn’t see it and it would be bugging him for a long time!

“Remus, do you still want to talk to me?”

Your voice pulled Remus from his thoughts. Remus was on his feet and walking out of the room before he realized what he was doing. He couldn’t help rolling his eyes when he heard you tell Regulus “I’ll be right back, love.”

It took you two or three seconds to catch up with Remus. He had gone outside on the front stoop and was looking down the quiet street. One look at your best friend told you that he was annoyed. You knew that you should have been surprised either. It was, after all, Remus that pretty much pieced you back together after the breakup. He was the gentle one that told you that everything would be okay when Regulus was out doing god knows what with God knows whom.

“I don’t get it, Y/n. What made you take him back? You were so devastated.”

You nodded, trying to remain calm.

“Yes, I was devastated because I love him.”

“He changed you.”

Remus snapped. Had it been another day, any day but today, Remus would have been a lot more patient. It was too close to the moon and his patience was wearing thin for everyone, not just yourself.

“Remus, I haven’t changed.”

Remus crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well, since you started dating Regulus, you’ve lied to us. Hid a pregnancy that he didn’t want...none of that is Y/n Potter’s normal actions.”

Remus knew what he said was cold. He had made a self promise that he wouldn’t bring up the miscarriage as it was an obvious source of pain.

“Y/n, I’m sorry…”

You shook your head.

“I didn’t tell you or James or Sirius anything because none of you asked me. I never lied. No one ever asked me if I was seeing anyone because apparently, I am too pathetic to ever gain a boyfriend. Why would someone want to date Y/n Potter? She is nothing but a nerdy bookworm that is too pathetic to ever land a boyfriend. There! Does that sum things up for you?”

Remus sighed.

“That isn’t what I said. You were more than capable of landing a boyfriend. I just wasn’t good enough for you…”

You fought back the painful memories of the day when you had a crush on the man in front of you. Remus never reciprocated your feelings and that’s what made the whole thing painful!

“You didn’t even give us a chance.”

(meanwhile)

“Wonder what they are talking about?”

James questioned, as he watched both Remus and yourself throwing your arms at each other. Both of you were clearly frustrated and James couldn't tell who was winning.

“My guess is him.”

Sirius commented, pointing at his brother. Regulus was watching the conversation that you were having with clear interest.

“If you two would shut up then maybe we could hear and of course, they are talking about me.”

Regulus hissed. Sirius went back down the newspaper that he was reading before throwing it down.

“Oh, gross a spider.”

Regulus reached over and smashed the spider leaving his brother and James looking after him. Both had expressions of disgust on their faces.

“Thanks, Reg. Just what I wanted to do...read over spider guts.”

Sirius snapped as Regulus wiped his hand on his brother’s arm. James had gone back to trying to figure out what was going on.

“Would you two stop bitching? I can’t hear.”

Before Sirius could make a comment about how he didn’t ask for Regulus to smash the spider, you came back inside looking even more annoyed. You didn’t come back into the kitchen but stormed up the stairs and slammed your bedroom door.

James winced as he went to make a new cup of tea.

“Good luck, Regulus. Go find out what happened.”

______ @amelie-black

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[that-rock-chick]

Love Bites

Love sucks. That's pretty much common knowledge. Combine that with addiction, money, fame, and childhood trauma and you've got a recipe for disaster.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Same shit, different fucking day.

Don't ask me how I'm balancing six days a week at my job and band practice three to four days a week, because I truly have no fucking idea. I tried college but once the band formed, I cut that out of my schedule completely.

It's been about a months since the argument with Gwen and Tiffany went down and our band hasn't practiced. I tried to be sympathetic for the longest time, but it's beyond ridiculous now. Veronica, Tiffany, and I have been wanting to do band stuff but Gwen refuses because she's mad that Tiffany is dating a man SHE broke up with. It's not like Tiffany did it intentionally, and the fact that she's letting her own personal stuff interfere with our band is really pissing me off.

We've all got shit going on, but Gwen loves being a drama queen. Veronica has suggested kicking her out of the band a few times and Tiffany has echoed the same sentiment, but I don't think my patience has thinned to that extent just yet.

But it's getting there.

Young musicans aren't hard to come by, but finding someone who fits the band's sound as perfectly as Gwen's adds on a large layer of difficulty that I'm not prepared for. We'd have to start all over, teach our new singer the songs, establish chemistry...it seems exhausting and more trouble than it's worth, at least for the time being.

"Hey Julie." Dylan greeted me as I walked past, something he does whenever we work together. Sometimes it ends up being the best part of my day.

As the day progresses, I find myself smiling a lot more than I usually do. Customers are easier to deal with and a large amount of them were actually friendly. It created a light-hearted atmosphere in the restaurant that we don't get too often, unfortunately. The time seemed to fly by.

"Good luck Dylan." I said goodbye and walked out of the front door. Dylan was always there a hour before I arrived, and an hour before I left. The rest of the staff is pretty cool, but Dylan is the only one I'd consider to be a friend of mine. He's essentially the less musically inclined male version of me.

I head to our rehearsal space for the second time this week. I've extended the invitation to Gwen, as if she needs an invitation to show up to her own fucking band's rehearsal. If she doesn't show up tonight, she's out. Our time is just as important as hers and we're all tired of it being wasted.

I'm usually the first person to show up, but some days that isn't the case, like today.

"Hey." Gwen says shyly.

I give her a blank stare and proceeded to put my things down on a table nearby.

"Nice of you to finally decided to show up." I stated plainly.

"Look, I know I've missed a lot of practice and I totally understand the three of you being pissed at me, but can you please take one second to see this from my perspective?"

I couldn't help but scoff at what was coming out of Gwen's mouth. Has she seriously taken an objective look at the situation and came to the conclusion that she has a leg to stand on.

"Okay fine. You broke up with a guy, he moved onto Tiffany, you were so jealous that he wasn't falling you around like a lost puppy, and you took it out on Tiffany."

Gwen rolled her eyes but before she could speak, Tiffany and Veronica entered the room. Anger was written all over Tiffany's face, while Veronica seemed to be as cool as a cucumber.

That's one thing I've always liked about Veronica. She can keep her cool in some pretty tough situations. That's not all there is to like about her, though. She's utterly gorgeous. Her dark skin and hair that was almost always styled in an afro were truly beautiful features that I couldn't help but admire. She's beautiful, smart, talented, and has an amazing personality. She's the full package.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tiffany wasted no time begining the screaming match we all knew was about to go down.

"We're in the same band." Gwen managed to maintain her regular tone of voice, but if I know Tiff like I think I do, and trust me, I do, she'll keep going until she sets Gwen off and then everything will go up in flames.

"Clearly the band hasn't been very high on your list of priorities for the past four weeks. Finally make time in your schedule for us, princess?" Tiffany was speaking with her genuine emotions, but part of her wanted to get a reaction out of Gwen. She knows how Gwen feels about being called "princess".

Gwen looks like she wants to say something to Tiffany that would no doubt escalate the situation even further, but she takes a deep breath and regains her composure.

"I'm sorry, okay? For everything. Julie was right, I should've maintained my professionalism above all else...and I shouldn't have put some guy over you and our friendship."

The three of us looked at Gwen semi-shocked. That girl never apologizes for anything. Instead of responding, Tiffany tells Veronica and I that she's stepping out for a smoke.

I'm not sure if we should discuss things further or let bygones be bygones, but it's not exactly my place to make that call.

Tiffany returns just as I finshed tuning my guitar and walked up to Gwen. If I didn't know Tiffany, I'd say she was going to punch Gwen in the face with the speed she was moving.

"That whole situation was fucked up, but I know how hard it is for you to apologize to people, so I forgive you." Tiffany pulls Gwen in for a hug and for the first time in awhile, things seem okay between the four of us.

"I would like to reiterate that Gwendolyn said I was right." I smiled proudly.

"Yeah, don't get used to hearing that from me."

It was nice while it lasted, at least.

Band practice turned out to be super productive, and it hasn't been that way in a long time. We got a lot of work done today and hopefully we can keep this up for awhile. We spent about 7 hours in our rehearsal space and it felt more like 5 minutes. Time really does fly when you're surrounded by positivity.

The girls and I said our goodbyes and parted ways for the night. Tiffany had mentioned that we haven't seen each other this past month like we usually do. Of course I feel bad about that, she's been my best friend for so long. But I've been spending a lot of time with the Guns N' Roses boys...Axl in particular can be a persuasive little shit when he wants to be. I've already told the guys that Tiffany's birthday is this weekend and they can't keep monopolizing my time. I need more feminine energy!

"Julie!" I hear someone call out. I recognize the voice as soon as it hits my ears.

"Hey Slash, what's up?"

Minus Izzy, I'm becoming pretty close with the members of Guns N' Roses. I just wish that man wasn't so goddamn illusive.

Slash and I walk and talk. Clearly he's decided we're hanging out tonight. I don't mind it much since Tiffany's going out with Victor tonight, Gwen is visiting her parents, and Veronica is doing god knows what, like always. So even if I wanted to make plans with someone, it's not like I had anyone else anyway.

"I don't think anyone's at the house, besides Izzy." From the way he phrased his sentence, it was a clear indication that Slash had no interest in staying at the "Hell House" with Izzy, he usually opted to spend his nights the same way he spent his days: completely wasted. It didn't matter if it was alcohol or heroin, if it got him high, he'd take it.

But this isn't about Slash. I want to see Izzy...I might have a slight obsession with a man who has never even said a single word to me, but I mean, he's absolutely gorgeous. There's something about him that keeps me drawn to him and I'm determined to figure out what it is. No matter how long it takes me.

"Then let's go to the house."

Before Slash can process what I said so he could say no, I grab him by the arm and run as fast as I possibly can while dragging a grown man behind me. It only takes about 15 seconds of running before I realized, Slash in tow or not, I'm very out of shape. I'm running out of breath, determined to get to the band's house. I'll be wheezing all the way down Sunset Boulevard and trying to convince myself it's worth it by the time we get there. But knowing me, it won't.

We enter the house and lo and behold...

Izzy isn't there. Despite me struggling to breathe, the look of defeat plasters my face and Slash starts laughing his ass off.

"Izzy's out working, I just wanted to see how you'd react. Sure didn't think you'd go runnin to our house, though." Slash manages to get out through his fit of hysterical laughter.

"Slash! Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because I know you like him. I got the confirmation I needed. Just wait until I tell Duff!" Slash heads for the stairs, but I grab his arm before he starts his ascent.

"You cannot tell Duff." I tell him seriously.

"He can't tell Duff what?" Duff appears from the kitchen

"And why are you out of breath? And why are you holding Slash's arm?"

"She totally likes Izzy, dude. I told her that he was here and she dragged me through the streets. We almost got hit by like, 5 cars."

My shocked face slowly twists into a look of confusion as Duff rolls his eyes, pulls out his wallet, and hands Slash a 20 dollar bill.

"Dude, you guys bet on whether I liked Izzy or not?" I was part shocked, part confused, and part mortified that my crush on Izzy was that obvious. Izzy seems like a smart man, so I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of him knowing and not talking to me because I'm a weird chick who likes him without even knowing anything about him.

"Yeah, and now I'm out 20 bucks because you can't control your goddamn hormones." Duff says in mock frustration. I ignore his joke as the overthinking sets in further.

"Does...does he know?"

"Nah. The man's pretty oblivious, plus he doesn't pay much attention to anything except drugs, work, and music. It's fine." Duff reassures me.

Then Izzy walks in. The three of us get quiet when he shuts the door behind him. He looked at the guys then looks me up and down. He then looks back up at my face like he's done several times before, but this time he doesn't look away when our eyes meet, not immediately, at least. I feel my heart start beating a mile a minute at the momentary eye contact and feel myself longing for it again when it breaks.

He nods his head and walks up the stairs. I guess his first words to me will have to wait another day.

"What does Izzy do for work?" I ask, to no one in particular.

"He's a drug dealer." Duff replies nonchalantly.

I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't. Slash and Duff have their own conversation and I find myself wondering what kind of person Izzy is. I don't know what to think. All I know is he's a damn good musician, an equally gifted writer, and a drug dealer.

Who the hell is Izzy Stradlin?