#i have clear childhood memories of playing at their house with their son

[grimmweepers]

life comes at you so fast

[look-at-the-soul]

Hola, Mar! ❤️❤️.

I'm here to sending you a request. Tommy telling his kids (it can be both of them, or just Charlie or just Ruby) a story about his mother. We know he didn't have good memories about her especially because what happened, but maybe, he remembered something maybe a bedtime story (or a recipe, music, etc) and he tells them about her. The kids didn't know her, but after that moment maybe they can imagine how their grandma was ❤️.

My dear Flor @justrainandcoffee thank you so much for sending this request!!!! I knew I had to make it extra special since it’s part of my Grandma’s series 👵🏻♥️✨ so I didn’t want to rush it. This made me go back in time to our endless sleepovers, it made me think of her. I hope you enjoy this 💕

Special thanks to @blondie-22 for creating the BEAUTIFUL moodboard, like always you capture the exact essence of the story 🥰

Edit: A/N part of this story is inspired by a song called Toy Soldier by Martika

Word count 1,172

Toy Soldier

The bedroom door cracked louder than Tommy expected, he cursed himself internally because it was late and the house was quiet, the last thing he needed was to wake up his wife.

But she was already up and leaned against the window, the shadow of her frame only visible under the moonlight. Frowning, he stopped taking off his suit jacket midway when he noticed something was under the blankets of his bed.

“Why are you up?” He whispered.

“Charlie’s having trouble with bedtime.” She replied back. “He thinks there’s a monster under his bed.” She then added but also gave him a warning look so he better wouldn’t laugh it off.

“There’s no such thing.”

“They wanted to sleep here for reassurance.” Y/N placed her hands on his chest to lean in for a quick kiss. “He was so scared last night.”

“Daddy?” Ruby’s small voice broke the silence of the room.

Charlie stirred and his eyes fluttered open.

“Go back to sleep.” Tommy urged them.

“There’s a monster under my bed, I heard noises.” Charlie assured him.

Sitting next to his son, Tommy caressed his blonde hair in a loving way.

“I can assure you there’s no monster under your bed, son.” Tommy explained in a calmed tone.

“But I heard…”

Tommy shook his head gently, knowing it was a good time to share a fond memory that suddenly hit him hard. After being pushed back to the farthest place of his mind for years…

“You’ve nothing to worry about,” Tommy assured his boy, then turning to face Y/N he invited her over the bed, “you want to hear what really is?”

“I do Daddy.” Ruby replied while Charlie nodded.

“It’s the toy soldier.” Tommy assured his kids. Then clearing his throat he continued. “All toys come up to life around three in the morning, when the house is quiet and you and your sister are sleeping, they start playing by themselves. But when you wake up, they stop because you must not see them.”

His voice and the fabulous tale he was narrating had both his children and Y/N captivated.

“But how do you know?” Charlie asked trying to understand.

Tommy raised his eyebrows, taking his time to explain it properly.

“Well, that’s ‘cause when I was about your age, I heard noises in my room too.”

Y/N noticed the emotions shining in his eyes and his voice.

“And you had toys like mine?” Charlie asked but Tommy shook his head.

“No, I had a horse made of wood, uncle Charlie made it for me.”

Ruby was in awe. “Like a real horse?”

“Yes but a small one, I carried it everywhere.” He relaxed against the pillows, Y/N knew his childhood wasn’t easy, he was forced to mature earlier than other kids.

“So one night I was terrified and went to sleep with my Mum and she told me it was my toys playing.”

“And she told you how did she know?”

“No, she didn’t.”

And both kids went on to ask a million more questions about their grandma, a loving figure they never got the chance to meet. To Tommy this meant much more than he could put into words, he went on to describe her features, mannerisms and and few secrets, so his kids could feel her close to them in some way.

He didn’t know, but through them and their curiosity, he was healing a part of his broken heart by remembering the good moments, her legacy.

Y/N could see the way their imagination was running wild trying to put a face for such mysterious woman, trying to think of what was like to be on road forever stuck in a caravan as they said, asking how she could ride bareback a horse without falling.

Tommy rarely talked about his mother, it had always been something that was buried deep inside his heart, a very sensitive topic, Y/N knew how much it had hurt him to lose her at such young age. Not having her when he needed her the most definitely left a permanent scar in his heart. Y/N wondered how different would Tommy be under another circumstances.

And by the way he described his mother, Y/N realized he looked so much like her instead of his father, which given the circumstances, was a blessing. Although, thanks to Polly who took the role as a mother figure for the Shelby siblings, they had managed much better than if Arthur Sr. was in charge.

“Why can’t we play with them?” Asked Ruby with a deep frown.

“Because after playing with you all day, they get to work by playing, the soldier gotta watch out the fort right?” He stared at Charlie. “And your doll has to drink some more tea, ey.”

Then, a gentle smile played on his lips.

“So you gotta go to sleep to let them play, so they can enjoy their own time.”

“That’s why I heard noises.” Charlie seemed to think about it for a second.

“Yeah.” Tommy winked at them.

“But my teddy stays with me all night.” Ruby stated.

“Hmm he’s gotta take care of you.”

“Can we stay here? So they can play?” Charlie’s eyes sparkled.

Y/N nodded feeling touched by the way Tommy managed to help Charlie leave his fears behind. Loving the way his innocent mind was processing everything.

“Of course, now just let’s all squeeze in together.”Tommy proposed. Feeling Y/N’s hand touching his hand, he looked up at her.

Soon both kids were fast asleep. The story about their toys playing and making noises was the explanation they needed to hear, to feel Tommy’s reassurance.

Y/N observed her husband taking off his clothes, hiding the gun in a drawer and coming back to bed. Thinking how of course not everything is as it should be, and the kids would realize of the truth one day…but she was more than happy to enjoy that little moment in their own little bubble while it lasted.

“That was beautiful.”

He nodded in agreement. He rarely allowed himself to have moments like these, but he felt the need to open his heart with his own happy memory with his mother, gone too soon. She had missed a lot of important events in his life that he was determined to try to be there for his children.

And at least, he could honor her memory by sharing some stories like the one where the toys start playing after midnight.

Turning off the lights of their bedside tables, Tommy drifted to sleep right away and saw the image of his mother wrapping her arms around a younger version of himself protectively, answering all the questions he had about how could his horse toy could not move during the day, or how would drink water if the river was so far away… and he saw her in his dreams smiling adoringly at him before kissing the top of his head.

Grandma series

Tommy Master list

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[anadiasmount]

jude and you being childhood bestfriends but your parents are also super close. Your parents always suspecting yous both like each other and constantly teasing yous about it. But you’ve both been dating for a like a year in secret cos yous both don’t know how to tell your parents and one day they just find out cuz they come home u expectedly when you and Jude are cuddling and everyone’s just all so happy for yous 💗

- your writing is amazing btw x

thank you lovely, means so much! 😣🤍

“we should tell them soon… my mom has become very suspicious of me lately. she followed me to the grocery store! the grocery store jude!” you laughed, feeling as he chuckled on top of you. “do you think we did wrong in not telling them? well besides jobe because he got us here in the first place…” you wandered off asking, jude’s head coming up to stare at you.

“i personally don’t think so baby. look at us, a year strong, and so many memories spent together. i wouldn’t change it for the world, because it means i have you all to myself,” jude says softly, while your finger fixes his brow that had been messed up. “they would understand. both of our families. they know how stressful and hard our jobs are, so who can blame us?”

“nobody.”

“exactly my love. how did you want to tell them?” jude asked, snuggling closer to you and placing kisses all over your chest. you laughed and tried to sway away but with his bigger frame he pinned you down. “i was thinking of just telling them today, maybe at dinner or when we play games?”

“whatever you decide i’m right there,” jude replied, falling asleep in less then 10 minutes.

while you hated being separated from jude, he unfortunately had to go back to his house to get ready. you slipped into a dark red dress and left down, your hair parted to your preference, making sure to apply a red lip and gold jewelry. the heels made you look taller which is what you wanted.

after grabbing the cupcakes and chocolate covered strawberries, you and your family were headed out to his house were you’d host christmas. you greeted everyone, asking how they were a wishing them a merry christmas eve.

jude almost choked on his drink as he saw you walk in. he was in a trance, his eyes roaming up and down your body, his lips and throat becoming dry at your figure. for a second he got slightly jealous as he observed you talk to one of his moms friend son, which clearly he took a liking.

he scrunched his brows and cleared throat, his mom coming next to him, “you okay jude? y/n looks so pretty doesn’t she,” his mom taunted his head more to which jude snickered. “she always looks beautiful mom,” he did his attempted wink, and walked over to the living room leaving her with a brow raised.

a warm and larger palm touched your shoulder, making you jump, and look down shyly as you stood next to jude. “hi max, you good?” jude pursed, clearly bothered by the interaction which left you confused.

before max respond could respond, jude cut him off “thats good, gonna borrow this one really quick,” he pulled you aside to the kitchen where it was alone. your heels clicked on the grown still holding the cupcakes. “jude slow down,” you warned him.

as you set the tray down, jude double checked the doorway, and strides to where you were. you giggled at his pout and frown. “it was driving me insane. you talking to him? while you look so sexy in this dress? jesus it’s gonna drive me crazy all night. you look beautiful darling,” jude rambled, his hands roaming your sides and placed firmly on your ass.

“thank you baby, you look handsome yourself,” although you were still wearing heels, you had to lean up, and jude lean down to catch your lips in a quick kiss, that then turned into three pecks, “i left lipstick all over your lips jude,” you tried to wipe it away but two gasps had you standing still.

“WE KNEW IT! OH MY GOSH! ITS A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!” said your mom, her hands covering her mouth as she smiled huge. jude’s mom just smirked and walked over to the two of you, “care to explain jude?”

jude still had lipstick on his lips, which made you laugh as your wrapped your hand on his right bicep and muscles. his cheeks slightly went red, embarrassed at being caught, “well we’ve been dating for a year… and she’s the woman i’m gonna marry,” he said confidently.

“A YEAR? YOUVE BEEN DATING FOR A YEAR? john grab my glass this is worth to celebrate,” your mom fanned her face dramatically before joining jude’s mom next to her. they have the two of you warm and tight hugs, scolding you for keeping it hidden for so long.

“we’re so happy for the two of you, i’m glad the two of you found each other and are able to start a relationship! we love you guys,” his mom said. after a quick conversation, jude pulled you into the bathroom, he took a quick selfie of his marked red lips and posted it onto his story, captioning it with “merry christmas to all 🤍🎄”

you cleaned his lips and tried to remove every red mark. walking back out to being faced with everyone looking at you, the two of you chuckled nervously, jude’s hand finding home with yours as everyone continued to stare.

“congratulations on finally making it officially,” jobe teased everyone cheering, which made you hide your face onto his chest.

[hypersonic04]

'Tis The Damn Season

I know it's only september, but i just love writing christmas one shots so much lol. i hope you all love this because it was so comforting and cosy to write!!

word count: 3,574

Your boots crunch in the snow, muffled in the emptiness of the path you were dragging your suitcase down. You check your watch - half past two. You'd promised to be there by 1 o'clock, but work had kept you at your desk in London for an extra couple of hours.

If only they hadn't chosen a cottage in the middle of nowhere to be the family Christmas destination.

It was tradition: every year, on the 24th of December, everyone descended on your mother's best friends' cottage, hidden out in the snowy countryside. Fond memories of opening presents with your brothers and her sons, building their newly gifted race car tracks and trying to fit your Barbie dolls in their monster trucks. Now, though, things are different, evenings spent drinking wine and listening to how successful your brother's business is, rather than playing Monopoly and falling asleep on a 15 year old Ross Macdonald's shoulder. You cringe to yourself even now as you remember how clumsy and awkward you were - he was a couple of years older than you, and you vividly remember listening to him shyly talk about his band at the Christmas dinner table, cheeks turning pink and yours even pinker when he met your graceless, 14-year-old-crush gaze. You'd seen his success, and you were immeasurably proud of him, but there was always something that made your heart ache, seeing him on magazines and at awards shows, and knowing that your distant childhood memories were that, really: distant.

You almost cry with happiness when you spot the house in the distance. Your pace quickens, dragging the hefty suitcase along behind you. The sky is unbelievably clear and blue, the air crisp with December cold, a scarf wrapped around your neck and tucked into your coat. Your boots are rubbing at your ankles, your nose red and freezing - opening the door to the cottage you've been to every Christmas of your life has never felt as joyous as it does right now.

A room full of warm, lit up faces.

"She's here!"

The room glows with love. You're engulfed in hugs, kisses to your rosy, cold cheeks, your mum taking your scarf from you and a glass of mulled wine shoved into your hand. The Christmas tree stands in the corner, familiar ornaments hanging there like they'd been up since the previous year. You were the last person to arrive, one of your brothers sat on the sofa, Ross' brother attempting to kindle the fire, your other brother having an in depth chat with Ross' dad about Formula 1.

"You're freezing cold, my girl," Bella, your mother's friend, holds your hands in hers, "how have you been?"

She moves to hold you at arms length, looking at you like she did when you were a little girl. A fondness in her eyes, warm and homely, a sense of knowing.

"I'm okay! You know, busy with work and everything." Smiling at her, you squeeze her hands gently. Her eyes linger on you for a few seconds, lips forming a line.

"Well, you look as gorgeous as ever, darling." She tucks a curl behind your ear, tilting her head a little.

The creak of the stairs is what draws you away from her indistinguishable expression.

He's wearing a maroon knit sweater, dark wash, blue jeans, white socks padding down the staircase. His hair is what makes you swallow heavily, pulled back into a bun and his beard seemingly darker and a little longer than last time. He ducks his head under the beam when he reaches the last step.

"I've sorted the spare room, Mum-"

His face softens when he sees you. His mouth agape a little, stopping mid-sentence, the corners of his mouth curling upwards softly. He stutters over his words for a second before a string of 'hello's' and 'didn't know you'd got here's tumbled out of his mouth.

You can't hold back the smile that graces your face at the sight of him. It's Ross.

His mum steps to the side for a second as he makes his way over, raising her eyebrows at your mum like gossiping teenagers. You know exactly what they're insinuating, the same thing they've insinuated every year since you were about 13.

He smiles at you so softly, eyes creasing in the corner as he leans down to give you a hug. One arm wrapped around you shoulders, the other around your back, yours around his waist. The fabric of his sweater is so soft under your touch, his aftershave pleasant as you inhale gently. Closing your eyes for a second, you allow yourself to slot into his hold, the familiar pair of arms around you warming you up more than any fireplace or red wine ever could.

"What time did you get here?" He says, pulling away from you and shoving a hand into his pocket, the other coming up to scratch the back of his neck.

"About five minutes ago, I was running late anyway, but then the taxi driver wouldn't drive any further down the footpath." You laugh lightly.

"I'd have come to give you a hand if I'd have known, sorry, I-" He has an apologetic expression, eyebrows raising a little.

"No, it's fine!" You frown a little with a shake of your head, "I had no signal anyway, wouldn't have been able to ring you."

He nods in agreement, rolling his eyes, "I ask them all the time why they picked to live in the middle of a field." He laughs.

"Ross, did you take the turkey out of the freezer earlier?" His mum calls to him, the sound of her in the kitchen filling both your ears and nostrils, the delicious smell of Bella's famous Christmas Eve feast filling the room. He purses his lips, eyes going wide and a giggle escaping your lips, hand coming over your mouth.

"Shit." He laughs boyishly, "Didn't you ask Dad to do that?" He calls after her, walking off into the kitchen.

You stand there for a second, the grin on your face immovable, arms folded over your stomach.

"What are you smiling at, hm?" Your eldest brother raises his eyebrows at you teasingly, picking up your suitcase for you.

"Shut up." You huff, rolling your eyes in classic younger sister fashion.

The teasing about your crush on Ross had been a constant in your life. You'd never explicitly told anyone about it, but the way you reacted when they'd bring him up in conversation was enough.

"He's single, you know?" He mumbles as you follow him upstairs, into your spare room.

"Who's single?" You play dumb, keeping your eyes on the floor as he turns his head to you, scoffing.

"Oh, give it a rest. You bloody know who."

Setting your suitcase on the bed, he leaves you to unpack and get settled. It's the same room you stayed in every year - a singular, rectangular window overlooking the front garden, flowered wallpaper at Bella's persistence, her excuse being that she never had girls. The light blue bedspread brings back memories of Christmas mornings gone by, the boys waking you up because you were always the last one awake. Your mind wanders as you unpack, setting sweaters and mini skirts and sparkly New Years' dresses on the bed, so the tap at the door takes you by surprise.

"Sorry, 'didn't mean to make you jump." Ross stands in the doorway, greeting you with a creased grin.

"Oh, it's fine." You laugh softly, awkwardly even, playing with the hem of the pyjama bottoms in your hand. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I was just wondering if you fancied going to the pub later? Rob said it's a pub quiz or something, thought you'd like it."

"Sure, yeah. I'll come." You nod with a sweet smile, watching as he nods back at you with pursed lips.

"We're leaving in about an hour, so..." His voice trails off a little, and you notice how his eyes move up and down your figure, blinking profusely. You suddenly feel conscious, standing there in a pair of old mom jeans and the most basic of t shirts, something you'd thrown on in a hurry. Christ knows what your hair looks like.

His eyes linger for a second, dropping down to the suitcase laid out flat on the bed. A smirk graces his lips, before turning on his heel and heading back downstairs, his footsteps light on the wooden floorboards. Your cheeks flush bright red when you turn back to the open suitcase - a pair of your laciest knickers, black with little frills on the sides, placed almost perfectly in his eye line, right next to a matching red pair. You stand for a second with your lips pulled inwards, closing your eyes. That did not just happen.

Post-unpacking, you head back downstairs and try to pretend that Ross seeing your underwear isn't the only thing consuming your mind. Everyone's sat around the living room, some Christmas special on the television, the faintest falling of snow like a picture through the window. It's getting darker, the warm glow of Bella's fairy lights in every nook and cranny bathing the cottage in the most festive light. It's freezing outside, but the company in the house makes it the warmest it's been all year.

Coats and scarves are donned, boots pulled on and hats on heads. It's the five of us, and the familiarity and nostalgia of it makes me feel warm. I look at their faces for a second, older yet the memories of our youth peeking through their boyish smiles and loud laughs.

"Be careful, you lot, it's really coming down now." Your mum looks through the kitchen window.

"And remember your key, Ross. I don't want you waking us up at God knows what time."

"Mum, I'm 34 years old, I've got my key." He rolls his eyes with a laugh, his mum fondly hitting his fleece-covered arm.

Your mum was right, the snow was really coming down now.

"Shit." You mumble as you stumble down the path a little, boots sticking in the snow.

The boys are a bit further ahead, as per usual, but Ross hangs back when he sees you struggling. He looks to them for a second, like he wants to tell them to wait for you both, but he decides against it.

"Shouldn't have worn those boots, you know. Docs are rubbish in the snow." He says, holding his hand out to you as you near him. You take it gladly, the material of your gloves sticking together. His hold is firm, keeping you stable.

"Alright, 'dad', bloody hell." You tease, the sound of his laugh heavenly.

"Sorry, sorry." He smiles, glancing down at you. He grins at the way the snowflakes settle in your hair, watching as you brush them off your eyelashes. "Always walking off and leaving us." He gestures to the three of them ahead.

"Some things never change, hm?"

"Yeah, I guess not."

He looks down at you for a second and you meet his gaze. There's something unspoken there, some ulterior meaning. He runs his thumb over your gloved hand, and you rest your head on his arm affectionately, feeling him squeeze your hand. There's a smile on both of your faces, knowing, just like his mum earlier.

"How's things with the band?" You ask after lifting your head from his bicep, looking up at him.

"Good, yeah. Really good." There's a look on his face that you don't always see when you're all sat around talking about work. He seems truly content, proud. "You should come and see us play. We're on tour in February."

Your face lights up at the suggestion and his stomach twists, the way your eyes widen and lips curve upwards making him toasty in the cold of the snow. It's darker now, street lamps lighting the path as you all trundle down it, but the glow that seems to exist when you're together is brighter than any of them.

"That would be wonderful." You smile sweetly and hold his arm with your other hand.

The boys wait up for you, and you find yourselves suddenly letting go of each other. They roll their eyes, surprised that the two of you are still keeping up with the 'we're totally not in love with each other' act.

The pub is bustling when you get there. Groups of friends who have evidently been day drinking laughing loudly, couples stood in dimly lit corners, music playing over the speakers. It's trimmed up with garlands and wreaths on every door, candles lit at every table. Ross heads to the bar whilst the rest of you find a table to sit at. You take the booth seat, as does Ross when he returns with five pints and a packet of peanuts, your favourite.

You do the quiz, and despite not winning, you treat yourself to a shot in the excuse of it being Christmas. Time passes on, people recommending songs and the night slowly turning into karaoke. You laugh into Ross' arm, slowly getting closer and closer to each other throughout the night until you're pressed into each other's side.

"I think I might go back, I'm shattered." Ross' brother yawns, your own nodding in agreement. You frown a little, looking at your still half full pint from the round that you'd payed for.

"We can stay, if you want." Ross nudges your side, your faces inches apart. "We're going to stay until y/n's finished her pint, lads."

They look between each other for a second before nodding in agreement, exchanging hugs with you and a brief "get back safe" before leaving. Your youngest brother pushes the door open with his back, giving you a thumbs up as he leaves, immediately making you roll your eyes at him.

"Do you want to stay for one more?" Ross asks as he watches you drink your current pint. You open your mouth and close it again, nodding perhaps a little too eagerly.

You never want the night to end. The rest of the evening is spent giggling together like teenagers over things that happened years ago, talking about past failed relationships, and everything in between. His arm is around you, the occasional kiss to your forehead or a hold of his hand.

"He didn't deserve you, y/n." He looks down at you with raised eyebrows and lips pulled inwards. "I knew it from the second I met him."

"Did you really?" You wince at the thought of everyone around you being able to see that your boyfriend is a dickhead, but you.

"Mhm, hated him. That was the worst Christmas of my life."

"Jesus Christ, Ross. I don't think he was that bad!" You laugh loudly and he shakes his head.

"What, watching him all over you for a week? Torture."

It takes you by surprise, and you can tell he's shocked at his bravery when he tales a rather large gulp of beer. You analyse his face for a second, a look of what might be panic on his face. He meets your gaze for a second before averting his eyes back to the dodgy singer doing a rendition of Last Christmas.

"Well, I never really liked any of your girlfriends, either." You quip, watching as he relaxes a little, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Oh, really? Which one?" He cocks his head upwards, looking at you with intrigue.

"What was she called, the really tall one? She pretended I didn't exist the whole time I was here, Ross."

"Oh, yeah..." He scrunches his nose up, "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, it was ages ago." You shrug.

You sit in silence for a few seconds, both of you pretending to watch karaoke, but rather pondering what the other had just said.

"I don't think I'd like any of your boyfriends, y/n." He says suddenly, looking at you intensely. You try to read his mind, to see if he's actually just said what you'd heard.

"Why's that?" You frown.

"You know why." He scoffs. Your eye contact is intense, immovable, the brown of his eyes almost like a honey colour in the light of the pub. Your eyes flick down to his lips, then back up to his eyes. You've been close to things like this before with him, sat perhaps a little too close together on the sofa on Boxing Day, or sharing a cigarette outside on the seat swing when everyone else is asleep, but never like this.

"I don't know why, Ross." You play dumb, the faintest smirk forming on your lips. He watches your mouth as it curves, his own mirroring you.

"Don't be like this." He laughs airily, his arm along the back of your seat, body tilted towards you.

The call for last orders takes you both out of your moment, almost like coming back down to Earth.

"We should probably go home."

"Yeah, you're right."

You stumble out of the pub, the snow still falling gently, your bellies warm from the alcohol and company.

"Come on, you." He teases, hooking his arm through yours.

"If I remember right, I think it was you that nearly decked it last time we went out, so I should be looking after you, really." You giggle, watching as he groans a bit, shaking his head.

"Why are you bringing that up, seriously?" He laughs, admiring how funny you find the memory.

"Wasn't it about here, as well?" You point at the street.

"Oh, give it a rest." He holds the hand that's hooked through his arm.

The walk back seems to take forever, the two of you laughing loudly and being silly, the smile on your face the biggest all year. The lights are still on when you get home, the cottage glowing like a beacon in the dark, white-covered field.

"Do you ever miss being at home? You know, when it looks so pretty, like this." You ask, walking hand in hand, a little drunkenly.

"I mean, sometimes. I think it's more about missing the people and what being at home usually means. Y'know, being with my mum and dad, and you and everyone."

You come to a halt on the path leading up to the house, turning to him for a second. He's illuminated by the warmth of the house, his coat zipped up right around his neck, cheeks rosy and eyes drowsy.

"Can't we just pretend for the weekend, Ross?" You look at him pleadingly and he frowns.

"Pretend what?"

"Like we're not terrified of ruining everything. Just for one Christmas, can't we just pretend that we're not scared of what might happen?"

He looks at you for a second, his eyes scanning over your face for some kind of secret, hidden message.

"Are you sure?"

You nod, your brow down-turned for a second as you worry that you have, in fact, ruined everything.

The kiss he places on your lips proves that wrong. He holds your face in both hands, yours firmly wrapped around his wrists, leaning into his kiss. It's even better than you ever dreamed of. It's warm, and gentle, and perfect. His eyes are starry when he pulls away, dazed even, and your heart feels as though it could burst.

"Can we stay together tonight?" He says lowly, faces inches apart and still resting in the tenderness of his hands. You hum with a nod, following him onto the porch and into the house. Bella must've left the lights on, because everyone's asleep. It's silent, TV off and bedroom doors shut, and it's like you're teenagers sneaking around.

You head upstairs and change into the checked pyjamas you'd bought especially for Christmas Eve. Looking in the mirror, your cheeks are full and aglow, curls soaked from the snow that'd melted.

The familiar knock at your door doesn't startle you this time. He's wearing a t-shirt and plaid bottoms, his hands on your hips already comfortable. He walks you back towards the bed, the backs of your legs hitting it and his hold keeping you steady. You can feel him smiling as he kisses you, pulling away for a second.

"I can't even tell you how much I've thought about this." He whispers, looking down at your lips. You run your hands through his hair, now down and making your stomach twist in ways you didn't know it could.

"Me too." You whisper back.

The opening of a bedroom door and feet in the hallway makes you freeze on the spot. Your eyes widen when the bathroom door opens, the room next to your bedroom, whilst his crease in muffled laughter. You hit his shoulder, hiding your face in his chest. The two of you stand silence until the footsteps have gone back the way they came and doors are closed.

"Oh my god." You sigh, shaking your head with a laugh.

The two of you settle in the single bed in your room, his warm hands under your pyjama top, calloused and rough fingertips against your smooth skin. It feels like making up for lost time, lost touches, nights when you've slept in an empty bed and wondered whether he's thinking of you too.

And although it's the same room you've always slept in for Christmas, the same bed sheets, its the warmest bed you've ever known that evening.

[dawneternal]

I Have Loved You For the Last Time

Sad Eris ✅

Gay Eris ✅

Soft boy Eris ✅

Based on the theory that Mor and Eris had secretly agreed to a lavender marriage. Forgot Eris's hounds are supposed to be big don't roast me

TW: angst, homophobia, loss of a loved one, inner circle critical (from Eris' perspective)

Word Count: 1.4k

Eris pulled his scarf up to cover his nose and nuzzled into it. The autumn wind was bitingly cold today, as if it was also restless with grief. It pressed against him as he walked, as if to say

we know we know we know

The sun cast golden light along the path, illuminating each fallen leaf with tender care. Bare tree branches twisted into a sparse canopy, fracturing the sunshine as it fell. The bittersweet smell of decaying leaves mingled with the scent of distant swaying wheat fields. All carried on that fluttering wind.

Eris looked down at the hound that walked by his side, donning a little plaid cloak to protect against the cold. So content to follow him wherever he went, looking up at her master every once in a while with only admiration and eagerness in her eyes. The most loyal creature he had ever met.

The path curved toward the edge of the woods and Eris pushed through the wards at the treeline. He entered the protection of the little clearing and let out a deep sigh. From the outside, the clearing was empty. If his father, or anyone else, ever tried to enter it they'd be struck with a sudden headache so fierce they'd forget what they were doing in the first place.

But Beron would never bother with this corner of the autumn court. A place where the High Lady used to play in her childhood. Inside it, hidden from prying eyes, sat the ruins of a beloved hand-made play house. And beside it, two gravestones.

There were no bodies buried here, only the stones for visiting and remembering. Away from cruel brothers and guards who would only ever be loyal to the High Lord. Away from that complex world of secrets and games, weaving as wide as the halls of the sprawling Forest House and wider all the time. Here, it could be simple for a moment.

Eris ran his hand across one of the gravestones and murmured a blessing. His fingertips brushed over the name carved into it.

Jesminda

He wondered about her sometimes. What her family had been told about her death. If they knew anything at all, if they blamed Lucien for it. Nevertheless, the flowers he had sent to Jesminda's family on her birthdays were always anonymous. It was something he did more for himself than anyone else. But he did it anyways, though it did little to lessen the deep well of guilt inside him. Neither did enchanting the flowers that grew on her grave to never wilt or die. Forever blooming, like Jesminda was supposed to be.

Eris knelt on the ground before the other gravestone. His hound sat next to him and leaned into his side, as if she remembered what it meant when they came here and knew he would need the support. Eris mindlessly stroked the little beast's fur and lost himself in his memories.

This second stone was not marked. He could not have anyone carve it. Some knew of Jesminda's story -- Lucien's young love and her untimely death. But no one would ever know of Sebastian, the one who held Eris's heart. No one but Beron. And Lucien, the nosy busybody.

It was Beron's doing that no one knew of Sebastian. Jesminda, he could turn into an example. But Sebastian's existence infuriated and shamed Beron so thoroughly that he had any evidence of his life wiped from the Autumn Court. Like mud scrubbed from the palace's polished floors.

Sometimes Eris wondered if his father had gone as far as to have Sebastian's family's memories erased. If Beron had known that his youngest son was in on the secret, Lucien would surely have been made to forget. But Beron would not make Eris forget. Eris's punishment was to remember.

Of course, it was Eris's fault. He thought he could juggle it all, keep it all secret and safe. But Beron had found the one loose thread and pulled until he had discovered the whole truth and Sebastian was lost to him forever. Perhaps part of him had hoped Beron would not react so terribly. After all, Sebastian was from a noble family. He was proper and polite and trained perfectly. An ideal match for a High Lord. Except, of course, that he was male.

A tear slipped down Eris's cheek. This was the reason for the impenetrable wards. So he could let his tears fall and not immediately be torn apart. He let out a bitter laugh as he remembered his reputation -- cold, petty, and unfeeling. And yet here he was, crying over the empty grave of his lost love and a lesser fae girl he had barely known.

It was Morrigan who had started that reputation, keeping his character in a chokehold with the stories she spread about him. Twisted and incomplete, painting him in such a cruel light.

Such dark bitterness filled him with the memory of the Night Court. He thought about them often, more than they deserved. More than he wanted to. Like it was a habit.

That infernal inner circle, drunk on happiness that he would never have. Even brooding Azriel had more tenderness in his life than Eris could ever hope for. Azriel, who had wrapped his hands around Eris's throat and kept squeezing, even as Eris laid still and did not fight back. He had not wanted to spit those venomous words. Had not wanted to taste them in his mouth. But Beron was always watching, and he must keep up the appearance of a grudge against Morrigan, his "ruined" bride. So Eris let himself be Azriel's punching bag just for the show, knowing that he deserved it anyways.

But then Azriel had the gall to act like a wounded animal, comforted and calmed by the High Lady. He had sat by her, been served by her. And none of their circle seemed to see how ridiculous it looked, watching them all play house together at a High Lord's meeting. It was a joke, all of it.

An inner circle that would die for him. A mate that would tear apart courts for him. A city of peace filled with lovely trivial things, plagued by only the smallest of worries.

And he wanted it. All of it.

"You're all I've got, Marigold," He whispered to his hound as she laid her head in his lap. "You're my inner circle."

Eris shook all thoughts of the Night Court from his head as he noticed a glint of Emerald green among the goldenrods planted over Sebastian's grave. He pulled a little velvet box from among the flowers and golden ring blinked back at him when he opened it.

He held it close to his eye to examine, and found that a word had been carved into the inside of the ring. Written in an old and mostly dead language. Memories came to him of he and Lucien learning that language to use as a code, one their father couldn't read.

Sebastian.

A smile tugged at his lips. When he slipped the ring on his finger, it vanished completely. It looked as if he wore nothing at all. He had no idea how long it had been there waiting for him, but the metal of the enchanted ring reminded him of a certain redhead's golden eye. The only other one who knew of this place and what Eris had lost. If it wasn't him, then the ring was not a gift at all but a threat from someone who had discovered his deepest secret.

He held the ring in his palm for Marigold to inspect. She gave it sniff and turned away disinterested. Golden light filled Eris's chest. It had been left by Lucien.

In the blink of an eye, the world became much less bleak. The air even felt a bit warmer. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the gravestone and then stood,  Marigold immediately at attention by his side. He said goodbye with his usual prayer and slipped the ring on his finger, practically skipping back to the forest path. And he clung tightly to that sunrise in his heart. The closest thing to hope he could allow.

Mother hold you. May you pass through the gates and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil, feel no pain. Go and enter eternity.

[officialfics]

┌──❀*̥𝒦ℯℯ𝓅 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉ℯ ❀*̥˚─┐

A/N:Just a thought I had so I wrote it. This has been in my drafts for a while, tell me what you think 💭

Warnings: slight smut, none ⚠️ •••

Pedri’s parents have always liked you. They always said their son was lucky to be with such a successful women like you. Especially his mother she adored you treating you like family. 

Tonight you had been invited to a family dinner with your boyfriends family. They always had this sort of family event every couple of weeks. His mom invitet you specifically and told you to bring an overnight bag since there would be a lot of drinking. She didn’t it want you two to leave drunk from her house. 

Pedri had just gotten out of the shower. A towel wrapped around his waist and you eyes were scanning his defined abs following his every move from your vanity. -take a picture it will last longer- he teased you with a smirk plastered on his face. -oh shut up, you- you mumbled under your breath. He laughed, gave you a kiss and went into the wardrobe to get dressed.

Whilst in the car you two talked about plans for the weekend. He had a week off from football and so he wanted to spend as much time as possible with both you and his family. As he pulled into the driveway, You heard his brothers playing music from outside of the house. -yeah we sure aren’t heading home tonight- he said as he grabbed his speaker out of the car. -you’re gonna play that playlist again aren’t you?- you asked looking at him curiously. He took your hand in his and gave you a cheeky smile, you knew the answer.

As you got in you two greeted everybody and you went to the kitchen to help his his mother with the food. you had a good laugh and talked about the drama in your lives. The guys were outside on the deck getting the table ready.

Later the food was out and everyone was having a good time engaging in various small talks and life updates. after the food was cleared off the table. The snacks were heading out of the kitchen and into the living room, getting ready for some snack time and a movie before bed. 

You say on the couch your boyfriend on your left and his mother on your right. As Fernando and his father were sitting on the other side of the couch, talking about some show. She pulled out a photo album full of pictures from her sons childhood. About forty five minutes had passed. Everyone but you and Pedri were a little drunk. His mother had showed you multiple pictures of her son’s up until a specific one came up. -oh honey, look at this one. Do you remember when you and Pedri wore the devil and angel costumes for Halloween?- she looked at you and the memory suddenly emerged. 

You and him had been friends since your childhood and later he confessed his feelings and you two became a couple. this was the Halloween we’re you realised you felt something for him even though you were still young. He gave you some sore of comfort and peace, something no one else was capable of.

—yes I do actually, we looked so cute- she laughed along with you whilst Ferran and his father we’re wondering what could be so funny. - you looked so pure, my little angel-she pulled you in for a side hug. Pedri coughed halfway through drinking his champagne. As if what she had said was hilarious. He sat up and got closer to your your body. You could feel his breath on your neck. It sent shivers down your spine. yet he made it look so innocent. -you weren’t so pure last night, grinding on my cock- he whispered into your ear making you blush from embarrassment. You nudged him from the side, practically telling him to shut up. You turned to him his eyes were already looking at you. The eye contact had you on a chock hold. He had an effect on your and he knew it.

Only minutes later a movie was playing, but you excused yourself early to go to bed. It had been a long day and Pedri eye fucking you wasn’t helping you one bit. 

Your were walking up the stairs to your room. Till two hands grabbed you and pulled you into a room with dimmed lights where you found yourself pinned between a wall and a strong body. -Pedro- you grunted looking him. He hushed you and pulled you in for a kiss, two hands hands on your jaw holding you in place. You squirmed from the tension. 

The kiss was passionate and hot. he caressed your sides making you moan giving him a chance to slip his tongue in and you let him. This was going to be along night …

[fieldofdaisiies]

Like Him?

ship: Eris x Reader type: angst warning(s): overall gloomy, talks about rejection, childhood trauma, abusive households word count: 2,5k words request: "I have a Eris request too. Sorry for my explanation, English isn't my first language. The reader is in a arrange marriage with Eris. And he strats to open himself telling something about his past and things like that"

-all rights reserved -

A gentle breeze caresses your skin as you step out of the Forest House and the earthy scent of fallen leaves and damp soil fills your nostrils. Your curl your arms around yourself, securing the cardigan as you step onto the pathway adorned with the beautiful colours of autumn. 

You never wanted to move here, never wanted to call this place your home, but your father and the former High Lord of this Court arranged a marriage for you, the daughter of an important lord of the Autumn Court. You had to wed his oldest son, Eris, only a few weeks after your first encounter. Soon Eris will rule over the court, you at his side, as he promised to make you High Lady of the Autumn Court, despite your reservations and nervousness. You still remember what he said to you when he put the ring on your finger, “You may didn’t choose me, you didn’t want this, you will probably never love me like a husband, and you were forced into this just like I was, so the least I can do for you is make you High Lady and make this whole situation a little less awful.” He leaned in back then, at your wedding, and kissed your cheek. Not your lips, not wanting to invade your personal space. 

Golden sunlight filters through the trees, casting a warm glow upon the in leaves covered ground as you enter the small forest, heading for the glade nearby. You know Eris will most likely be there, probably with his hounds, as this is the place he normally goes to when he wants to be alone. And you know, when he wants to be alone, you probably should leave him alone. But not today. Today it feels different. I feels like you should talk to him, like he needs someone. You feel it in your chest. There is something like a tug on your ribs that pulls you to him. It is odd and you can’t really describe the feeling so you just decide to follow it. His your husband after all and you get along, so you think it might be good to take another step forward. To actually talk about personal things and not only politic related ones. Leaves, in all colours of autumn - crimson, orange and yellow- cover the ground beneath your feet as you move and a soft rustling accompanies every step you take. You marvel at the beauty that surrounds you and once again remind yourself of how lucky you are that you were born in this court. Of course, Beron as a High Lord if awful, Cauldron forbid if he knew you said so, but the beauty of the court is not comparable to any other. And not all people are bad. The Lady of the Autumn Court is lovely and you like her a lot. And so is Eris. You do like your husband who is distant to you, yes, but never not kind or honest, or respectful. The air is filled with all sorts of lovely of scents—the earthy smell of damp soil and the scent of decaying leaves. Nostalgia fills your mind and brain when you remember playing outside with your family when you were a child. It is so long ago, the memories are no longer that clear, but still you will always remember and keep them in your heart. As you continue to walk, further into the forest, the breeze calms a little as the thick trees and branches don’t let so much of it through. The narrow path leads you deeper into the forest, and you feel a sense of serenity inside of you. You have always felt at ease in nature and nothing has changed that. The days after your marriage you have mostly spent outside, often with Eris’ dogs or with his mother walking around and talking a little. Eris, who will soon, take over as High Lord as Beron’s state gets worse and worse, is busy most of the time, always bent over his desk for hours and even into the night. At the forest house you have often felt quite trapped, like you are in a cage. This arranged marriage, despite Eris’ kindness and respect, has always felt like it as well. You did not choose it yourself and you are stuck, your choice was taken from you. But when you are outside, and the beauty of the Autumn Court envelops you, these thoughts vanish for a little while. Your heart fills with appreciation of these lovely moments outside and then freedom they provide you. You allow yourself to pause for a little and draw in a deep inhale, the fragrance of the damp, early afternoon air filling your nose. You exhale and lift your gaze, spotting the glade as well as the small wooden bench with the heir of the Autumn Court on it in the distance. Your heart makes a little skip when your eyes land on his tall figure, his broad shoulders and involuntarily the corners of your mouth twitch up a little. 

Your legs feel lighter and you walk faster, soon closing the distance between him and you. “Thought I would find you here.” You surround the bench on which jerks backwards a little, but smiles when he meets your gaze. “My wife,” he says in a calm voice, tinged with kindness. He reaches his broad hand forward for you to grab so he can guide you the last steps to the bench. You take it, and relish how warm his palm feels against yours. You sit down next to him, only a little distance between the two of you, and you look up at him. “Are you alright?” you ask with sympathy in your voice. He looks straightforward and then licks over his lips and turns to you. “Honest answer?” The High Lord of Autumn raises his brow a little bit and you bow your head, still smiling a little. “Always!” you say and add, “I am your wife. You can always be honest with me.”

Your husband releases a shuddering breath and wipes his hands down his thighs. “I am afraid that I will become like him. That one day I will treat my subjects just like my father does. That one day I don’t have any respect anymore, that I will become just as cruel as he is, that I will hurt people, that I will hurt you. That I will force myself upon you so you can give me heirs.” His expression is bitter and pained, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he blinks his eyes rapidly. Almost as quickly as he rattled through his words. You can only reach over and take one of his hand into both of yours. “Don’t ever say something like that again. You are nothing like your father and will never be.” You squeeze his hand, staring at him until he finally lifts his gaze to yours. They are nothing but swirling pits of agony, pain and hate. “You don’t know that.” He shakes his head vehemently, his teeth clenched. And so you remove one hand from his, and bring it up to his face. You brush your thumb over his cheek, feeling the soft skin and the light stubble against your skin. “I do know it. I know you are nothing like him. You are kind, and honest. You respect me and I know you would never hurt me. You have never hurt me, and I am sure that you will never do so.” He leans into your touch, reveling in the feel of a person touching him without fear or reservation. “How do you know?” he breathes, voice tinged with a bit of pain. He wants to believe you, he really does, but it is so damn difficult if seemingly everyone hates him and hardly anyone trusts him. “I just do. You have never given me a reason to not trust you. You have never made me feel disrespected. You have never made me feel anxious.” You smile, still brushing over his cheek, your other hand still tightly holding his in his lap. “How long have these thoughts been there?”

“Since always,” he answers in a silent tone. “And I think they will never go away. I think these thoughts will haunt me for my whole life, just like the memories.” You lean in a little, your lips pouted, but not once breaking eye contact. “Memories?” “Honest answer?”

“Of course. I told you before, always honest answer. With me you can always be honest.” This time he squeezes your hand and turns his head just a little so he can kiss your palm. It is just a gentle and quick brush of his lips but it makes tingles erupt all over your body. “But it is quite…gloomy and awful…”

“If you want to share you can share it. If you don’t want to share it, I won’t pressure you. It is up to you, your choice.” You brush your thumb over his cheek one more time before removing your hand and placing it on his thigh, right above his knee. You watch how his throat works on a swallow, and his eyes close for a moment, long lashes drawing shadows to his cheeks. 

“My father used to hit me, used a whip on me, locked me into the closet when he got mad. He forced me to be outside during thunderstorms and he—“ Eris’ throat constricts and he cuts himself off. His lashes dampen a little and you hold his hand tighter. “Gods,” you breath and shake your head, wanting to do everything possible so you can take the pain away from him.

“I am just scared that I will also lose my temper, that if we ever have children, I will become like him. What if I will mirror his experience because it is the only parental education I know?” He swallows thickly and folds his other hand over the one you have placed on his thigh.

“I can assure you, you won’t become like that. I know you will do it differently, especially since you experienced the worst. I know you won’t let anything happen to your children, our children.” His mouth forms a little sad smile at the mention of your children and he finally lifts his gaze to you again. “I don’t deserve you,” he breathes and leans in a little, his gaze never leaving yours. A cool breeze once again dances over your skins and blows your hair into your face. Eris slowly lifts his hand, brushing the few loose strands of hair over your shoulder and then the last few behind your ear. “And I am very lucky to have you as my wife. You are stunning both on the in and outside. Kind and honest, loyal and the most beautiful female I have ever seen in my life.” 

His statement draws tears to your own eyes and you lean in further, leaning your forehead against his. “You do deserve me. We deserve each other and…” You pause, swallow and close your eyes. “And I am lucky to have you as my husband. That it is you and no other. You are kind, respectful, honest, and open-hearted. And of course, very easy on the eyes.” A small grin appears on your face and you heard the male in front of you chuckle, his warm breath tingling your skin. 

“And I want you to know that you can always talk to me. You can always talk to me about those memories, about these thoughts. I am here for you.” “But you don’t have to. You don’t have to deal with my burdens as well. You have already been forced into this marriage without choosing me. You—“ You place your lips on his, kissing him softly and only quickly. “I did not choose it, that is correct. But I am alright with it. I am lucky that I am with you, that we have each other. And I know I don’t have to offer you this, but I want to. Not because I am your wife, but because I like you. I like you a lot and I know you would do the same for me.” This time it is Eris who kisses you, a little longer and the kiss is deeper, almost a little explorative. His sighs when your lips part, inhaling deeply and his eyes open slowly. So do yours. “I’ve been wanting to do this for ages.” A little giggle parts your lips, your cheeks flushed. “Me too.” You bite down on your lower lip and lean in, your head resting on his shoulder, arms wrapping around his neck. Eris relaxes, cradles you in his strong arms, pulling you flush to his chest. “I can’t wait for us to become High Lord and Lady of this court. I know that with you at my side I can do things better. I will be different than he is. I know that you can help me with that, that you will help me. I know you will be a great High Lady.” You hum, stroking the hair at the back of his neck gently. You want to tell him that you know that he could also do this all without you, that he is not a bad person, but you don’t want to interrupt the peaceful silence that has fallen over you, only some birds and the wind rustling the trees audible around you. 

He caresses you back with his hand, his head resting against yours as you both listen to the sounds of nature around you. “I don’t know how a person can love another person but at the same time hate them so much.” He pauses and inhales deeply, his chest heaving against you. “He always used to say how proud he was of me and that I can do great things. That I will be great High Lord, but then he treated me like I was…I don’t even know like what. All the punishment he used on me was always for education, he used to say.” 

“I can’t even tell you how sorry I am, how much I want to take this pain away from you. And how much I want to walk into the Forest House right now and pierce a dagger through his heart.” Fury blazes through your veins and you lean back, looking up at your husband. He lowers his head, resting his chin on your forehead and releases a breathy chuckle. “I had no idea my wife is so violent. And as much as I appreciate this and love you for it, I can’t let you do it.”

Love. The word reverberates through you and makes your heart skip one or the other happy beat. “He won’t live much longer, we just have to endure and soon it will be over.” He leans back a little and kisses your forehead. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tags: @sunshinebingo@tarataraaaa@brekkershadowsinger@azriels-mate123@mandziaaa@cosmic-whispers@mali22@elsie-bells@imma-too-many-fandoms@kuraikei@ginnyweasley06 @bubnix @powerfulpantera @moonlightazriel @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop

[maddys-nerd-blog]

7, 10 and 21 for the WIP ask!!

HELLO 👋🏻

7– My favorite scene? Oooooo I think it’s the conversation between Danny and Leo where they’re having their heart to heart. The dialogue is some of the more emotional stuff I’ve worked on, so I’ll give you a sample!

Sour memories of his own childhood came to mind. Without thinking he spoke to break the silence. “I don’t have a good relationship with my Father either.”

Leo sniffled, the chair and his ropes creaking from a slight shift in movement as he attempted to look at the yōkai. “Y-you don’t…?”

“Nah.” Danny shook his head. “My father and I never had a stable relationship when I was your age. Ma passed when I turned twelve and it broke something in him. Told me I looked too much like her t’ ever speak t’ me. I didn’t wanna go into th’ family business, so he resented me for it. I always had bad role models growing up— I wanted t’ be like Clyde Barrow. I wanted t’ be rich and live a life where I had control of myself, be what I wanted. Truth be told I used t’ dream about bein’ a performer, one of those Fred Alastair types. My father never understood. Said I was delusional. Especially when I told him I was getting hired by Big Mama,” he scoffed under his breath, a light smirk playing at his lips with mirth. “He just about blew a gasket. Told me I was an embarrassment, I wasn’t th’ son he raised, I was better off dead than working for th’ competition. He told me ‘If yer gonna make this family look bad, ya ain’t welcome home.’ So… I left. And I never looked back.”

Leo, having grown silent to let Danny finish his story, sniffled as he piped up, “How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“… how long has it been since you saw him?”

“In person? Thirty-six years.”

Danny could almost feel the empathetic eyes of the slider peering over his shoulder. He didn’t need to look at Leo’s face to know that he was stunned. “I’m so sorry…”

“Isn’t a big deal t’ me.” Danny reassured. “I knew it was coming so I wasn’t too upset.” A somber chuckle escaped from him over the thought. “It made me laugh afterwards.”

“But…” Leo’s arms twisted around, trying to move, wanting to better look the man in the eye. “Did you ever regret it?”

He shook his head. “I kinda knew when I left that he wouldn’t give a damn once I was gone. He never made th’ effort t’ phone me or look for me. It was a part of myself I had to let go of if I wanted t’ move on. There were times where I thought I could give him a call, but… then I’d get cold feet.” Danny sighed, long and hard, giving a small shake of his head to clear the resentment. “I found a better family in all of you, anyway.”

“I probably ain’t th’ best person t’ take advise from, but I know one thing.” Danny looked back at the kid, trying to offer a kind smile. “Yer stronger than yer dad if he don’t see how important ya are t’ yer brothers.” When Danny didn’t get a reply straight away, he continued. “Ya wanna know something? When I met Kat, she would talk ‘bout how proud she was of her boys. She would tell me everything about th’ kids she was looking after. How brave and adventurous they were, how they kept fighting even when th’ odds were stacked against them, how they saved her from herself.”

“… she really talked about us that much…?”

“‘Course!” Danny twisted himself around as best he could manage, the ropes biting and pulling stubbornly into his arms from the motions. “You guys are th’ center of her world! It’s nothing but high praise! I could write up an entire novel’s worth of compliments she gives you. Ya might not realize it but yer mom loves all of you so, so much. If ya asked her for a thousand bucks she’d bring you diamonds. Ya ask her for a house, she’d buy you a castle. I bet if she could, she’d hang th’ moon and stars for you. All she wants is t’ make you happy.” The yōkai grinned, recalling the pride in Katie’s smile when she told him about the kids, about their achievements and their accomplishments. If there was any mother in the world that could be more proud of her children, she’d be the living example.

Leo giggled, a small sob stifled behind it. He swallowed, hesitating, gathering himself to properly breathe. “I-I didn’t think… I didn’t know we mattered this much to her.”

“You kidding?” Danny couldn’t help the incredulous tone in his voice. “I won’t be surprised if she breaks th’ doors down t’ this place t’ get you back. If there’s one thing we both know ‘bout Katie, it’s that she’ll stop at nothing t’ bring ya home. She’s gonna be here soon.”

10– “Fine,” Katie reluctantly agreed. “There should be a pharmacy two blocks down from here. Just… please be careful.”

With one of his signature sly smirks Danny leaned forward, planting a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I’ll be in and out.”

21– This time I’ll choose these!

[itstimetodrew]

Deep dive into a very minor, very niche Spider-Man topic time!

The subject…WHO IS THAT WOMAN??? 🤨

It’s not crucial to the plot, and it’s not a mind-blowing theory, I just like gathering up little background details and connecting them. :)

DISCLAIMER: While obviously the Spider-Man movies are inspired by and based on the comics, I treat the movies as their own thing because tbh...I am not reading all that. It’s Movie Universe Time!

So indeed the 2002 Spider-Man movie does have a lot of cool tidbits that give extra information on characters. Sometimes it’s very subtle, sometimes it’s more overt! So we begin our journey to discover the Mystery Woman here:

95% of the words are actual Character Lore(!), with only the last paragraph copy-pasted, but Today's Focus is one particular section at the bottom of the 2nd column:

"His personal life has not been nearly as successful as his business life. Married only once, to the artist Caroline Mulder, he was divorced after ten years of what was said to have been a singularly strained and unhappy [...]"

3 whole pieces of Mystery Woman information! Her name is Caroline Mulder, an artist ("the artist" implies she's well-known at least in NYC), and they were married for 10 years before divorcing. That gives the portraits in the mansion more context, very likely that Caroline painted them.

Caroline’s impact on the story is also stated by an executive producer in a behind the scenes book when discussing how characters are developed:

"Here's a man raising his son alone—there must be a tragic story with his wife. She must have left him! Does Harry remind him of her? Does he love his boy or hate him?"

Harry does have an interest in art like his mom. In Spider-Man 3 we see him painting a still life in his spare time, after post-traumatic amnesia ironically leaves him happier than ever before. He's forgotten many details of the negative things in his life and instead enjoys reliving childhood activities and memories. It's possible painting was a passion of his when he was younger, similar to how he discusses writing a play for MJ and playing basketball with Peter during high school, but gradually became disconnected from or was pressured to drop.

Knowing the marriage lasted for 10 years helps narrow down a few things, like that the divorce probably wasn't recent. But that’s assuming he was born during the time they were married, meaning Harry could have been 10 at most. Whether Caroline is still alive also isn't clear-cut...in the movie, at least. In the novelization for the 3rd movie, Peter confirms Harry is an orphan after Norman dies. The novelizations and movie details don't always line up 1:1, so it's left open imo. I feel like the paper would have mentioned her passing if she had died but...choose your own route of angst! (And wow would that add a whole new layer of awful to Norman’s misogynistic “advice” about women to Harry if he’s shit-talking his dead ex-wife.)

If Caroline is alive that opens a new batch of questions about where she went. Do they have any sort of shared custody situation? Doubtful, as Caroline seems to be totally cut out of the picture and only exists in the story via possessions. But if the marriage ended bitterly, and some years ago, why is her art and her collections present at all? Her portrait makes sense to keep, as it's revealed in the sequel to be the cover for a hidden safe.

(That's another fun symbol, hiding treasures behind a loved one's image. A place for safety and precious things, hidden from public view.) Other pieces of art seen around the house raise more questions about sentimentality. If Norman hated any reminder of his ex-wife, why keep her work? Why keep it for so long and have it displayed prominently?

I will not let this derail into A Norman Post (it would not end I could not stop) SO my personal take is that it’s probably a mixture of some longing for the past, but mostly spite. Keeping the art is a reminder that while he lost her, he also won. What was hers is now his (son included). Which may factor into why we don’t see Caroline involved with the family at all. Either she didn’t want to be, or she was prevented from doing so. Honestly it would not be surprising to cut all ties, as I do not think many would want to test their luck in a legal battle against a vindictive person who holds a massive amount of money and potential life-ruining influence.

I could also talk about Harry forever but in short I think these details make him more interesting. It's another angle as to why he seems so conflicted and avoidant about family issues, to the point he physically distances himself from them whenever possible. He might have had a strong connection with his mother, but it likely wasn't something he could talk about without Norman taking it as a personal betrayal. Still, he's surrounded by memories of her and keeps his own mementos nearby.

^ There's a photo of her in the apartment he and Peter share, the same image as the portrait (on the middle shelf to the left 🔍). Interestingly, like the portraits, the photos of his parents are kept apart. But here his mom is given more focus on a higher shelf.

Despite the work that went into backstory creation, multiple photographs, and a painted portrait, I haven’t been able to find who "played" the role of Caroline. It would be neat! But it’s also just cool to see how background details offer glimpses of a larger story if you want to look for them. :)

[stationintern]

Rêverie

Draco Malfoy spends an afternoon ruminating on first meetings, vengeful houses, and moments spent twirling a landline cord. This fic is inspired by Bless The Telephone by Labi Siffre.

When Scorpius only measured up to Draco’s waist, he’d climb up onto the left side of the piano bench and situate himself next to his father.

Those stubby fingers would run over the keys in a childish imitation of Draco’s years of practice, and soon, a cacophony of chaos would drift throughout the house, filling every room with its imperfections. Pansy said, while they were expecting Scorpius, that Draco would get tired of the noise after a while. In truth, the opposite happened– he was tired of it from day one. Every day after was spent learning to love it.

Now, he’s learning to miss it.

During long sessions of ruminating on life, replaying old memories like slideshows in his mind, Draco likes to play Rêverie.

His muscles do the unconscious work while he, once again, wonders why Scorpius had to study in the states, of all bloody places. He’d promised that it had nothing to do with being across an ocean from his parents, but said parents had their doubts, and despite all of Scorpius’ protests, feelings of failure and pride still battled it out in their hearts. Failure, because their only son wanted to go somewhere so removed from them. And pride, because he had the desire to explore, to learn.

So, missing his son as the battle rages, Draco plays alone.

His childhood tutor had been stern and critical, hampering any growing love for the instrument he could have had. It took years, once he reached adulthood, before he finally sat himself down in front of one again– before he learned to let the music move him, instead of forcing it to move for him.

It fills his empty house with melody, and though it’s comforting in its own way, Draco yearns for the harmony of Scorpius’ chaos.

Though, chaos still comes in a new form today, as a repetitive ringing from the kitchen cuts his playing off mid-chord.

The old landline has stuck around, a reminder of a time when cell phones spontaneously exploded in the hands of wizards– more than a minor safety hazard. Once the technology was adapted for use around magic, they kept it for the sake of nostalgia. It kept them off their cell phones unless absolutely necessary, and there’s something sweet about wrapping a phone cord around your finger while you lean against the wall, chatting with someone you love. It keeps you in place, devotes you to the conversation at hand.

Cell phones are the norm now, and only one person calls the landline number anymore.

“Malfoy-Potter residence,” Draco says,  because old habits become inside jokes sometimes.

“Very formal,” Harry’s low chuckle crawls through the crackling line, “Hello, love.”

“Hi, dear,” Draco replies, and his greeting comes out more as a sigh of relief than actual words.

“How are things with you?” Harry asks, and Draco wishes he had that kind of power– the ability to fill the empty pit in Draco’s stomach that forms when he’s by himself, to clear away all those meandering thoughts and replace them with a warm feeling of ease, all in a single line.

“I’m good. A bit lonely,” he admits, wrapping the phone cord around an idle finger, twirling it, “It’s nice to hear your voice. How’s the office?”

“Hectic,” Draco imagines Harry hunched over his desk, twirling a phone cord of his own while the office whirls around him, papers flying in the air, “Can’t talk long. Just wanted to tell you that I love you, and make sure you take a break from playing all those sad songs by yourself.”

“I love you, too… and they’re not sad songs.”

“Whatever you say. Chinese tonight?” The end of his sentence tips upwards with excitement– an excitement that Draco shares. Another long day coming to a close, spent in the company of one another.

“Sounds good. Love you.”

“Love you.”

With that, they hang up, and Draco’s loneliness creeps back in as the phone clicks back into place, but he knows that Harry’s words will ward it off for a few moments more. He’s developed a routine after these calls. He puts on a record– today, it’s All Things Must Pass– and turns it all the way up, until it can be heard from every corner of the house. 

Then, he wanders.

Up the stairs and down the hallway, he peeks out onto the balcony to watch the cars pass for a bit, before turning back inside. The door stays open behind him, letting the morning breeze whisper life back into the stale hall where Scorpius’ room lies.

Pale blue walls surround him as he meanders, remembering the time spent renovating this house– the one they bought after Grimmauld Place began rejecting Scorpius.

It seemed the house was cruel enough to terrorize a five-year-old. First, there were bad dreams. Then, stairs that would melt the soles of his shoes. The whole ordeal proved too much when a bush in the garden tried to kidnap him, and neither Draco nor Harry thought holding onto a shitty, endlessly deteriorating heirloom could possibly be worth the lifelong trauma it would cause for their son.

They tried to move without feeling defeated, ejected. The townhouse in Balham became a fun project, and they’d done most of the renovations magic-free. It was a good lesson for Scorpius– that working with your hands could be just as fulfilling, if not more, than using magic– and a bit of a challenge for his parents.

The real problem with the move was timing.

Renovating a home was interesting and new, until they all got sick of sleeping on transfigured couches, living on takeout, and plumbing that only worked five out of seven days of the week. In January, they opened up the kitchen, then the entire first floor by June. Their migration throughout the house felt like a city expanding, creeping along the hills, building new bridges over rivers.

The last room they finished was the library, and, incidentally, it’s now Draco’s favorite room in the house– with oak shelves that touch the ceiling, squashy chairs, and the lantern they’ve affectionately named Tinkerbell that follows you around after dark. 

Harry’s desk sits comfortably, in front of a window that overlooks the street below, with a familiar, faded photograph perched in its left side. Draco doesn’t need to crack open the frame to know what’s scrawled on the back in Harry’s chicken scratch.

Gutman Publishing House Christmas Party, 2003.

They’d just begun dating, still had a youthful glow about them, and didn’t yet know what it was like to be awoken in the middle of a night by a baby that actually belonged to them. Harry’s hand is resting on Draco’s lower back as he places a misfired kiss on his nose.

It all started a few months prior in a crowded, stuffy elevator.

They said nothing to one another, at the time. Harry had recently earned his own office, and it just so happened to be on the same floor as Draco’s editor, who was finalizing the edits on his first novel. Neither were aware they had business in the same building, since Harry handled children’s books, and Draco very much didn’t write those under a pseudonym– his novels were pretty much the opposite of children’s books.

The fifteen-story building handled the majority of wizarding publishing in the UK, so they blame their crossing of paths on fate.

Draco remembers what it felt like in that elevator, the oppressive heat that rose to his cheeks when he saw Harry, with his messy hair, skewed tie, and dark under-eyes, squished between two strangers. At the time, they both thought they had it all figured out, didn’t they? That they were on the cusp of become true adults. They were wrong, of course. They made the same false assumption after Scorpius was born, after they finished the house, and after countless other achievements that opened doors to new aspirations, new lessons.

They still haven’t figured everything out, but they’ve survived, and, more importantly, Scorpius seems to have turned out all right. 

After that elevator, their office run-ins became more frequent, and Draco would admit– years later, drunk– that he’d pass by Harry’s office on purpose, despite his editor being on the opposite end of the floor. Awkwardness soon turned into a quiet truce, then almost-friendly nods, until one day, when Harry stopped Draco with a hand on his bicep and said:

“Hey, I got my hands on your manuscript.”

And Draco, ever so eloquent, replied:

“Oh.”

“Don’t ask how,” Harry continued, mildly frantic, “But, I just wanted to tell you that I liked it. A lot. I loved it, actually.”

And maybe it was the compliment, or the way Harry’s glasses were more than a little crooked, or that he openly admitted to reading Draco’s smut-filled novel to his face, but Draco fell for him right there. Not quite as hard as he eventually would, maybe just a trip-up of love. Still, it was a start.

It’s a bit funny. Draco always liked to imagine himself as an instigator, a charmer. But, Harry was the one who started every conversation, pressed through during the lengthier ones, despite the awkwardness or outright animosity. Harry was the one who, on a cloudy Thursday in September 2003, asked Draco if he’d like to get a coffee once he was done at the office for the day.

Draco agreed. That evening he waited, shivering– half from the chill, half from nerves– outside the building for half an hour, but lied to Harry and said he’d only just come back. They didn’t have much to say as they walked to the café, keeping a respectful distance between them as they traded pleasantries and comments about impending rain. 

The tension broke when Draco did, as he awkwardly admitted in words that stumbled over each other that he actually didn’t drink coffee after dark, citing caffeine and trouble sleeping. Harry stopped his ramblings with a laugh, and told him he was smart. They got hot chocolate instead.

Warm cups turned cold, and the sky opened up, late, as if telling them to run on home. And run they did, sprinting through the onslaught back to Draco’s flat, ignoring Apparition and choosing romance instead. Harry took off his coat, held it high above their heads, as Draco told him that the gods were angry, that of course this would happen.

Harry said he didn’t care what the gods would think about them, and when he kissed Draco on the stoop, he tasted of peppermint and cocoa.

***

Harry gets home sometime around six, just to find Draco sitting on his piano bench, right where he’d left him that morning. He drops his hands on Draco’s shoulders and begins to knead.

“Have you been sitting here all day?”

Draco doesn’t stop his playing– he’s chosen something light, relaxing, and all for Harry after a long day of work. A love song, in its own way.

“No,” Draco leans back into his touch, rolls his shoulders, “I took a walk, read a bit. I always end up here, somehow.”

Harry drops a kiss to the top of Draco’s head, “Well, this song isn’t very sad.”

Draco lifts his fingers off the keys, shy, and cranes his neck to look at his husband, “It’s a love song.”

“A love song,” Harry repeats, and smiles– it’s broad, unencumbered by past pain, yet forged in darkness.

Draco nods, kisses the corner of his mouth.

“I’m very much in love with you,” he murmurs into the crease of Harry’s cheek.

Harry laughs and kisses him fully– once, twice, three times.

“I’m very much in love with you.”

“How was work?” Draco asks, rising from the piano bench, resting his hand on the small of Harry’s back as he throws his arm around Draco’s shoulders.

“Tiring. How was writing?”

They move towards the coat rack in tandem, easing into a familiar, practiced pre-dinner brief.

“Nonexistent.”

Harry chuckles, “You’ll get back into it soon. Jameson rejected the Garrison manuscript without consulting with Faulkner.”

“No,” Draco gasps, disentangling from Harry to wrestle his arms into a coat.

“I’m serious. You wouldn’t believe…”

They slip into the street, where the rain is light, and the sun has just set over the horizon, and Harry tells him all about how Faulkner reacted, and Draco tells him that maybe they should just take a trip to the states to see what Scorpius’ fuss is all about. The loneliness ebbs, though Draco knows it will flow again someday.

But, none of that really matters, because Harry’s there to poke him in the side, there to say, in a voice so soft and low, “Draco,” and bring him back from his wandering thoughts.

Harry’s there, and just a word or two from him, or a quiet night spent eating Chinese, has always been more than enough.

If you feel up to it, I'd love to hear your thoughts over on ao3.

[mahuhumaling]

why this silent moment from EP. 12 is one of my top 5 fav bbs scenes

EXT./INT. SIRIDECHAWAT RESIDENCE — NIGHT

so we open with Dissaya bringing Pran's bedsheet onto his childhood room.

i think it was Charlie Gillespie who said that there's something actors do that never gets talked about by viewers: they act out the space that they're in.

this means that to fully inhabit a character, not only do they have to pretend that they've known their whole lives the scene partners whom they're merely acquaintances with (because they play as their family), but also the physical location.

they have to pretend that the built sets or shooting locations are places they've lived in their whole lives, and the way P'Ple and Nanon act inside the Siridechawat House is a perfect example.

not once do we get a feeling of unfamiliarity in their body when they interact with the objects in the rooms.

there's a great sense of nostalgia in Dissaya's eyes and smile.

it's clear she hasn't been in this bedroom for a while, but it also shows that she has made a lot of memories with Pran here. here is where she raised him. she feels proud of how far he has gone and what kind of person Pran has become.

her little moment gets interrupted by Ming's noise outside, and we get a glimpse of the pink line again that is, by the way, SUCH a great little motif. a visual line that has literally divided the two houses.

here comes my favorite part. the PAUSE that Ming takes as he contemplates CROSSING the line to get to Dissaya's house. honestly i wish there was a wide shot of this instead, as Ming crosses the frame's left to right side so we can really feel the step that he takes and see it visually as a whole.

but ohhh boy, here's the real kicker: the way Dissaya looks at him. she observes first, watching and waiting, scrutinizing as if it's a challenge of "what are you going to do, huh?" you can feel the weight of the history behind that face. how much hate has seeped into years of their old friendship.

but when Ming puts the letters into their mailbox, Dissaya's face dissolves to almost a sense of relief (?), because she has kept her guard up for so long that she's so used to the default of petty fights masquerading the real animosity between the two of them, that she almost couldn't believe that Ming would be man enough to let one kind gesture pass by. or that he's even still capable of doing so.

the hate has clouded her judgment, it's obvious, though we can't fault her for it.

but here, in a few seconds, it clears.

lastly, it cuts to a picture of young Pran, reminding Dissaya that on top of the betrayal and the hate and the anger, what matters most is her love for her only son.

the past few episodes have also emphasized Pran as an only son, and there's a special connection and bond they share that I'm sure a lot of only children relate to.

no dialogue, no internal monologue to show what Dissaya is thinking.

just pure performance, and music.

music.

we all know that it (represented by the guitar) is the ultimate metaphor for Pran's love for and relationship with Pat, right?

so naturally, Ming's little act earlier created a sort of domino effect: Dissaya brings out the guitar from when she overheard her husband and Pran talking about where it was hidden. she takes it out herself and leaves it on the bed for Pran to notice, a silent understanding between parent and child. (...very Asian parenting. add in some sliced fruits, why don't ya?)

Dissaya's love for Pran outweighs her hate for Ming. in fact, it heals.

[x.]

MY TOP 5 FAVORITE BAD BUDDY SCENES

(In no actual order)

3 - Broken Bus Stop Redesigning

5 - Fight in the Dorm Parking Lot

10 - Pran Sings "Our Song" Draft

10 - InkPa in the Darkroom

12 - Dissaya Watches Ming

[edgessunflower]

Barbeque kisses

Pairing: Sasha Banks x Fem reader

Description: While at a barbeque with a group of friends you decide to go with your gut and confess your feelings the girl you fell in love with

Warning: Minor drinking and Minor Marijuana use

You laugh as you watch Humberto Carrillo play pranks on Sami Zayn, Rey Mysterio, and Kevin Owens while you drink wine and eat a hamburger with Rey's son Dominik, Liv Morgan, and your friend Sasha Banks. You along with sasha and rey planned a big barbeque for all the wrestlers as a part of a break you all were getting for a few weeks in between matches having everyone come over to your big rented house to cook out, have a bon fire, swim in the pool, hang out with each other, spend time with their families, and just have a great time without stress or training to do for hours each day, you feel a tap on your shoulder, bringing you out of your thoughts looking to see sasha above you smiling as you follow her to the back porch finishing your wine and sitting in front of the pool next to each other with your feet in the water sharing a joint you had in your pocket staring at the water or the flowers across from you to keep from staring at sasha feeling your heart rate pick up at her small giggle at your joke as you puffed on the joint passing it to her laying on your back. You had been in love with sasha for two years having been friends for five after meeting each other through your childhood friend Finn Balor who knew the two of you would get along great but became happy when the two of you became fast peas in a pod both of them helping you train in your career for NXT and soon becoming their shared protege when you became a part of the WWE roster always being in both their corners cheering them on and having two number one supporters in your life backing you up no matter what happened or will happen in the future smiling at the memories feeling a light but warm touch on your face looking to see sasha above you smiling sweetly as you watch her slowly lean down closer to you "Can I tell you something?" you take a deep breath watching her nod taking one final puff before putting the rest of the joint out "For the past two years...I've been in love with you and I wanted to tell you but I didn't know how to or when and I understand if you don't feel the same or if you found someone else..." you release the breath you held in looking at the sky until you feel your chin being gently grabbed and your face moving until your looking eye to eye with sasha. You tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear "You don't need to be scared or worried... I haven't met anyone and if I did it wouldn't be real...not when I have loved you for so long" you smile big as she grabs you face placing her lips on yours in a soft and loving but also fiery and impatient kiss leaving you out of breath, flush, and smiling as the two of you hug and sit for a few more minutes until you hear someone clear their throat turning to see finn and dom with a blunt "Mind if we join you?" the four of you share a joint announcing and swearing the two of them to secrecy until you both are ready to tell others taking things slow as you enjoy the rest of the night together.

[seriouslysam8]

Bête Noire anon here !

This might be my interpretation but i really like what we learn about Walburga's personality and motivations through Alphard's POV in that story vs what is conveyed to us by Dumbledore in Backstabber and Sirius throughout the entire Petrichor series.

Both Sirius and Dumbledore see her as plainly two-dimensional evil, although for different reasons. Sirius' perspective is of a child whose mother barely cares to provide her son with even a modicum of affection and, once he gets sorted into a wrong house and gets progressively more rebellious, Walburga goes all in into abusive territory. Dumbledore, well.. i think his age (sorry, but dude is nearly ancient) and early life experience with Grindelwald resulted in him having little nuance at times - he pretty much irrevocably perceives Tom as evil right off the bat without considering that this is a kid in an orphanage inbetween 2 world wars and great depression, of course he'll be fucked up. He perceives Walburga the same way as well but well, not like she'd known any better with Blacks at the time, eh?

Alphard's POV, otoh, shows us that yes, bitch is crazy, but in a screwed up way she cared and protected her little brother and that she is capable of love (at least an obsessive one). The dialogue between her and Alphard after Alphard helps Sirius escape, imo, also hints that she might have come up with that absolute abhorrent shit she did to Sirius not just out of Black madness Dumbledore refers to in Backstabber, but out of fear of how Voldemort might retaliate to her and Sirius should Sirius continue showing metaphorical (and literal) middle finger to the family.

All that is to say, as much as I love Brumous, I think I'll just keep nagging you until you wrap up Bête Noire. 😋

Gosh, I really need to finish Bête Noire. There’s only two chapters left.

Your analysis is exactly how I perceive it.

Sirius is a very unreliable narrator when it comes to his family, because of everything that came to a head Bête Noire. He has filed them as foul and evil, refusing to acknowledge even the good and/or decent times before he went to Hogwarts. You see the stark contrast with the way Andromeda and Sirius talk about the past. Andromeda is more nostalgic about their childhood, often talking about how close they were and all the fun times at Alphard’s and their summers in France. But for Sirius, it’s harder for him to remember those times because he was younger during those times and because his teen years just got progressively worse with each passing year. What happened during Christmas of 1975 just overshadows any positive memory he may have. There’s just a dark stain for him. Honestly, I don’t blame him in the slightest. What happened was absolutely abhorrent.

By contrast, Alphard grew up with Walburga. I imagine their relationship was a lot like Sirius and Regulus. They were close until they weren’t. The only reason it didn’t break completely was because Alphard never left the family. He just put more space between them, slowly drifting further away. It’s very evident in Poisson that Alphard, by this time, is more interested in spending time with the children than he is with his siblings. It’s mentioned that Alphard always seemed to miss Voldemort when he came by Grimmauld Place and was able to avoid taking the Mark by carefully curating his schedule to be conveniently away. If it wasn’t for the children, Alphard would have broken away completely.

I agree, what Walburga did to Sirius was out of desperation. She has this obsessive love towards Voldemort. She makes it clear in that memory in Brumous that she wanted to raise Sirius and Regulus with him. He had zero interest in playing house and made it very clear that he didn’t want to see the boys until they could be useful to him. This idea that Walburga had in her head was never going to happen. Yet, she clung to it. The more Sirius slipped away, the more she panicked. So what happened in Bête Noire was the breaking point for her to keep her relationship and status with Voldemort intact. Even Sirius goes into the situation thinking he’d get a lecture and locked in his room all of the holiday. He never even thought that things would get as bad as they did. He was more worried of being forced into marriage with a Bellatrix or to take the Mark against his will. He never even imagined that Walburga would do the things she did to him. That any of them would have done the things they did to him.

Obviously, this isn’t what I think happened in canon. I don’t think the break was so messy nor do I think it was one big event that caused him to leave. I think there was a lot of little stuff that piled up until he couldn’t take it anymore. To top it off, I do think there was a lot of emotional abuse and manipulation. It wasn’t a healthy environment. Sirius seeing what a normal family was like by visiting the Potters only helped drive that wedge even more between him and his family.

[keybladespirit]

Trans Sitcom Pilot Ending

I've had this idea for a while. You know those sitcoms that are like, highly kid focused but made for all ages and there's this general formula of conflicts that lend themselvs to different kinds of life lessons depending on if the viewer is a kids or a parent? And it's all like, so sweet and wholesome that it's kinda diabetes-inducing to watch? Think Full House or Boy Meets World or anything like that.

I had an idea for a one of those. Specifically a one of those where the main characters as a single trans woman and her trans son. Out of a desire to see it exist in some form, I wrote the scene that I've had in my head ever since I thought of it.

Couple notes:

For... very personal reasons that I do not want to get into, it is very important to me that the son's deadname is Bethany Jane and it's equally important that he use his initials as his new name for a while.

In my head, there's a specific point where he picks a permanent new name, and I would want it to be a moment that emphasizes that there is a continuing story despite most episodes individually adhering to a very loose "Status Quo Is God" format.

In my head, Claire is depicted in the present by a trans woman, but by both a cis boy and a cis girl in flashbacks to her childhood. Namely, the visual language of her flashbacks would be that the boy plays her in painful memories and the girl in happy or neutral ones.

Claire: Listen Betha- actually, do you have a new name? It's okay if you don't. BJ: You can call me BJ for now, mom. Claire: Okay. BJ, I'm not mad at you. I'm actually very proud of you. It's just... well I thought I'd made it clear that I'd love you no matter what. That I don't need you to be my daughter if you don't want to be. That's why I told you about my childhood. BJ: That's not it mom. I knew you'd accept me, it's just... well I thought I could tough it out. Let you live out your girlhood through me for a little while. Claire: Now where did you get that idea? BJ: Cal told me! Claire: I knew that boy was bad news. audience laughter BJ: But mom, he was right! He did the math and said you waited until you were 26. I could wait until I'm 16, easy! I can do all the girly things you wish you could have done and then- Claire: BJ, that's not how- BJ: Mooom listen, I just... Cal said that's what he's doing for his dad. He knows he's a boy and he knows his dad never got to- Claire: BJ, shush. Let me talk. It's true that I started transitioning at 26, but I knew I wanted to for a long time before that. Before I even knew I could. You're lucky to know at your age that what I did is even possible. I don't want you to be "the girl I never got to be" or any of that nonsense. I want you to be happy. That's all. audience awww BJ: Thanks mom. I'm sorry I lied. Claire: That's okay. I love you, son. BJ: I love you too mom. they hug another big aww from the audience fade to black credits roll

This is never gonna get made, lol. But maybe I'll finish writing the pilot someday.

[denimbex1986]

'In the British director Andrew Haigh’s earlier films—“Weekend” (2011), “45 Years” (2015), and “Lean on Pete” (2017)—the images did much less of the work than the script and the actors. There has been something literal about his filmmaking that undercuts the intense emotion of the stories he films. His new movie, “All of Us Strangers,” is a little different and a lot better. The fact that it’s a kind of ghost story, a drama centered on fantasy, spurs Haigh to shoot in a way that conveys a distinctive, alternate realm of experience. Even if one didn’t know that he has strong personal associations with the story (and I didn’t, until after I’d seen the film), it’s clear that the confluence of this private investment and fantastical elements of the narrative impart new tone and shape to Haigh’s image-making. If his previous films have felt like mere renderings of their scripts, this one is a genuinely cinematic experience.

“All of Us Strangers” is a filmmaker’s movie—or, rather, a screenwriter’s one. That’s the job of the protagonist, Adam (Andrew Scott), and, when the action begins, he’s struggling with it. Living alone in a high-windowed flat, keeping the TV on for distraction and inspiration, moving from the blank screen of his laptop to the snoozy refuge of his sofa, Adam is enduring writerly frustration, heightened by the subject he has taken on: his own past, his own family. And his current circumstances are inflicting a deeper solitude: a single gay man, he lives in a new apartment tower with few other tenants. He does catch a strange glimpse of one, however, when, during a building-wide fire alarm, Adam goes outside half-dressed in the middle of the night. Looking up at a lighted window, he notices a neighbor who refuses to budge from his sixth-floor apartment. When Adam goes back home, he gets a knock on the door from that neighbor, Harry (Paul Mescal), who comes bearing a bottle of whiskey, but Adam sends him away.

So far, so literal, but there’s something slightly oneiric about this conjunction of slight odd events that places the action in the register of the uncanny. When Adam gets back to his script, with its scene heading “ext. suburban house 1987,” he’s in the paradoxical position of being too much inside his own head and not being in it deep enough. To jog his inspiration and reinvigorate his memory, he watches a video of Frankie Goes to Hollywood and rummages through a box of childhood memorabilia. Gazing out the window of his flat at nearby train tracks, he is impelled to hunt for his past in person, taking the train to his boyhood home, in Sanderstead, a suburb of London. There, at the window of the house where he lived, he sees a child; in a nearby park, he encounters a man who invites him home—his father (Jamie Bell). There, at the house, Adam’s mother (Claire Foy) is waiting for him, too. Both parents are apparently the age they were in 1987, when Adam was eleven. Spoiler alert: his parents were killed following a car accident on Christmas of that year. The essence of “All of Us Strangers” is Adam’s reconnection with them, sharing stories of his life since then and also things they didn’t know about his childhood self.

Once Adam reunites with his parents—who, movingly, appear to be younger than their fortysomething son—he is seemingly addicted to the experience, making ever more frequent and urgent trips to their home. They seem to be middle-class people with little knowledge of the arts, and are impressed that he has become a writer. (His self-deprecating view of screenwriting—saying he’s “not a proper writer”—plays like a director’s wink.) Momentously and affectingly, Adam comes out to them. His conversations with each of them, separately, reveal, with a sociological precision that’s dramatically impassioned, the changes in British legal and social attitudes toward homosexuality. His mother is surprised to know that Adam faces no harassment and can marry another man and raise children; dying while the aids crisis was raging, she is surprised to learn that the disease is manageable; when Adam talks of the bullying that he endured growing up, his father admits that, as a schoolboy, he would have been among the bullies. As Adam keeps returning to Sanderstead, he soon moves from merely recollecting his childhood toward reënacting it, with his parents’ enthusiastic participation—snuggling in bed between his parents when he can’t fall asleep, coming downstairs in his pajamas on Christmas Day, heading out to his favorite restaurant.

These phantasmagorical sequences, filmed with a bracing realism that renders the fantasy all the more poignant, make “All of Us Strangers” a sort of “It Wasn’t Always Such a Terrible Life”—a Christmas movie whose protagonist is able to extract from the workaday banalities of his childhood the loving devotion that lay beneath, and to bring it to the fore in the place of enduring traumas. Adam, ever the screenwriter, performs a brilliant editing job on his life, cutting out decades of agonized relationships and even normal conflicts. By seeing the details of his adolescence in the light of the life that he has led and by encountering his parents not as authority figures but as near-contemporaries, Adam alchemically transforms a troubled childhood into gold.

I didn’t know, until after seeing the movie, that Adam’s old home is filmed in the house where Haigh himself grew up. (Happily, his parents are still alive, though.) But the intensity of Haigh’s bond to the ghosts of childhood is apparent from the stuff of the movie itself, including subtly transformative images that are new to his cinematic vocabulary. The cliché of following the back of a character’s head to see what he sees suddenly seems fresh again, because being left to imagine Adam’s astonished gaze is more powerful than any performance could be. Haigh makes ordinary closeups convey more than mere emphasis by means of striking, painterly disproportions between foreground and background; even Adam’s adult height, in a town and a household that he’d always seen from a child’s viewpoint, is framed as conspicuously strange and disconcerting. Meanwhile, the scene in which Adam’s ghostly parents come into contact with the world outside the house offers one of the year’s best coups de cinéma.

There’s another aspect to “All of Us Strangers” that both expands the story far beyond the familial and launches it into an altogether different realm of wish-fulfillment. After the initial freeze-out, Adam’s neighbor Harry gives him a second chance, knocking on his door again. This time, Adam invites him in, and the two men begin a romantic and sexual relationship, in the course of which they discuss their family backgrounds. With the subject broached, Adam is inspired to bring Harry out to Sanderstead to meet his parental apparitions—yet another extraordinary twist in the movie’s metaphysical fantasy.

Unfortunately, this is where Haigh cannot transcend the limitations of his previous work. It wasn’t only the images in his three widely released features that seemed insufficient; in each, the central relationships were deftly sketched but thinly defined. The relationship that develops between Adam and Harry suffers in the same way. When they discuss their childhood, it is in numbingly general terms, long on psychologizing but short on animating detail. The scenes of Adam and Harry together, for all their warmth, are as slightly rendered as those with his parents are dramatically rich, and the power of Haigh’s direction dwindles to match. No point in giving away the last pieces in the movie’s puzzle, but Harry and Adam’s bond is a screenwriter’s relationship, pared down to its function in the plot and to its connection with Adam’s prime realm of fantasy—the appearance of his parents. What’s missing from the film is the spark that leaps the gap from imagination to reality. For all its droll shading of the screenwriter’s art, “All of Us Strangers” is a screenwriter’s movie, in which the power of intention over observation, of the blueprint over the finished product, is asserted with a vengeance.'

[kierancampire]

I just got hit by another random memory

There really isn't much to say that's positive about growing up in my childhood, especially on my dad's side of things, but one positive was for a time all the neighbours got on, we took part in big events in the neighbourhood and everyone was friends, it didn't last but it was good for a while

But I just remembered, at the very end of the street lived a mum, her son, and the daughter, I can only remember the sons name. But the memory that just hit me was, the family was not well off and had issues, and at one point the mum started smoking again, and her kids (who were much older than us, in their mid-late teens I think) were really upset about this and kept begging her to stop, but the mum said to them repeatedly that the reason she started smoking again was because of them and the stress they caused her. The son was severely challenged and had many issues, he got so bad we were strictly forbidden to ever play or even talk to him, we couldn't even go near their house, I felt bad, they sort of became outcasts over night. But then soon after everyone else started falling, some left, some just hid away, it was one of the few happy places and escapes from my dad as a child, but then everyone shut us out and we were left with my dad. Sometimes my brother and I would try to loudly have fun on the street to get other kids to come out, but nobody ever did any more, it felt so different

I can still so vividly picture all of it. I can't remember things that happened yesterday, yet I can remember all those things with crystal clear detail, things I haven't seen in years. He sold it, no idea what's going on with it now as it was in such bad disrepair, but for some reason sometimes I want to go back to that house, just for a moment