#featuring meddling with tom's life

[ezlebe]

i simply adore your work more than I could possibly say. and I'd give my life for more SE AK content!!!

Greg finds consciousness with a jerk, eyes darting around the dim cabin, then blinking blearily up at Tom, who’s pulling back from shaking him awake. He rubs into an eye while reaching out with the other hand, catching weakly on a curve of Tom’s fingers, half asleep and eager to stay that way, so hoping maybe he can distract Tom from making him get up.

Tom barks a quiet laugh, briefly squeezing back with a shake of his head. He leans in, heavy and half-pinning Greg to the bed, as if to play along. while shoving words low and taunting into Greg’s ear. “No,” he says, disappointingly, “You got to go get your wallet and buy us coffee.”

Greg feels a groan at the back of his throat. “But you’re –”

“Uh-uh, I’m the boss,” Tom interrupts, pulling away with a smack at Greg’s thigh, then turning and grabbing a hanging hoodie to throw in his face. “Up and at ‘em. Go get me a coffee, wage slave.”

“Isn’t that –” Greg tugs the hoodie crookedly over his head, “Like, a conflict of interest?”

“While you’re out getting the coffee, you can complain to whatever raven hanging around that’s HR.”

“I think it was an eagle,” Greg mumbles, as he grabs and pulls on a pair of crumpled jeans with a bleary blink. “Marketing was a gull… And accounting was that… weird duck.”

“What the hell are you – ? Oh, oh… forgot we even talked about that,” Tom says, reaching up and scratching under his chin. He looks across the slip through the window. “What was the raven?”

“Legal? I-I don’t remember,” Greg says, digging out a boot from where it’s wedged under the table. “Should have… written it down.”

Tom hums lowly and looks back down to an orange on the table, as he peels a segment off, then offers it with a wag. “I want just an americano, maybe some syrup.”

Greg takes the segment with a heavy sigh.

“Oh, cheer up,” Tom says, overly chipper and definitely who should be going to deal with the café at… whatever time it is, later than usual, since Greg was woken by Tom, not an alarm. The flat of his palm makes contact with Greg’s side with a squeeze. “You slept in for three hours.”

Greg realizes exactly why they didn’t go out when he sees the full effect of the night’s freezing rain storm. It’s not the worst they’ve ever got, but definitely the worst it’s been without ever leaving the protection of the marina, and he braces himself up to fall from stepping off the vessel and every step on the way into town.

He feels some surprise and relief when he crests the ramp to see someone from the city came through the lot. He jogs up to the Forester, carefully stepping on melted patches, while breathing pale puffs of vapor into the cold, foggy air. He reaches out and jerks the handle of the car, then grimaces when it snaps against his hand, as the door sticks fast, staying determinedly closed. He squints through the window, confirming the lock is popped on the inside, and shoves hard into the door to try to crack the ice around it, as well as what’s frozen inside – he doesn’t even know how water gets into it, but it’s probably something wrong with the rubber seal.

“Problem?” A voice asks, wry and a bit smug.

Greg turns around with a start. He blinks at Shiv in a navy blue coat, slightly puffed with layers to keep out the cold, a reusable coffee mug in one hand and the other in a pocket. He raises his brows, as he looks from Shiv to the car door, then back again, clearing his throat. “Uh, it’s… frozen.”

Shiv offers a slow, judgmental blink. “Don’t you have a spray?”

Greg tilts his head down toward the marina.

Shiv huffs low under her breath, jerking her chin slightly backward at the café. “Stew does.”

“Right, yeah,” Greg mutters, ducking his chin a bit, as he glances toward the café with a quick blink.

“Not going out today?” Shiv says, proceeding into, somewhat incredibly bafflingly, continuing the conversation. “Or you just hang back and let Tom go out alone?”

Greg feels his brow furrow at an unexpected note of a scold in her voice. “Oh, uh – no? We’ve actually been out a lot, really, without breaks? And it’s… maybe sort of that time of year like where he decides he hates the seine.”

Shiv blinks and quirks a brow, plainly bemused, then her brows relax while she exhales a huff through her nose.

“And, you know, it’s really icy today,” Greg mutters, peeking down at the car, completely encased in a thin layer like a pottery glaze. “Like, more than usual.”

Shiv oddly tenses a bit more while taking a sip from her mug, as her face tightens and loosens, then she clears her throat with a cough. “But not quite like the Bering Sea. Real crabbing.”

Greg feels his face pinch, “I-I guess not, no. We do still get kind of iced up in the gulf, sometimes – ”

“It was the ice, alright,” Shiv interrupts, tight, followed by a weak scoff. “That shit.”

Greg looks over with a blink, now his turn to be bemused. “Like, today is – What?”

“The stupid argument about his job,” Shiv says, shifting her weight on her feet with a sneer somewhere to the side of Greg’s shoulder. “With my dad, when we broke it off? I know he told you.”

“Oh,” Greg intones, exhaling a weak cough into a loosely curled fist. “Um… I do vaguely remember –”

“Jesus, Greg, I know he’s still pissed I changed the plan on him,” Shiv says, taking an arch sip from her mug, now staring so hard into Greg’s face that it almost seems intended as oppositely avoidant. “But I had to sit through… a lot of footage, doing some temporary outreach work with the AMSEA board, and it – I overreacted, maybe, but it wasn’t because I didn’t think he couldn’t do it. I just… I decided I would feel better if he didn’t.”

“Sure,” Greg mumbles, feeling his hands curl awkwardly against his elbows, as he glances toward the marina, then to the café. It is pretty clear that Shiv has decided he could be a Tom proxy? And that is… very unexpected, near to the point of fight or flight.

Mostly flight; maybe all flight.

“Apparently, it’s selfish, or whatever, giving a shit if he drowns a thousand miles away,” Shiv says, exhaling a harsh breath through her nose. “But the cannery job made just as much money and Dad needed someone, and I – ” She takes another sip, jaw clenching, “I really didn’t think he’d take it so fucking personally.”

“No, I-I get it,” Greg says, hurriedly, then immediately regretting it when a sharp look gets narrowed up toward him. “You can track the vessel, you know, but it’s not the same; not like knowing… If it’s not too appropriate that I – ”

“I think everyone is pretty aware by now,” Shiv interrupts, flat and sneering, but she doesn’t sound half as venomous as the last time similar words crossed between them. It had seemed like a good reason for the c-store to spontaneously produce a second check-out, if there ever was one.

“But even if it wasn’t, you know, like that,” Greg continues, insistent while lifting his shoulders in a shrug and exhaling a weak, awkward cough. “I think I still would have…” He drags his teeth across his lip, looking down across the pebbly gravel thrown out across the lot for traction. “I wasn’t, uh – wasn’t forced to? But I searched up a lot of stuff about… that sort of unwelcome, unlikely occurrence, too.”

Shiv tips her head, breathing into the lip of her mug. She makes an odd noise, somewhat pained and reluctant, then sharply clears her throat. “I got interested in it in a sick sort of way, actually.”

“Oh, uh – yeah, same,” Greg admits, weakly, looking away while shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s, like… sort of educational?”

Shiv stares into some middle distance, thumb scraping along the edge of her mug. “I found a pretty good one a couple days ago.”

“You did?” Greg says, stretching his fingers in his jacket.

Shiv drops her head in a tight jerk, digging into her pocket for her phone. “It’s not amazingly produced, or anything, just some nosy asshole, but it’s got cliff notes from a recent investigation of an incident out in the Aleutians: diagrams, 3-D models, displacement math, a lot of NTSB hearing clips for good measure.”

“Oh, that’s, uh –” Greg looks down, as his phone buzzes faintly in his hip pocket. “Thanks?”

Shiv leans slightly to peer in the Forester’s icy window, as she takes a sip that’s decidedly more savoring than any previous. “Looks like that’s your wallet?”

“Like, maybe,” Greg admits, then once again bodily shoves into the car door. He hears a faint crack and tugs the handle, but it’s still stuck fast; could he have forgotten to – No, yeah, it is unlocked. He already checked it.

“I’m in a good position to know you can replace this shit box.”

Greg curls his nose, a bit, as he looks over and down at her with a limp shrug.

Shiv holds Greg’s eyes for a quick beat, then rolls her own, as she turns around toward her particular SUV of the month. She gestures backward at him around her phone. “Let Tom know what I said, alright?”

“Um, yeah,” Greg says, looking down and flicking at ice on the edge of the window with a nod. He listens to a door slam, then an engine start up, and peeks up to watch her circle wide out of the lot.

He isn’t really sure why Shiv decided now to say all that – probably it was the timing with the weather, or something – since it’s been months. He rubs at his brow, feeling a little vaguely irked that she cared about that, about Tom’s safety, but not the him of it enough to just like say she didn’t want to get married to him.

…Greg is a bit grudgingly appreciative, in any case, though; it didn’t happen, and like everyone is far better for it, but it wouldhave made him feel better, if it did. He could’ve weathered endless, complaining calls, as long as he didn’t have to wonder what happened when they stopped, even if it was just a day with crappy weather for signal.

He gives the door another yank, then inhales cold, damp air deep into his lungs, slumping back toward the marina ramp. He can probably get Tom to think it’s like funny to have to come up here and get it out for him? If the door breaks, then like it’s Tom’s fault, too, so he has to fix it.

And the ignition, finally, and maybe even the clunky sound with the passenger rear wheel.

Tom is leaning against the rail of the deck, swiping at something at his phone; he looks up when Greg climbs up, face brightening, as he shoves the phone into his bibs. “Where the hell did you go – get lost in the fog? Are you actually some organism now come to spore me with your fiddlehead?”

“No, uh – like, I was…” Greg grimaces, reaching up and tugging nervously at the lip of his hood. He could lie, only like Shiv did ask him to relay what she said, plus he doesn’t exactly want Tom to hear from Stewy they were talking, then really jump to some like super weird conclusion. “Perhaps conversing with Shiv about how we’re like both happy that you aren’t dead?”

Tom stares for a few beats, expression twisting with befuddlement, as a brow swiftly raises up his forehead.

Greg scrubs at his hair under his hood. “We like got talking about ships icing up, um… because of the weather.”

“Oh, what a cheery topic.” Tom mutters, under his breath, as his hands settle into his pockets across his hips.

“Like, when you first told me, right, you were going out there? I watched and, uh – and read a lot about the dangers of the whole procedure, and like got super… concerned you were going to sink?” Greg says, briefly biting at the inside of his lip, while slipping his hand down his cheek to scratch against his upper jaw. “And I guess Shiv did, too, because she was on some committee, so that’s… I guess, the real reason she asked Uncle Logan to put you in Naknek. Or something. Not, like… because she didn’t think you were a good captain?”

Tom blinks slow, then his eyes flick toward the other end of the marina and the parking lot. “What the hell do I even say to that?” He asks, elbows cocking out with a jerky shrug. “I appreciate the sentiment, but fuck off I didn’t grow up fishing out there to get stuck in a cannery?”

“I-I think she just wanted you to know? And even texted me this…” Greg pulls out his phone to tap the link to the video. He feels his face fall, gut clenching, as it opens to a clip of a tight-voiced captain calling mayday minutes before… like, before he dies; he hears between his ears, against his will, an echo that sounds too close to Tom.

“We don’t need to listen to that –” Tom wrestles the phone from Greg and pauses the video just as the narrator voiceover starts up. He glances down at the screen for a beat, then looks up with a deeply furrowed brow, throwing his other hand out in askance. “What the hell is wrong with you two? If you want to get sad, then watch My Girl; don’t talk about my untimely death over fucking coffee – which is where, by the by?”

“The cash is still locked in the car,” Greg mumbles, rocking back on his heels. In a queasy way, he really sort of just wants to watch the video even more after the intro. “Door is sort of stuck… from the rain.”

Tom sighs hard through his nose, head dropping and tapping the phone to his forehead.

Greg feels himself hunch closer into himself with a glance to the deck.

“Okay, let’s just…” Tom’s hand lifts and sweeps chilly up Greg’s nape, pulling him into the slightly rough collar of his work coat. He neck is prickly with his beard, but Greg turns his face into it anyway, like he always does, swallowing thickly from the back of his throat; he wonders how his face must have looked, though it doesn’t exactly take a lot for Tom to go in for a hug. “It’s not like that never happens here – jeez, we’re standing on it. The shit that manages to get you emotional. And her. Mind-bottling.”

Greg snorts weakly, breathing for a few beats. “It’s not even, like… real cold, out there,” he says, thinking about back home with freezing eyelashes and crispy wet hair. “But it-it’s got the potential of worse?”

“Trust me,” Tom says, squeezing at the back of Greg’s neck with a shift of his thumb. “I’ll get you out to St Paul for Christmas, and you’ll wish you were back in Whitehorse.”

Greg hums a soft disagreement. “We go hunting –”

“In September,” Tom says, shaking Greg a bit with a gentle, if jerking shift of his arm. “That’s not even the same.”

Greg thinks that the weather probably still won’t be as bad on the island, as it could be out on a vessel. It’ll be like here, where it’s just sort of annoying until it’s open water rocking the boat, ice freezing in layers with every misty, crashing wave to cement everything to the deck.

“Alright, now,” Tom says, pulling back and looking Greg in the face while his brows rise up his forehead, clapping him across the shoulder. “I’ve got my wallet, greenhorn, if I don’t get some caffeine, I’m going to throw a – ” He abruptly jerks, unbalancing and hand yanked from Greg’s shoulder, then just as swiftly he turns on a heel. “Excuse me, Mondale.”

Mondale moves to shove at Tom again, back hard against his knees in a vaguely punchy manner.

“Are we not the center of attention, hm?” Tom says, crouching down and rubbing at Mondale’s jowls with both palms. “Or you mad about us taking vacation, you workaholic?”

Mondale pulls from Tom after a few pats more with a shimmy, then bounds toward a crack between pots a few feet away. He emerges with a familiar red rubber toy that he tries to shove in Tom’s hands.

Greg furrows his brow, leaning in, as Tom lifts the oblong sort of ball with a tut.

“I thought we lost this?”

“Maybe, a – “ Greg lifts a shoulder to shrug. “Uh, a seal brought it back?”

Tom hands it back to Mondale while lifting his other hand in a vague waving assent.

“Look,” Tom says, a wry curl at the edge of his mouth. “I do appreciate it, alright, but – ” His brow furrows, as he looks over suddenly with a sharp narrow of his eyes, taking a turn for legitimate concern. “You’re not scared of being on the Como now, right?”

“No, like – A lot of it was I wouldn’t… be there to know, you know,” Greg says, looking over at Tom, then away, tipping his head into his shoulder. “I’d just like be freaking out every time you went dark.”

“Would you?” Tom says, leaning in with a condescending tut to smack his fingers flat against Greg’s jaw. He bounds off toward the edge of the deck. “That’s so sweet.”

Greg flattens his mouth.

“Ships go down, planes go down, cars turn into flaming wrecks,” Tom says, hopping off down onto the dock with a spin of one hand. “You going to lock me up in a box?”

Greg rolls his eyes, feeling an irked tug just behind his sternum. He is like at least concerned about Tom’s actual safety, not like… say, trying to keep him away from certain people. “Seriously? You get like so…” He exhales hard, while trailing Tom toward the ramp. “You don’t even like when I go out with Kendall to –”

“That’s different,” Tom interrupts, voice lilting into a mocking scold while shaking his head.

Greg sweeps his eyes up toward the white, foggy sky. “Why?”

“Because he’s going to teach you bad habits,” Tom says, turning around at the waist to actually wag a finger.

“He doesn’t even… do anything,” Greg says, catching up with a shuffle of his feet. He likes the boat and the crew, but not a lot about the Captain Kendall part of it; he’s okay at charts and inventory stuff, sure, it’s the rest of it – he gets seasick. “He just – I mean, you know. He never gives me anything to do.”

Tom abruptly loops his arm around Greg’s neck, barking a laugh into his ear with a bodily shake. He smacks a loud kiss across his jaw. “I do like that whenever you sneak away with him, it makes you appreciate a real captain.”

Greg awkwardly angles his chin to look across Tom’s shoulders as they halfway stumble onto the wood walkway toward the café. He clears his throat, as Tom lets up on the chokehold to grab the door to pull open. “He’s got his own, uh – his mini espresso machine, though.”

“Oh, fuck off and go order,” Tom says, shoving Greg toward the counter with a sharp tut. “I spoil you in better ways.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Stewy says, head popping up with an undeniable glint to his eyes. 

“Latte and americano,” Greg says, somewhat hurriedly, just as Tom opens his mouth to respond. He looks down at the display case, furrowing his brow down across the shelves. “With vanilla? And uh, no gingerbread… you’re out of gingerbread?”

“It’s almost February,” Stewy says, dry, as he taps out grounds into the portafilter. “Do you need at calendar, Baby Roy? I got a couple wallet ones from the fuel station lady, maybe might interest you if – ”

“No,” Tom interjects, turning his head to make eye contact with Greg, cheek twitching, a smirk badly hidden at the edge of his mouth. “How about you leave angling to people who can catch something. Just make the coffee.”

Stewy widely rolls his eyes, starting up the machine, and proceeds to pull the shot somehow sarcastically, then opens his mouth again while he pours the shot into a cup of water. “Come on, I saw him talking to Shiv outside.”

“Seriously?” Greg mutters, tilting his head, as he reaches up and scratches at the side of his nose. He think Stewy might like have some addiction-to-drama issue.

“You did, you did,” Tom says, dropping his head with a nod while he take a step forward, leaning into the edge of the counter with both palms on the silver edge. “They’re simply both glad I’m hale and hearty.”

Stewy appears dubious, as he steams milk, expression only deepening as he presses the grinder for the next shots. His eyes sweep away from Tom, over to Greg, as he slides the portafilter a second time into the machine. “Is that code for planning his murder?”

“Hah, uh… no,” Greg says, shaking his head, lifting his voice while the machine hisses between them. “We, like – we had parallel concerns about an incident that never came to pass?”

Stewy blinks slow, mouth twisting at the side. He looks down, as the shot finishes and he has to pour it into the milk. “That’s way more boring than what I texted Jess.”

[justforbooks]

Alain Delon

One of the most popular male stars of French cinema who often played tough guys and calculated killers

The actor Alain Delon, with his finely chiselled features and glacial gaze, was known as the “ice cold angel”. As a young man, his handsome, impassive face was a blank page on which apparently any emotion could be written. This served to cover the passion or perversity beneath, a trait used effectively by such directors as Luchino Visconti, Louis Malle, Joseph Losey, Jean-Pierre Melville and Michelangelo Antonioni.

Delon’s best work was done in the 1960s and 70s, the first two decades of a career spanning half a century. After this exciting initial period, he settled down, with occasional exceptions, to consolidating his tough-guy persona, becoming one of the most popular male stars in French cinema.

In the light of his unpromising background, Delon, who has died aged 88, deserved the success he achieved. Born in Sceaux, a large suburb in the south of Paris, he was the son of Edith (nee Arnold) and Fabien Delon. They divorced when Alain was four, and he was brought up by foster parents until they died in a car accident. He then moved back to live with his mother and her new husband, Paul Boulogne, a butcher, to whom Delon was unhappily apprenticed when he was 14.

This was soon after he completed his sporadic education, having been expelled from several schools for bad behaviour. At 17, he joined the French navy, serving in Indochina as a parachutist during the siege of Dien Bien Phu.

Out of his four years in the military, Delon spent 11 months in prison for being “undisciplined”. In 1956, after being dishonourably discharged, he returned to civilian life, working as a porter, a waiter and a salesman. During this time he became friends with the actors Brigitte Auber and Jean-Claude Brialy, and went with them to the 1957 Cannes film festival.

There, his looks attracted attention, especially from a talent scout for the producer David O Selznick, who offered him a Hollywood contract, provided that he learned English. But after Auber persuaded the director Yves Allégret to cast the young would-be actor in Quand la Femme s’en Mêle (When a Woman Meddles, 1957), Delon decided to start acting in France.

Surrounded by such veterans as Edwige Feuillère, Jean Servais and Bernard Blier, Delon, looking much younger than 22, made an impression as a hitman, the sort of role he perfected in later films. Despite being touted as France’s answer to James Dean, Delon was closer to the young Alan Ladd.

In Sois Belle Et Tais-Toi (Be Beautiful But Shut Up, 1958), directed by Marc Allégret, Yves’s older brother, Delon was cast as a petty crook, partnered by Jean-Paul Belmondo, who was to equal Delon in popularity in the 60s and 70s. They were later to appear together again in Borsalino (1970), Borsalino and Co (1974) and as sexagenarian action heroes in Une Chance sur Deux (Half a Chance, 1998).

Christine (1958), a love story set in Vienna at the turn of the century, gave Delon his first major role as a romantic lead, opposite Romy Schneider. During the shooting of the film – a remake of Max Ophüls’ Liebelei (1932) – the couple fell in love and became engaged soon afterwards. The romance lasted four years, and Delon and Schneider remained close until her death in 1982. They appeared together on stage in 1961 in a Parisian production of ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore, directed by Visconti, as well as in the films La Piscine (The Swimming Pool, 1969) and Losey’s The Assassination of Trotsky (1972).

It was in 1960 that Delon became an international star with his portrayal of Patricia Highsmith’s Tom Ripley in René Clément’s Plein Soleil (Purple Noon). With his pretty-boy looks, Delon perfectly reflected the calculated charm, indolence and coldness of the ambiguous character, who schemes to take his friend’s clothes, yacht, girlfriend and life.

In contrast, in the same year, Visconti cast him as a “wise fool” in Rocco and His Brothers, an epic three-hour neorealist drama. To save his poverty-stricken family, who have immigrated to Milan from southern Italy, Rocco (Delon) takes up boxing, a sport he detests. Dubbed into Italian, Delon does his best to convince as a saintly character, though it is doubtful whether any boxer could be so gentle and yet so successful.

Dubbed again into Italian, Delon was superb as an arrogant and materialistic stockbroker who has an affair with a translator (Monica Vitti) in L’Eclisse (Eclipse, 1962), the third in Antonioni’s trilogy of alienation. Delon’s third notable Italian film was Visconti’s The Leopard (1963), in which he played the dashing and cynical young revolutionary Tancredi. As a hotheaded opportunist who represents the future of Italy, Delon’s performance is in sharp contrast to Burt Lancaster’s contemplative one as his aristocratic uncle, who represents the past.

Back in France, Delon began to take on less challenging roles, mostly in swashbucklers and thrillers. The main interest of the conventional heist movie, Mélodie en Sous-Sol (Any Number Can Win, 1963), was the coming together of the biggest French star of the 30s, Jean Gabin, and the rising star of the 60s. As interesting was his pairing with Simone Signoret, 14 years his senior, in The Widow Couderc (1971).

Delon also appeared in several English-language films at the time, including The Yellow Rolls-Royce (1964), in which he was an Italian photographer cum gigolo making a play for a gangster’s moll (Shirley MacLaine), and a Spanish aristocrat in the comedy-western Texas Across the River (1966). At the time, Delon could claim to be an equal in fame to any movie star in large-budget films such as Once a Thief (1965), opposite Ann-Margret and Jack Palance; Lost Command (1966), a war film with Anthony Quinn and George Segal; and Red Sun (1971) with Charles Bronson and Toshiro Mifune, cashing in on Delon’s huge popularity in Japan.

In the artily erotic The Girl on a Motorcycle (1968), directed and photographed by Jack Cardiff, Delon played Marianne Faithfull’s lover, unzipping her leather gear with his teeth and murmuring: “Your toes are like tombstones.”

In 1964 Delon married Nathalie Barthélémy, who made her screen acting debut opposite him in Melville’s Le Samouraï (1967), the first of three ritualistic and atmospheric crime thrillers directed by Melville and starring Delon. In Le Samouraï, he was an expressionless hired killer; in Le Cercle Rouge (1970), he was a cool ex-con; and in Un Flic (Dirty Money, 1972), Melville’s final film, he was equally effective as a bitter cop.

Delon’s standing as a screen tough guy was enhanced when, in 1968, he and his wife, whom he was about to divorce, were implicated in a sensational political scandal. The discovery of the corpse of his bodyguard Stevan Marković in a rubbish dump – he had been shot in the head – led to revelations of drug and sex orgies involving a host of personalities from the world of politics and show business, including the wife of the president, Georges Pompidou.

Delon’s friend, the Corsican gangster François Marcantoni, was charged as an accessory to murder but was later released due to lack of evidence. Both Alain and Nathalie were held for questioning, but were not accused. What had alerted police was a letter Marković sent to his brother in which he wrote: “If I get killed, it’s 100% the fault of Alain Delon and his godfather François Marcantoni.”

In the same year, Delon began a 15-year relationship with the actor Mireille Darc, with whom he co-starred in Jeff (1969), the first film made by his own company, Adel, and a few other pictures.

During the same period, under Malle’s direction, he portrayed William Wilson, an Austrian officer and gambler, who murders his doppelganger, in one of three segments based on Edgar Allan Poe stories in Spirits of the Dead (1968).

Another of his outstanding performances was the title role of Losey’s Mr Klein (1976), as a French-Catholic art dealer who is mistaken for a Jew of the same name during the occupation in 1942. Unable to convince the Gestapo of the mistaken identity, he is deported.

Many years later, Delon claimed to be a supporter of the far-right leader Jean-Marie Le Pen. “He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere,” Delon declared. “He says out loud what many people think, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”

In the 80s, Delon, already a producer of a dozen movies, tried his hand at directing. His two films, Pour la Peau d’un Flic (For a Cop’s Hide, 1981) and Le Battant (The Fighter, 1983), were pale imitations of Melville. But, in 1984, Delon was given two of his last chances to display his acting talents. In Bertrand Blier’s Notre Histoire (Our Story), he was a morose alcoholic, and, in one of the most surprising casting decisions, he played the decadent gay dandy Baron de Charlus in Volker Schlöndorff’s Swann in Love, based on the first volume of Marcel Proust’s novel.

Following his dual role in Jean-Luc Godard’s Nouvelle Vague (1990), and a number of poorly received films, Delon announced his decision to retire from acting in 1997, although he did star in a television cop series, Frank Riva (2003-04), and made an unexpected appearance as Julius Caesar in Asterix at the Olympic Games (2008). A final TV role came in the drama Une Journée Ordinaire (2011), and he appeared as himself in S Novym Godom, Mamy! (2012), the story of a Russian New Year’s Eve, and Disclaimer (2019), as a talkshow guest.

An honorary Palme d’Or in 2019 provoked complaints against Delon’s history of misogynistic comments and support for the far right. The Cannes festival responded that its concern lay with achievement in cinema: “We’re not going to give (him) the Nobel peace prize.” Also that year came the video release of the song, Paroles, Paroles, that had given the singer Dalida and him a hit in 1973.

Delon, who became a Swiss citizen after many years’ residence in Geneva, with a second home in Douchy, south of Paris, spent most of his later years as president of a company that produced a variety of products such as perfume, wristwatches, clothing and sunglasses, all with the label AD.

The Velvet Underground singer Nico said that Delon was the father of her son Ari, though he denied it – the boy was adopted by Delon’s mother and stepfather, and took their surname, Boulogne; he died in 2023. Delon is survived by his son, Anthony, from his first marriage, and his children, Anouchka and Alain-Fabien, from his second marriage, to Rosalie van Breemen, which ended in divorce in 2002.

🔔 Alain Fabien Maurice Marcel Delon, actor and producer, born 8 November 1935; died 18 August 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[dollycas]

Cozy Wednesday featuring A Very Woodsy Murder (A Golden Motel Mystery) by Ellen Byron #Review / #Giveaway @ellenbyronla @KensingtonBooks

Welcome to Cozy Wednesday! I am delighted to share my thoughts about A Very Woodsy Murder by Ellen Byron today! Release Date - July 23, 2024 A Very Woodsy Murder (A Golden Motel Mystery) Cozy Mystery 1st in Series Setting - California Publisher ‏ : ‎ Kensington Cozies (July 23, 2024) Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 288 pages ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1496745353 ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1496745354 Kindle ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0CLZ541DZ Audiobook ASIN B0D92V77BZ Audio CD ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0CZ7H4V97 From Agatha Award-winning author Ellen Byron, a hilarious new series featuring a sitcom writer who has checked out of the familiar comforts in Studio City and checked in to the quaint village of Foundgold to run a motel. Running a rustic getaway in the woods sure beats LA traffic—until murder ruins the peace and quiet . . . Down-on-her-luck sitcom writer Dee Stern is flipping the script. Twice divorced and wasting her talents on an obnoxious kids’ show, the lifelong Angeleno embraces the urge to jump in her car and keep driving. It's a road trip with no destination—until she pulls into a mid-century motel filled with cobwebs and retro charm. Nestled in the shadow of a national park, it’s a time capsule of a place that, like her, could use some work. So, in the most impulsive move of her life, Dee teams up with best friend, Jeff Cornetta—who happens to be her first ex-husband—to transform the aging ranch into the Golden Motel-of-the-Mountains, a hiker’s oasis on the edge of the wilderness . . . But Dee and Jeff soon realize there couldn’t be two people more unprepared for the hospitality business. There’s also the panic-inducing reality of prowling bears and a general store as the only shopping spot for miles. Living and working in the middle of nowhere takes some getting used to—especially when a disrespectful guest ends up murdered! Now, with the motel duo topping the suspect list, Dee must steer clear of a meddling park ranger, face her past in show biz, and determine if the killer is a local or tourist. Because as she quickly finds out, there are many things worse than a one-star review. Dollycas's Thoughts It was an impulsive decision but that doesn't make it the wrong decision. Sitcom writer Dee Stern has had enough of showbiz and decides to reboot her life. On a road trip with no particular destination, she finds a mid-century motel that needs a reboot too. She along with her best friend and first ex-husband, Jeff Cornetta come together to breathe new life into the Golden Motel-of-the-Mountains that is a virtual time capsule "nestled amidst a grove of pine trees at the foot of the Sierra Nevada Mountains". It doesn't take long for them to realize that they don't know much about running a motel, especially one where a bear or other wildlife could just saunter up to the front door. But they do their best to get rooms and cabins ready for visitors. They are both excited when they get their first booking. Michael Adam Baker is a blast from the past and not a good one. Dee is curious why he would be booking a stay at their new venture. It doesn't take long for his true colors to show but he must have tweaked someone off royally because he ends up murdered. Chief District Ranger, Tom O'Bryant is looking at Dee and Jeff as his prime suspects so they know they need to find the real killer even if it means Dee has to go back to LA to get some answers. Is the killer from Hollywood or a local? What did the man do that got him killed? Who had the means, motive, and opportunity? Will they strike again? _____ Welcome to Foundgold, population 68. This is the closest town to the Golden Motel-of-the-Mountains. Goldsgone is not too far away but Dee and Jeff don't receive a warm welcome from its residents. Ms. Byron has created two unique little towns and filled them with complex characters. Her descriptions bring the towns, the motel and cabins, the nearby woods, and every place in between to life. The imagery is vivid. The characters we meet in this first Golden Motel Mystery are a quirky bunch. Each is unique and develops well over the course of the story. I liked Dee and Jeff immediately. Being married didn't work but the friendship is true and believable. Dee needs to earn her sleuthing chops because she is about as subtle as a Mack truck. Jeff isn't much better. But their talents for their first venture at solving a murder weren't too bad. The supporting cast is a hoot and a half, each with their own talents and interests. Ma'am and Mister Ma'am were my favorites. Two genuine people living their lives the way they wish with open hearts to help anyone in need.  There then is Stoney the Bear. Everyone knows Stoney and he shows up in some interesting places. Ms. Byron is a former writer of some well-known sitcoms so that gives credibility to Dee's former life in Hollywood working on a "cheesy sitcom". She writes what she knows. It also shows where she garnered her comedic timing. She throws in oodles of humor including physical comedy. The mystery was well-plotted and written with many facets.  Ms. Bryon set a pace that ebbs and flows in all the right places. The suspects were varied and connected in different ways. I was intrigued by every clue and didn't pin anyone down until the very end. I really enjoyed the set-up to catch the killer and the excitement that ensued. I also liked that there was a wrap-up to tie up any loose ends. I have been excited about this book since I first heard about it and the story lived up to all my expectations. A Very Woodsy Murder is a delightful start for this series. I loved the ending and I really want Dee and Jeff to succeed and bring the 1940s motel back to its glory and have it be filled with tourists. I know there will be bumps in the road and murders to investigate because that is what happens in cozy mysteries and that is why we love them. I can't wait to see what Ms. Byron has planned for her characters next. I am hooked and I want more! I voluntarily reviewed an Advance Reader Copy. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review. Thank you to Kensington Cozies and NetGalley for providing me with an ARC. Your Escape Into A Good Book Travel Agent About the Author Ellen Byron is the Agatha and Lefty Award-winning, USA Today bestselling author of the Golden Motel Mysteries, the Vintage Cookbook series, and the Cajun Country Mysteries, as well as the Catering Hall Mysteries written under the name Maria DiRico. She is also an award-winning playwright and non-award-winning writer of TV hits like Wings, Just Shoot Me, and The Fairly OddParents, but considers her most impressive achievement working as a cater-waiter for Martha Stewart. A native New Yorker, Ellen is a graduate of Tulane University and lives in the Los Angeles area with her husband, daughter, and a rotating crew of rescue pups. Author Links – Webpage – Facebook – Twitter – GoodReads – Instagram – BookBub – Newsletter You can pre-order your copy today! This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you. Thank you for supporting Escape With Dollycas. I am giving away an ARC review copy of A Very Woodsy Murder! The contest is open to anyone over 18 years old with a US or Canadian mailing address. Duplicate entries will be deleted. Void where prohibited. You do not have to be a follower to enter but I hope you will find something you like here and become a follower. Followers Will Receive 2 Bonus Entries For Each Way They Follow. Plus 2 Bonus Entries For Following My Facebook Fan Page. Add this book to your WANT TO READ shelf on GoodReads for 3 Bonus Entries. Follow Kensington Books on Twitter for 2 Bonus Entries! Follow Kensington Publishing on Facebook for 2 Bonus Entries!  Pin this giveaway to Pinterest for 3 Bonus Entries. If you share the giveaway on Threads, X, or Facebook or anywhere you will receive 5 Bonus Entries For Each Link. The  Contest Will End July 31, 2024, at 11:59 PM CST The Winner Will Be Chosen Using Random.org The Winner Will Be Notified By Email and Will Be Posted Here In The Sidebar. Click Here For Entry Form Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. Receiving a complimentary copy in no way reflected my review of this book. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.” “As an Amazon Associate, I earn a commission from qualifying purchases.” Read the full article

[violetlilysunshine]

Talking Over

Harry Holland x Reader

Summary: Harry keeps getting interrupted, but your focus is always on him.

WC: 911

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

little blurb for @harryhollandsgirlfriend 

A/N: Would like to preface this with - we don’t really know anything about their relationship and this could be the complete opposite of what life is truly like. THIS IS FICTION! I love Harry and Tom and only want to see the best for both of them! No Tom hate here!

You were hanging out after finishing work for the day with Tom, Jacob, Harrison, and Harry, as you usually did. You liked when they were in town to film and you liked hanging out with all of them. It was simple, occasionally other Spider-Man cast members would join you, like Tony or Angourie, but tonight it was just you and the four boys.

You were sat on opposite ends of one couch with Harry, Tom and Harrison on the other, and Jacob perched in the chair opposite the boys, in a sort of U shape. Harrison had come into town to visit Tom in-between his own filming schedule, and you were happy to see him. He was telling you all about The Irregulars and all of the behind the scenes stuff, fueling your already immense obsession with the show.

Watching you so engrossed in Harrison’s stories made Harry want to tell his own, just to get the smallest bit of your attention. He had the biggest crush on you; he’d gotten pretty good at hiding it, but would still do anything to get your attention. He started telling a story from set about his cameo in No Way Home.

“And they rigged me up, so I was swinging back and forth upside down, right, and I could feel all the blood rushing - “

Tom cuts him off, “and of course, I was dragging this thing out as long as I could, ya know? Torture my brother. So we get to filming the scene and I’m messing up every line I can, just dragging it out and making him suffer. Anyway, the other day Jacob and I were out sightseeing and...”

Tom was always talking over Harry, cutting him off mid-story and taking over like he was now, or just changing the subject completely, pulling the attention to himself. You don’t know if Tom realized that he was doing it or not, but you always felt bad for Harry. Harry would shrink down in his seat a bit and get really quiet and avoid talking for a bit, if not the rest of the night. You knew Harry always felt “less than” Tom and it broke your heart, he was the main event in your eyes.

You stopped looking at Tom, determined to let Harry tell his story, and turned sideways on the couch to face Harry completely.

“You were saying?” you said, catching his attention.

“What?” he asked quickly. Clearly Tom had finished the story and was telling a new one.

“You were saying?” you repeated yourself, “finish your story, I’m listening.”

Harry shook his head for a second, processing everything. He was used to Tom taking over, he always did. The look on your face was absolutely priceless - eyes squinting a little bit, lips pursed, determination set across your features. You were so focused on him as he continued to tell his story. He swooned, seeing all of your attention on him.

“Right, well, uh, I could feel the blood rushing to my head and it was torture but ya, know, worth it. It was pretty fun once it was over...”

Tom stopped talking, watching the two of you on the couch; you were totally engrossed with each other, laughing occasionally, even scooting a little bit closer together.

Harry finished his story, a wide smile gracing his features to have your attention on him. You smiled back just as widely, seeing how happy he was. You had quite the crush on him as well, wanting to give him all the attention in the world too. Now, you felt even better because he was at least getting yours.

Tom noticed something was up, but didn’t want to meddle, instead choosing just to let the two of you be in your own world. He continued telling Harrison about sightseeing, but watching you guys out of the corner of his eye.

You sighed deeply when Harry was done, “want to get some air?” you asked him gently.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he answered, standing slowly and following you out onto the deck.

You took a deep breath, stretching you back a little before settling into one of the chairs at the small table. Harry watched you before following suit and taking the seat opposite you.

“Sorry, I just had to get out of there,” you said with a short laugh.

“Uh, can I ask why?”

“I hate when Tom talks over you,” you said with a huff, not beating around the bush at all.

“Oh,” he chuckled lightly, “well, uh, I’m used to it.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be. I’d rather hear the story from you anyway,” you stated, giggling just a little bit to keep the mood light.

“Well, that’s the way it’s always been, but uh, I’ll keep that in mind,” he chuckled, “I like telling you stories,” he said, gaining a little confidence.

“I like hearing them,” you answered, placing your elbows on the table and leaning towards him.

“Good,” he answered, letting out a heavy breath and mirroring your actions.

There was a pause between the two of you, the crickets chirping loudly in the background.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whispered.

“Always,” he answered, dropping his voice low.

“You’re my favorite Holland,” you giggled.

“Really?” he laughed, his cheeks blushing pink.

“Yeah, Red,” you giggled, “don’t tell Tessa.”

He laughed loudly at that, his heart bursting in his chest now. Maybe he did have a shot, he thought to himself.

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 12 ~Obstacle Course ~

Previously in Suspicious Minds ...

Caught up in the awkwardness of the moment, Claire bit her bottom lip. "Well, I guess that's settled then. We best get going before Mary does something like bite some poor soul's head at the airport." Claire's attempt to sound cheerful lessened the tension in the air but not the one on Jamie's shoulders. She turned to him and tried to take her bags off his hands, but he couldn't seem to let go. "Jamie ...my bags," she whispered, her hand running up and down his forearm as if to tell him everything was going to be alright.

But instead of giving Claire's bags back to her, he begrudgingly handed them to Christie. They had a few seconds of stare off until Claire's hands on his face forced him to look at her.

"Jamie, kiss me, goodbye?"

He didn't hesitate at her request and sucked on her bottom lip as she made a sobbing noise. That wee noise she made jolted something free inside of him, and he, too, wanted to cry. He couldn't remember wanting to openly cry before. Not like this. He couldn't control it, stealing oxygen from his lungs, but Claire's touches soothed him. 

  If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

"The monster is only scary while it is in the closet.

Once in the light,

you can see its many flaws

and weaknesses.

And often,

we end up laughing,

at what we shield our eyes from

no more."

-Tom Althouse

 Meticulously scanning the busy vicinity, Claire stopped in the middle of the airport's arrival area and whirled on the spot, impatiently tapping her phone against her thigh. Come on, Hawkins, where the bloody hell are you? ��Though she and Tom were painfully late, she didn't want to blame their tardiness on Jamie, so instead, she held the gridlock on the motorway and the rain responsible. And whyever not? If it hadn't been for Mary coming to Inverness unannounced, she would be with Jamie right now, making up for lost time and talking about his therapy from this morning. Why in heaven's name had the responsibility of Mary landed on her shoulder of all days? She sighed. It must be another perk of being John Grey's ultra-reliable and never-can-say-no star employee, she reminded herself with an inward groan. 

On the way to the airport, Claire had been quiet throughout the drive and was grateful to Tom for not prodding about what happened. To her relief, he'd just given her an understanding smile and drove. Thinking of Jamie's tortured face when he'd arrived at the cottage, it had taken a lot of willpower on her part to get into the car and leave him by the roadside looking after her with a forlorn expression. His words had played on repeat until she had to do a mental scold to remind herself she had work to do and assured herself she'd see him soon enough. She'd wanted him to be alright before she left to ensure him she hadn't changed her mind about them. Though she'd hurt not hearing from him after he'd disappeared, she knew his actions had been done in consideration of her, and that notion prevented her anger from taking over. Her feeling of abandonment over what he'd done was also tempered with her annoyance at Jenny. Jamie's sister's meddling was just so wrong on all sorts of level. In the middle of Jamie leaving her, Willie checking to make sure she was alright, and Jenny coming this morning, she'd gone back and forth between a place of strength and feeling like a lamb in the eye of a hurricane. But now, as she attempted to find the anger, the rage she'd felt after discovering the newspaper clipping about her house in Jenny's possession and the interference with Jamie's love life, she couldn't find it anymore.

Sensing Tom approaching, she recentred herself and smiled in his direction. "There you are.".

"Any luck?" he asked, coming to stand next to her and looking around.

"Nope," she replied, pressing her fingers to her forehead and massaging a sudden ache as she was reminded of the reason why they were there. "How did you get a parking space so quick?"

"I have my ways." When she arched an eyebrow, he grinned at her. "I have a disabled parking permit."

Claire stopped and glared at him. "Tom!"

He ignored her disapproving expression and shrugged. "So, who are we looking for?"

She shook her head and looked around for Mary once more. It shouldn't be this difficult to spot her because she usually stood out. "An overdressed, attractive petite brunette with loads of attitude," she replied, absentmindedly. "And probably with a trolley full of luggage."

More people walked past them making their search more difficult. She was about to make another phone call to Mary when Tom whistled under his breath. "Weel, weel," he murmured, his gaze ticking past her shoulder and turning thoughtful. "I wonder if the lass walking towards us is yer Hawkins." His lips twisted into a smile. "She looks mighty pissed."

"Wot?" She spun around and drew her brows together as she saw a familiar figure approaching them. What the hell? Is that Mary? It could only be her. The woman struggling with an oversized suitcase on wheels stood out like a mini bolt of lightning in her designer four-inch heels, pristine, skinny white jeans and black fur-lined down jacket. But there was something different about the way Mary looked, and it took a few seconds before Claire realised she had done something to her hair. She nearly gasped out loud. But as soon as Mary made eye contact, Claire immediately braced herself for some telling off for being late. Mary stopped, her mouth opening and closing as if she couldn't find the words to voice her displeasure. Claire schooled her features and met her leaden glare without flinching. "Mary? I hardly recognised you."

Mary's brown eyes prettily widened, and her expression softened as some kind of realisation dawned on her. "Oh! Of course ...you couldn't have." A sound of delight puffed out of her. "I had my hair done in Paris. Now we have the same curls. If only I was as tall as you, we'll probably be mistaken as sisters." She missed Claire's intake of breath as she ran her delicate fingers through her locks. "Do you like it?"

No, I don't! What have you done to your beautiful hair? You look like a poodle! Claire swallowed hard, tilted her head to her side, and contemplated the best way to tell Mary the truth. But she didn't have the heart to say it. Instead, she opted for something closer to the truth. "Well, for starters, it looks unusual. I'm so used to seeing your beautiful straight hair. I guess it will take time getting used to," she admitted. But when a slight frown drifted across Mary's face, Claire felt bad. Taking a deep breath, she laughed nervously as she fluffed her own hair. "Look at these ...after all these years, I'm still not used to mine, and I have a bit of hate relationship with it, especially when it gets humid or when I looked at the mirror first thing in the morning. So bear with me if I'm not much into curls."

It took Mary a long time to respond. "Oh, well," she replied with a subdued smile. "You should have seen John's face when he first saw my hair. He looked shocked." She shrugged. "But in the end, he did say it was beginning to grow on him. I guess everyone's used to my limp, lifeless hair."

Ah, bless John. Claire knew his expression wouldn't have been able to hide what was on his mind, and it wouldn't have bode well for him if Mary had been able to read his face. Mary was their star author whose new book could likely save his publishing company from potential financial ruin, and anyone pointing out her disastrous new hairstyle would probably only result in tantrums and more delays in publication. She sighed. "It wasn't limp, Mary. You had beautiful, straight hair. You have no idea what I would give to have manageable straight hair like what you had." And that was the truth.

Mary perked up a bit and rolled her eyes. "Oh, God, don't make me like you even more."

They shared a slow smile, and Claire was about to make a different compliment that didn't include Mary's hair when Tom cleared his throat and stepped forward, giving them a charming smile. "Ladies, sorry to interrupt, but shall we get cracking? My car is not parked in the most ideal of places."

"Oh, of course, I'm so sorry ..." Claire had almost forgotten about Tom, too fascinated by Mary's new hairstyle. She gave him an apologetic look and turned to Mary. "Oh, by the way, may I introduce you to ..." she trailed off and stopped.

Mary's expression looked like the heavens had just opened up and bestowed them an angel. Her lips moved, but no sound came, but when she did finally found her voice, it sounded raspy. "Is this your Jamie that John was talking about?"

Claire pried Mary's hand from her suitcase. "No, this is Tom. He's offered to drive me here to pick you up."

Tom grinned and offered his hand in greeting. "A pleasure to finally meet ye, Mary. I've read a couple of yer books, and I must say, not only are ye a talented writer but a beautiful one too."

Claire mentally groaned but kept the frustration from her face at bay. Tom must have noticed Mary's reaction and had taken his flirting a notch higher. When Mary continued to stare, Claire gently nudged her with her elbow. "Mary. Shake Tom's hand, and let's go."

Mary shook her way out of her trance and smiled. "Oh, I think this is going to be a very, very interesting visit," she gushed, finally back to her being her old self again. But instead of shaking Tom's hand, she hooked her arm into his, leaving Claire with the suitcase. "So Tom ...can you recommend a perfect place to eat? I'm quite famished and can't work on an empty stomach."

Tom obliged and patted Mary's hand. "Dinnae fash, I ken just the place."

With that, Mary looked over her shoulder and winked. All Claire could do was smile back and hope they would be able to get some work done. Because if not, and there's any more cause to delay Hawkin's books, come hell or high water, she's quitting Dreamweaver.

...........

Two Days Later

Stepping out of the shower, Jamie immediately zeroed in on his phone just in case he'd missed a call from Claire. They'd briefly talked last night, and she'd reminded him of uncle Lamb's arrival, which should be between now and the evening. If all goes to plan with Mary Hawkins, Claire should be coming back too. Hopefully, tonight, he thought with a sigh. It was already late Saturday afternoon, and his work was done for the weekend. Plenty of time left to get his shit together. 

Since Claire had left for Inverness, he hadn't had time to think. His brother had kept him busy with tasks and paperwork, and, on top of it all, he'd been distracted trying to comfort a distressed sister. Jenny had told him what had transpired between her and Claire. And how she'd been out of her mind, thinking she'd ruined their relationship. He'd consoled her, and in turn, she'd apologised profusely for her meddling. Her sincerity had touched him, but moreover, he couldn't help feeling amused at the thought of Jenny finally meeting her match. Though Claire was a gentle and thoughtful soul, he knew she was not the type to be bossed around. And in as much as he loved his sister, he was glad Claire put Jenny in her place and hoped after everything had been said and done, they can all move on from that incident and forgive.

Despite barely having time to be alone with his sometimes chaotic thoughts, he'd still managed to feel anxious about Christie. Jamie learned he hadn't returned to Broch Mordha, which led him to ponder if Christie was spending time with Claire. It was a lapse of insecurity, and that notion had been rubbished straight away since he knew how important Claire's work was to her. So there should be no pressure on his chest or icy tingling along his spine. 

There shouldn't be, but somehow there was.

Jamie was just shrugging into a fresh sweatshirt when his doorbell rang. He glanced at the wall clock and wondered who it was. Claire hadn't given a specific time for Quentin's arrival, and if it had been her at the door, she should've let herself in with the spare key he'd given her.

"Coming!" he shouted as the doorbell rang once more. He took a deep breath expecting uncle Lamb to be standing out there. Bracing himself. he flung the door open and was surprised to see who it was. "Ge- ... I mean Dr Dunsany!"

"Hi, Jamie!" Geneva greeted. "You may call me Geneva, you know ...since we're not in my office. May I come in?"

Jamie narrowed his gaze and looked past her shoulder. He could see Mrs Fitz from across the street pretending to fuss over some leaves in her garden when really he could tell she's prying into his business. There were talks already surrounding Claire being seen with Tom, and it wouldn't do him good if words of Geneva coming to his cottage got around, no matter how innocent the visit was. He gave Geneva an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I'm kinda busy," he withdrew, glancing casually at his watch. "I ... there's... I'm expecting a visitor. "

"Oh! But this won't take long." She stood there with laid back confidence that lured most men to look their fill. He neutrally eyed the slim-fitting turtle neck that hugged her breast and tight jeans that hung low, her scarlet painted lips pursed in a pretty pout. "I wanted to talk about the session we had the other day," she added quickly.

Jamie crossed his arms across his chest. "Couldn't this wait until our next appointment?"

She took a cautious step closer, her expensive scent drifting in the air. "I'd rather talk about it now. This is just not about your therapy." Her blue eyes seductively landed on his lips. "I want to discuss something personal too."

"Sorry, personal won't do, I'm afraid. Ye're my therapist."

"Jamie, how long have we known each other?"

"Long enough ..."

She smiled, her hand brushing something away from his shoulder. "What's wrong? Surely your girlfriend won't mind your therapist coming over to check up on your progress, will she? We live in a small place, and we all know each other here."

"Her name is Claire ..."

"And I heard she's with Tom? Is that right?"

He smothered a sigh as he could tell what this was all about. Though Geneva was an attractive lass, he'd always only felt a minor buzz for her, which paled to the mind-blowing reaction Claire caused with just a single look. Where Claire was never more than anything but herself, Geneva always tried too hard. And it wasn't just all physical with Claire. It was their connection to each other's mind and soul. The way she made it easy for him to allow her to see his vulnerability and the way she'd let him in when no promises had been made on his part when they first met. Thinking back to the other day, he shook his head. He'd known the steaming anger that had risen within him when he'd first heard of Claire meeting with Tom and how that rumour almost made him lose his sense of judgement. He could not allow room for any gossip to go around, especially when Claire was away. Geneva should definitely not come in. 

"Look, as ye can see, I'm fine. I dinnae think it's a good idea us meeting like this. Let's keep personal stuff away and keep this professional, aye?"

She took a while to accept his dismissal. Sheer frustration swept over her face before she managed to compose herself. He tried to offer any semblance of an apology, but she cut him off. "I'm the one who understands your condition and how tough it is to live a normal life with your PTSD. And I know better than anyone else right now how to handle it."

Irritation coasted down his back. "There's no doubt you're a brilliant therapist, Geneva. But I am much more than a textbook scenario. Something Claire has always understood."

"But for how long, Jamie?"

"That is none of your concern," he said cooly. "Now, please go as I have things to do."

Her back straightened with steely dignity, and Jamie could tell every movement was measured to create the most dramatic effect. It was another detail he found unattractive and probably why he'd never acted on Geneva's crush for him. "Here's my theory," she began in a low voice. "You're just with her because you needed to fix someone, and she fits the bill. That's what you've been doing all your life - fixing everyone's problem. You'll never be happy, Jamie, if you keep repeating the same pattern over and over again."

He swallowed his anger. "How I choose to live my life is my concern, and if it means repeating the same pattern, then so be it. Forcing me to see things the way you want me to will only piss me off. So while I still have patience, please go."

He took a tentative step backwards, waiting for her to leave so he could close the door. Instead of walking away, she took him by surprise and threw herself against him, looping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his.

Christ! Repelled by the assault, he grasped her shoulder and pushed her away. "What the bloody hell was that?" he gritted angrily.

Face red, she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "Mark my words, it's just a matter of time before Claire is unable to deal with your PTSD anymore. I know the pattern, and I've seen it a million times. Most men with this condition end up alone because no one fully understands the extent of what they go through. Oh sure, the people in their lives say they understand but do they really? It's a scary thing for most and an uncomfortable situation to live in. As for me ... I know, and I understand, and I can handle it because I've studied and worked with people like you. And when that day comes, and she leaves you for good, know that I'll be here waiting." 

"Just because you know my history, it doesn't make ye an expert in knowing how my life will turn out to be. And ye don't know a thing about Claire, her heart, her resilience ..."

She snorted in disgust. "You just wait and see." With that, she turned around and walked off. 

He almost choked. Has the lass gone mad? His skin crawled with icy foreboding as he glanced across the street, his eyes searching for his neighbour. To his relief, Mrs Fitz was no longer stood in the garden to witness Geneva's kiss. A sudden ugly thought came to him, and he wondered what Claire would do if she'd been in his position. Jamie shook his head and immediately dismissed the notion. Tom wouldn't dare. Jamie had already made sure, loud and clear, that Claire was off-limits.

When Geneva's kiss drifted back to the forefront of his mind, he grimaced. His first impulse was to ignore the whole incident. But on second thoughts, he should tell Claire in case words of it reached her before he could explain. He wasn't a hundred per cent sure no one had witnessed that weird occurrence, and if someone did, it would surely be tonight's topic on every dinner table in Broch Mordha. Worriedly, he glanced up and down his street and only saw an unfamiliar car and driver on the phone. Probably Mrs Fitz's new guest, he figured. Satisfied with that thought, he shut the door.

Attempting to get his composure back before he called Claire, he headed for the sideboard in his dining area, grabbed a bottle of whisky, and poured himself a measure. He threw back a shot, his eyes watering slightly in deference to the burn that slid down his throat. He was about to pour another one when the doorbell rang. Again.

What does she want now? He slammed the glass down on the dining table and made his way back to the door. This time he was going to tell Geneva to cancel his therapy appointment. The lass was mad, and he hadn't known the extent of it until today. He'd always thought of her crush for him as a harmless fancy, but obviously, with Jenny's meddling, she'd set her hopes up. This time, he's had enough. With irritation simmering in his guts, he opened the door ...

And was met by an imposing figure obstructing the daylight. 

Jamie heard an unintelligible grunt in greeting, and the smell of tobacco invaded his nostrils. He peered at the face, but it was shadowed by a wide-brimmed fedora hat and several days worth of stubble. He blinked to rid the cobwebs threading patterns on his brain and forced his body to straighten to its full height.

"What's that on your mouth?" the man growled.

What the ...? "Quentin?" 

"You got lipstick on!"

Horror swooped in as Jamie realised he was still exhibiting the evidence of Geneva's kiss. He immediately swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and instantly felt nauseated when he saw the smudged scarlet on his knuckles. Jesus! "It's not ... it's..."

"It's not my niece's," the older man finished with a cock of his bushy eyebrow.

"It's not mine either," Jamie retorted without thinking. Ah, bloody fuck! "I mean ... it's not what ye think."

"I would certainly hope it's not yours." Quentin narrowed his eyes at him, taking his measure. Jamie did the same to him. He wondered what the man was thinking, but Claire's uncle spoke again before he got a chance. "Well, are you letting me in, or are we just going to stare at each other like a couple of dafties?"

Who the fuck does he think he is? But he quickly reminded himself this was Claire's uncle, so he slightly softened his stance. Swallowing the sour taste in his mouth, Jamie took a step back and motioned Quentin into his home. "Come in." 

Ignoring Jamie's dark look, Quentin strode into his cottage, but he's brought up short when he saw the whisky and shot glass on the dining table. He plopped his sling bag onto the chair, opened it, pulled out a tequila bottle and placed it on the table. Then he turned around and slid his hands into his pockets. "You and I, lad, are going to talk before my niece arrives." 

Jamie shut the door and eyed Quentin, carefully pondering his words. As he'd suspected, Quentin was very much like Harry but with broader shoulders, an intense darker face, and eyes that seemed to flash with diabolical laughter. It was a face that had probably seen too much in his lifetime. All his mannerisms were large, confident and perfectly balanced, like those of a wild cat, and when he stood in his space like this, he appeared to be a wild animal held in a cage too inadequate for it. His features might be similar to Harry's, but yet, their difference was like night and day.

A scoff rasped his throat. "I've had enough forced therapy for the week, thank ye very much."

"If I didn't know you any better, I would have bloodied your nose after seeing that lipstick on your mouth."

"If ye're dying to punch me on the face, then give me yer best shot. I dinnae have to explain anything to ye. I've done nothing wrong."

"No, you haven't," Quentin sighed, nodding his head. "I saw what passed."

Jamie absorbed that while keeping his features impassive. "And yet ye're still judging me."

Quentin's mouth twitched, but his eyes remained serious. "I'm not."

"Right from the start, it felt like ye've been giving me the first degree."

Quentin disregarded his words with a shrug. "I was just making sure Claire's in good hands. She's all I have."

Jamie understood the sentiment. He would have probably done the same if he'd been in Quentin's shoes. Christ, hadn't he felt like committing murder when he'd first found out about Tom?

"We've met before, you know?" Quentin interrupted his thoughts.

Jamie's head shot up.

"Way before our video chat," the older man revealed. "But I figured you don't remember."

He didn't, so he shook his head.

Quentin took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh before placing it on the table. "Claire recently told me she just found out that it was you and your godfather, ...Murtagh...I believe his name was, who saved her from the car accident. She asked me if I knew." Quentin paused to discern Jamie's expression. When he couldn't seem to read anything, he proceeded. "I admitted I did and ..."

"Ye knew who I was?"

"No. Not until you told me your family name and mentioned Lallybroch near the end of our video chat. I thought Claire would be angry for not telling her, but she didn't say much else except that both of you have been clueless all these years. So if you have any questions about what happened, I'll fill in the void for you if it'll help you move on."

Jamie shoved a hand through his hair. Feeling suddenly restless, he went to the drinks' cabinet to retrieve shot glasses. He grabbed the tequila bottle, uncapped it, and poured two equal measures. "So now you want to diagnose me? Is that it?"

"Diagnose you for what?"

Jamie realised Quentin knew nothing of his condition. Claire hadn't told her uncle. He ignored the question and handed the shot to Quentin. "Why bring it up now?"

Quentin took the offered glass, raised a silent toast with Jamie, and simultaneously threw back the shot. They both flinched at the heat. "I owe you the truth," Quentin replied, placing the shot glass on the table. "Take it or leave it. I've been silent about it for years. Tell me what you remember, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Did he really want to know? The past would eventually catch up and come out, that much Jamie knew, so he might as well have it out in the open. Taking a deep breath, he paced to the window and with his back to Quentin, he began recounting what he could remember from the accident. He waited for the white noise or the torture to start swarming in his head, but to his astonishment, they never came. Though the memory of that fateful day was more vivid than ever, its power to hold him in a choke was diminished. The words flowed with ease, and it began to feel like he was describing someone else's story. When he was done, he turned around and saw just in time a shadow passed across the older man's face. He looked like ten years have been shaved off his life.

Quentin took a seat and clasped his hands together. "I lied to you the day when we first met."

Jamie stilled and looked at Quentin. "What do ye mean?"

"I was in Cairo when I heard the news of the accident. I immediately took the first plane out and headed here. I was told Claire was being taken care of by your parents and that both of you were inseparable. When I arrived at Lallybroch, you were holding Claire in your lap like she was the most precious thing." Quentin paused and smiled at the memory before descending back to that sad place in his head. "But when you laid eyes on me, that's when you lost it and started screaming. Claire screamed along with you ...God, it was awful. At that time, it hadn't truly sunk in what happened to my brother and his wife, and it was torture to see you kids in such pain." Quentin shook his head. "You were shouting something like ...I should be dead and that you've seen me go up in flames. You see, I've been told beforehand you'd witnessed the accident, and that's when it occurred to me you thought I was Harry. So I did what I thought was best at that moment ...I knelt before you and fibbed. Only because nothing could calm you down, and I wanted to ease your distress. I pretended to be Harry and told you I wasn't dead, and when you asked how I got away, I made up some story like managing to crawl out the last minute. Somehow that little white lie quieted you down."

"I honestly don't remember that part," Jamie whispered, taking a seat across from Quentin. "But in saying that, all the memories of that day are just beginning to resurface. I'm just starting to remember again. It all began when ..."

"When you met Claire for the second time," Quentin finished for him.

Jamie nodded with a small smile as he watched Quentin stood up and poured them another shot. 

Quentin gazed at him with all the seriousness. "May I ask you a question?" 

"Ask away." 

Quentin pushed the shot glass towards him. "What if, instead of Harry, you were the one that died that day?" He paused and looked directly into his eyes. "What do you think would you have missed in the years that came after?" 

Jamie frowned. "Why would ye ask such a thing?"

Quentin sighed. "Because lately, I've been asking myself the same question every day. I've searched for the answer going back through almost twenty years, and I've come up with almost nothing. Besides Claire coming into my life, I have nothing to show. Of course, there were a few memorable moments when I was granted an acknowledgement of merit for my work. And then there were a few rare occasions I got to spend time with Claire. But between those scraps of time, there's only a grey empty void. The rest of my days were spent going through the motions, keeping a barrier between me and the world. I realised, ever since my brother died, I've been living in fear that the same fate could befall me ... that's why I've never married. So you see now, Jamie, I haven't been living at all. And I don't want you to make that mistake."

Jamie gave a wistful smile. "I see that, and with everything happening, I'm just starting to understand. We all have to walk around lugging a past, getting from one step to the next. Just need a healthy way to release it, as Claire often reminded me enough." When Jamie saw Quentin nodding in agreement, he saw an opportunity. He cleared his throat and straightened himself. He'd just bonded with Claire's uncle, so surely that should mean something. "So ....Quentin," he began nervously, "does this mean ye're fine with me being with Claire?"

Claire's uncle went back to looking like he wanted to rip a head off. "No. I've just arrived after a long flight, and you haven't offered me anything. I haven't eaten in the last six hours, and you're asking me if I'm okay with you being with Claire? So far, all you've done is open the tequila bottle without thanking me for it and nought to impress me."

Ah, shite! Hearing that, he pushed himself to his feet. "I ken a few good places that serve excellent pub grub," he said rapidly.

"Do you not have food in your kitchen, lad?"

"Aye, I do, but since ye're starving, I thought it would be easier if we got something out," Jamie reasoned. "So, what do ye have in mind?"

Quentin glowered at him before slugging back the rest of his shot. "Somewhere where they serve greasy food."

Jamie stopped. "But Claire said yer heart ..."

"The greasier, the better," Quentin growled.

It was clear to Jamie he's still miles away from wholly winning over Quentin. He reckoned he's probably not going to win that battle today, and one plate of greasy food was not going to kill Claire's uncle. Ah, hell! Didn't his ma once said that the way to someone's heart is through one's stomach? There's a chance that this could still work. But before he could say anything, his phone buzzed, and he almost knocked over the chair, trying to grab it. "It's Claire."

Quentin rolled his eyes.

Jamie quickly read Claire's message and smiled. Ah, there's a God after all! He glanced up at Quentin. "She's coming back home tonight."

"I knew that! Now, how about that nosh you were on about."

"Aye ...right ...I ken just the place."

..........

Five Hours Later

"This is a shithole!" Quentin grumbled, slurring his words and shoving his unfinished plate of Bangers and Mash away from him.

Tough shite! Jamie glanced out the window and then looked back at the time on his watch. Damn it! A plate of food each, five pints of lager for Quentin and three pints for him later, still no word from Claire, and if she didn't come home soon, Quentin would drink him under the table. As it was, he's feeling rather tipsy already.

"You know what?" Quentin tipped the bottom of the pint glass in his direction. "Since we arrived here, you kept looking out that window every few minutes. Am I boring you, or is there something interesting out there? If so, care to share?"

Jamie blew out a breath. "Just wondering when Claire's coming home. Haven't heard from her since her last message.."

"Is that why you're looking outside? Does she know we're here?"

"No! Christie is bringing her back from Inverness." 

"Who's Christie?"

"Some bloke."

"So what's outside? You keep looking out there."

Damn, so many questions! Jamie pointed his finger towards the window. "See that red door over there? Christie lives in that building, first floor, window facing the street. We'd know when they've arrived."

"Is that why you brought me here so you could check every once in a while if Claire's arrived?"

The older man was on to him, but Jamie wasn't about to admit it. "You wanted greasy food, did ye not?"

Quentin shrugged without answering. 

Jamie checked his phone again and agitatedly rubbed a hand behind his neck. What's taking them so long? Wicked thoughts were beginning to seep in. Has Claire, by any chance, heard about Geneva's visit and kiss? It wouldn't be an impossibility as rumours tended to make their way out of Broch Mordha. A part of him knew that the alcohol was dulling his reason, so he mentally shook himself. He should have called Claire earlier, right after Geneva left and told her what happened, but of course, Quentin's arrival had interrupted him from doing just that.

"Stop fidgeting. You're making me nervous."

"I'm just worried Claire would hear about that kiss ye witness earlier before I get to explain myself." 

A heartbeat passed. For the first time since Jamie had known Quentin, his tough demeanour slipped, and something akin to amusement flashed through. "Don't worry. If she's heard about it, she would have given you her two pennies worth by now, and that's putting it mildly. Of course ...worst-case scenario, you'll end up with your ears ringing for days after she's done telling you off." He smirked and raised his pint to his lips, his actions revealing he was only teasing. Jamie reined in his frustration and let it go without comment.

Obviously emboldened by Jamie's silence, Quentin leaned forward. "So, have you bought flowers for Claire for when she returns?"

"No."

"Why not? It would help your cause in case Claire heard about that kiss."

Jamie glared at Quentin. "Thanks for rubbing that in. But I dinnae have time. I was too busy entertaining ye. Besides, I bought her fruits. She loves fruits. I even bought her a variety of them."

The older man's eyes bugged out. "She's got you eating healthy too, huh?"

"Nothing wrong with that," Jamie muttered. "She likes chocolates too. I got her a big box of it. Lindt."

Quentin glanced out the window to his side and perked up. "Hey, someone just went through that red door. I don't know what Christie looks like, but it could be anyone."

Jamie followed his gaze, and sure enough, the red door was just closing. He glanced back at his phone on the table, and though he knew he would hear the sound of notification, he still needed to look to assure himself. There was still no message.

"First-floor window light just went on," Quentin observed in a low voice. "That's Christie's place, right?"

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Oh, look, that's Claire, looking out. I know that hair anywhere."

Jamie looked and saw Claire just in time before she moved away from the window and pulled the curtain. He swallowed the odd lump in his throat. What the hell is she doing in Christie's place? Then it all came rushing in, in full force. He'd left Claire on her own because of his stupid panic attacks, and when he'd finally come to his senses, it was probably too late because Christie had already entered the picture. And now everything that Geneva had told him earlier was coming to fruition. No, no!

A split second later, Jamie burst out the pub's front entrance and ran across the street, Quentin not far behind him.

This cannae be happening. This is the worse nightmare ever. Ach Christ, please dinnae let this be true. Please. She's my lass. Mine. No, no, no. Oh fuck, I need her.

Thunder roared in his ears, and he'd only vaguely managed to process Quentin's remark on his overreaction and something about alcohol consumption. But all he could think of was how he and Claire needed to talk, now. He couldn't accept their relationship was over when it hadn't had a chance yet. 

Jamie stopped in front of Christie's building and looked up the window, shouting Claire's name, while Quentin manically pressed the buzzer for the first floor. A few passersby eyed them warily, and a voice called from somewhere, "what the bloody hell, Fraser!" probably thinking they'd gone off their nuts, but he couldn't give a fuck. His heart hammered wildly, unable to think straight. All he could see was Claire with Christie, together. He groaned miserably, the very thought chilling him to the bone. Oh, please, God no!

No one responded to Quentin's incessant buzzing, and when he tried to yank on the knob, it didn't budge. It remained lock.

Jamie gathered a few stones that he could find on the cobbled street and started pelting Christie's window, roaring Claire's name on top of his lungs. His effort was rewarded when the curtain slid open, and he saw Claire looking down, her hair all wild and loose. But by now, they've also attracted a wee crowd that stood in a semi-circle behind him. He didn't take notice and focused his attention on the woman above.

"Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp! Don't ye dare leave me!" He shouted. "We love each other, remember? I was a prick for leaving ye on yer own when ye came to Scotland to be with me. I promise ye this will never happen again. And whatever problem we have together, we can fix this. Ye understand me?" He fell on his knees, grateful for the pain shooting up his thighs because his heart was breaking into thousand pieces. "I ken I could be a selfless arse, but I'm working on being a better person for ye ...for us. We've only known each other for a short while, but it's enough for me to see that ye're the one for me. Forever. I love ye with all my heart, Sassenach, and I cannae imagine life without ye."

Jamie paused to get his breathing back to normal and give Claire a chance to respond. But she remained immobile and continued to stare down at him. The crowd behind whispered and tittered, probably thinking he'd finally lost all his marbles. He even heard someone murmuring about him having had a bit too much to drink. But he didn't care even when he saw Quentin's shaking head, most likely in disgust at him. A hand touched his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, only focused on getting through Claire. "What do I need to do to make ye, believe me, Sassenach? Ye ken, I'll do anything to prove to ye how much I love ye. Does he ken the things I do? Like ...like what song makes ye smile? I can sing it for ye if that's what it would take." When the silence lingered, except for the hush sounds from behind him, Jamie puffed out a silent curse. "Christ ... I'll do it. For ye, ye hear me? I'll sing that damn song. Just so ye ken, I meant every word I said." 

Then he stood up from his kneeling position and gave Rick Astley a run for his money. 

..........

Hands on her chest, Claire stood inert behind Jamie, listening with interest as he belted out Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give you Up in a scratchy voice. She tilted her head to the side and watched in fascination his stiff, sparse hip movement that went with his song. She'd wanted to alleviate Jamie's suffering and save him from further embarrassment, but midway through his moving speech, she'd caught a glimpse of her uncle. He'd given her a warning shake of his head, telling her to let Jamie finish pouring his heart out. So with a sigh, she stood back and waited. 

Oh, Jamie, Jamie!

This beautiful, rugged giant of a man and former SAS soldier was singing to her as though his life depended on it. How could he think she'd left him? She needed to put her arms around him and reassure him that he's the one for her too and that there's been nobody else but him.

"Jamie!" she rasped. When he didn't hear her, she cleared her throat and tried again. "Jamie! It's me, Claire!"

Jamie stopped and whipped around, his eyes taking her in, in total disbelief. "Sassenach?" he whispered. "It's ye."

Her throat constricted. "Uh-huh."

His head jerked back up to the window and then back to Claire. He looked as though he wanted to believe he was really seeing her but could not see past his fear just yet. "To whom the bloody hell was I proclaiming my love to then if ye were stood here all along?" he asked, throat working with emotion.

"You were singing to Mary Hawkins, Jamie," she croaked. "The star author of our publishing company."

"And what the hell is she doing up at Christie's place?"

Claire grimaced. This was really a sensitive subject, and they were talking about a public figure, and a small crowd was watching them. So she stepped closer and spoke in a low voice. "I think Mary and Tom have a thing for each other. And I have a sneaking suspicion ..." she glanced up at the window above where Mary still stood. "Tom is not going to be please when he finds out it was you who interrupted whatever they're up to."

"James Fucking Fraser!"

It was Tom, wherever he was shouting from. Jamie didn't wait to find out because, in one quick movement, he took Claire's hand and made short work of getting them into the dark alley to the applause and cheers of the bystanders. Laughing, they ran and ran until they were far away enough from prying eyes. And there in the darkened path, its only illumination coming from the full moon above, they found one another once again in each other's arms.

Dear Readers,

Firstly, thank you all for your feedback in the previous chapter. I'm going to keep this short as I still tire easily.

As I've mentioned before, I haven't been well the last few days; hence the delay for this instalment. I hope you enjoyed this one. If there are any inconsistencies and grammar mistakes, I blame them on my medication. Haha! 

So that said, thank you all for the messages on my Tumblr, your feedback and kudos on AO3, and mostly for your patience. Take care always of yourself, and keep spreading the love vibe! X

[greenorangevioletgrass]

red right hand (mob!harry x oc) 2/3

"we could meet again someday / somewhere far away from here / we never learn, we've been here before / why are we always stuck and running from the bullets?"

series masterlist | main masterlist | ko-fi

pairing: mob!Harry Holland x spy!OFC

summary: in desperate times, Bel makes an unlikely alliance. Will she and Harry get out this time?

word count: 2.8k

warnings: so much yearning, fluff, a little angst, smut, light d/s, softdom!oc, softsub!harry, oral (m), mention of subspace, mention of injury

notes: we have a guest appearance! woohoo! the story's coming to a close, but not without a last hurrah lol. hope you enjoy it!

[read part 1 here]

***

When Bel takes a managerial position at the headquarters, nobody bats an eye. She’d been in the field for over a decade and she’d served on some of the most arduous missions among her peers. They figured it’s about time. Her colleagues teased her about having a man (or a woman) to come home to as the main reason she’s staying; she simply smiles and jokes,

“As if I’d have the time.”

And all excuses aside, she doesn’t. She spends a day leading a counter-surveillance task force, undoing the mess of a breach the Holland & Co had cost them. It’s much less exciting than being on the field, but it allows her to be close to the case-- or rather, the people who are working on it. Not too close to draw attention, but close enough to gain insider information.

Like the fact that every single key player in the mob went down, except for their leader, Thomas Holland, who’s been running around scot-free as usual. And that he was the one who tipped off the MI6 himself.

It doesn’t make any sense. To make matters worse, there’s not much she can do about it. She's sitting on a lot of gold, but as a former field agent who’d handled their case, it would look awfully suspicious for her to meddle again. But the charges are pretty clear-cut and they could very likely get the life sentence.

There’s no way she’s gonna let that happen.

So here she is, taking a huge risk on her career and her life, sneaking into the heavily guarded penthouse of Tom Holland in the dead of the night. They certainly amped up the security details since she’d pulled this kind of operation on Harry years ago, but she certainly gained new tricks up her sleeve, too, since then.

It doesn’t take much for her to gain access to his building’s blueprints and security scheme --more of an idle snooping in between her real work, really. From there, she simply takes up a ‘last minute replacement’ as a housekeeper to get to the top floor --weaving her way just out of surveillance cameras as she sheds her disguise. One by one, piece by piece, heading straight to the master suite.

She finds him sipping scotch neat with his feet propped on his coffee table, his couch facing the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city he’d taken over at such a young age. He’s older now, more composed. Maybe more jaded. He still looks as dignified as ever, even with his suit jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. His platinum Rolex glints softly under the warm yellowish lamp.

He looks up, the surprise barely visible in his features, and he simply sits back on his chair. Studying the woman before him from head to toe.

“Bel. I hardly recognized you.” Tom smiles smoothly, eyeing her all-black outfit and short dark hair. “Been a while. Is this a business or social call?"

"It's hardly savory to conduct business in the bedroom, isn't it?" she tuts almost teasingly.

"Isn't that what you do?"

"Touché." Bel nods; it stings, but not at all surprising. "Although I've hung up the boots now. Moved up to the headquarters."

"Congratulations to you," he quips, raising his glass in her direction.

"Drink?”

She shakes her head. “I won’t be long.”

“Ah. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I’m just checking in to see how you are.” she leans her arm against the floor-length window before him. “After all, your brothers are all… indisposed right now.”

“And why would that be any of your concern?”

Bel ignores the question and just stares out across the river and the lights, riding out her train of thought. “It’s been what, eight months? You’re not just gonna let them rot in jail, are you?"

Tom doesn’t budge. In fact, he sounds rather bored-- like he’s been through this multiple times. "Just so you know, MI6 is not authorized to question me without a warrant--

“I’m not here on behalf of MI6,” she cuts him off, sharp but even. "I just had to see it for myself. Never pegged you for a traitor." a ghost of a smile breaks out from the corner of her lips, finally making eye contact with the infamous mob leader… and keeping it.

He stares her down right back, pulling an equally icy smile. “Well, isn’t that rich, coming from you.”

“I was never on your side,” she corrects him, her face and tone placid as ever. Bel reaches into her back pocket, not missing how Tom reflexively reaches the back of his couch. She takes out a plain white envelope and tosses it across his coffee table. “But this time, I can be.”

Tom stops its dragging motion with his index finger. “What’s this?”

“Leverage.”

“Is that right?”

“You have my word.”

“What’s that word worth now, eh?”

Bel bites back the inside of her cheek in amusement. Harry had said the same thing to her many years ago, and it made her wonder whether he takes after Harry or the other way around.

“Come on, Tommy. You know there’s nothing quite like honor among thieves,” she smirks in teasing, “Or are you above it all now?”

He crosses his arms and leans back, considering his options.

“I've been thinking about how strange this all is. What drove you, Thomas Holland, to throw your family to the dogs? You have all the money and power you could ever want. What is it?”

They stare at each other for the longest, just sizing each other up. She all but meets her match-- just as cunning, just as calculating. Just as desperate to win, to escape.

In putting up the facade.

And in that moment Bel sees it break through the cracks-- she’s not even sure she saw it at first. The striking similarity with his younger brother. At first she thought it was simply their physical features; the curls unruly after a long day, the tight line of his lips when he's deep in thought, the same bone structure as the shadow covers part of his face...

But she sees it in his eyes. A split second of vulnerability. The kind that she sees in her own reflection.

“There’s only one thing that can blind a man as smart as you, Tommy.” the realization dawns almost solemnly to her. “Love.”

He neither confirms nor denies, he just… hums. Letting her think she has the upper hand while he pieces it all together. She'd read him like a book, but in doing so, she showed her cards, too. And he realizes that the two of them are not so different, after all. She’s taking all of this risk to go behind MI6’s back, and for what? There’s no plausible reason for her to do that, unless--

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?” he guesses, watching for any minute change in her expression. There’s none, but he presses anyway. “You came in for your mission but you fell in love with him for real.”

The breath in Bel’s throat nearly hitches, but she wills herself to stay calm. She wills every muscle in her body to stay as they are. “Love is for children. I owe him a debt."

“Aren’t we just children in the end, Bel? Same antics, same petty games. Just a much bigger playground.”

They sit there in silence, in stillness, in the shadows. In an unspoken bond over loss and loneliness. It’s a fleeting moment, but for two people who always feel like they’re on the run, it feels like a whole night’s worth of solace.

Bel eventually gets up from her seat, seeing herself out. She stops by the door and says, “I hope you make the right decision.”

Tom finishes his scotch as soon as the doors close, letting the warmth burn his chest, and the choice sink in. His mind goes through all the possibilities-- all the risks and opportunities- as he reads Bel’s document, even though he already knows the answer he’s rooting for.

***

It takes three weeks, two days, and eighteen hours for Harry and his brothers to be released and placed on house arrest. Another four arduous months of trials until the charges are dropped and they are able to reach another agreement with the British government. Through it all, Bel and Harry lived on the same side of town, merely a couple of miles away from each other, and never saw each other once.

So when he’s officially declared a free man, Harry barely sets foot in his house before he runs all the way to Bel’s home. He hardly gets his arms into his coat sleeves as he dashes through the rain. The pouring water wakes him up, ensuring him that he’s not daydreaming --he does that a lot in captivity. He takes in the bleak autumn air in deep draws, the sharp sting of cold feels comforting somehow. And every step just propels him closer and closer to where he needs to be.

Bel had sent him an address just days after he returned home. There was no knowing how long the trials would last, but they wanted to keep their hopes up. They needed to-- it was the only thing that kept them going. For Bel, it made her sleep easier knowing Harry knows where to find her this time. Meanwhile Harry… well, he spent his restless nights memorizing his way to her door.

He reaches the house at the end of the lane, passing through doors of red and black and white. Blue like the TARDIS, she once said. His boots splash into a puddle for the millionth time and he only feels the dampness on his shin as he runs up the steps to her door. He barely puts his knuckles against the wood when it magically opens.

And there she is, ethereal as ever and always, on the other side of the door. Two years after they’d last seen each other. More than a year overdue. Life seems to be so hell-bent on keeping them apart, but not even two most powerful nations and a whole mob could succeed. For the first time in a very long time, Harry feels victorious.

“Bel,” he breathes out as he rushes over. He wraps his arms around her and kisses her like he’d been deprived of it.

In all honesty, he really was.

Her cold, rough palms meet his cheeks, stroking so gently. It’s the first semblance of warmth he’d ever had for so long. All he wants to do is to just hold onto it for as long as he humanly can. The soft stroke of her hand, the familiar scent of her shampoo, the perfect fit of her body against his. The quiet comfort that’s understood, given and received without a word.

And he swears it’s raining inside her house.

“Hey, kid,” she smiles as she pulls away wiping his eyes, and he realizes that the droplets from his hair had melded together with their tears. “Missed me?”

“Of course. Didn’t you?”

A sob escapes her this time. “Yeah, you can say that.”

He chases her kiss again, craving that quietude in their union once more. Reunions are usually emotionally, physically charged affairs, but this time it’s different. He’d been strung up so tight, that the moment she fills up his senses, everything else just dissolves into nothingness.

There’s just her lips, breathing life into every part of him that she touches.

His drenched coat is soon discarded on the floor and his white shirt unbuttoned, thanks to Bel’s restless fingers. She revels in the taste of his sweat and the mist and the way he just gives in to every kiss. Every lick, every bite.

She doesn’t miss how he bucks his hips forward when she works at his belt, pushing his trousers and boxers at once. His hard cock springs against his stomach, and they let out a soft sigh in unison-- Bel for an appetite reawakened, and Harry for a frenzy finally sedated.

Her tongue wets his balls to his shaft, tracing the tight veins along the side, all the way to his leaking tip. She looks up at him as she spreads his precum all over and watches his eyes fight to stay open. To stay on her. She doesn’t even need to say anything; she just smiles in approval and ravishes all of him with her mouth.

“Bel…”

He utters it like he just can’t get enough, and it’s like music to her ears. She never had a shortage of men and women moaning her name in earnest (even though it’s not even her real name sometimes), but none of them ever came close. All she ever wanted is this man with the red hair and the button nose and the quick wits and the perfect cock that’s so weak for her.

She takes him so deep inside her throat, he thought he was gonna black out. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, desperate to cling onto something as he feels himself drifting in and out of himself. His surroundings. All he feels is her; her lips, her tongue, her breath.

It takes him everything to say, “No, wait. Bel, I’m gonna come--”

But instead, she lets go of him for a moment to respond with, “Good. I want you to.”

He spills into her mouth in an exhilarating wave of pleasure. His eyes roll back into his skull, but he can feel her sucking and swallowing every drop of his cum. His knees turn to mush and he slides down to the floor, head resting against the wall. She kisses him like the sweetest thing in the world, and the salty taste of his release from her mouth makes him dizzy.

“Harry?” she calls him quietly, soothingly, nose colliding with his. “Come back to me.”

He chases her mouth feverishly. “Mm. Missed you.”

“Missed you, too, kid.” she smiles warmly. “Come on, let’s get you out of these clothes before you catch a cold, yeah?”

Harry takes her hand, heavy and floating at the same time, and lets her draw him a bath. Make him dinner. Take him to bed, where they would reunite again and again until they’re satisfied-- even though they never are. He licks his own cum from her pussy until she’s writhing into his mouth, and they do it all over again. Or she just keeps his cock sheathed inside her, cum running down their thighs, as they relish in the stillness of each other until desire takes over once more.

And in between, they would talk. About her charming little house, the mundane hobbies they’d taken up in the prolonged absence of each other. Nothing about prison. Nothing about MI6. Nothing about that side of their life. They just want to pretend that they're Harry and Bel, two ordinary people who happen to have been apart.

At least, for as long as time will allow.

“I’m gonna talk to Tom today,” he pipes up over his tea the next morning, “Tell him I’m leaving.”

Bel pauses. “Think he’d take it well?”

“He has to. He owes me that much, at least.”

She doesn’t say anything else. It’s hard to tread something so brutal after living in a moment of ignorant bliss.

“I can lay low for a few months, while you finish whatever you have with work.”

“It won’t be long,” she reassures him almost immediately, like she couldn't wait to say it.

Harry seems slightly surprised, in a good way. “They won’t get suspicious?”

“People resign after a national security crisis more often than you think," she shrugs, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

Breakfast goes by in an idle lull of domesticity. A quiet lull on a Saturday morning with clinks of cutleries and rustles of light rain outside. Playing house for the last time, before they get to do it for real.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours, yeah?" Harry says as he puts his coat on.

"See you in a bit." she grins, cheery and genuine, and pecks him on the lips before she sees him out, walking down her quiet street.

And as difficult as it feels to leave behind the life and the people he’s always known, Harry walks with a spring in his steps, retracing his steps the day before, knowing he’ll return to start the long-awaited life with his lover very soon. Take the scenic route around the globe to find their new home. Maybe somewhere in the countryside, or by the beach, or stay anonymous in another busy city… the possibilities are endless.

He doesn’t think much of it when a man in a black coat bumps into him on the street. In lieu of an apology, though, he whispers, “The Five Families in New York sends their regards, Harry Holland.”

Harry reaches for his gun, but even his quick reflexes can’t beat a ready pull of the trigger. The gunshot is muffled at point-blank range, although the pain rips a splitting burn all over his body and his nerves feel like they're screaming bloody murder. He falls to the ground unconscious just a block away from Tom’s home.

From freedom.

******

tagging lovely people who might be interested? hope you enjoyed it, and stay tuned for the finale! 💖

@tommysparker  @allmyspideys  @peterbenjiparker @unicorn-princess-1999  @miraclesoflove  @spideyspeaches  @calltothewild  @more-like-reyna @fallinfortom​ @hollanderfangirl  @terrifictomholland  @ethereal-beauty-p @darlingspidey​ @annathesillyfriend  @angel-holland  @fallinfortom  @kiwi-bitchez  @kelieah  @shipping-not-sailing  @hotforharrison  @chrisosterfield  @hxrryhxlland  @unsaidholland  @multiholland  @princessofguineapigs @duskholland @marvelouspeterparker @t-o-m-hollands @rebekkah4766 @galaxystern08 @the-panwitch @sovereignparker @geminiparkers @keenmarvellover @holland-styles @hazardosterfield @mischiefmanaged011 @parker-hollandx @slytherin-chaser @dummiesshort @marvelhoesworld @theliterarymess @siriuslyslyslytherin @lmaotshollandd @rosee-eemma

[irwinkitten]

feel like a monster | a.i

notes: told y’all i was writing again. i got inspired by ‘monster’ by skillet and it’s not the typical demon!ash we have seen previously. enjoy. Also I picture Lucifer being Tom Ellis’ from the tv series ‘Lucifer’. pairing: demon!ashton x witch!reader (genderless self-insert!)  warnings: violence, swearing word count: 3.2k

donate to my ko-fi? 

-

The first time you had met Ashton, he was fully unaware of your presence. 

Eyes as black as night had roamed the small haunt that the local supernaturals frequented, free of any kind of glamour to appeal to the human prey. Most of the locals knew better than to step out without the glamour on, especially demons, but Ashton had kept his on when he stepped through the door, even with the wash of protective magic you had placed on the building.

“What’ll it be, sugar?” You finally asked him, his eyes unseeing as he muttered the word ‘whiskey’. You never took offence, because sometimes the creatures you encountered needed the time to come to terms with something that happened. 

“On the house, don’t drown.” You commented, not even inciting a verbal response as you returned your attention back to one of your regular vampires, a charming smile on your lips as you carried on, the despondent demon lurking in the back of your mind.

The night had been a steady one for the bar, and the demon hardly moved. He wasn't interested when a fight broke out, he ignored the other demons that seemed to sidle up to him and then abandon him once they realised he wasn’t going to pander to their whims.

It hit three am when you finally sat in front of him having a stool behind the bar for this exact reason.

“How about you give me a name, and I’ll go knock on Hades’ door to see if he’s got your soul locked up.” This pulled him from the funk he’d fallen into, his eyes finally focusing and finding yours.

“No need. How long has it been?” 

“You’ve been sittin’ there for at least seven hours, sugar. You sure you’re alright?” And it seemed to flip a switch in him, dark tousled hair finally coming to life as he groaned and let his head rest on the bar. 

Like with all of your other creature patrons, you didn’t hesitate, ruffling his hair gently which had him pulling back in shock, making you smirk as his own fingers ran through the jet black locks before sighing.

“I really need to stop falling out of my skin.” He muttered and you laughed.

“It’s been a long time since I had a skinwalking demon inside of these walls.” You commented casually, feeling his eyes study you as you moved to clean part of the bar.

“There are others?” The curiosity in his tone seemed desperate, which surprised you.

“There were, then good old Lucifer decided that the creation was an abomination. How’d you escape the culling?” 

“I didn’t know there was one? How long ago was it?” This had you confused. You’d heard through the grapevines before Lucifer himself had walked into your establishment. You’d been lucky to escape with your life that night.

“Merde, honey we’re talkin’ about five centuries ago. I’ve had this bar running for the last eight.” His face fell at your words, dismay crossing his features before his eyes closed and a sigh escaped him

“I’m barely four centuries old. How on earth did that freak mutation happen?” His words were all snark but you saw the way his shoulders slumped, how he seemed resigned to the defeat. But you frowned, chucking the rag at him, making him look up. 

“None of that in this bar. If good ‘ole Lucy is up to his tricks again, then you’re around for a reason honey. Now, what’s your name, my lovely skinwalker?” And for the first time that night, he smiled.

“Ashton. My name’s Ashton.” 

He became a regular from that day on. Unlike other demons who had assignments to take souls and cash in on debts, he never really did much. 

The only thing you gleaned from Ashton was that he was only ever called for when there seemed to be something that was too good to be true. And more often than not, they were, which left him to do the dispatching.

On those days, he was sullen and silent, unwilling to even share the possible horrors he may have witnessed, even with your experienced eyes, the way his were haunted, part of you wished to never see it.

He became steady at your bar, a fixture that kept your own morale up when things were rough. He was always there to kick someone too rowdy out, and eventually he started staying til you’d locked up and apparated home.

“Hey Ash. New suit?” You’d called out in greeting as he arrived. You’d noticed that he’d started to experiment with his wardrobe more now that he started to gain confidence in his own skills. 

“You ask me every time I’m wearing something different.” He grumbled, making you laugh as he took his spot at the bar, tugging off the suit jacket and resting it over the back of the stool. 

“Because you’re finally showing an artistic flair with your clothes, sue me for noticing and pointing out they make you look good.” You fired back easily, continuing to set up for the rest of the day. 

“Are we still swapping stories today then?” He asked, ignoring your previous comment as you slid his usual glass in front of him. You smiled in return.

“I love how you consider swapping stories of my relatively normal life something exciting.” He laughed at that.

“Hearing stories of domesticity is much more preferable to the ones of death. Let me have this one thing.” His plea with wide eyes was met with unimpressed ones, only for you to give way and crack a smile.

“It’s a good job that I like you then, not many people can get stories outta me. At least, not the ones of where I’m making a new spell in my own home surrounded by the green ferns and my familiar.” This brought a grin to his face.

“Like I said, hearing something so normal and simple, it makes me hopeful that there’s gonna be a day when I don’t get called in to death and destruction.” You felt your heart break for him a little bit. 

Most of the demons who crossed your safe haven had long since settled into the death and destruction that surrounded them. A lot of them even welcomed it with open arms and gleeful smiles. 

But not Ashton. 

He’d practically rejected that side of him. It was only when he’d met you that he worked ways to accept it but not sink into it. He hung onto you like a lifeline and you gave him those stories of normality, if only to keep him grounded, especially on the worst days. 

“I heard old Lucy has put out rumours of a skinwalker. What’s up with that?” You queried once you’d finished setting up the bar. His face took on a pinched look before sighing.

“I’m a skinwalker with control. I’ve seen the other demons, read the transcripts of the old skinwalkers. They, they lost their sanity towards the end. They sunk into themselves and had nothing to pull them back, nothing to keep them in the world we roam. It’s why I can’t lose control. So far I’ve kept it under lock and key, and yes it’s there, but as long as I don’t lose myself like they did, he won’t have a reason to wipe me out.” 

“Good old Lucifer doesn’t need a reason, sugar. But I’m proud of you.” His posture changed ever so slightly, but the smile he gave you in return was one of the more honest smiles you’d ever seen on his face.

“I guess it’s gonna be me keeping my head down?” He finally muttered and you laughed, patting his cheek gently.

“That and some luck, but you got me on your side, so you’ve got enough to see you through my favourite skinwalking demon.” 

But like many things, the luck had run out for both of you. 

Lucifer was sat on the lounge sofa you’d had moved into the VIP section, his casual demeanour betraying the crackling energy that you could feel.

“Most demons give me the time to open the damn bar, your highness.” Even though your age had nothing on Lucifer, you were one of the braver souls who knocked him down, reminding him that you were never one to bend over backwards.

“Unfortunately for you, witch, the bar won’t be opening today. See, there’s been a rumour. A rumour that you’ve been harbouring a skinwalker.” Ice ran through your veins as your stomach dropped.

But you kept yourself as calm as you could, a game you’d played far too many times before.

“Tell me, Lucifer. Why would you be interested in a skinwalker when you destroyed them over five centuries ago. I don’t need to remind you that you came to gloat that day.” The anger was easy to display, the bitterness in your voice telling him exactly what you thought of his choice.

“Ah, but this skinwalker is going rogue.”

“And so I’m harbouring them? Tell me, Lucy, do demons get to die like humans do, or do you just turn into ash?” You felt the burning of the chains before you even had time to react, your breath being stolen as the burning metal wrapped around your body.

Chains draped across your face, and apart from the low hiss of pain, you did nothing more.

“You’re lucky I don’t do what would be considered normal, witch.” 

“Trust me, your demons will turn on you quicker when they find out exactly who is threatening their safe haven. How will you cope when every demon is on my side?” You could see the way he twitched at the possible threat, the chains getting tighter in response.

“Then if I kill you and blame it on the skinwalker, they’ll go after them.” The taunt was enough as you felt the wards shift and you realised it was Ashton.

Part of you wanted to scream, to warn him. But your voice was trapped, barely able to take in a breath as Lucifer stood from his spot, curling his finger so that the chains yanked forward, bringing you to your knees.

“I must confess that I feel like a monster doing this. But let it be a lesson for generations who try to meddle in affairs that aren’t theirs to touch.” You could only close your eyes as he raised his hand, the shift having already started as the fingers elongated and the nails grew into claws. 

“Your confession will never erase what you’ll do. May the creatures of the darkness know who tried this day, to strip my life and make me pay. May they rebel and cast out, those souls so sure and cast out this monster forever more.” It wasn’t a full spell, but the intent behind the words were enough as a raging roar ripped through the building.

But it wasn’t in front of you like you’d anticipated. 

Your eyes snapped open to see something hit Lucifer and throw him across the room.

“Unbind them now.” To your shock, it was Ashton, his skin practically glowing as he towered over you, his stance in a crouch. 

“For what, skinwalker? You’re only going to die before them.” 

You watched in awe as Ashton seemed to shift, almost like his mind had sunk into base instincts and for the first time in your life, you felt a sliver of fear. But surprisingly enough, it wasn’t towards Ashton. No, it was towards Lucifer who had shifted forms with a look of fury on his face.

“You won’t touch them.” There was a laugh that rooted him to the spot, and you couldn’t stop the yell of agony as you felt yourself hoisted up, desperately trying to cut the feeling of pain off, the agony searing and exhausting. 

“Want a bet, skinwalker?” The deep cadence of Lucifer’s voice sent the thrill of fear, but Ashton didn’t hesitate as he launched at the self proclaimed king of hell, no words being spoken but guttural snarls instead. 

You tried to watch, but you could see the black dots in your vision. But you struggled for each breath, watching as Lucifer seemed to toss him like a rag doll.

You were dimly aware of a sound that shook the walls as you blacked out, a silent prayer that if you were to be sent on to the afterlife, that Ashton would be granted one mercy to be with you at least.

-

“Fuck, why is it when I need a witch, the one I want isn’t available.” Your head was fuzzy, pain rocketing around your body as you heard chains clink together.

You couldn’t pull any energy to speak even a single word before the fuzziness swept you under, drowning you from the pain that you were in.

-

“I can sense you.” A different voice startled you and your head shot up from where you were lay, shock colouring your features. “Death looks good on you.” 

You turned to the voice and felt your insides drop at the sight of Hades. Unlike Lucifer, those who knew, knew that Hades ruled the underworld.

“Are you playing as Hades or your alter?” You finally asked and he laughed, stepping from the shadow that had hidden his features. 

Pale skin with vibrant green eyes. He gave you the kind of smile that he only gave Persephone. 

“It’s my alter form today. Figured you’d seen enough already.” He countered with ease, holding his hand out to you. You took it willingly, allowing him to pull you up. In his alter form, he’d named himself Michael. He had soft features that looked welcoming ‘to not scare the children sent his way’, was his excuse. But it was nice to see familiarity.

“How dead am I?” 

“Not as dead as you should be. Since Lucifer used the death chains on you, I have more leeway than he thought, the little upstart.” You blanched at his words.

“He used the death chains? But, that-”

“Should’ve sent you to my realm almost immediately, or at least indefinitely when you lost consciousness.. But your little spell blocked the chains from doing what they do best. Not to mention my skinwalker nearly taking his own life getting those things off you.” Michael explained as he guided you around the forested area. You realised this must have been his wife’s work.

“Wait, your skinwalker? Is that-” Michael cut you off.

“Is that why Lucifer wiped them to extinction? No. His first batch had never found their grounding. Never succeeded in tying their humanity down. But Ashton was different. So I created him.” 

“What happens now?” His smirk bore the arrogance of a god and it took everything to stop yourself from punching him. You’d learned the hard way not to punch a god, they never bruised and never took well to being hit by what they considered a mortal. 

“Take care of my skinwalker. And tell him that he holds the crown in title for now. I’ll be along to make it official in the next day or so. Gotta make sure his royal partner kick-starts their recovery.” 

Before you could fully process the information, you felt the world spin around you once more, going black. 

The blissful pain free state you had been in slowly morphed as the pain seemed to wrap you tightly until you couldn’t breathe, only for your lungs to pull in the much needed air.

“Oh thank fuck.” Was heard above you, but your eyes were too heavy to try and open, your body lethargic and almost lead like to try and reassure the person above you.

When you next came around, the pain was dulled. There was a slow and steady beep that had you turning your head and you stopped yourself from groaning. 

“Please tell me I’m not in a standard hospital.” The mutter was scratchy and quiet. 

“You forget what we’ve been building this hospital for a few years now. This is one for all kinds of creatures. No regular humans in sight.” The voice made you jump, turning to see Ashton sat next to you, his hair dishevelled and eyes tired as he took you in.

“You’re alive.” His lips curved into a small smile at your whispered words.

“More like we’re alive.” He corrected and you could feel a tear fall from the corner of your eye, lifting a hand up to his face. He was quick to scoot closer, your fingertips feeling his skin and you felt the dam burst.

You were both alive.

He didn’t hesitate to rest his hand over yours, keeping it against his face as you cried, but there was understanding in his eyes as you processed everything, Michael’s words finally ringing back to you as you slowly calmed down.

He was here with you, and even though you’d been toying with the idea, you’d never been so sure of telling him how you felt. Once you’d gathered your bearings, before he could start talking, you cut him off quickly.

“So, king of hell, fancy going on a date with me when I’m out of here?” As much as you wanted to be sentimental with Ashton, your emotions were frayed enough as it was. This was the last thing you needed to add to it. And watching Ashton’s face as he processed your words was certainly worth it.

“A date, with me?” He clarified, tone mystified and dumbfounded. You grinned.

“Of course. Give me a week before I get to the sentimentalities, but I’m almost certain I’ve been in love with you for the last year. Hades was nice enough to point that out, since you can’t lie to a god.” 

“Hades? What?” You took pity on Ashton in that moment.

“Instead of dying immediately, I was trapped, but in Hades’ part of the underworld. He explained that you were his skinwalker, connected to your humanity. He could see my feelings for you as clear as daylight. I might as well try to-” Your words were cut off with his lips on yours, the feeling of them causing you to smile against his lips, breaking the kiss.

“I’m not about to get hexed, am I?” He breathed and you laughed, his lips moving to your forehead before he sat back.

“Not in a million years. So you think about actually coming with me now when I get out of here?” His smile spoke the thousands of words he wanted to say, but simply settled for squeezing your hand gently.

“I think it’s about time I moved in, huh?” 

One of the healers seemed to come in for that moment and you allowed her to fuss over you as Ashton settled back in the chair, a peaceful silence sweeping over the two of you. Compared to your last memory of the loud beast-like roars, the peace was welcomed and enjoyed, Ashton’s slow breathing accompanying the steady beep of your monitor that you knew would be gone by the end of the day.

The peace was something you appreciated as you felt Ashton take your hand once the healer had left, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin. It was only when he jolted upright his face a picture of alarm as he stared at you before breathing,

“What do you mean ‘king of hell’?”

-

taglist:  @sexgodashton​, @goth5sos​, @malumsmermaid​, @empathycth​, @wildflowergrae​, @calpops​, @rosecolouredash​, @cakesunflower​, @loveroflrh​, @clockwork124​, @cal-puddies​, @stellar5sosrecs​, @ashtoniwir​ , @cthwldflwr​, @cthla​, @calmlftv​, @spicycal​, @liketheydidwithyou​, @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer​, @bluehairedtracii​, @drummerboy794​, @feliznavidaddycal​, @ukulelecal​​, @thecurlsofgod​​, @converse-luke​​, @madbomb​​, @ccnicole02​​, @youngblood199456​​, @megz1985​​, @lukesidentitycrisis​​, @snapback-irwie​​, @neonweeknds​​, @666yourwitchyfriend666​​, @cashtonasfuck​​, @ashtaway​​, @conquerwhatliesahead92​​, @itjustkindahappenedreally​​, @kchillout​​, @damselindistressanu​​, @colormekaykay​​, @findingliam-o​​, @sublimehood​​, @singledadharrington​​, @sugarcoated-pain​​, @singt0mecalum​​, @calumspeachy​​, @colourfulcalum​​, @lostincalum​​, @burncrashbromance​​, @asht0ns-world​​, @flusteredcliffo​​, @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​​, @fangirl-everythang​​, @lashtonswildflower​​, @lashtondaddies​​, @calumssunshine​​, @ambskiwi​​, @abundant-stars​​, @myescapefromthislife​​, @lmao5sosimagines​​, @beyoncesdragon​​, @jae-writes-fanfiction​​, @cxddlyash​​, @tresfandom​​, @niallisworld​​, @lietomevalntyn​​, @babylon-corgis​​, @monochrome44​, @behind-my-hazeleyes27​​, @lyllibug​​, @bloodmoonashton​​, @ghostofmashton​​, @summerellaz​​, @a-little-less-sixteen​​, @cashworthy​​, @smokeinherlungs​​, @longlastingdaydream​​, @h0tsos​​, @sadistmichael​​, @sugar-nico​​, @sunnysidesblog​​, @angel-cal​​, @samros95​​, @maluminspace​​, @lukeinblue​​, @britnicole11​​, @gigglyirwin​​, @everyscarisahealingplace​​, @loverofcashton​​, @iovehemmings​​, @g-l-pierce​​, @jannimoeller3​​, @wildmichaelflower​​, @lukeskisses​​, @youngbloodchild​​, @abb-lan-5sos​​, @calumsbub​​, @flameraine​​, @here-for-the-uproars, @mateisit-balsamic​​, @ilovelukey​​, @castaway-cashton​​, @musiclover1263​​, @alloutofcashton​​, @tobefalling​​, @sarahshepherdblog​​, @cassie-sos​​, @possesedperson​​, @treatallwithkindness​​, @wonderlandiswhereitsatyo​​, @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles​​, @ashtonlrwin​​, 

if u wanna be added to my taglist just hmu! 

[peakascum]

Reunion

First of all, thank you so much for the feedback on my first fic! Second of all, I am still trying to make the masterlist but Ia m new to this so it will take time. In the meantime, I will put a “peakascum” tag on every imagine so you will be able to find every writing under that tag on my profile. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one!

Polly had smoked half a pack of cigarettes since the beginning of the family meeting. She had come in and sat at the most far out corner and stared aimlessly at the floor. Skin pale as ever, but her eyes held a whirlpool of emotions. She had a look of confusion, perhaps terror. A look the boys had only seen twice in their lives. The first time being when she bid them farewell at the train station before the war, the second time being when she learned the fate of her children. 

Tommy concluded the meeting, dismissing everyone to go about with their work and stared at her intently. “So are you going to tell me,” he paused to light his cigarette, “or am I gonna have to wait until you reach your breaking point?” Polly looked up at him and stood up, nervously fiddling with her hands. “It’s nothing Tom. Just stress.” She said, barely meeting his eyes. “Polly,” he started, clearing his throat, “we both know how you get when you bottle everything up. Now, I’m already stressed enough dividing everybody's jobs and calculating our next move. If this is about our rivals, you have nothing to worry about, but if-“ she gave him a pointed glance and said, “Oh come off it, Tom. It’s not about that. It’s- it’s silly.” The room stilled for a second. Polly kept staring at the window, building up courage, adjusting the words in her mind as to not sound completely delusional.

“I was at the market buying the essentials. Had to go all the way across town for that new tea that Ada likes- and I swear to God Thomas I am not on pills anymore- but I could've sworn I saw Martha.” She looked up at him, the first time since the beginning of the meeting. They both chuckled at how bizarre the idea sounded. “Martha? Our John’s dead wife Martha?” He had to say it out loud. The tone in his voice acknowledging how ridiculous it sounded. “I told you it was silly.”

But it wasn’t. To them, it did sound as if Polly was back on the self medication journey she went on since almost hanging. That was years ago. Since then, John had died, Michael had come back from America, they had moved up to high society, and had struck up new rivals on various spots in England. Life had changed. Clouds no longer lingered on the streets of Birmingham, everything started to matter a little bit more. They all missed John. Polly would pray for his soul every morning and every night. She would pray for his kids, the ones Esme took, pray they were safer and that somehow she would be able to see them again. 

The next family meeting had taken place in the small room at The Garrison. It was a quick one, more so to catch up on the day’s events. Arthur had come in around, whisky glass in hand, stumbling over his words, “So Poll you seeing ghosts now, eh?” He screamed, making the whole room chuckle and look at her expectantly. “That’s enough Arthur. Just an honest mistake.” She said, a grin painting her face, yet it did not reach her eyes. She knew it was silly, but it wouldn't be the first time she had seen the departed.

Finn stood near the door, facing Arthur’s back, laughing and mocking Polly with the rest of them. “I don’t really remember Martha well, but I don’t think you're delusional aunt Poll.” He said in a confident voice.  The room kept ignoring his words, busy with roaring laughter and the sound of their aunt’s voice scolding them all. Finn kept his posture and continued, “Besides, thought I heard John’s laugh the other day,” he mumbled. The room quieted for a moment. Finn looked up realizing they heard him and continued, “but it wasn’t, eh? Obviously. I-I’m not Polly, don’t have any of that gypsy crap with me.” 

Polly, furiously but steadily, stood up, “First of all,” she said making her way over to Finn, “it is not gypsy crap or gypsy bullshit, do not disrespect your roots.” She said as she smacked him in the head. “Now look at me and tell me what you on about boy.” She grabbed his young face in her hands. “It’s nothing aunt Poll. Just like Martha. It’s nothing. Besides, it was a woman laughing Poll,” he stammered and ripped his face from her grip. Polly stared at him, then at the whole table full of very confused Shelbys. 

“I knew it. I can feel it,” she started, earning a deep glare from Tommy.

“Do not mock me. I can feel when the air shifts. I know what I saw.”

“Okay, that’s enough Poll,” said Arthur, no longer laughing. 

The Shelbys had not made another sound, looking at each other, wondering who would be the first to speak up. Their aunt’s statement had steadied them into a haunting lullaby, reminding them of the many gypsy traditions that they secretly carried with them. The good omens, the way the wind suddenly stilled into an ominous glare that same morning; and in a drastic turn of events, the way the hairs on the back of young Finn Shelby’s neck stood up at the sound of what he mistook for John’s laugh. 

____________________

A week had passed after the eerie conversation at The Garrison. They carried on with their business, with bets and the rival gang that had pestered Tommy for months now. They were closing in around corners of Small Heath, leaving threatening notes on their doorsteps and even going as far as killing a Blinder and leaving him on the betting shop’s entrance. This caused the family to carry trinkets of good luck and repeating gypsy mantras to calm their superstitious beliefs that came with their Romanian blood.

It had all led up to the current position they all found themselves in. Thomas had a gash on his brow, causing blood to adorn his features. His gun pointing at the enemy’s face. The Weston’s were known for their brutality, even worse than a Blinders wrath. Arthur held an already dead man in his arms screaming like a maniac, threatening others who would dare come for them. Finn, Isiah, and Michael incessantly beating and battling the other men, all in a row of punches and blood and gore. A scene so obscene that would have made any person queasy. But these were no ordinary people. They were Shelbys. Polly peaked her head through the small room’s door, enough to see the violence unfold. They had been attacked by surprise at their own pub, and she feared for her nephews lives, more so now than any other time. Never taking her eyes away from the scene, she ferociously prayed for a miracle, a gift, a second chance. 

The men grabbed Thomas by his arms, dangling him whilst another pointed a gun to his face. “Mr. Shelby, always have the upper hand,” said one of them with a tantalizing smirk, “but it seems your reign is over and your crown is mine.” The men chuckled and cheered, seeing their enemy half dead in their hands. Tommy looked up and smirked, which turned into a manic laugh, making the Blinders pause their movements. “Brother?” Arthur asked, gulping at Tom’s actions. Tommy looked at them still laughing, “You think you’ll defeat me? Whenever you think you have the upper hand, I will always be one step in front of you,” he paused to spit, and continued.

“It’s my legacy, it’s my family’s legacy. And you have the nerve to barge into my territory and declare war on me?” His smile never leaving his face, blood covering his teeth. All of them looking upon him in confusion. 

The doors to The Garrison opened letting in dust and a cold wind meddle its way in. Footsteps echoed through the current silent pub. Arthur dropped the man that he held between his arms. Finn’s eyes flashed a look of confusion, recognizing the presence that made its way into the pub. Polly’s hands shook against her sides, too numb to move them. The footsteps grew louder, yet the pace never changed. Tommy looked at the men as they noticed also and chuckled, “Do you you really think I would have left my pub unsupervised for you lot to take?” 

There in the middle of the room stood a group of men led by a girl, a girl that was perhaps younger than Finn. Her dark hair gathered loosely by a ribbon, freckles adorning her face and piercing eyes that matched her posture, determined and hard. Their saving grace. Their hail Mary pass.

“Y/N?” Whispered Arthur.

In a split second the Blinders ducked behind chairs and the other side of the bar. Their guns cocked and immediately erupted in a song of metal and flesh and screams. The girl’s face never changed, her body unbothered. Each and every men dropped to their knees with multiple bullets to their bodies. 

The noise suddenly stopped. The Weston’s Leader remained standing, too embarrassed and in shock to move. Y/N made her way over and pointed her gun to his face, “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” immediately putting a bullet between his eyes. 

“Holy Jesus,” Polly said as she stumbled out of the room, “Y-You look just like her.”

Y/N turned around and smiled at the woman that stood there, pale as snow, as if she’d seen a ghost. “Hello aunt Poll.”

Tommy stood up with the help of a perplexed Arthur. “Who is she?”, Michael asked breaking the tension in the room. 

“I don’t think any of you remember me clearly, I was just a girl when I left.” She said, a small smile appearing on her face. “This is Y/N, John’s daughter,” piped Tommy, looking at her tenderly. 

“You weren’t delusional Polly, I just couldn't give her cover away.”

Polly made her way over to Y/N and cradled her face her hands. “I knew it,” she breathed out, “I knew it, didn't I? I knew that it wasn't a ghost. You look just like your mother.” Polly breathed out in a shaky voice causing the girl to smile widely.

“I reached out to Tommy. Wanted to be a part of the business, reunite with my family.” She said looking around the room excitedly. 

Polly took the girl in her arms, allowing herself to sob freely. The room warmed up with the Shelby’s smiles. It wasn't Martha, It wasn't John, but it was their niece. A living, breathing piece of John’s heart for them to hold and treasure. 

[technews04]

New movies coming out in 2022

2022 release dates

tech news Jessica Chastain leads a classy cast of spies in the action thriller The 355. Oscar winners Lupita Nyong’o and Penelope Cruz join forces with international stars Diane Kruger and Fan Bingbing for a thriller that’s been delayed a year.

Scream (Jan. 14, 2022)

The ’90s slasher series returns.

Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre (Jan. 21, 2022) Guy Ritchie directs Jason Statham, Aubrey Plaza, and Hugh Grant in a tongue-in-cheek spy romp.

Aline (Jan. 21, 2022)

“A fiction freely inspired by the life of Celine Dion.” Really.

Cyrano (Jan. 21, 2022)

Peter Dinklage is the legendary lover in Cyrano.

Escape from Spiderhead (Jan. 21, 2022) Chris Hemsworth, Miles Teller, and Jurnee Smollett star in a sci-fi story about future prisoners and mind-altering drugs.

Moonfall (Feb. 4, 2022) Roland Emmerich and Halle Berry want the moon on a stick in this sci-fi extravaganza.

The Black Phone (Feb. 4, 2022) Ethan Hawke headlines a chilling horror movie.

Jackass Forever (Feb. 4, 2022) Johnny Knoxville, Steve-O, Chris Pontius, Wee Man, and the Jackass crew return after a long break for more pranks and shenanigans. Celebrity guests include Eric André, Shaquille O’Neal, Tony Hawk, Tyler the Creator and Machine Gun Kelly.

Death on the Nile (Feb. 11, 2022) Kenneth Branagh once again fires up his mustache and little gray cells as Agatha Christie’s detective Hercule Poirot in a follow-up to 2017’s Murder on the Orient Express.

Uncharted (Feb. 18, 2022) When 2020’s films began to be reshuffled, Uncharted was the first 2021 film to be moved. Fans are hyped for Sony’s video game adaptation starring Tom Holland, although the release date has jumped around more than Nathan Drake exploring a temple.

Ambulance (Feb. 18, 2022) Michael Bay dials 911 in this intense action thriller.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Feb. 18, 2022) Netflix reboots the classic horror movie.

Sneakerella (Feb. 18, 2022) Disney Plus updates the Cinderella story to modern-day sneaker culture.

Luck (Feb. 18, 2022) Jane Fonda and Whoopi Goldberg lend their voices to this animated comedy on Apple TV Plus.

Rumble (Feb. 18, 2022) WWE’s movie studio tag teams with Paramount for this animated movie in which giant monsters are superstar athletes in professional wrestling.

The Batman (March 4, 2022) Robert Pattinson dons the bat suit for this delayed DC adventure. It’s a Warner Bros. film, but there are no plans to stream it on HBO Max — only 2021 films were released online.

Turning Red (March 11, 2022) Pixar’s latest flick features a young girl who unwittingly transforms into a giant red panda.

Unwelcome (March 18, 2022) Hannah John-Kamen and Douglas Booth are an expectant couple dealing with goblins at the bottom of their new garden.

The Contractor (March 18, 2022) Chris Pine and Ben Foster reunite for some special forces shenanigans, after their acclaimed pairing in 2016’s Hell or High Water.

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (March 25, 2022) Following his meddling in Spider-Man: No Way Home, Marvel’s cocky sorcerer Doctor Strange, played by Benedict Cumberbatch, tackles the Multiverse of Madness.

The Lost City (March 25, 2022) Sandra Bullock and Channing Tatum are an author and a model caught up in a jungle adventure in this adventure comedy.

Everything Everywhere All at Once (March 25, 2022) Michelle Yeoh stars in a multiverse-spanning epic from A24. Trust me, just watch the trailer.

Morbius (April 1, 2022) Sony’s Spider-Man spinoff features Jared Leto as Marvel vampire Morbius. Already delayed a couple of times, in January it was delayed again.

Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore (April 8, 2022) Johnny Depp magically disappears from the Harry Potter prequel series, replaced as the villain by Mads Mikkelsen.

Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (April 8, 2022) Idris Elba is Knuckles as Sonic returns.

Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers (April 8, 2022) John Mulaney and Andy Samberg voice the animated heroes for Disney Plus.

Operation Mincemeat (April 22, 2022) Colin Firth, Matthew Macfayden and Kelly Macdonald head this real-life World War II drama.

65 (April 29, 2022) Adam Driver is a crash-landed astronaut in a thriller directed by the writers of A Quiet Place.

Shin Ultraman (May 13, 2022) A reimagining of Japanese superhero adventure Ultraman.

DC League of Super-Pets (May 20, 2022) Dwayne Johnson is Krypto (Superman’s dog) in this animated comedy featuring the voices of Keanu Reeves, John Krasinski, Kate McKinnon, Natasha Lyonne, Kevin Hart, Diego Luna, Jameela Jamil and Vanessa Bayer.

Bob’s Burgers: The Movie (May 27, 2022) The Belcher family flips out in an animated version of the cartoon series Bob’s Burgers.

Top Gun: Maverick (May 27, 2022) We’ve waited over 30 years for a sequel to the original 1986 Top Gun, as Tom Cruise feels the need for speed again.

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Numb | Tom Holland x Male!Reader

Words: 9091

Warnings: Smut and negative thoughts?

A/N: Sit yourself down for this one. This is loooooong! It’s completely different from what I usually write. Still had an absolute blast writing it. 

Check out the request description below!

Requested by: @idwithoutthesuperego​:  Ok, but a fic where tom sells his body for money because he just needed the money and reasons. And male reader's friends buy a "night" with him without telling reader after a bad breakup. But they just click, and MR kinda falls in love n wants to do the "i'm gonna date you and get you out of that life". But tom is just like "i dont believe in people anymore and im destined to die in some alley being used". This is oddly especiffic, but is something i would just love to read about if u can, plz.

Oh, and if you consider being a good soul and wirtting a fic for my ask, PLEASE make a happy ending hahaha My heart wouldnt be able to handle that drama without the happiness

Tears dry up. Eventually. Suppressing the pain. Left with unanswered questions. For weeks they bothered your conscience. Hang around your neck like a millstone. A burden on your soul. Pondering. That’s what you’re left doing. Your day to day life slowing down to a grinding halt. Everything went on auto-pilot. While your mind pondered over every moment of what could have been. What if… And, if I…

 Circling in your mind forever. Sleep didn't come easy. Nor did any desire for anything. Friend and family kept summing up the logical steps of coping. Stages of grief. "It'll pass." Those little sentences stuck with you. “It’ll take time.” Each and everyone kept repeating it. But what value did it have? What lessons could you take from those words? For you are left with an empty house. An empty couch. An empty chair. And an empty place beside you. Alone. Trapped within your own mind.

 Pondering over every thought and every memory.

 That feeling of nothingness. It’s strange at first. You manage to go on with your life. Sleep returns at night. And waking up wasn’t at painful as it was at first. You couldn’t put your finger on it. But it could be described as numbness. Everything went on autopilot. And feelings were shut off. Barricaded behind layers of overthinking and mind-boggling thoughts. No sense of desire anywhere. The impact of a broken relationship was far worse then you imagined.

 Just comfortably numb.

 "This will do you good." Your friend tries to convince you again. Pushing the flyer into your hand. “For a moment, try to think ab-...” The words reach your ear in waves. Disturbed by sounds coming from somewhere close by. Ringing in your ears. Folding open the flyer, you see some sort of menu. You squint again, slightly intoxicated by the last few beers. This wasn’t some ordinary menu, like a Chinese take-out restaurant. You feel your blood boiling. Heart racing in your chest cavity. You peel your eyes from the fat printed letters. “Men of your choosing."

 “Give it a shot." Your friend nudges you against your shoulder. Seeing the fury in your eyes building, as you look up. "I choose this one for you." Pointing to a loosely attached picture. "He looks nice, doesn't he?"

 “Why would you…?" You mumble, shaking your head in disgust. “Get out.” Tossing everything his way. “Just get out…” Pushing yourself up from the couch. Pacing back and forth across the room, before turning into the kitchen. Raking your fingers through your hair. Letting the cold water from the tap, run across your face. Why do people keep meddling in your business? It's exhausting. A sudden burst of rage and anger courses through you, but it ebbs away as quickly as it came. Leaving you feeling defeated and numb again. Falling back into the kitchen chair. Gaze fixated on the moonlight illuminating the scenery in front of you —mind blank.

 Footsteps approach from behind you. You’ve heard the door open and close. You assumed your friend left. But an unknown voice calls to you. "Hey…"

 "You can go." You respond instantly; without looking,  waving him away. "Please." Releasing an unintended long sigh. Sinking deeper into the chair. Your gaze fixated on the endless void in front of you.

 "I can't." The voice says calm and controlled. "I'm booked for the entire night."

 "I don't care." Shrugging your shoulders. "Please just leave me be. Tip yourself on the way out, wallet is in my coat." You just sit there, sulking in your own misery.

 It's quiet for a good moment. You guess he's probably still there. Standing a few feet behind you.

“You’re awfully calm for a situation like this.”

 "Right…" You chuckle to yourself. “Thanks.”

 "Your friend told me." Hearing his footsteps approach instead of fading away, sending you an uneasy feeling down your spine. "It's ok…" You hear him right behind you. “He means well.” Your body jolts up in the chair, as his hands rest upon your shoulders. His hands just rest. Nothing more. Yet you feel every touch of his finger, every point of contact upon your body. A weird sensation. Even more, as his thumbs begin pressing and rolling around the lower part of your neck. Rubbing your skin. Slowly massaging your sore muscles. A sudden involuntary grunt escapes you.  "I know it's difficult."

 "I… I don't know if… I…" You try to shake the thought of it out of your mind. It conflicted deeply within you. Yet, his touch. So simple, yet strangely satisfying. A different kind of emotion began to rise. Something that had been locked away, far and deep.

 "Please…" He says with subtlety and kindness in his voice. And as he moves past you. The man came into view. Your eyes are somehow captivated by first sight. As he sinks down onto his knees. A thin smile cracked his wistful glance. "It's going to be okay."

 He looked so young, yet worn in a way you couldn't put your finger on. A sorrowful face you had never seen. Long, brown curls gracefully tumbled down his head. The contours of his face were absolutely stunningly shaped. The thin lips and sharp jawline. A work of art. A little imperfection on his right brow. Small hairs rebelling against the flow. Yet his face drained with a gaunt stare. The eyes didn't fool you. Set deep into his face. Small and brown, caramel-like of color. They showed little signs of life left in them. Hollow. Like a flame died out long ago. A spark long lost. A view into the past what once used to be. It lost its touch. It’s humanity...

 Yet, somehow you feel magically drawn to those sorrowful and silent features. Most fascinating, almost hypnotizing. The moment of eye contact was unexpected long. His touch sending you back reality.

 With both his hand on your inner thigh, slowly rubbing his way upwards. The touch of his fingers sends shudders through your systems. They felt so warm. You close your eyes for a moment, shielding your crotch. A moment of insecurity. You couldn't do this. This feeling. Your body, its sending signals you haven't felt in ages. "I… I… don't think I'm ready for this, I'm sorry…"  

 “I get that.” He says, while with one hand lifting your chin. You feel his soft fingers on your cheek. The first touch of a man in months. Your heart flutters excitingly.  And before you open your eyes to meet his. His lips tenderly grace yours. For a brief moment, they join each other. Soft as a cushion, and so warm. It happens quickly. But you want it to last forever. As he disconnects, his dark brown eyes stare at you with compassion. "Your body is, though." He smiles thinly, interlacing his fingers with yours. Gently rubbing down onto your growing bulge.

 “W-Wh …” You stutter and try to protest. But your hands pull back slowly, bit by bit.

 He seats himself back on the floor, spreading your legs apart. Positioning himself closer. With care, he begins to remove your belt. Halting at the first button of your pants. "Try to relax."

 You hesitantly look on. As the zipper opens up. Latching both fingers on the band of your underwear, he slowly pulls in down. Removing your pants, revealing your member, semi-hard. Waiting for the action.

 Leaning forward, he tilts his head and slowly begins working. One simple touch and you were gone. This soft, warm tongue, stroking gently along your length. In a matter of seconds, it's standing full mast. Wrapping his fingers along the base, he continues at a slow pace. Meanwhile, your heart was beating like crazy against your ribcage. You're breathing fastened and irregular.

 “W-What’s your name?” You interrupt. His eyes connect with yours as he looks up through his laces. But doesn’t respond. “P-Please…” You whimper softly.

 He stops, holding your length in one hand. “I’m Tom.” Wetting his lips as he watches you struggle. “You doing alright?”

 You nod quickly, struggling to get your words out. Swallowing the lump in your throat. “T-T-T…om”

 But before you manage to utter another word. He brings his tongue in contact with your tip. Keeping eye contact with you. With a few simple licks, slicking it wet with his saliva. The sensation of his tongue working his way round and round your tip was tantalizing. But the sudden, slide of your tip past his lips and down into his mouth was heavenly. Your body tenses up, hip bucking into his grasp. Moaning his name in response. With your hands clamped to the side of the chair, your fingers digging deep into the wood. Turning your knuckles white, the muscles in your arm cramping up as you can't hold up. You shudder from pure bliss. Only a few strokes up and down with his hands combined with his mouth made you groan deeper and deeper.

 Your eyes widen as he suddenly stops. He rises to his feet, keeps his gaze at you, and with both hands lifting the hoodie over his head. And as the hoodie came off, your eyes hunger for every bit of exposed skin you could possibly find. Giving you a glimpse of a well-trained body. A sneak-peek of a six-pack. Broad shoulders, pecks shining through the shirt. Leaving a much revealing, loosely hanging shirt on his figure. But you feel somewhat caught the moment you get eye contact with him again. His expression was painful to watch. You could almost sense his disappointment. His misery. It's only then you realize the shame. The realization hits you that you view him as an object. As lust.

 "It's ok." Seeing his eyes soften before you, followed by a small smile.

 But it's only a split second before he's back at you again. You can't help but peak past his face down into his shirt. Past his collarbone, onto his muscular torso. God…  

 You snap back to reality, feeling his hand reach for yours. Pulling it from your side. "Hold my hair."

 "W-What…?"

 "Fuck my throat." Sliding his mouth over your member again. Slowly picking up pace. "Go on." He gurgles. Keeping eye contact the whole time.

 “Why are you doing this, Tom?” You ask with a slight tone of disappointment. "You seem so out of place." Lifting his face from your member. "Terribly out of place."

 "Please don't (Y/N)." The mention of your name makes you blush.

 "No, Tom. This isn’t right." You point at his shirt. “Let me look at you.”

 "Wha…-" He sighs, hanging his head down in shame. "No, please don't."

 "Tom, I mean no wrong." You couldn’t help yourself. You could foreshadow what was beneath that shirt. Being in that sort of business took its toll. You caught a glimpse of it when he got rid of his hoodie.

 His gaze was stuck to the floor for a moment. Contemplating on his actions. Before taking to his feet. Slow and defeated. Averting your gaze before turning around. With crossed arms, he takes the corners of his shirt. And pulls it over his head. Waiting for your reaction. You swallow the lump in your throat once again. Seeing the small spots of discolored skin on his back. The bruises. Some larger than the other. Some bright red, the others darkened. The words stock in your throat, feeling the tears well in your eyes. The thought of him suffering by the hands of others made you sick. The poor thing.

 You rise to your feet, closing the distance between you and him. Gracing your fingers on the bruises. “Do they… hurt you?” Tracing your fingers down his side. Partly feeling the muscles under your fingers. But the fact that he didn’t answer your question made you more than worried.

 “Promise me one thing, (Y/N)…” He stops your hand from trailing along the side of his figure. Resting his hand on yours. He’s glowing. Warm to the touch. You can’t help but close the distance. Placing your other hand on his hip.

 With a thin smile, he turns around. Your eyes take in every inch, from his pecs to his abs. A breathtaking body stood in front of you. Strong and masculine. But not too big. "God…" You awe. "You're g-gorgeous-..." Your throat falls dry at the sight. You feel flutters deep down. “I… I’m sorry.”

 “It’s okay.”

 Small bruises dotted down his side. Dark from color, pain from long ago. "Tom…" You mutter worryingly. All the time you awed at his body, he averted his eyes. Looking aside. You now understand why. As your eyes sink lower and lower. You spot the bulge in his pants. Impossible to hide. "Are you…" Not finishing your question because of the obvious. The red rushing to his cheeks.

 He still nods in acknowledgment. "I…I… never had this happen before.”

 “Do you…” A finger on your lips silences your words. Stepping very close to you, spotting his watery eyes up close.

"Yes! Yes, I do!" He confessed, with tears welling in the corner of his eyes. Shaking as he struggles to get his words out. "But promise me…that when…” His nostrils flaring. “-This will never work (Y/N)…" Smashing his lips into yours. You didn’t want to listen to his words. None of it. His arms reach around you, pulling you in. Wrapping your own around him, feeling every part of his skin. Pressed tight against him. Ripping the remaining clothes off your body. You just wanted to feel that perfect body. And so did he, roving his hands all over yours.

 Every kiss has a raw intensity. There’s just too much skin and too few hands and tongues to worship it all. Both your bodies collide against each other completely naked. His firm and rigid cock pressing against your skin. It glides through your hand as wet as it can be. Tom jerking you off at the same time. Moans and grunts fill the room. Tom’s member too slippery to even get a hold of. The sight of it makes you weak in the knees. The chair behind you topples over from your vicious play. As you stumble out of the kitchen. Against the doorpost, over the couch. Towards the bedroom.

 Together you fall onto the mattress. Rolling back and forth. An intense play of hands and lips. Dry humping against each other. You both can't get enough of each other. His lips kissing every inch of skin. Forcing his weight onto you, making you lay flat on your back. He arches back, and sensually starts grinding his pelvis onto yours. Rubbing your balls and cock together into a soaking wet mess. He must have done this hundreds of times. It looked so smooth and sensual. Moaning softly as he held both of your members together. With gentle hands, but a firm grasp nonetheless. Thrusting both cocks through his hand. His fingers teasing the ridges along the lengths. Spreading the pre-cum with the pad of his thumb. Looking at his face, he's so concentrated that you once again get caught staring at him.

 Both moaning, the air is thick of pheromones, the smell seeping into your mind. Both wanting it badly. As he locks eyes again, he smoothly reaches round with one hand. He seemed really flexible, propped on his knees. Arching backward as he lifts his ass up, guiding your tip to his entrance. A slight resistance gave way, allowing you to slide far and deep into him. The moment you sheath yourself into him deeper and deeper, you watch on as he shudders. Contorting his face. Both hands cling to your chest. With both his hands resting on your torso, the fingers dig deep and hard into your skin. Feeling his shaking and shuddering throughout your body. He closes his eyes for a moment, moaning your name in pleasure. And sinks further forwards to your chest. Panting heavily. After regaining himself, he adjusts his hands on your shoulder. And locks lips with yours. "Y-You… f-feel amazing." Moaning into the kiss. The praise turning you on immensely. Growing impossibly large inside of him.

 And so he slowly begins grinding his hips back and forth with your shaft deep inside him. Feeling yourself widen him further and further. Tom’s moans become long and raw. Sitting up straight again, he takes one hand and forces your cock deeper into him. Reaching further and deeper. While trying to clench his cheeks around you. Hitting different and deeper spots. The sudden increase in pressure and warmth were becoming too much. Not only for you. You see Tom's mouth fall open, gasping for air, his eyes shut tight from ecstasy. His other hand caresses the skin of his neck.

 Your grunts become shorter and shallow. You’re a lost cause. Your mind is blank, completely lost at the sexual pleasure coursing through your body. Racing towards your climax. Both hands clinging to his hips, but your strength wasn’t helping much.

 Tom could feel it coming. Your balls churn. A pent up force, craving to be released. And all it takes is a look into each other’s eyes for you to fill him up. And before you tip the point of no return. He picks up the pace. Making sure to milk every drop by clenching his cheeks harder on you. A loud gasp follows. Shuddering your body to the very core. Your hands dig deep into the side of his hips. The splashing inside is intense as you cum, spilling all over. And Tom just keeps riding. Until you just turn limb. Gasping out his name.

 "Felt good?" He asks, breathing heavily, watching his chest heave up and down. A smile on his face. You again realize what a beautiful person he was. His body atop of yours, glistening with sweat. And a damn cute smile.

 “Out of this world.” You pant, laying your head to rest on the cushion. “You’re incredible.”

 "Good." Cupping your cheeks with both hands and kissing you. The smile on his face was larger than you'd ever seen. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." You notice a sudden sparkle flaring in his eyes. Something igniting deep within.

 "How about you…?" Eyeing his erection. "You didn't blow your load." Wrapping your arms around his neck. Pulling him towards you for a slow and passionate kiss.

 "Don't you worry, I did enjoy it very much." He smiled. "More then I should." Pushing strands of hair from your forehead. "I was close…" He confesses softly.

 "Then why didn't you keep going?"

 "Because that would hurt you…" He blushed.

 "How?"

 "You can't just keep going if you blow your load. At first, it's really sensitive, but then it becomes increasingly itchy, to a point it feels like it burns. Quite painful."

 You're both lost in each other’s gaze. As he falls beside you, curling up to cuddle. Tom resting on your chest. Your fingers playing with the brown silky smooth curls of his. "What can I do to make you feel good?" You whisper to him.

 "You already did." Pressing a soft kiss on your lips. You can't help but notice the way he smiled. It's wholesome. To the point of a complete cuteness.

 "Tom, I want you to feel good too." Slowly tracing your fingers up and down his spine. "Because that smile suits you."

 "But, I don't want to hurt you (Y/N)." He looks up with a growing expression of worry on his face.

 "It won't, Tom." Cupping his cheek. "I want to feel you."

Through all the glistening sweat and wetness on your bodies. You feel his length grow against your thigh. Yourself following along. "Give it to me, baby…" You whisper close to his ear.

 Tom helps himself on his knees. His member standing fully erect, ready for you. A jolt of excitement shoots through you at the sight. It's been forever since you've been pleasured since your break up. Something you actually look forward to now. So you roll onto your knees. "Wait…" You look back at Tom. "Turn over."

 On your back again, eager and waiting, Tom takes you by the hips. Reeling you in. Positioning himself behind you. And turns you on your side.  “This is most comfortable for you.” Kneading your ass cheeks with gentle hands. Captivated by your hole. “Alright?”

 You can’t help but chuckle at his carefulness. How soft and tenderly he was approaching you. Putting a cushion under your hips. Rearranging the sheets. Therefore receiving a semi frowned questioning look from Tom.

 “Sweety, I know what you’re going to do.” You give him a reassuring smile. “I’m ready.”

 “Trust me, if you do it wrong, it’ll hurt like hell.” Giving you a little kiss. “I wouldn’t want that to happen.” You stare at each other for half a second. You draw a deep breath, dizzy with anticipation.

 He moves one leg aside, revealing your entrance. A little gasp of excitement leaves, as you feel his tip slowly slide at your hole. “Please tell me if it hurts.” He asks. You nod eagerly. His hands grip onto your hips, the pressure on your entrance increasing. You lick your lips and suck in another deep breath.  You stifle a groan as you feel your sphincter grip the head of his cock. You’re legs feel numb. You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling, releasing a silent moan.

 He holds the moment your face contorts even the slightest, waiting for you to adjust. Slowly accepting his length. Every inch he enters you, you hear his grunts become heavier. Your warmth and light wetness guiding him deeper. “Y-You’re tight.” He moans, trying to regain this breath. “Fuck…” Wiping the sweat from his face.

 Your dick is throbbing, there was no other way to describe it. Pressed against the sheets. No stimulation but only the motion of his thrusts. Stimulated by his presence. His looks. His thrusts. You're breathless, staring at his physique. He is masculine, but not too much. So complete. The view of his muscles tensing and relaxing. Utterly mesmerizing to watch. Even as he begins to move back and forth. Sweat breaks out all over your body at the first couple of thrusts. Very slow and lovingly.

 Stretching your further as he goes in. His breathing slow and ragged. He pushed deep. Reaching far inside you. Warming places you didn’t know you had. The feeling of his dick fully inside you was driving you to the point of an unexpected climax already. The rigidness of his cock, rubbing your insides. Making you shudder to your very core while praising his name. Your cock already leaking on the sheets.

 The pressure inside you rising faster than ever before. It’s impossible to think straight, his pace was slow and passionate. Yet, you only feel his cock hitting your insides. You grip your sheets, whimpering uncontrollably. You only manage to utter his name, squirming under his pressure. The cum just starts pouring out of you, uncontrollable amounts soaking the already wet area. Tom follows up with another thrust, making you squirt even further. You moan long and hard, feeling your entire body shudder from the release. “Holy s-shit… Tom.” You sputter.

 As you open your eyes, you watch Tom hunched forward. Panting heavily. Eyes clenched shut. "Tom…?" You ask. He holds his hand up to you. Signaling you to wait. After he regains himself again, he positions himself further above you. You hear his hot ragged breath, tightly hugging his hips against your ass cheeks. Cock buried deep inside you. “F-Fuck, (Y/N)…” He grunts. “That was hot…”

 He takes a moment to gather himself again. You do the same. Catching your breath and calming your senses. You wait for Tom to move again.  Before he does, he starts to pepper your body with wet, hot kisses. Moaning your name softly as he begins to roll his hips.

 Goosebumps shoot across your skin at the mention of your name. A sudden yelp escapes your lips, grabbing his attention immediately. To your surprise, you feel a moist sensation touching your cock. You gaze at your member, while it hardens without touch. Only by a few thrusts from his shaft.

 “Shit…” He grunts as he wraps his fingers around your length. An awkward position, but he manages. Stroking your cock, coated by your own cum, slow and steady. Completely captivated by it. You sense it's turning him on immensely, as you feel him thicken inside you.

 You release a silent moan as your mouth falls open. Feeling his girth stretch you even further. The ridges rubbing you in unexpected ways. After a few strokes, he loses his grip, licking the wetness from his fingers, one by one. You watch as he sucks each of his fingers dry in his mouth. “Fuckin’ hell...” He groans. “That’s really good." Leaning in, he lands his lips on yours. "I'm getting close, baby." He moans into the kiss.

 “Go for it.” You whisper into his ear. Holding him close. “Blow your load for me.” As he picks up pace. Desperate for release. His cock feeling incredibly hard inside you. Swelling even further at the mention of your dirty talk. “Blow it all inside me.”

 He grunts deep and hard into your ear. Rolling his hips faster and faster into you. “C’mon, baby.” You encourage him. Feeling his cock grow inside you. His breathing quickens, as does his momentum. Rutting into you faster than before. Not relentlessly, but with a comfortable pace.

 Already widened and stretched from before, you feel his cock hitting you deep again. Each time he hits your thrust back, hitting that same spot, you feel the sensation ache in your cock. Twitching from pleasure. “R-Right there, Tom.” You gasp again.

 He shoots a look at you, realization hitting him that you’re getting close again. “Keep going.” You moan out loud. Not a moment later, you feel him pulse inside you. With a cry, he thrust once more, deep and hard into you. You lift your ass to meet his thrust, his balls slap against your skin. The splashing inside you as he cums is so intense that you feel it spilling down your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. Watching him pump load after load into you. Your cock twitches, barely holding on. As your insides were coated.

 He just pulls out, like a plug of a bathtub. You gasp of relief, feeling the wetness seep outwards.  Drops of wetness fly from his still erect member as it bounces upward. Giving a quick tug on your legs, so you end on your back again. Spreading your legs.

 You’re out of breath for a moment. Not sure what he was going to do. Watching your own dick spring back into view again. All wet and swollen. With force, he pulls you to the side of the bed and kneels down. His fingers wrap around your member. As he suddenly starts suckling on your balls. It's strange ticklish feeling at first, but combined with his firm grasp on your length, and strokes, it became more than that. Your balls begin to churn. Gripping the sheets around you, your head falls back onto the mattress, overwhelmed by this quick handling.  

 “T-Tom!” You cry out. “God!” You plant both your feet on the mattress. You shut your eyes tight, pressing your head back into the mattress, thrusting your hips into his grasp. But he doesn’t slow down.

 “Tom!” You burst out, not only in words. Your eyes widen, gasping out loud as he rubs down hard on your shaft. Cum jets from your swollen cock. Stroking you hard, milking every last possible drop.

 It's only hazy from thereon…

 You’re not sure if you passed out, but it felt like you sprayed the ceiling with your load. The next moment you open your eyes, you find Tom cuddled up against you. Just some sheets covering a few parts. “Did I pass out or…?”

 “You didn’t.” He chuckles, looking up at you with a smile on his face. “You dozed off very shortly after. I don’t blame you.” He sniffles while tracing a finger up and down your chest. You wrap your arm around him. Just living in the moment. "I'm so happy, your friend picked me." He whispered to you. That comment stuck with you.

 "Thank you, Tom." Pressing your lips on his forehead, tasting a taint of salt. Picking a few strands of hair from his forehead. Cuddling together in the safe comfort of each other. The sharing of interests you had in common. Followed by simple chatter about the things in life. Making each other laugh. Having a good time. For once, in a very long time, you felt whole again. His smile. His presence, something felt right. Something clicked.

 And it's that sort of thing you just can’t get enough of. Your eyes are glued to him. The heat rising in your system. That flutter in your stomach. It hurts. In a good way. He is everything you ever wanted in a man.

 You love him.

 All cuddled up against each other, it falls to you how sticky everything actually really his. His skin glistening with sweat and wetness.

 “How about we freshen up?” Rustling your fingers through his curls. “Shower is big enough for both of us.”

 “Good idea.” His lips meeting yours in agreement. "I'll gladly join you."

 Being close to together, naked, warm water, and soap. Things get heated again. You don't know how long you been in the shower. And you don't mind. Because for the time, you felt the rush of living again. Being alive. Receiving praise. Kind words whispered into your ear.

No denying that his smile was infectious. A smile that wouldn't disappear, you noticed. Tom was a whole different person to the one that stepped in earlier tonight. Deep down, you could feel that this version of him was the real him. Loving, caring, passionate.

 And no matter how dangerous shower sex was told to be. You did it. And more. Memories burned into your mind forever.

 You take a moment longer to rinse off the sweat and wetness under the steaming hot water. Recollecting those wonderful moments again. Tom already out. You can't seem to shake your smile. This was right. This is how life should be.

 Turning into the bedroom with your towel wrapped around your waist, your smile drops immediately. "Where you going?" He hastily pushes his phone back into his pocket. Tom was already dressed, ready to put on his jacket.

 "I have to go." He mumbled, avoiding your gaze. His smile nowhere to be seen.

 "Please, just stay."  This moment was bound to happen. But you weren’t going to give in. You’ve seen enough people leave through that door. "Stay with me."

 "I… I… can't… I need to go." Checking the time on his phone.

 "You don't have to do this, you know. I can-" But midsentence, you're cut off.

 "Don’t… (Y/N).” His voice skips a beat. You’re pretty sure you could see tears welling in his eyes. You have to fight to keep them back as well. “P-Please…” He stutters, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Don’t make this harder than it already is."

 "Tom, it's doesn't have to be this way."

 "I warned you. It can't be helped." He sobbed. An hour ago, the man standing in front of you was majestic, beautiful, and full of life. What remained now was nothing of that. Hunched shoulders and hands stuffed into his pockets. Eyes wet from tears.

 "I'll take a chance."

 "Please, stay out of it. Just leave me be. Forget about me."

 "Oh no, I can't. Not in a million years. I'll get you out whatever shithole you got yourself into." You’re just glad he didn’t walk right out. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to follow him. Something was holding him back.

 "It's not worth it. It can't be fixed."

 "Everything takes time to heal."

 "Not me, not me." He snickers. “I… I need to go.”

 You rush to your drawers, pulling fresh clothes out as fast as you can. "Wait, I'll bring you wherever you're going."

 "You'll get into trouble if they see you."

 "I don't care." You quip while jumping into a pair of pants.

 "But I do!" He cries. “I do!”

 "The feeling is mutual." You growled. With your shoes and jacket on, you interlace fingers with his. Dragging him outside. And as you open the door, the pizza delivery shows up. “P-… Pizza delivery?” The man hesitates, looking at the both of you weirded out. “Here.” You shove a bill of cash into his hands. "Now, go!" He instantly rushes off onto the street. With screeching tires, the little scooter darts back up the road. In a big arch, you toss the pizza inside, cheese, and all flying everywhere before you close the door behind you.

 The car ride was uneasy, to say the least. No music. Only darkness and the rain hitting the windshield. Sometimes a finger, pointing you in the right direction. You appeared mad. To say you weren't was a misconception. But not at him. And what kind of music was even appropriate at that moment? Your mind was conflicted. You could just drive the opposite direction. Away from it all. He would be save.

 Would he?

 You couldn’t judge if you didn’t know where he was living. What if they came after him? That would endanger you as well. No, this required a different approach. This needed planning. God, you were in a state to do anything.

 Breath in, breath out. Calm yourself down.

  Hope.

Was it misplaced hope

?

 Hope for a happy ending.

 But hope is the worst of all evils, for it prolongs the torment of men. Words from an old book. Spoken by wise old men as they say. But in the end, the truth runs from the first to the very last word. How naive could you be? Deep down, you knew this was impossible. His words spoken earlier that evening kept circling in the back of your mind. Yet, you cling to that glimmer of hope. Those words in the shower. Those moments together. This couldn't be it?

 You hoped not.

  “Stop here.” He says. “It’s down that alley.” Pointing to a small flickering light in the distance. You could only get a glimpse as the windscreen wipers came by to clear the pouring rain from your window. You spot the outline of a figure standing there. "Turn around the moment I enter that alley. Don't come near.”  

 “I need your number.” Pulling out your phone. But he had already opened the door. “Tom!” You hissed, leaning over to passenger’s seat. Barely in time to get a hold of his arm. “How can I find you?” The wind and rain washing into the car. You have to blink once or twice to keep the rain out of your eyes. “Tom?!”

 “T-Thank you for tonight, (Y/N).”

 "No! Tom!" Tears welling in the corner of your eyes. Awkwardly constrained by your seatbelt, struggling to get a firm grasp on his hand. "Don't do this!" Your fingers begin to lose their grip on his hand, the rain hitting you relentlessly. This sting of pain. You felt this moment before. Slowly slipping away from your fingers. "Not like this!"

 "I'm so sorry…" And with a tug, he pulls his arm free, slamming the door into your face.

 You scream from the top of your lungs. Tears rolling down your cheek, you fumble with the seatbelt. But it won't open. Tears cloud your vision, anger raging from deep within. Forcing you to watch him run through the rain towards that accursed alley. You let your fury loose on anything in range. Until you're deprived of energy. Resting your forehead against the steering wheel. Watching the tears fall from your cheeks. You lost.

 A knock on your window makes you jump. “G-Hello?” A thick accent calls out to you. Your eyes spot the contours of a man. His face closing in on the window. His features unpleasant to the eye, looking like a common fugitive. Not with the best intention. "You zhould not be ghere.”

 So many things raced through your mind. You could just mash the door against his burly, ugly set face. Giving you an advantage to whatever came next. But… What would you achieve with that?

You nod quickly and steer your car the way you came. Driving around mindlessly. Gaze fixated on the horizon.

 It’s been minutes, hours, and days. They’re as grueling as you could possibly imagine. Tormented by your own thoughts. How could you save Tom? You couldn't admit to yourself that you actually knew nothing. There's only a location. That's all.

 Taking a few days off only makes it worse. Sleep doesn’t come at all. Falling back on drinking makes no difference. It only forces out the anger. Until the tipping point of intoxicating takes over your senses.

 Until your eyes spot the flyer, you’re hands tremble as you gaze on the picture of Tom. In all fairness, there wasn’t even a name mentioned. Only a number, like a damn menu. You scramble for your phone, shaking with nervousness. It takes a moment for the number to connect, until you hear a lady’s voice call out the name of the business.

 “Ehm… Hello, I… want Tom, p-please." You stutter, sweat breaking out across your body. While your fingers play with the edges of the picture. Gaze stuck on the picture of Tom. It remains silent on the other end of the line.

 “He doesn’t work here.” That single comment makes your blood boil. The thought that some filthy businessman groping him was sickening.

 “I meant number 26.”

 “I don’t know either. Anyone else?”

 “JUST GIVE ME FUCKING TOM!” You scream from the top of your lungs. “How hard can it be!”

 "I'm afraid I can't help you, sir." And the line disconnects. You're fumingly mad. Realizing your failure.  Gritting your teeth, you barely able to control yourself. Your thoughts sink deeper, and deeper in desperation. You could pull each and every single hair out of your skull out of frustration. Kicking chairs over and destroying stuff didn't satisfy in any way. Only the pain halted you momentarily. This couldn't be the end. You wouldn't let it end this way. You can't.

 You can’t let him go.

  - - - - -

From around the corner, you watch the alleyway. It’s been days. You thought this through countless times. Overthinking is what they call it. Days on end. If Tom was there, you needed to take a shot. You have to do something. What else is there to live for anyway? That is one way to boost your morale you chuckle to yourself. You take one last sip from the bottle before putting in back in your car. Releasing a hiss as the strong liquor burns its way down your throat. In a weird way, it makes your head clearer. Calms the nerves. Brings peace to your mind. Boosts your confidence. If only for this moment. You double-check the surroundings. Everything's in place.

 With confidence in your step, you lock your car around the corner and make your way down the street. You straighten your collars before sheathing them in the pockets of your jacket.  It takes quite a few steps to get there. The man on the corner of the alleyway can’t help but notice you. Trying casually to walk towards you. And as you approach the man, you notice he’s definitely one size larger than you. It surely wasn't the man that warned you in your car. This one had a more pleasant and kinder look to him. "G-Hey you…" He nods at you. "You ghot businez here?” Speaking with the same Eastern European accent as the other.

 You halt in front of him. Taking a moment to answer him, trying to keep your nerves in check. While looking calm at the same time. “I’m here for this.” Revealing the flyer from your pocket. “Is the manager in?”

 “Da, but why zhould I let you through?”

 You sigh with discontent. Revealing a stack of money from your pocket. "Here." Handing him twenty or so bills. "Don't bother me anymore." And take the gamble by walking past him. You hear a whistle behind you. Just as you are about to turn into the dim-lit alleyway, another man halts you. An impressively large man. You weren’t small either. But he towered over you, by far.

 “Got any on ya?” Surprisingly, this man wasn’t Eastern European looking or sounding at all. Holding your hands up beside you, you shake no. But the man still searches you. Keeping an eye on you at all costs. Mumbling to himself a few things. "Follow me."

 Through the dark passage, you’re led towards a metal door. Only a dim light above it shows the entrance. The rest is barely visible. The man engages the locking mechanism and opens the door. Through a series of corridors and stairs, you get the impression of this operation. A series of rooms, followed by cells. Giving you an inside look of how dilapidated and horrifying the building actually is. Your worst nightmare just becomes a reality. It's beyond belief how Tom managed to survive in these conditions.

 You try to keep your gaze fixated on the man in front of you as you follow him. But you desperately hope to see Tom here somewhere. What if you don't get out of here… alive? You draw a deep breath and focus on what’s next. A sudden halt at a room, makes you jump a little. “In here.” Pointing inward to an older lady behind a desk. "Make your request." He grunts, crossing his arms as several other people in the room watching you enter.

 “How can I help you, sir?” The woman kindly asks you. You recognize her voice from the phone earlier this week.

 “Alright.” You say, unimpressed. “Cut the middleman.” Turning around to the large man. “Bring me to the manager.” His gaze far from friendly. From the corner of your eyes, you see the nearby, you guess guards, take a step closer. Some whispering to each other. As the large man takes a few steps towards you. Ending up so close to you, he’s literally looking down on you. The smell of smoke and sweat hinted at your nostrils. His warm, foul breath fanning onto your hair.

 “Why should we… little one?” He growled demeaningly. Not a smile in sight. “You walk into here with loads of cash, and demand to see the manager. What is so important you have that you need to see the manager?” Crackling his knuckles close to your face. His hands were large, fingers short but fatty. Stained by all kinds of things you rather wouldn’t know about. “For all I know, you were never here, to begin with…”

 “Excellent threat." You sniffle, revealing a stack from your pocket. As you do in the process, you hear guns being cocked. "Here." Stuffing the stack into his pocket. “Problem is, my burly friend…” You gaze up to him, forcing a grin on your face.  “I didn’t wander in here unprepared. You see, If I don’t return within… let’s say… the next two hours-…” Letting the moment sink in. Eyeing the people in the room. Everyone eager listening in on your little conversation. “-shits going down.”  

 “What did you call me?” His hand resting upon your shoulder, leaning down.

 “Do you call the shots for your boss?” You tilt your head slightly. Looking at him with a playful smile. “I don’t think he’ll appreciate the news I have regarding his ratline from Europe.”

 The man looks past you, nodding to the lady behind the desk. Returning his gaze to you.

 "Not willing to take the risk, hmmm?" You joke. Behind your back, you hear several whispers. The eyes of the man shot back and forth between the lady and you. Before pushing you down the hallway again. Again leading you through some corridors, down the staircase. Ending up in a luxurious room.

 Behind a desk sat a figure, so bulbous and fat, you’d never seen anything alike. Gold rings on his meaty fingers. The room decorated in some sort of Russian style. The left wall accommodating a series of monitors. Probably surveillance. But as you keep your eyes longer on the screens, you see the prostitutes. Man and women. You try to keep a straight face. “I heard interesting things about you, young man…” The blob of a man behind the desk mutters.

 “I always thought Russians started with a drink, before doing business.” Keeping a straight face.

 The flesh of its body bounces and flays around as it laughs loudly. Signaling the large man to pour the glasses. He couldn’t even do it himself anymore, his fat little arms limiting his movement. “Nasdrovia!” You both cheer and cling the glasses, chucking the content.

 “Let’s talk business.” The man says with a thick voice.

 "I have intel, concerning the safety of your cargo." You glance over to the guards. "Can we get the room to us.” Looking at the Russian for a confirmation.

 "Give him a minute." He waves at you with his fat fingers. "Continue." The large man that led you here hesitates. Keeping his eyes on you. "Go!" The Russian shouts again, waiting for the door to close.

 You take a deep breath. And focus on the conversation. The details are important. Focus.

“You need to relocate within the next… 24 hours.” Checking your watch. “They’re on to you.”

 “How do you know?” He burst out laughing. “Do you have any evidence? Because my business is at an all-time high. My man and woman are booked like never before. I even have a new shipment comin-”

 "Container #556121 on the SSE Georgia has been snitched." You say with a reassuring tone. "Go ahead. Tell me if I'm wrong." He has a distrusting look on his face, hesitant to believe you. But still goes ahead to unlock his drawer, revealing a sort of book and a laptop.

 Bluff. Neither the name of the ship or the number was anything close to what you were supposed to say. Through all the nerves, you just made something up. You just simply couldn't remember what the police told you. Your heart pounded in your chest. It's now or never. Everything depended on the next few minutes. On that little wire, you were carrying. The strength of your arms. Your will. And above all, the speed of the police. Your fingers tremble as you grab your watch. It's bound to happen at any moment.

 What happened next went so fast. It's all a blur. One distant gunshot set off a chain reaction. You jump over the desk as the door behind you swings open, blood splatters all across. The razor-thin wire detaches from your watch, and you swing it around the neck of the bulbous man. His fat little arms couldn’t reach around. Shielding behind his humongous chair and body, you restrain him. You watch the bullet impacts on the wall near you as the guard curses loudly. The fat man’s arms flap around.  “Tell me about Tom, you fat fuck!” You shout. “I need to know!” Tightening the wire. With your “Where is he!?” Bashing his head from behind. “WHERE IS HE?!”

 The man fights and struggles heavily, barely able to breathe—coughing and desperate for air. The giant oak chair the man sat in, shook and trembled on the floor by the man's panicking movements. Screeching back and forth. His spasming legs hit the desk to the floor. Sending loads of stuff flying. The man points his finger to the guard. “K-K-Kill T…Tom!” He gurgles to the guard. The words reach your ears moments later, processing what the man just said. You panic as the guards suddenly darts off, grabbing his phone.

 “Noooooo!” Storming off towards the door, fueled by rage. Blinded by anger. Falling over several items on the floor. You regain your footing and continue to run towards the door. Turning the corner without a second thought.

 A bright flash. A high pitched noise. A ringing in your ear. A wince of pain, tearing into you, forcing every thought out of your mind, paralyzing your body. Only by a deep groan. Your eyes are blurry, your vision doubles as you stagger on your feet. Trying to blink it away didn’t help. You feel the pain worsen. Deepen. Sharp pain lances at your abdomen. Another flash close by. Jerking your body around.  Excruciating pain. It all happens with such force. It sends you stumbling backward. Your hands reach for the doorpost, trying to remain afoot. Holding on for life. But strength ebbs away. Your limbs feel numb. Fingers shaking, losing its grip. Slumping down to the floor, onto your knees. Everything hurt. Sharp, deep, unstoppable pain. Each exhale of breath stings your insides. Chocking the breath from your lungs. Your vision blurs, slowly turning red—darkness pressing in.

 But it wasn’t your vision turning red. It’s the pool of crimson red blood forming under your hands. Warming your pale, cold hands, oozing from your wounds. Panic hits. You’re short of breath, experiencing extreme difficulty with breathing. The cold gripping you. Your words strangled by the welling of warm blood, filling your throat. “T-Tom…” You manage to bring out in faltering gasps. Draining the last bit of energy left in you. “T...o...m…” Before your arms give in. Your head slamming against the crimson tainted concrete.

 Then silence.

 Silence.

 …

 …

 ...

 Is death near?

 …

 …

 ...

 That ringing noise in your ear. Coming closer.  Your head felt heavy and painful. As you slowly regain consciousness. You blink a couple of times to readjust to the intense light blinding your eyes. After a moment, you notice the light that shines in your eyes are rays of sunlight. Your try uttering a few words. But your throat was as dry as the desert, and rough like sandpaper. Forcing out an awful cough. "Am... I in heaven?" Your voice sounding croaked and harsh. Followed by another coughing fit. Your lungs hurt. A sharp pain lancing in your chest. Contorting your insides. Everything hurts. Each movement you made, your bones and muscles ache in response.

 “Sir?” A calming voice of a woman called to you. “Sir, how are you feeling?”

 “Terrible.” You cough, struggling to breathe. “Where am I?”

 “The hospital.” A young woman in nursery clothing showed up in your field of view. “You’re in good hands.” Everything looked pale white. Painfully white to the eyes. “You’re going to be fine.”

You have difficulty in paying attention to her. Your vision doubles, sound dissipates. She was trying to say something, but you couldn’t follow it.

 “The man that saved you is here.” Shaking your arm. "Sir..." Trying to keep you from passing out. "Look.” Helping you up. Your eyes slowly adjusting to the light, taking in the room. Loads of flowers decorated the space. Accompanied by colorful cards on the wall. “He stayed by your side the moment you came in. We could-"

 Her words fall to deaf ears. You couldn't believe your eyes. Blinking repeatedly. You try to sharpen the image. The tears welling in your eyes, not helping a bit.

 “This is heaven.” You mumble. The woman stops and looks at you. Giggling at your comment. Sitting there beside you, resting his head against the side of your bed. Eyes shut, snoring softly with his coat wrapped around him. "T-To…m…"  You try to say, falling into a terrible cough.  

 He jumps a little in his seat by the touch of the nurse. Rubbing the sleepers from his eyes, taking a moment to gather his bearings. But that moment you make eye contact. “(Y/N)!” He cries out. You can’t believe your eyes.

 “It’s really you.” You cough while trying to sit up. Tears streaming freely down your cheeks. "T-Tom!"

 "I can't believe it!" He snickers. Diving onto you, his arms closing around you, sobbing against your neck. You remain like this for a while. Deep in his embrace. Tears, only tears. But tears of happiness. You couldn’t remember when you experienced those.

 “T-Tom…?” You’re afraid to ask but needed to know. “Is… is it over? Is it done? A-Are you free...?”

  “Yes…” He nods, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Yes, I am. You did it. It's over." Cupping your cheeks with both hands, kissing you like you never been before. Euphoria. Blessed. Relieved. You feel alive.

“I cried myself to sleep that night (Y/N). Thinking I would never see you again.”  

 You nod. "I felt so lost without you." Knowing precisely what he meant. "I was so scared, Tom. I… I… thought I… was d-dying." Your body shakes at the thought and recollection of that moment. "It all… happened-d… and… I… I… m-missed you… so m-m-much." The sobs turn into long wails of emotions running freely.

��"It's ok." His arms reach around you, hugging your fragile body close to him. Letting all the tears flow freely. Crying in each other’s arms. "We’re going to be fine.”

 You hold him close, not ever wanting him to go. Locking eyes with him again. The reality of him beside you was heartwarming. That wonderful smile. It filled you with joy and happiness. But the questions burned at the back of your mind. "The nurse said you were the one who saved me? How…?"

 "I found you..." Enveloping your hands in his, pressing kisses to your cold fingers. "-on the floor." His eyes turn red, the tears running down his cheek. Crying for a moment, before he continues.

"A-A-After I heard the first shots close by, everything went so fast. I... saw guards being shot, and I ran… I knew something was wrong. I heard more shots. And… that’s when I turned the corner… I found you..." He weeps. "One moment you were there…" His blood-red eyes look at you with terror. "-the other I realized you were… close to… d-dying in my arms."

 You can't help but kiss him, hold him close. Comfort him as he wailed softly.

"Poor thing." The tears rolling down your cheek. “It’s going to better from here on out. I promise, Tom. I promise you.”

 "I love you (Y/N)." He whispers. His watery eyes lock with yours. "I love you with all my heart."

[your-frenchblondgirl]

Marvel's Loki: 12 Easter Eggs, Hidden Meanings, & Plot Details From Trailer

The God of Mischief is up to no good again.

Marvel President Kevin Feige unveiled the first in-depth look into Tom Hiddleston's debut solo series, Loki, which will follow the consequences of the 2012 version of everyone's favorite horned anti-hero as he makes a timeline-disrupting escape. From references to other Asgardians to apocalyptic alternate futures, Loki's trailer is full of hints to the show's mysterious plot.

Without further adieu, let's break it all down. Here are 12 things from the Loki trailer — including Easter eggs and hidden references — that you (probably) missed.

Endgame Effects

The first 25 seconds of the trailer contextualize where we are, and how we got here.

To recap, Avengers: Endgame's time heist was not a perfect mission. When the team of Tony Stark, Captain America, Hulk, and Ant-Man travel to the events of 2012's The Avengers, they successfully obtain the Soul and Mind Stones without problem, but fail to capture the Space Stone. After being knocked aside by an irate Hulk (stairs!), the Tesseract pops out of its briefcase, landing at Loki's shackled feet. Behaving like a true God of Mischief, Loki picks up the cube and dips through a portal.

From there, our solo series begins.

Iron Man Callback

Loki crash lands in a desert, located in what appears to be Mongolian-era China, considering the attire of the three people that approach him. Desert crash landings are no stranger to the MCU, as fans will recognize this moment as emulating Tony Stark's crashed escape from the Ten Rings' cave in Mark I of the Iron Man suit.

Owen Wilson

He may not have looked like him, but he sure sounded like him.

Owen Wilson makes his first appearance as a character that goes unnamed on-screen, but closed captions reveal him to be Mobius M. Mobius. What a name! Mobius does not have a rich comic history, but he has been involved in the prosecution of the Fantastic Four before. Interesting timing, don't you think?

Mobius takes a shackled Loki down an elevator, saying he's bringing him somewhere to talk. Loki, donning a Time Variance Authority prison jumpsuit, claims he doesn't like to talk, but Mobius immediately calls his bluff.

Here, Loki is a prisoner of the TVA for his time crimes. This group of timeline FBI officers are tasked with ensuring that everything operates as planned. When 2012 Loki escaped with the Tesseract, he essentially broke the timeline laws, and is now being remprimanded for it.

The Minutemen Meet Mysterious Figure

The TVA's cybernetic police force make their first appearance in what looks to be ancient China. Known as the Minutemen, these guys are tasked with carrying out TVA laws and directly deal with individuals that have interfered with the flow of time.

Here, the Minutemen are searching for someone, or something, in a past time period. If it is indeed ancient China, this would put it at the same location Loki crash landed into at the beginning of the trailer.

While the Minutemen execute their search, a mysterious cloaked figure drops a lantern on surrounding grass, and the smoke brings at least one Minuteman to his knees. There's no telling who this mystery man is, but if reports are to be believed, it could be Jonathan Majors's Kang the Conqueror debuting ahead of his lead antagonist role in Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania. Kang has been rumored to be introduced in Loki for months, and there seems to be more tangible evidence of his existence in future frames.

More on that later.

"Glorious."

The MCU is stacked with notable quotes, but there's no one that delivers a Shakespearean line quite like the God of Mischief.

In just one word, Loki calls back to his character-defining statement from 2012's The Avengers: "I am Loki, of Asgard. And I am burdened with glorious purpose."

Oh, and this line is uttered in Stark Tower. Evident by the particular mirror design, it looks like Loki will return back to the timeline he escaped from.

The Three Faces of the TVA

Twice in this trailer we see three figures displayed in an area of prominence.

The three faces first appear behind Gugu Mbatha-Raw's high-ranking TVA executive, who is presiding over Loki's trial. The faces appear once again a couple of frames later, this time attached to full-scale bodies in the form of massive statues.

The faces have been speculated to belong to the Time-Keepers, three time-travelers who head the TVA. The trio, and the TVA organisation, have had disputes with none other than Kang the Conqueror, often fighting over temporal territory across the universe. Loki's timeline meddling might have disrupted Chronopolis, Kang's metropolitic city of conquest that combines all eras of the Conqueror's rule. If Kang is indeed an enemy of the TVA and Loki meddled with his city, Loki's may be in for a whole world of hurt.

Flashback Failures

Wilson's Mobius shows a shackled Loki footage of the God of Mischief's 2012 failed conquest of Earth, to which Loki disapproves. This could begin Loki's identity stuggles, which will be a central theme of the series.

Similar to how General Ross showed the Avengers their past destructions in Captain America: Civil War, it's likely that Mobius is taking Loki on an unpleasant trip down memory lane.

What will be particularly interesting is if Mobius shows Loki future events that he is unaware of. Remember, this Loki has only lived up until 2012's Avengers, so he has not experienced anything from Thor: The Dark World, Avengers: Infinity War, and beyond. What if Mobius shows Loki that he did in fact get the Asgardian throne at the end of The Dark World? How will Loki react to watching Thanos choke the life out of him in Infinity War's opening act?

Roxxcart... Roxxon?

Loki is seen with the Minutemen embarking on a mission inside a supermarket.

'Roxxcart' is prevalent throughout the aisles and entranceways, making this location all the more intriguing. Fans will recognize the 'Roxx-' prefix as attached to the Roxxon Energy Corporation, a company that is prevalent on the Marvel comic page. Roxxon has been engulfed in some shady business in the comics, and has been teased to appear in live-action before. If this supermarket is under the Roxxon banner, Loki might have just gained a massive conglomerate adversary.

Upon entering Roxxcart, the Minutemen hold a man at taser-point, though it's unclear if he's their target or simply an innocent shopper. All the while this is going on, the cloaked figure from earlier in the trailer watches from security footage.

Mephisto

Mobius and a Minuteman approach a young boy in a church. The boy offers an object to Mobius, which he accepts. As the two speak, a notable stain-glass window sits behind them. The window depicts a devil-like figure sitting royally, with many speculating this could be the extra-dimensional demon, Mephisto.

Let's start deep diving into speculation.

Considering Loki takes place in a branched timeline and will utilize time travel as an integral plot device, it's fair to assume we will not only visit the past, but also the futures.

Dystopian futures.

We speculated in the WandaVision trailer breakdown that Mephisto would play an integral role to Scarlet Witch's series. Let's run with the idea that Mephisto is not only in WandaVision, but is defeated. Could this tribute-like window indicate this takes place in a future where Mephisto wins?

In the comics, Mephisto spans centuries, popping up in the earliest days of Marvel lore. What if this scene is in the past, when Mephisto was worshipped as some form of god-like figure? There is no telling how Mephisto will factor in to any MCU projects, but if he does indeed debut in WandaVision, this mural becomes a lot more interesting.

Avengers Tower in Ruins

Remember what I said about exploring dystopian futures? This frame gives us our strongest indication that that is a tangible possibility.

Here, stands alone in what is presumed to be Central Park. Around him are jagged ruins of collapsed skyscrapers, complete with overgrown grass indicating that some time has passed since this destruction occurred. Still standing somewhat upright in the skyline is none other than the Avengers Tower in rough shape.

These ruins likely take place some time after Avengers: Age of Ultron, considering the famous Marvel tower has a closer resemblance to its Avengers' style than its original Stark model. Could this be a future where Thanos wins, and humanity gives up on solving it? Or better yet, what if this is Ultron's success story?

Clean-Cut Loki

A suit and sunglassed Loki boards an aircraft looking a lot more like Tom Hiddleston than the God of Mischief we're used to.

Loki is likely undercover here, or at least does not want to be recognized. From here, he jumps out of the plane, calling for Heimdall to time the Bifrost just right to prevent him from falling to his death, like Black Widow (too soon?).

His appearance resembles that of D.B. Cooper, a mysterious man that held a plane hostage, took its passengers' money, and leaped from the plane, never to be found. Could Loki be placing himself in key historical moments?

It is unclear if Idris Elba will return as the Bifrost's gatekeeper in the series, but it is worth noting that Elba has expressed interest in portraying Heimdall again.

Vote for Loki

The final shot of the trailer features a suited up Loki complete with a new horned crown and a 'LOKI FOR PRESIDENT' pin.

The God of Mischief is joined by armed warriors from different time periods, who quickly turn their weapons to the titular character. It is possible that Loki has been gathering some form of an army every instance that he travels through time, and this is the band of misfits he came up with.

Let's talk about that presidential pin!

It remains to be seen whether or not Loki is running a legitimate campaign or if the pin is just for show, but sign me up for an alternate future that sees Loki in the oval office.

While we covered as much as we caught, there's always more information to be found. Speculation has run wild about a possible Black Widow appearance in the trailer, and new findings are surfacing seemingly by the minute.

Loki is set to stream on Disney+ in May 2021.

x

[movie-magic]

Loki: Every MCU Easter Egg In Episode 1

Loki has officially begun on Disney+, and Tom Hiddleston comes bearing plenty of Marvel Easter eggs in the premiere episode. Here's what we found.

The premiere episode of Loki is burdened with glorious Marvel Easter eggs, from potential future villain teases to skulking Skrulls. Even before the considerable success enjoyed by WandaVision and Falcon & The Winter Soldier, MCU fans were eagerly anticipating Tom Hiddleston's return as the God of Mischief. Now blessed with his own Disney+ solo series, Loki has all of time and space to bother, and the premiere wastes little time throwing Hiddleston from the Avengers' frying pan into the TVA's fire.

After using the Tesseract to escape The Avengers in Avengers: Endgame, Loki is swiftly picked up by the Time Variance Authority - a seemingly omniscient organization overseeing the entirety of time and space. Evidently not ones to take prisoners, Loki's fate at the TVA looks grim, but Owen Wilson's Major Mobius intervenes, handing the silver-tongued variant a reprieve. In the opening episode, Mobius successfully digs to the root of Loki's dastardly ways, breaking him down to (presumably) build him back up, all with the aim of enlisting Loki's services as an ally to hunt down an especially vicious variant murdering the TVA's Minute Men.

Loki's premiere is predictably heavy with exposition, and relatively limited in scope, mostly taking place within the walls of TVA HQ. Nevertheless, Michael Waldron (creator) and Kate Herron (director) pepper the 50-minute installment with an array of references to the Marvel comics, MCU history callbacks, and hints of the multiverse madness to come. Here's every Easter egg we discovered in Loki's "Glorious Purpose."

The Avengers Intro Sequence:

Loki's introductory scene is somewhat of an Easter egg itself, retelling the famous Tesseract heist from Avengers: Endgame. Much of the footage here derives straight from the 2019 box office behemoth, meaning no other MCU stars filmed additional footage or recorded new dialogue especially for Loki. With that said, a few extra Tom Hiddleston moments are spliced into the existing footage to show events entirely from Loki's point of view. The villain's Steve Rogers "search and rescue" gag is zoomed-in, and there's a closer shot of Loki waving goodbye to Hulk in the elevator, as well as fresh reaction shots during the Stark scuffle in the lobby.

An Iron Man Callback:

After commandeering the Tesseract in New York, Loki finds himself falling from the sky above Mongolia's Gobi Desert, landing unceremoniously in the sand below, and this scene might trigger a sense of déjà vu for longtime MCU fans. In 2008's Iron Man, Tony Stark escapes capture by creating a rudimentary suit of hi-tech armor. Flying to safety, the genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist also lands roughly in a remote desert. There's a symbolic correlation in how Iron Man marked the beginning of the MCU, while Loki is now ushering in a whole new chapter, and both begin with their protagonists in matching predicaments. Both characters also crash while evading incarceration, though only Loki immediately finds himself in chains once again.

"Burdened With Glorious Purpose":

As a man who rarely shuts up, Loki has plenty of wry MCU catchphrases, and one of his most famous would be "I am burdened with glorious purpose" from The Avengers. Disney +'s Loki premiere leans heavily into the line's popularity, with Tom Hiddleston repeating the quote on several occasions throughout the episode, the phrase becoming less sinister with every utterance.

The TVA:

The addition of the TVA to MCU canon was confirmed ahead of time via Loki's trailer and, sure enough, the paradoxical pen-pushers play a prominent part in the premiere. Although their motivations and methods are somewhat altered from the source material (as well as their aesthetic, which now sits closer to The Umbrella Academy's Commission), the TVA hails directly from the Marvel comic books. They were introduced by a 1986 issue of Thor that featured several time-hopping agents, one of which picked a random Earthling up for jaywalking.

A Skrull At The TVA:

Given their propensity to shape-shift and assimilate the forms of other races, it's not surprising that a Skrull might be lurking around the TVA's front desk. One of the MCU's green aliens can be spotted in the background as Loki gets marched in, and though it's not clear why the Skrull is present, the distinct lack of guards would suggest they aren't a variant. A timely reminder that Secret Invasion is right around the corner.

The Time Twisters:

As you'd predict, Loki tries running away. With minimum effort, Hunter B-15 (played by Wunmi Mosaku) clicks a device, and Loki is pulled back to where he stood moments earlier, effectively making escape impossible. These time twisters appear to be standard issue at the TVA, and have a vaguely similar counterpart in the Marvel comics called the Retroactive Cannon. Far more lethal than Loki's little clickers, these devices would rewind a person completely until they were unwritten from history. Like The Algorithm in Tenet, but less confusing.

Life Model Decoys:

For someone who spent many, many years unaware he was actually a Frost Giant, Loki probably shouldn't be shocked that some people don't realize they're secretly robots. Heading through the TVA's airport scanner, Loki passes the test with flying colors, though he remains perplexed by the idea someone could be unknowingly cybernetic, Loki's line is a nod to Life Model Decoys, which have appeared in both the Marvel comics, and Agents of SHIELD. These lifelike androids can mimic mankind so perfectly, the LMD itself isn't always certain of the truth.

Secret Wars?:

Whether you've accidentally arrived late for work, or just escaped a group of costumed vigilantes by seizing a glowing blue cube from the beginning of time, being labeled as a variant is confusing stuff. Luckily, the TVA has put together a short animation to fill quantum criminals in on the basics. The helpful Miss Minutes finally provides an explanation of the MCU multiverse, revealing how, long ago, separate timelines fought an inter-dimensional war for supremacy that almost resulted in total annihilation. Since then, the TVA has strictly maintained one single reality - the Sacred Timeline *echoes*. The history lesson bears some similarity to 2015's Secret Wars comic event, in which conflicting universes came together in Battleworld (the setting of the original Secret Wars), and attempts were made to streamline Marvel's sandbox.

The Time-Keepers:

The TVA's infomercial also confirms the organization are led by three Time-Keepers, who oversee the combined reality and dictate the proper flow of history. This big-faced trio were first introduced in the late 1970s, created from the sole remaining survivor of the previous universe's destruction. The mysterious overlords performed much the same function in the comics as they do in Loki, and possessed virtually complete mastery over time.

Kree And Nova's Attack On Titan:

As the animated exposition rumbles on, Miss Minutes (voiced by Tara Strong) uses "starting an uprising" as an example of something the TVA might potentially frown upon. The corresponding image shows two armies clashing, with the blue folk on the left appearing to be Kree, and the force on the right possibly the Nova Corps. Based on the spiky ruins in the background, the battle is taking place on Thanos' home planet of Titan. In Guardians of the Galaxy, Ronan confirmed the Kree and Nova Corps were at war for 1000 years - was the TVA involved somehow?

Nexus Events:

This week's lesson from Miss Minutes explains how stepping off one's designated path can create a "Nexus event," and spiral out of control to spawn countless alternate timelines that trigger another war. This word has cropped up several times in the MCU, first as an internet facility in Oslo (Avengers: Age of Ultron), and then as an antidepressant drug during one of WandaVision's fake commercials. The latter was most likely a reference to the Nexus of All Realities from the Marvel comics, which is essentially a gateway between every possible timeline. The TVA's Nexus events could take their name from the very same source.

The Timeline Diagram:

Throughout Loki's Disney+ debut, the TVA repeatedly use diagrams of a single flowing timeline with branches shooting off to represent unwanted deviations. MCU fans might recognize this from Avengers: Endgame, where the Ancient One drew something extremely similar while explaining the consequences of time travel to Bruce Banner. Perhaps Ms. One has visited the TVA herself once or twice?

Devil In The Church:

MEPHISTO. There, we said it. When Mobius asks a young girl who committed time crimes in 16th century France and the child points to a stained glass window depicting the Devil, Loki knew exactly what it was doing. WandaVision dropped several hints that Marvel's own Satan would appear, all of which proved fruitless, and Loki seems to be heading down the same hellish vein. Alas, there could be a simpler explanation. Mobius claims to be chasing an alternate version of Loki, and it's highly likely the child has mistaken the God of Mischief's famous horned helmet for the demonic horns of Lucifer.

Ravonna Renslayer:

Though her name isn't mentioned in Loki's premiere, Gugu MBatha-Raw's TVA judge is actually Ravonna Renslayer, who made her debut in a 1965 Avengers issue. In the comics, Renslayer is a human from the far future, most often a villainous figure associated with Kang the Conqueror. She certainly isn't a legal official sat behind a desk. One would imagine Marvel Studios has something more interesting in store for Renslayer further down the line.

Explaining Endgame:

During his TVA interrogation, Loki quite rightly points out that it was not he who meddled with the timeline. T'was those pesky Avengers who penetrated the Quantum Realm and disrupted the natural course of events in the aftermath of the Battle of New York; Loki merely picked up the Tesseract that fell at his feet. Unfortunately, this excuse falls on deaf ears, as Gugu MBatha-Raw confirms the Avengers' ambitious time heist was entirely sanctioned by the Time-Keepers. This exchange more or less clears up every single timeline wrinkle in the MCU, including Steve Rogers' reunion with Peggy, and Gamora from the past staying in the present. It's not altering time that irks the TVA; it's altering time in a manner the Time-Keepers haven't permitted.

Loki's "Wooing":

After Owen Wilson saves Loki from being "reset," the pair sit down for a more friendly conversation, but when Loki warns Mobius that cooperation isn't an option, the TVA officer retorts with, "even when you're wooing someone powerful you intend to betray?" Loki has betrayed a fair few people during his time, and Mobius' accusation could easily apply to Odin or Thor. Most likely, however, Mobius is alluding to Thanos here - a powerful figure Loki tried buttering up with intent to usurp him once the universe was brought to its knees.

Josta:

While not strictly a Marvel reference, it's worth noting that Mobius is a big fan of an ice cold Josta. Viewers of a certain age might not recognize this soda brand, but Josta is a genuine Pepsi product that was available in the late 1990s before being discontinued. An early variety of energy drink, there's evidently a few perks to hunting down timeline criminals. In Mobius' case, this includes sugary contraband.

Loki's Greatest Hits:

In a twisted version of It's A Wonderful Life, Mobius tries to change Loki by examining his choices in the past, present and future. Unlike the jaunty 1946 holiday classic, Mobius has access to a handy hi-tech screen which displays Loki's "greatest hits." The footage begins with the God of Mischief's defeat and arrest in 2012's The Avengers - perhaps not an entry Loki himself would've picked for the highlight reel. The screen next switches to Phil Coulson's death (which Loki definitely would pick), before moving on to images of civilian deaths from the Battle of New York, the gala eyeball removal scene, and the dictator speech, all from The Avengers.

D.B. Cooper:

More an Easter egg from real-world history than Marvel lore, Loki reveals the truth about D.B. Cooper - it was Agatha Loki all along! In 1971, an as-yet-identified man boarded a Boeing 727, held the aircraft ransom for $200,000, then parachuted out with the cash. Mobius' dive into Loki's past reveals that, thanks to a lost bet with Thor, the God of Mischief descended from Asgard to pull the plane heist himself as some kind of stunt. From Loki's hairstyle matching the real D.B. Cooper artist's impression to the smattering of bank notes left behind, there's an impressive attention to detail in this scene.

Infinity Stones In The Desk:

The Infinity Stones... Thanos would give his own daughter just for one. Entire worlds brought to their knees by their power. Humans turned into Gods at the merest touch. Gary from the TVA's HR department using one as a paperweight. Threatening Casey with a fishy demise, Loki finally gets his hands back on the Tesseract, only to discover even Infinity Stones are useless within the TVA's jurisdiction. To Loki's immense surprise, Casey's desk draw is chock-full of discarded Infinity Stones, most either of the Time or Reality variety (no surprises there). The scene essentially confirms that the power of these fabled jewels has led to more than a few timeline variant incidents over the years, but perhaps also undermines the once-unstoppable power of the Infinity Stones. Well, the Infinity Saga is over.

A 3rd Millennium Kang Hint?:

In its final scene, the Loki premiere might just be hinting at the future villain of Ant-Man & The Wasp: Quantumania. The MCU will soon introduce Kang the Conqueror, a major comic book baddie played by Jonathan Majors, and "Glorious Purpose" could represent the first step toward his arrival. Called out to 19th century Oklahoma, TVA agents find a piece of technology hailing from the 3rd millennium. Though it might be a coincidence, Kang hails from the 31st century, and is known for using advanced tech in his dominion of the timeline. The mysterious hooded figure is more likely a Loki variant than Kang himself, but since Ant-Man & The Wasp: Quantumania and Loki both deal in temporal themes, it wouldn't be strange for the Kang foundations to be laid on Disney+.

- Screen Rant

Loki releases new episodes every Wednesday on Disney+.

[aristidetwain]

Who on Earth is Rasputin?

If you answered “the Fourth Doctor using a Chameleon Arch”, you have seen the 1971 biopic Nicholas and Alexandra and you have the sort of spirit we’re looking for. We love you, Tom Baker, we love you.

Nevertheless, while it is clearly canonical that every other part played by a given Dr Who actor represents that actor’s Doctor under a Chameleon Arch, (/s), let’s dig a little deeper, because it’s fun and we have cause to do so, into the life and history of Grigori Rasputin in the Doctor Who Universe.

(Lengthy development under the cut.)

1. 

The PETER HARNESS Story

For those who haven’t been keeping up with the flood of great content springing from the Doctor Who: Lockdown event like slightly wobbly ambrosia from the Cornucopia, Peter Harness has released a synopsis for one of the most improbable missed opportunities of the Welsh Series: a Capaldi one-parter entitled How The Monk Got His Habit. 

This story would have seen the return of the Time Meddler himself, or, as you may know him, the Monk—a positively delightful antagonist from the 1960′s who got overshadowed by the more enduring and more malevolent Master, and whose gimmick was that he was an amoral hedonist who changed history for fun and profit with no care for the consequences. In his televised appearances in the William Hartnell era, the Time Meddler was played by Peter Butterworth; first encountered posing as a monk in an 11th-century monastery, he was subsequently remembered as “the Monk”, wearing that costume, and known thereafter as “the Monk” or “the Meddling Monk” in fandom and in subsequent appearances. 

Harness decided to feature an early incarnation of the character colliding out-of-sync with the Twelfth Doctor, giving nothing less than the origin story of the Meddling Monk, both the “meddling” and “monk” parts, and just from the original pitch email he dug up, it is a thing of beauty.

(Source)

Further enjoyment is to be gleaned from the fully-written-out opening scene of a hypothetical novelisation of the unmade story, which can be found here and establishes the incarnation of the Time Meddler at the start of that story (currently going by “Roger”) as being his fifth. 

This is mildly interesting in that in true Doctor Who fashion, it manages to contradict one of the very few already-existing stories that had tried to make sense of the Monk’s timeline. I refer of course to John Peel’s The Mutation of Time, which took time off to establish that the already-meddling, already-monasterial Peter Butterworth incarnation seen in The Time Meddler and The Daleks’ Master Plan was the Monk’s first incarnation. But never mind that.

Note that the historical Rasputin died at the tail end of 1916. I could construct elaborate theories of how and why Rasputin turning insane in 1917 could affect the Russian Revolution and the rest of human history, but I’ll spare you and myself the additional headache, and assume this was simply a typo.

2. 

The BOOK OF THE WAR Story

Where it gets complicated, as is often the case, is when you factor in the Time War. See, The Book of the War, in one of its most entertaining side-stories, establishes that Grigori Rasputin actually did not die in December 1916. Instead, Faction Paradox, those lackadaisical jackanapes, thought it would be funny to spirit him away to their hideout a few days before his death, leaving a barely-sentient clone to act out Rasputin’s real death. 

Unaware of this, the Celestis (a faction of Time Lords who turned themselves into incorporeal demons to escape the Time War) had decided to recruit Rasputin in their usual faustian way, offering him a form of immortality in exchange of his accepting to be Marked by them, becoming a slave to their will. Because the Rasputin clone’s basic programming included “Do whatever freaky time travelling sorcerers are telling you to do”, the thing blithely accepted the Celestis Mark and was on its way. 

And then, unaware of what the Celestis had done, but having caught wind of the Faction Paradox cultists’ plan to bring Rasputin to their homebase, the actual Gallifrey-based Time Lords decided to duplicate Rasputin themselves, leaving a “trapped” Grigori for the Faction to find, one who was secretly loyal to them, the Great Houses. And so they showed up one day before Rasputin’s death to perform the switcheroo, being under the impression that if the Faction were to whisk Rasputin away, they would do so mere instants before he was supposed to die. 

(Maybe the Time Lords thought that because that’s how they would do it. For more information, see S09E12, Hell Bent.)

Hence, come the fateful day, the Time Lords’ doctored duplicate of the Faction’s doctored duplicate of Rasputin, now secretly immortal thanks to, and under the control of the Celestis, (are you still following this?)… not only does it take forever to die because duh, it’s a badly-made golem, not a human being… but once it does find it within itself to die, it is instantly resurrected by the Celestis, who activate their Mark, ordering it to do their shadowy bidding.

At this point, the misbegotten triple-zombie experiences an existential crisis too big for its artificial brain to handle, as what passes for its soul has now been conditioned to faithfully serve the interest of three different factions who are at war with each other. Not-Rasputin goes instantly mad with confusion and goes drown itself in the nearest river.

Meanwhile, in the members-only Faction Paradox treehouse, the original Rasputin whom the cultists replaced with the first golem is properly inducted into the Faction, where he is widely observed to turn into just as crazy a Grandfather Paradox zealot as he was a devout Orthodox and mystic. He proceeds to use his newfound authority as Father Dyavol of Faction Paradox to advise his fellow Faction member Princess Anastasia to secede from the Eleven-Day Empire and bugger off to Moscow.

After Anastasia and Dyavol’s revolution crashes and burns, his corpse is found in the river again, appearing to once more have been mutilated in more ways than it would take to kill a normal human being. The Book’s ambiguous in-universe authors are themselves unsure of quite what happened.

3.

The OTHER STUFF

Those two are the “big ones”, but I would be remiss if I did not mention other Doctor Who takes on the historical Grigori Rasputin.

Big Finish’s Companion Chronicle The Wanderer has the First Doctor, Susan, Ian and Barbara coming across the younger, wandering-pilgrim Rasputin in 1903. He briefly becomes a genuine prophet due to having come into contact with an alien artefact which grants him knowledge of future human history, but this is undone at the end of the story and so doesn’t amount to very much. 

I am told that this is because the story was originally written with Nostradamus in mind, which makes a lot of sense. What is of interest to us is that Rasputin is here depicted as a basically good, sane man, once you set the grandiose prophetic visions aside.

Dave McIntee’s The Wages of Sin, on the other hand, is also constructed around Rasputin’s death in December 1916, but it posits that Rasputin was a non-supernatural and non-crazy monk, totally undeserving of his ghoulish and supernatural post-mortem reputation. Rather problematically, it gives us a direct insight into Rasputin’s thought processes as he dies, with no thought of being a triple-zombie with conflicting allegiances to be gleaned: 

4. 

The THEORY

What this tells us is that Rasputin’s death is not strictly a bootstrap paradox — the original historical death that the Faction fetishized to the point of wanting to get their own ritualistic mitts on Rasputin, the one the Monk accidentally averts, a few months before it’s supposed to happen, in a way that threatens to change all of human history, is not the farcical catastrophe described in The Book of the War. There was an original, untampered-with timeline that got thrown out of whack by too many different Time Lords trying to meddle with it.

You could, I suppose, posit that there are three different timelines: the Monk and the various Wartime factions both split off in different directions from the baseline Wages of Sin timeline where the human Rasputin died in the river. But that is no fun at all, is it? And furthermore, it does not account for the fact that the definitely human Rasputin of The Wanderer and The Wages of Sin is a good man unfairly maligned, whereas the Rasputin who becomes Father Dyavol is a rebellious lunatic. So let’s assume instead that the Book of the War story’s time meddling is building onto what happened (or, you know, would have happened) in How The Monk Got His Habit.

If we assume that the “the Monk drives the real Rasputin insane” incident happened a few months prior to December 1916, and it is on the day when he was driven mad that the real Rasputin is taken out of time by the Twelfth Doctor and replaced by the regenerated Monk, then this finally makes sense of the difference in characterization between pre- and post-1916 Rasputin. The sane, misunderstood Rasputin was the real human being, whereas the ranting madman Rasputin is the persona put on by the repentant Monk. Remember, per Harness’s outline, the Monk has a checklist of what Rasputin is supposed to do historically speaking, but I don’t see him having any real way of knowing how Rasputin is supposed to act. Most of his involvement with the man took place on the day that he drove him irreparably kookoo, after all.

So we end up with the following story:

The original Grigori Rasputin, who meets the First Doctor in 1903, is a mostly-sane and wholly-non-evil man. He has a traumatic experience with visions of future history, which the Doctor is forced to telepathically lock away, Donna-style. (The Wanderer) In the original timeline witnessed by the Third Doctor, Rasputin lives out his days largely as he had begun. He is assassinated in largely-mundane circumstances; Jo’s attempt to avert this by switching out the poisoned cakes for normal ones gives rise to a legend that Rasputin was unusually hard to kill, and causes the event to go down in history. (The Wages of Sin)  The Earth band Boney M write a song about Rasputin which inspires the Fifth Monk  to go back in time and make Rasputin listen to it. This drives him irreparably bananas, likely because of his having already had one barely-contained traumatic experience with future knowledge given to him by aliens, back in 1903.This screws with time to the extent that when he realizes he is out of his depth and calls for help, the Fifth Monk actually reaches the post-War Twelfth Doctor. After a lot of shenanigans, the Doctor leaves the Monk in 1916 with instructions to regenerate into a Sixth Monk physically identical to Rasputin, and then act out the part Rasputin was supposed to play in history to a T. (How The Monk Got His Habit)  The Sixth Monk’s Rasputin cosplay leaves a lot to be desired, since he mostly bases his performance on the damn Boney M song and on the bananas, post-listening-to-the-song Rasputin. Nevertheless, it’s enough to fool Faction Paradox into abducting him a few days before he was supposed to fake his death and go back to business as usual. The improbable series of coincidences which follows, with the triply-brainwashed duplicate, might represent Time trying to adjust so that the myth of Rasputin’s outlandish death, which started this entire series of events, still goes down in History somehow. Once in the Eleven-Day Empire, the Sixth Monk realizes pretty quickly that his being there at all, in the middle of the Time War, is a perfectly irregular breach of all the Protocols of Linearity. Hoping to avoid detection, he continues hamming it up as Mad Prophet Rasputin until he figures out a plan. To his surprise, he manages to fool Anastasia, and so he manipulates her into giving him a free ticket out of the Faction, namely the whole Thirteen-Day Republic thing. (The Book of the War) But wait. What happened to the real Rasputin who went crazy? I reckon the Twelfth Doctor took him to some place of caring or other. What’s more, I reckon he voiced his intention to do so while the Fifth Monk was still with him. (How The Monk Got His Habit) And so the final grisly piece of the puzzle comes into place. Desperate to escape back to his own place in Gallifreyan history, where it’s safe and black-and-white, when he sees the Valentine’s Day Battle approaching, the Sixth Monk commits his first truly evil act by hopping back into his timeship unseen, bringing the real Rasputin back to the Thirteen-Day Republic, and murdering him in a way which he hopes will look like the original timeline reasserting itself. To further avoid detection in case he should be intercepted on the way out, the Sixth Monk regenerates himself into a clean-shaven Seventh Monk right there and then, probably hiding in a closet. (The Book of the War) As far as any of the Wartime powers know, “Father Dyavol” is dead, and so the now-inconspicuous Seventh Monk is free to slink away back to his TARDIS. Knowing the Doctor is found on Earth in almost all of their incarnations, the Monk hovers close to Earth’s timeline, hoping to find the “right” Doctor again and rejoin Linearity by latching onto him. When they finally bump into each other in 1066 Northumbria, there’s still a 50-year difference between them, but the Monk thinks “eh, close enough” and reenters normal time for good, now with much-loosened moral standards. After all, act or no act, he spent quite a lot of time working with Faction Paradox — besides which he has seen that everything the Time Lords of his day stand for is torn down eventually by the War, so why bother with any of those Laws of Time he know will eventually be suspended? (The Time Meddler, The Daleks’ Master Plan)

…oh!

And if you want the real Rasputin’s story to have a happy ending, maybe the Faction, once they rifle through the possessions found on the corpse of Father Dyavol, find a fobwatch and open it… reviving the Fourth Doctor, who offers the befuddled coroner-Cousin a jelly baby, shrugs that this particular attempt to throw off the Black Guardian clearly didn’t work, and returns to his own era.

The jelly baby in question was then placed, with religious deference, on a velvet cushion inside the Catalogue.

[ohholyfanfics]

Daycare 0.3|Tom Holland

Past Parts: One| Two 

Author’s note: I thought it’d be easier to gave y/n an actual name so after much thought I’ve decided that the name Evelyn Rose Smith. 

Tom’s weekend was spent between taken care of Liam and y/n, all while leaving Harrison completely frazzled by his best mates state. He watched as Tom lowly talked on the phone as he held a pen writing no doubt whatever else he needed to get from the store. Harrison wasn’t no fool and knew that Tom had been going out to see someone every couple of hours, it settled into a routine and followed it’s way into Monday and Tuesday as well.

“Leaving again?” he asked as Tom jumped not expecting him to be creeping from the sideline. His cheeks were flushed as he fixed his tie and nodded his head. Harrison looked down at his watching knowing Tom still had another hour and a half before he was due to pick Liam up. “It’s not time to pick little man up yet though..” he breathed testing the waters out.

“I just need to stop where beforehand.”

The blonde raised an eyebrow in question, he thought he knew Tom well enough to know there was something else. Or in this case someone, yet he wasn’t sure how to even approach the topic. The last time just as much mentioned dating, Tom nearly shit himself at the mere thought.

“Oh.”

Harrison watched his friend collect a few things from his office including a paper bag that seemed to have a few grocery items insides. He leaned back in the leather seat as he watched him fix his hair once more in the reflection of the glass windows. There had to be someone and he just hoped it was the same person that he had in mind.

The ride to Evelyn’s, Tom couldn’t help but feel a sheer wave of panic built up within him. He had promised himself that dating wasn’t something he was ready for and yet all he can think about was her. From the moment he woke, to the second he fell asleep. Yet even in his dreams her sweet smile and soft laugh hunted him. There was a longing feeling that loomed around him and he knows she was the only one that could tame it.

He ached to see her smile.

He wanted it directed towards him. For him. Because of him. He wanted to bring her joy; be the source of the way her eyes lit up and those cute dimples he loved so much to appear on her full cheeks. He watched her bring countless amounts of joy and happiness to everyone who knew her. He craved the warmth she’d give him.

He wanted her to show him the beauty she found in everything. Tom found himself craving things he’d never thought of before and the thought petrified him. Since the moment Tom had adopted Liam as his own, it’s always been the two against the world and now having her in his life scared him. It scared him to know that even time he closed his eyes he imagined her there, sharing even the tiniest of milestones Liam hit.

As much as he hated to admit it, he found himself falling and he was falling harder than he had ever expected it.

That afternoon things were slightly awkward between them, she was more put together than the past few days. Her hair wasn’t thrown in a messy state, that he had learned to love, no instead it was pulled back into a neat sleek ponytail. Her sweats had been switched to a pair of leggings but her torso remains covered in a sweater. Her face had color again and her voice was slowly returning to that velvety silk-like song he adored.

“You know you don’t need to keep checking up on me..” She breathed out as she took the last spoon full. As much as she appreciated everything he was doing, he was making it harder on her.

“I know..”

She studied him with a sigh before collecting both of their dishes and walking it towards the sink. Tom Holland was by far the most complex man she had ever met in her twenty-four years of living. She thought she had him figured out, but the man sitting behind her was most definitely not the CEO  she was used too. This was the same man that had walked into Evelyn’s office a little less than two months ago.

“I just-I wanted too Evelyn.” He spoke a few moments later as her cheeks flushed. She was more than grateful to have her back to him. “I don’t look at that phone call as a mistake.” He pointed out as she nodded her head.

Looking back at him she couldn’t stop the swirl of butterflies within her, the same feeling that showed up that very night. Biting onto her lower lip, she allowed herself for the first time to feel everything that she had been locking away. She was falling for this single father, at a rapid speed that had her gasping for air. It was all so sudden it had her begging for some sort of relief.

Much to Evelyn’s joy and disappointment, it was Tom for leave, Liam’s day at the center was coming to a close. Standing by her door, she gave him a soft smile as he nervously stuck his hands in his suit pockets. His heart thumping rapidly as he looked into her olive-green eyes. She couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at the situation, it was almost comical as she looked into his soft eyes.

“Um, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She smiled softly as she leaned forward, his breath cut short as she placed a soft kiss on his cheeks. His eyes fluttered shut as the feeling of her lips lightly brushing against his flushed skin, sent his body into overdrive.

“Bright and early.”

The rest of her day was much uneventful other than the few texts from Tom and a very promising one from Harrison. She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips as he waltzed into her kitchen. It was clear he had come straight from work, a bottle of her favorite cheap wine and a bag full of take-out. She raised her eyebrow as he pulled a glass filling it straight to the rim.

“Rough day?”

She teased as she reaches inside the cabinet as he took a long sip. It wasn’t long before the pair were both seated at her table surrounded by Chinese take out and a glass of cheap wine. It was silent for a few moments before Harrison spotted the same bag Tom had been holding earlier. He couldn’t help but smirk before taken a good look at his friend.

“Feeling better?”

“So much Haz you wouldn’t believe the shit days I had.”

He smiled softly knowing Evelyn never took being sick well, he also knew she never allowed others to care for her either. Hence his lack of presence lately, but he couldn’t help but wonder made her cave. His thoughts were eating away at him that he didn’t even notice her talking to him.

“Have I lost you Haz?” She hummed softly shaking his shoulder causing him to flush and roll his eyes before giving her a soft smile.

“Sorry just thinking..”

“Penny for your thoughts..”

“Just thinking…”

“Oh no, that’s never good Haz.”

“It’s nothing like that Evy..” He breathed out as he sighed wondering if she would even react to what he had to say. It wasn’t that he was meddling, no he liked to think that he was helping. “I just, I think Tom has so much on his plate lately..” He tested the waters as she raised her eyebrows.

“Oh?”

“I just think he’s been so cooped up with Liam, he hasn’t had much time to himself.” He explained a she smiled softly and placed a hand over his. “I think he just needs to let lose a bit.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” She asked as he nodded his head. She tilted her head to the side taken a sip from her drink as she thought back to Tom. He did seem a bit dazed these past few days. “Maybe he just needs a night out.”

“He needs to get laid,” Harrison mumbled with a wicked grin as she chocked on her wine. Her cheeks were flushed as she let out a little awkward chuckle before filling her glass up. “Much like you.”

“I don’t need you insulting my love life mate.”

“Not insulting, I’m pointing out the obvious.” He stated as a wicked thought came to mind. She couldn’t help but sit straighter once she saw a wave of excitement flash across his features.

“Harrison no.”

“You don’t even know what I have in mind babe.”

“I don’t need to know what it is, to know it won’t be pleasant.”

“Just trust me, Evelyn Rose Smith.”

She walked into the center with a skip to her step as she welcomed Sophia who couldn’t help but chuckle. It was clear that she was better than ever as she helped the other teacher’s set everything up, as she rearranged the last few decorations for the spring. Taken a seat at her office, she looked at the pile of new applications knowing she had a few moments before Tom would be showing up.

“Knock knck.”

Looking up her heart swelled as she cheeks flushed at the beautiful flower arrangement that was starring right back at her. The pinks and whites blended so well it had her head spinning slightly as she met his bright brown eyes.  

“Morning darling.” he breathed out with a soft smile as he placed the beautiful vase of flowers on her desk. He couldn’t help but feel a wave of pride wash over him as he took notice of her flushed expression.

“What are these for?”

“They’re a welcome back gift.”

“You didn’t have to Tom.” she smiled softly as she stood infron of him. The vase now in her hold, as she brought them towards her face. Her eyes closed as she took in the sweet smell mixed eith pollen. Biting her lip, she looked at him as a wave of apperication and adortion took over her. 

“Thank you.” 

“Anything for you..” he mumbled as he shifted his weight on his feet, he lookeed at the clock on the wall and chewed on his bottom lip. “Um I should get going.” 

“Um yeah of course..” 

“I’ll see you later?” 

“Um yeah, I’ll be here..” 

Watching him walk away she couldn’t help but let out a soft squeal as she held the vase tighter in her hold. Tom Holland was going to be the absolute death of her. 

Taglist: 

@greenarrowhead​ @xinsonyax​ @rescue3000​ @abschaffer2​ @fav-fan-fic​ @cutiepiemimi13​ @starkerismysexuality​ @jackiehollanderr​ @obsessed-librarian​ @parkeret​ @peterparkersdestiny​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @tomkindholland​ @yourbiggestspiderfan​ @ditzymoon​

[avaantares]

9, 12, 51

Um... so, Tumblr apparently ate my first reply, because it’s not in the queue? So trying this again!

9. Who introduced you to DW?

Well... that’s a bit complicated (and I apologize in advance for what will be a long answer!). Technically, the first person to show me DW was my college roommate, who was horrified that I’d never seen a show she grew up with and told me I HAD to watch it. She literally locked me in a friend’s apartment and didn’t let me leave until I’d sat through 6+ hours of the Tom Baker Key to Time arc on VHS, with no context or explanation of who these characters were or what was happening.

I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Key to Time arc, but... it’s not the best jumping-on point, especially without context. Not only did this experience not make me a fan of the show, but for several years I would all but break out in hives if anyone even mentioned Doctor Who. I hated it.

Several years later (yes, I’m old) the series was rebooted, and a few friends who had gotten hooked tried to convince me to give it a try, so I watched the first episode. “Rose” is not a highlight of the new series; I was appalled by the mediocre CGI (ugh that trash bin animation), annoyed by Rose Tyler, and felt no affinity for the Ninth Doctor, so I quit again.

Then another friend who had grown up watching the show tried to convince me that, no, classic DW was where I needed to start. So I pulled up the earliest episode I could find on a streaming service, which was “Tomb of the Cybermen.” Also not a great episode without context. It involves Victoria being incredibly stupid and screaming a lot, and has some tragic 1960s effects (which are adorable if you’re already a fan of the series, but I wasn’t at that time). So I gave up, decided everyone but me had bad taste in television shows, and swore off DW for good.

A year or two after that, my sister (who had watched the new series in the meantime) curated a selection of episodes that she thought I might like and convinced me to try them. The list included go-tos like “The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances” and “Blink.” Those episodes were well-written and had better production values, so while I still hadn’t fallen in love with the show, for the first time I was willing to acknowledge that, okay, maybe I could see why some people liked it. But I still wasn’t on board.

Then, the first winter I was in my new house, we had a record-breaking snowfall and the city declared a snow emergency. For five days, I was not legally allowed to leave home. At the time I was running fan conventions and Doctor Who programming was a major thing, so since I was trapped at home anyway, I convinced myself to grit my teeth and just make myself watch the new series so I could understand the pop culture surrounding it. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be, and the series was (at the time) available on Netflix, so it wasn’t costing me anything but time.

I didn’t really care for the first series, apart from the episodes featuring Jack Harkness (who remains one of my favorite characters). The second series was better--I liked the Tenth Doctor a lot--but I still didn’t like Rose, and some of the special effects were... unfortunate.

Then I got to series three. I loved Martha and Ten (even in the less-good episodes), and I found some of the stories more compelling. After watching “Human Nature/The Family of Blood” I texted my sister: “WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST START ME WITH THE THIRD SEASON?!” Because those two episodes (and David Tennant’s marvelous acting) wrecked me, and that was the point at which I realized I had completely sold my soul and was hooked for life.

After that, I marathoned the entire new series in three days, barely stopping to sleep. And when I’d exhausted the new series, I went back and started on the classic series, and I finally got it.

It only took me twelve years to get over being locked in a room and forced to watch hours a show I didn’t understand.

12. Your favourite Doctor?

Ten, without a doubt. I also really like Twelve (in his later series; not so much Angry Twelve from his first series), and Two, and of course Four is a lot of fun (when I’m not trapped in a room under duress). And it’s impossible not to be delighted by Thirteen. But the Tenth Doctor is the one who made me fall in love with the character, and David Tennant is just so good in the role. Even in the mediocre episodes, I enjoy watching him.

51. Favourite monster/villain?

Ooh, tough one. I’m tempted to say Missy, because I do really love her and her character arc, and she’s super fun to watch... But I think I’m going to have to go with the Meddling Monk from “The Time Meddler,” just because the concept is so unique. A rogue Time Lord who gets bored and goes around screwing up history just for entertainment value is such a great concept, and I wish they’d brought him back as a recurring villain! (I know Big Finish has a couple of stories featuring him; I really need to track those down.)

Thanks for the asks!  💖

[rosegardentwilight]

For the drabble challenge: 14 :)

I apologize that this took so long to do, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. 

Prompt 14: Fire! Fire! Fire!

“Fire! Fire! Fire!”  Chat bounded across the kitchen through the thick smoke. How did everything go so wrong? Tom had offered to help him make some chocolate croissants from Ladybug, but from the start, everything had failed miserably. At a certain point, Tom was doing most of the work. He must have done something wrong from the transition to put the dough into the oven. How could Ladybug fall for him, if he couldn’t do something as simple as following directions?

“What happened?” Tom demanded after the small flame extinguished.

Chat’s ears drooped. Tom had boasted that the Dupain-Cheng bakery hadn’t experienced a fire in years. The fact that he broke that record when Marinette was upstairs made his heart race. Not that he couldn’t have rescued her, but the guilt would have weighed on him for years.

Thankfully, the fire was quickly contained with no damage done. He should never have been left alone with his bad luck; It’s not like Chat had any baking experience.

“It’s ok,” Tom’s reassurance tipped him out of his gloom. “It could have happened to anyone. We still have some dough; we can try again.”

Chat sunk on his stool and released a sigh. “This whole thing is pointless; I don’t know what I was thinking.” He had been foolish to think Ladybug would fall for him over a croissant; he deserved whatever came to him.

“If you love Ladybug as much as you say you do, nothing is pointless.”

Chat winced again. He couldn’t help who he loved, but judging by how M. Dupain-Cheng acted, he wished a relationship would have bloomed with his daughter.

Not that Marinette wasn’t his type, she was strong, independent, hardworking, kind—but his heart was lost for the last year over his lady. If Ladybug hadn’t free fallen into his life, Marinette would be a serious contender. He had meant his words when he said she was an everyday Ladybug.

“I’m sorry I caused so much trouble,” Chat apologized not sure if he was referring to breaking Marinette’s heart or the fire anymore.

“I had just hoped”— Tom’s voice faded softly. “Marinette liked this boy, but by her behavior, he is too blind to see it.”

“Marinette likes someone?” Heat rose to his cheeks springing color. For once he was thankful for the mask, he had no reason to blush at that news. Marinette was free to like whomever she fancied, but he couldn’t believe he didn’t pick up on any hints with all the time they spent together. He picked up a glass of water and began to drink.

“When I saw you two on the balcony and heard Marinette confess her feelings, I was so proud. She was moving on from her crush to be happy. As much as Adrien is a nice kid, that model can live in a world of his own.”

Chat’s drink was interrupted by a coughing fit.

Marinette liked him?

His mind began to race, his mouth losing control over what was said. “You mean Adrien, as in Adrien Agreste.” He could barely process the news. “She can’t like him—they’re just friends.”

“Well he might think so, but my daughter is head over heels for him. All the pictures on her wall are proof”-

“I just thought she liked fashion.” That’s what she had told him. She was a fan—Chat could feel his mind turn to mush; if this was the truth then-

“She does love fashion, but I’ve seen her drool over his picture on more than one occasion.”

Overwhelmed described him perfectly. The information that Marinette had feelings for him didn’t change the fact that he only loved one girl- but how was he supposed to face her now? He knew her secret. “I had no idea,” he replied mostly to himself.

“No idea about what?” Marinette’s voice lit up the room with its airiness causing Chat’s eyes to jump to the doorway.

He felt his mouth run dry as he saw Marinette’s hair down just grazing her shoulders. She wasn’t in her regular clothes he usually saw her in. Instead, she wore some black leggings and a red tank top. He allowed his eyes to wander over her form once over before scolding himself.

I love Ladybug.

Somehow the statement was less confident in his mind. Nevertheless, Marinette closed the gap wandering into the kitchen, and the longer he made her wait for an answer, the higher her eyebrow arched.

“I had no idea how hard baking was, you and your family are a real talent for Paris.” Although not the topic from earlier, the statement was true. He would be totally lost without M. Dupain-Cheng.

“I can see that,” Marinette shot back amusingly holding up a burnt-to-a-crisp croissant. “I don’t suppose these are for someone special?”

For a split second, he saw it; a face that Ladybug was prone to make as she teased him. Adrien thought he imagined everything because the smirk disappeared as fast as it came.

“You wound me; those are my badges of shame.” The timer for the oven beeped, and he rushed over to retrieve the second batch. Chat realized that Tom had slipped out of the kitchen to leave him with Marinette once he placed the cookie sheet on the counter. To comment on the fact would bring more attention and awkwardness than he cared to endure.

“So can I have one?” Marinette asked peeking over the superhero’s shoulder before reaching for one of the chocolate treats.

Chat swatted her hand away playfully. “No, they’re for Ladybug.”

“But surely you need to test them? They are going to the love of your life after all.”

He swore she was trying to fluster him, and he deserved anything she threw at him. Announcing his love for Ladybug only gave Marinette more tease-worthy information. If he were honest, seeing this side of Marinette was refreshing. The banter only spurred him further, but in the end, Marinette stuck a piece of croissant in her mouth, her features mirroring the delight of fresh buttery flakes melting on her tongue.

“So?” He asked eyes intently locked on Marinette. If he were to lose this war to her, the least she could do was provide feedback.

“They’re a good start, Chaton.” That nickname.  It was what Ladybug called him. “I think you’ll need more than fluffy pastries to win her over.” With little room to question why she used that name, instead, what was said.

“Like what?” Chat tilted his head to the side.

Marinette’s lips split into a grin. “For every 30 macaroons you help me make, I’ll reveal one thing about wooing the female population; Ladybug included.”

Chat’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “If you wanted me around more, Princess, all you had to do was ask.”

Marinette rolled her eyes at the comment, “anymore comments like that, and you’ll get no girl advice from me.”

Chat quickly fell into line, doing exactly what she said. He did catch a smile playing her lips as time began to ease by. Baking with Marinette was fun, talking with her made the time go by faster. He had suspicions that she allowed the icing bag to burst—mostly all over him. But the laugh that he got in return made the disaster worth the cleanup. Things were going back to normal, and he liked seeing this side of her. While Ladybug would always own a piece of his heart, he couldn’t ignore the fact that wasting time with Marinette all afternoon left him in this high. He was lucky to have her in his life—in and out of the mask.

“Tom,” Sabine’s voice made him freeze in his observation spot. “What are you doing?”

He stepped away shooting her with him not to draw attention from the teens in the kitchen.

“Nothing,” he answered quickly and a pair of laughs lingered out of the kitchen.

Sabine placed her hands on her hips. “Are you meddling again?”

Not directly, his mind answered for him. Chat had to come to learn how to bake, which he had. Any extra time he spent seeing how wonderful Marinette was only a bonus.

“I just can’t bring myself to believe that boy has no romantic feelings towards My little girl. You should have seen the way they were interacting; there’s hope yet.”

“Tom, we talked about this. They are just friends, and you need to respect that.”

“We started as friends, and look where that got us,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively earning himself an eye roll.

“That’s different.”

“I just want our girl to be happy, and if Chat Noir can keep her that way, then I see no harm entertaining the idea that something could bloom between them.”

Sabine sighed giving into her husband’s antics.

“Alright, our bet is back on,” she made a few notes on nearby paper. “But I’ll have you know; the odds are stacked in favor of Marinette ending up with Adrien.”

“I don’t mind being the underdog.” Tom’s gaze wandered back to the kitchen watching the banter unfold in front of his eyes. “That boy will become part of our family if I have anything to say about it.”