#thirteen years and its still. you guessed it. movie of all time

[tickle-bugs]

if you have any interest in writing for tangled, i'm jonesing for some lee flynn. maybe something along the lines of "flynn rider doesn't giggle/snort, but eugene fitzherbert does?" (you can use the quote or just the idea, or ignore this entirely! it's a free country)

@ssnicker-doodless pspspsps <3 I had so much fun writing this thank you for this cute-ass prompt!!!!

Sunbeams and Revelations

Literally insert this directly after Rapunzel heals Eugene for the first time. In my head this is like if they spent an extra day or two camping and bonding before Mother Gothel and the Stabbington bros find them. 

Flynn is in trouble. 

He’d given Rapunzel an inch by telling her his real name and she’d taken the mile--she’d cozied up to him with an apparently deep-seated need to…be nice to him. More than nice, actually. She begs him to tell tales of his escapades and his past, and she doesn’t seem disappointed that it’s Eugene doing these things. Not Flynn. He’s spent so long trying to bury Eugene Fitzherbert that he doesn’t know what to do with him, himself, around her.

He is, naturally, taking this out on the apple tree that’s been watching over them for the past day or so. It’s a gorgeous old tree, marred with arrow holes and left-over pieces of parchment from long-lost wanted posters. A plethora of slow-rotting apples grace its roots, decaying into their place in the cycle. He’s bullied this tree for firewood, used it to throw darts at his old wanted poster--he’s even used it to practice asking Rapunzel if she wants to maybe stick around after seeing the lanterns together. Tree-punzel is very receptive to the idea of traveling the world together. It doesn’t do much for his confidence with the real Rapunzel. 

Flynn runs, leaps, and grabs onto one of the tree branches. He hooks his forearm over it, then his leg and pulls himself up. It sparks a rush in him, the unyielding childish glee at being up high that makes him still want to run across castle rooftops and scale smooth-faced towers. 

“Eugene? Whatcha doin’?” Rapunzel looks up from her brushing. 

“Just--hng--trying to score us some food for the road.” Flynn shakes the branch with every atom of his being. Apples thud to the ground all around him, bright and shiny. 

“That’s a neat trick.” 

“There was an apple tree outside the orphanage. I used to shake us down some food when they’d forget to feed us.” Flynn swings to stand on the bough he’s hanging from. It creaks under his weight. He jumps on it a bit, scoring a few more apples, but one gorgeous, shiny straggler taunts him from the very edge of the branch.

He jumps again, harder this time, and his foot gives out from under him. He and Rapunzel scream at the same time--and regrettably, the same pitch. His foot catches on the branch at the last minute. He tries to swing and get free, but he’s wedged in. 

“Are you okay?” Rapunzel’s concerned upside-down face appears before him. He slides a little further off the branch and she grabs him by the waist to catch him. He yelps and flails, which makes him slip more. Her fingers press in as she tries to support his weight. He giggles and a snort stumbles out after. 

“Y-Yes! I’m fine!” Flynn manages to flip off the branch and fall into an embarrassing heap. He wants to snark at her for not caring about his safety now that he’s fallen, but she’s got a terrifying amount of mischief in her eyes.  

“Did you just giggle? Are you ticklish?” She gasps happily. 

“I’m not…It didn’t…Punzie--” He backs away from her, hands raised in surrender. 

“Punzie? Oh, it must be really bad.” She laughs in delight. Her brilliant smile distracts him long enough for her to try and tickle him again. 

“Rapunzel--” He corrects, snatching her evil hands-- “Flynn Rider doesn’t giggle, okay? Drop it.”

“Oh, okay. I see. My mistake. Obviously the great Flynn Rider would never.” She gives a dramatic, sweeping bow. He sniffs in offense and turns on his heel. 

“Yes, exactly. You get it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to make sure we don’t starve.” He takes a loop of her hair and ties it tightly around his waist. He snatches up their basket--woefully empty--and, after petulantly picking up the apples that he’d knocked down, scurries up the trunk of the tree. 

“You’re running away!” She calls after him. He sticks his tongue out at her and keeps climbing. He gets to the higher branches and starts plucking apples. He takes the best ones he can find and works his way down.

In a knothole of the tree, a squirrel peeks curiously at him. He outstretches his hand so it can sniff it. It puts its tiny little paws on his finger and gazes up at him sweetly. Flynn grins--about time he had an animal companion that actually likes him. 

“Hey, little fella--” 

The accursed creature dives into his doublet. 

Flynn screams again, a flurry of wild giggles bursting out of him as he tries to grab the furry lump zipping around his shirt. He tries to unhook the clasps of his doublet but he loses his balance, toppling over the branch. The squirrel scampers away from the scene of the crime without a care in the world, leaving Flynn once again dangling face-to-face with a very smug Rapunzel. 

“Firstly, ow. Secondly, that was a giggle.” She puts her hands on her hips. He scoffs at her, but it doesn’t carry much weight--he’s spinning around like a lame piñata. He quickly frees himself from her hair and helps her pull it down off the branch. 

“No, that was a…manly…chortle.” He winces, then barrels on before Rapunzel can drown him out. “What will it take for you to drop this? Name your price.”

“Anything?” She bounces on her toes. 

“Anything.”

“Let me hear your laugh. Your real one. Not that weird, practiced one you do--” She pinches his arm. He scoffs. 

“I don’t practice--” She clamps a hand over his mouth. He rolls his eyes and submits. 

“I want to hear what Eugene sounds like. Not Flynn. I promise I’ll leave you alone after.” She pulls her hand away and gestures for him to speak. He straightens out his doublet, his hair, and regards her for a moment. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Blondie.” Flynn huffs. He wants to whine about his reputation, but Rapunzel looks at him so earnestly, like this is something that matters, and he simply sighs instead.

“Fine. But only for a minute--” He tries to be stern, but she leaps into his arms for a hug and he immediately loses his edge. 

“It’s not--you don’t have to make it a thing,” he mumbles, carding his hand through her hair. He catches himself and pulls away. She gives him a fond squeeze. 

“Of course it’s a thing. You’re letting me do this.” Rapunzel beams. 

“Only for, like, a few seconds. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Flynn flaps a dismissive hand to distract from his rapidly-flushing face. 

“Ah-ah, I was promised a full minute.” She poises her hands like claws, ready to strike. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He swallows thickly, eyes trained on her hands. 

With a triumphant cry, Rapunzel launches herself at him. She scrambles up onto his back and locks her legs around him like a creature. In any other scenario, he’d barely even notice the weight on his back, but she’s poking him truly anywhere she can reach. Flynn wants to tease her for the poke he receives to the back of his head, but then the pokes gravitate towards his torso and he chokes on his words. 

He tries to strike a balance between fending Rapunzel off and making sure she doesn’t fall, but she’s clinging to him with no issue and he’s very much struggling. 

Flynn’s valiant in his effort to resist her, noble and unmoving—that is, until she finally gets her hands past his defenses and latches onto his stomach. He yelps and doubles over, shaking with snickers. She slips her hands under his doublet and coaxes sustained, embarrassingly bubbly giggles from him. It’s a sound foreign to his own ear.

His last memory of this is childhood, when the younger boys would dogpile him and try to bully him into one more story before bed. Even then, it’s a distant thing. Nothing like the vibrant pops of color and sparks currently driving him just a little insane. 

“I could’ve just done this when you broke into my tower,” Rapunzel muses, nestling her fingers into his sides. Flynn shrieks his way into full laughter. He tries to muffle himself, but she just tickles his ears until he slaps his hands over them instead. 

“I p-preferred the frying pan!” He squeaks, gasping in a deep, giggly breath. He feels Rapunzel roll her eyes. She worms her hands under his arms and his whole glorious life flashes before his eyes. He makes a desperate noise, some ugly combination of a cackle and a snort, and resigns to hide his face and die. Rapunzel giggles at him, all sweet and genuine, and he just retreats further into his demise. 

His knees buckle and before he knows it, he’s on his back in the grass and Rapunzel’s kneeling next to him. The last bits of his laughter fade on the breeze. 

She tucks a daisy behind his ear. He allows it. 

“Promise me something, Eugene?” She smooths her hands over his chest. He reaches up to hold one of her hands. 

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll smile more?” She looks at him so sincerely that it hurts. 

“I’ll think about it.” He shrugs. She scowls at him and pokes relentlessly at his stomach. 

“O-Okay! I will, I promise!” He laughs and grabs her hands. She gives his a squeeze. 

He notices just how green her eyes are, as if the vibrant meadow bestowed its perfect hue upon her for safekeeping. She smiles like dawn breaking over the mountains. Without thinking, he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. His finger trails briefly against her rosy cheek.

Get it together, Fitzherbert. 

“It’s getting dark. I should—firewood.” Flynn clears his throat and stands. He helps her up. 

“Right. Of course. I’ll stay here and…apples.” She nods very seriously. An awkward, fond silence fills the space between the trees. The two of them stare at each other a little longer. 

“Eugene?” Rapunzel blinks at him. Atop her head, Pascal gestures fervently at him to kiss her.

“Going.” Flynn stumbles off towards the deeper woods, ignoring Pascal’s angry little squeaks. As soon as he’s out of potential view, he slumps against a tree and runs a hand over his face. 

Flynn Rider completely evacuates his post at the brain controls. Eugene wants him to stay—he could really use a suave one-liner or a good smolder right about now—but in truth, Flynn has no use here. Nothing is permanent for him. He runs from security, both literally and metaphorically. He’s got the same two moves, neither of which have ever worked on anyone important. 

Eugene Fitzherbert is the softie hyperventilating against a tree. He’s the one that’s considering actually staying in Corona for a day or so, just to take Rapunzel around the place. He’s the one that wants to spend the rest of his life laughing with her. He knows it with a certainty he’s never experienced. If he could pluck the sun from the sky for her, he would. He’d risk burning just to try. 

And it is Eugene, in all his giddy anxiety, that fails to see the witch lurking in the trees.

[correctthroam]

I read THROAM for the first time in ~5 years. Here's what I have to say.

Volume I: There was so many characters I forgot about when going into the fic. Pete, Jac, Spencers family. I cant believe I forgot them. Pete will always be a fave because everyone hates him and it makes me laugh. The first volume was always my 2nd favorite, I think it still is. overall, the storyline isn't complicated and I like that. Ryan is such an asshole so I dont feel bad for him one bit in any of the fic. Also, I used to say that the bus crash was Brendons fault (I was 13, okay?) But Ryan was just an unstable motherfucker who truly should not be trusted to drive a vehicle of any kind.

Volume II: holy shit. I hate volume two. Not saying the writing is bad but Jesus Christ, Ryan is an asshole. bro literally stalked Brendon after he ran into him at that party like what? I had messaged a friend after finishing volume 2, saying "I'm a really nice person I never wanna make people feel sad, let alone make a whole fictional story about someone being severely depressed and unstable whilst chasing a boy then fucking his bf at the end???" and I think that perfectly sums up how I feel (and always felt) about volume two. other than the fact that I used to say that it was Brendons fault. (I was 13. THIRTEEN) it wasn't his fault. Some parts were, yeah, but it's hard to pinpoint everything that happened on one person. at the end of the day, its a good story I just Hate it (does that make sense) I love it but I hate it? it remains my least favorite purely for the pain it put me through.

Volume III: I love this volume. I always have. Sisky is amazing, we all love Sisky. I will say the iconic song/album references/jokes made me cringe a bit, though. Im not exactly sure what about this fic I always liked so much, I guess you can really see Ryans character growth and finally not be as much as a miserable fuck (he's still unstable dw) Since Ryan is less insufferable, it makes the volume more enjoyable. I like that Spencer and Ryan became friends again, I think it makes the book more enjoyable and tbh I think Spencer rly tied vol 3 together, if he wasn't part of it it would lowk suck. overall, best volume cant wait to host the throam tour where we go to hotel Chelsea then machias.

final thoughts: if I thought throam was 100% good when I was 13, Id say now that I think throam is about 85% good now. (does that make sense pt 2) this fic has sent me back into being 13 and I have been blasting some pretty. odd. (im listening to it rn as im typing this) and listening to this album just makes my life feel more simple. still a solid fic, I think it would be an amazing published book. and I think we can all agree that it would be amazing to see THROAM movies (in our dreams)

Thanks for reading lol

[hecckyeah]

I wasn't really an especially emotional kid.

while all my friends and family cried watching movies, I never would. maybe just a case of eldest daughter apathy, but now I realize it probably had everything to do with my undiagnosed autism and/or adhd. I never felt strong feelings toward people. I only ever fought with my siblings and parents and never bonded deeply with any friends. I was living in a sort of self absorbed haze, not realizing I was self absorbed until I grew up and hindsight showed me otherwise. but even though emotions on the surface were limited and hard to come by for me, I was packed full of them on the inside. so much so that I remember one particularly clear, warm, golden blue summer day, I had just finished reading Eragon and immersing myself fully in it for days and days. I laid in the fresh cut grass and felt tears in my eyes and realized that all I ever wanted was for a dragon to come flying down to my yard, pick me up, and take me soaring away from this place. I was so convinced that maybe, just maybe, the fantasy world I'd made in my head was real. I watched the treeline behind my house, thinking that every second that passed was one second closer to my great adventure.

but of course it never came.

and now looking back at twenty-something, jaded by years of emotional upheaval and family drama and daily reality checks... I realize that that day in the yard, watching the skies and waiting for something supernatural to come sweep me away... that was the first time something really moved me. really affected every aspect of my psyche. and along with that, by a cruel twist of fate, that was the day my childhood died. because even at thirteen I had a shred of hope. a tiny glimmer of something inside my brain that said maybe reality isn't what you think. maybe there really are dragons and wizards and elves and grand adventures and the capacity to grow and change into someone worthwhile. and when I looked at the endless blue sky and it was unblemished by my ride out of there, maybe I finally accepted my fate. tied down to the cold rock that we call home, never to see the world that only exists in my mind, never to become something better, someone that people admire. I remember the sinking in my chest, the grip around my heart that reality had in that moment. saying in its cruel, taunting voice, it's time to let it go. no more dreaming. no more delusions. it's time to see the world as it really is, as the adults see it. it's time to grow up.

and grow up, I did.

I became cynical, sarcastic, and numb. my creativity evaporated. my tolerance for things I deemed kiddish disappeared with the blink of an eye. suddenly I became the responsible adult in the house. through family turmoil I became the secondary caregiver and a pseudo mother figure for my young siblings. I refused to watch the movies I used to love as dark circles formed under my young eyes. I reached for that old creativity I used to have, desperately wishing for parts of my childhood back as I was suddenly forced into a premature adulthood. years slipped by. I never had a sweet sixteen, because sixteen was the worst year of my life. I was always last in my friend groups, never anyone's first choice, always the strong responsible older sister who could handle things on her own.

needless to say, my apathy and cynicism only worsened.

but that's the beautiful thing about growing up, I guess. at some point you have a choice. continue on the path of bitterness and apathy, or turn around and embrace the things from your childhood.

and that's exactly what I did.

the moment I hit twenty-one, I decided I'd had enough. that my family couldn't affect me anymore. that I could wear my own rose colored glasses again. I didn't have to discard them altogether. maybe I found them in a box of old dreams or maybe they materialized right in front of me. but either way, now I was in charge of when and where I wanted to wear them.

as an adult, I still have responsibilities. I still feel protective of my siblings and will always feel the need to care for them, but I can step away now. I can put on those rose colored glasses, lay in the yard, and let my mind wander.

turns out, my dragon ultimately did come for me. though it didn't swoop down from the sky like I had wanted. instead it came from the strength and experiences and wisdom of my short life, picking me up and taking me away to all the places I've ever wanted to go. it's my courage, my love, my raw emotions that don't hide behind apathy anymore.

and that's the beautiful thing about growing up.

the world you want doesn't magically appear. you create it yourself. forged in the fire of life, of struggle, of reality.

and it's beautiful.

[darklingichor]

Junior Bender books 2-4 by Timothy Hallinan

I read the first book, Crashed, the year I started this blog. I remember liking it, I remember liking the twist on the classic PI story having Junior being a world class burglar, and also being a kind of detective for the underbelly of LA.

I never got around to reading the next ones. Right now though, the weather is making my sinuses do timpani solos and I am having a heck of a time reading words on the page books, outside of dark mode on my kindle app, which doesn’t have anything that sounds good to me right now. Thank goodness for audible. The first 6 books are included in my membership.

Book 2 – Little Elvises – Junior is blackmailed into helping a cop get his mobbed up uncle out of the suspect pool for  a recently murdered tabloid journalist. Blackmail is also how he ended up doing his PI thing in the first book.

The cop threatens to get him arrested for a robbery where one of the residence of the house was pistol whipped. Junior has never been caught, and its not his style to go into a house armed. But the cop has the frame all ready so, Junior takes the job.

The cop’s uncle, was a two-bit record producer in the 1960’s. His specialty was making “Little Elvises” kids with a look and, if he was lucky, some talent, who could ride on The King’s coattails. The producer was talking openly about killing the tabloid guy, and then he ends up dead.

So, Junior has to figure out who killed the guy.

There’s a side case in this one. Junior has been living month to month in different motels since his divorce, his current land lady’s daughter is missing. Essentially Junior is a good guy so he takes this job too.

I like the plot of this a lot. I’m a classic rock geek, and I am somewhat fascinated by how things were done back then.  Like, there was this big stink about the Monkees not playing their own instruments on their albums. The thing is, a fair number of artists in that era used studio musicians. The guys *could* play their instruments (though Micky Dolenz was a guitar player before the show), and they *could* sing. It was just in the contracts that they would use studio musicians.

And Barry Gordie’s Motown , and Phil Specters Wall of sound this stuff was like the Mob only they made their own soundtracks.

The characters are good too. Junior’s ex-wife, and  thirteen year old daughter are interesting, especially because both know everything about Junior’s career. His friend Louie the Lost, is funny and good for some interesting trivia. The players in the cases are sufficiently cloudy to keep you second guessing your conviction of who did it.

Book 3 – The Fame Thief – In the last book, Junior crossed paths with Erwin Dressler, a 90 – something mix between a mob boss and a shady business man. Erwin had a vested interest in the producer guy that was suspected of murder. He then took an interest in Junior, I think because Junior brooked no bullshit, followed through with what he said he was going to do, and is a huge smart ass.

Erwin wants Junior to figure out who ruined the career of a would have been star, in the 50’s/60’s.

Dolly La Mar was a beautiful up and coming actress, but associations with mob guys and thugs got her swept up in a sort of McCarthy hearing without the communism. This completely shut her out of movies. Now, she’s an old woman living in a high end apartment looking back with a shrug at her glory days. She’s putting up with the investigation because Erwin wants to do this for her and they have been friends for decades.

So Junior has to go digging into Hollywood during the studio contract era and find out who ratted out Dolly.

Course its never as simple as all that and various people end up dead.

I’m also a geek for old Hollywood, not so much the movies, but the stories behind the movies and all the players, so I enjoyed the plot for this one too.

The characters are still good, Rina (The daughter) is a great little computer detective and Ronnie, the woman Junior started dating in Little Elvises is a perfect match for him.

Erwin and Dolly are lovely and sad in equal measure, I enjoyed their stories. We are also introduced to the nebulous world of contract killers

I really enjoyed the narritive shift about halfway through where we go back to the 40's when Dolly was a teenager heading west for Hollywood stardom, it sort of reminded me of the section in A Study in Scarlet where you learn the why's behind the crime and are suddenly dropped into a Zane Gray novel.

Book 4 - Herbie's Game

In this one, Junior is dropped into a Labyrinthine plot involving his crime mentor Herbie.

This is hard to describe as spoiler worthy stuff happen within the first couple of chapters. So, I'll say that Junior has to deal with a lot of pissed of people with access to that world of contract killers mentioned in the last book, he also has to face the fact that Herbie, a man Junior thinks of as his father, after his biological father took a powder, isn't the man he thought he was.

I liked this one less. It felt long for reasons I'll get to shortly. It also has too many things happening. Honestly, too many people are pissed off at Junior, or are being paid by the pissed off people to kill Junior. It makes it hard to keep track. Did Junior or Herbie wrong this one, or were they just hired to fuck with them? Or, are they just caught up in the plot somehow?

It wasn't bad, just not as strong as the others.

Now, here's the thing about the series so far as whole.

The characters are cool, the writing is good when it stays focused - but when it doesn't...

The books are told first person by Junior and there are times that both prose and dioluge feel like a Noir sprinkler stuck on blast.

It is so saturated in metaphor and simile that there are times that it feels like the actual story is drowned out by description.

Case in point, in Herbie's Game, when an emotionally drained Junior must walk away from a gruesome scene there is an extended metaphor involving a rope just getting him across the lawn to his car. I didn’t see the actual written page, but it had to be at least a paragraph, but felt like half a page. I get conveying g the emotion of the scene, but this happenens throughout the books. Landscape, houses, and objects are anthropomorphized and described from head to toe, in an oddly sparse, yet by sheer volume, also flowery way. People are also decirbed in detail. Here's the weird part: everything that gets this treatment is almost always described negatively, almost like Junior is prepared to hate everyone and everything on sight and is prepared to give them a bullet list as to why. People he likes? They are described matter of factly and over time. His daughter, his girl friend, his ex-wife, we get bits and pieces, letting their personality inform how the reader perceives them, rather than front loading the reader with descriptions to make damn sure that we know what kind of character this is.

The description of LA and the surrounding areas really makes it feel like Junior hates it with a passion. I mean the only place that I have lived that I would have described in this sort of tone, I didn't live there long.

Because the books are told from Junior’s point of view, the writing feels less like the author is showing off (like Gregory Mcguire) and more like Junior is deeply insecure. He details in Crashed how he is mostly self educated, that college wasn't for him and he reads and learns all the time. All of the quick, snappy quips and the slightly superior sounding descriptions of everyone and everything feel, to me, like a character that is reassuring themselves that they are smart, that they are more than smart, they are wise because of the path they took, that they see what others don't. But deep down they don't believe it.

And this makes me both annoyed with the character and sad for him.

Annoyed because I found myself rolling my eyes more than once, thinking: "I get it, LA is hot and smog filled in August, get to the point!" Or imagining that while Junior takes a page and a half to describe the person he is talking to, he is just staring at them while the person is waiting for him to speak.

Sad because, I know people like this. People who think that because they didn't do the traditional education thing, to be taken seriously and to be seen as smart they have to be cynical and reject anything that isn't a classic. "I wouldn't know of this sci-fi of which you speak, I only read Tolstoy." Type stuff.

It's sad because you don't have to have degrees to be smart and you don't have to be cynical to be wise. And you also don't have to decribe everything in minute detail as though you are looking at it through a lens covered in vomit.

So that part really annoyed me. I think I may continue with the series, because without the purplish writing, they are fun reads.

I may go back to words on the page for the rest, though, because while I liked the narration, there were some odd choices made. Like the voice used for Junior’s daughter's boyfriend ( who is at most 15), sounds like a 45 year old smoker. It makes the relationship feel weird.

[projecthipster]

This is England

"Listen to me. He's a young lad. He's had a fucking bad week. So we bring him in with us to show him a bloody good time and you've just friggin backhanded him round his head. I’m disappointed, mate!"

It had to happen eventually. I followed the lists at last to a movie I’ve never heard of once in my life. In fairness, I’m about as far away within the 21st-century Anglosphere as one can get from this fairly uncomfortable watch of a competently made if unflashy 2006 movie. This isn’t, for one thing. England, I mean. This is a moderately large Canadian city where I write very very very very occasional blog posts about things considered Hipster. This certainly isn’t a sprawl of anonymous crumbling brick industrial yards and townhomes in an unspecified bit of working-class early ‘80s England, which is where this movie takes place. Before any characters even show up onscreen, we’re treated to a scene-setting montage which features Margaret Thatcher in a backhoe for some reason. This is a movie that uses the goddam Falklands War as a plot point. In other words it takes some background research to watch in an informed way for anyone born a decade after it takes place, across an ocean. The most part of that is that I know absolutely nothing about skinheads. I honestly thought it was a term mainly reserved for shaved mob-boss goons and neo-Nazis. Fortunately the movie itself serves as an introduction to that most obscure and since presumably largely extirpated breed of the working-class hipster, and how it became associated with its worst elements in the most ignorant of public eyes (mine.) Well, sort of. One of the flaws in an otherwise pretty good movie is that it doesn’t really go so deep into the why and how racism crept into a proto-punk-ish scene, so much as just showing that it did and mining that for character drama and shock value.

Our hero in this tale of suspenders and yellowing drywall is Shaun, a mouth-breathing, crooked-eyed thirteen-year-old who swears at his mum, so that’s a great start. But for being a brat most of the time, it’s still easy to have protagonist sympathy for a bullied kid with a dad killed in the Falklands (see?) Or at least you can convince yourself it’s worth trying. At first.

The plot goes more or less how you’d expect it to, to the point that I’m simultaneously not wanting to spoil it and thinking it’d be pretty hard to do that. I guess framing it as a question is the way to go: after this slack-jawed little lad falls in with first some high schoolers who buy him a plaid shirt and take him along to smash sinks in foreclosed houses, and then with an ethno-nationalist ex-con, will his need for acceptance overcome his moral sense and rag him into the worst aspects of the culture? The answer would decide whether the story is a full-on tragedy. Well, apparently there are around five sequels, so.

The drama is compelling enough, I guess. The nonchalantness with which Shaun drifts into abusing an immigrant shopkeeper and shouting slurs makes you question whether this was ever a character worth cheering for improving, but the suitably brutal climax resolves that, while nonetheless being a little too forgiving to the fascists for my taste.

Most of what This is England seems to want to be is an education into what the skinhead subculture actually is. Or the ways it can be something. The tack the movie seems to take tracks with what I discovered from, basically, Wikipedia, using different character to represent the movement passing through generations. The oldest skinhead character, Combo, who’s also more or less the villain of the movie, has a soliloquy about remembering the first wave of the movement, taking to Jamaican music as a celebration of life in the face of hardships. White people taking joy in Black music is nothing new and nothing bad. That’s why the word “hipster” originally meant, in the context of white jazz fans. All but one of the characters are white, by the way. That comes into play big. In the actual present of the plot, Combo comes back from a jail term as a white nationalist. No explanation for this contradiction of a Black-music-based subculture turning so racist is given, but unfortunately such contradictions do go unexplained in real life often enough. Woody is the leader of the main gang, the next generation taking up the mantle, with Shaun set to be the next to carry the torch. Lol, Woody’s girlfriend, has bangs, heavy eyes, and a kind smile, so immediately crushworthy. There’s friendly Jamaican-born Milky, the aforementioned only non-white skinhead. Then there’s Smell, the classic older girl crush. She’s new wave, meaning even in casual scenes of just hanging out she looks like she should be singing backup for The Cure. The plot, as such, is a schism within the gang prompted by Combo coming in like a storm front and just racisting the whole thing up.

I don’t know if I loved this movie. I enjoyed it alright. The gang of older kids – the ones who aren’t racist – are the most charming part, even if I still think shaved heads look worse than my generation of hipster’s preference for a good classic undercut or tied-back long hair. So I can see why the director would want to return to the characters for what I assume is a less intense story as it rolls into the ‘90s. It’s also just so, so British.

I give this hipster movie an aright bruv out of jolly good show.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the fifteenth list, Films Your Hipster Friend Has Made You Watch

Untrue for the record. I am more hipster than most of my friends at this point. You can also tell this is a British-made list secondly because they said "films" and firstly because this was on it.

Up next: a music movie most likely.

Stay deck.

[my-weird-news]

🤯 Director's Fee for 'Thirteen' Film: $3?!

Catherine Hardwicke: Making Movies and Breaking Banks Ah, Catherine Hardwicke, the fearless warrior of the film world. 🎬 With a determination that could make a honey badger jealous, she charged into the production of her film Thirteen like a kid sprinting towards the ice cream truck on a hot summer day. But unlike that kid, Catherine wasn't getting any ice cream, and she certainly wasn't expecting a smooth ride. "We made it by hook or crook, you know? And for no money. I got paid three bucks the whole time," proclaimed the indomitable Hardwicke, not even batting an eyelash. I mean, who needs a paycheck when you're busy birthing a cinematic masterpiece? 💰😅 But seriously, folks, let's talk about Thirteen. Imagine a story where an honors student named Tracy suddenly finds herself in a whirlwind of trouble after meeting the real-life embodiment of teenage rebellion, Evie. And what's Evie's mission? Well, forget lemonade stands, because she's all about introducing Tracy to the magical world of sex, drugs, and crime. 🍋🚫🎉 Picture this: Hardwicke armed with a budget so modest it would make a squirrel's savings account look impressive. Two million dollars? That's like chump change in Hollywood, where trailers have more square footage than some small countries. And guess what? She shot this cinematic triumph in less than a month. That's right, less time than it takes some folks to decide on a paint color for their bathroom. 🎥🕒🚽 "I like elevating things," Catherine declared, and boy, did she deliver. Thirteen is all about capturing those teenage years when hormones are attacking your brain like a swarm of overly enthusiastic bees. 🐝🧠 They say youth is wasted on the young, but Hardwicke clearly wanted us all to feel that awkward teenage magic. But oh, the journey to getting this gem onto screens wasn't exactly a smooth ride. Every studio turned her down faster than a raccoon digging through a trash can. "No, no, and for the love of cinema, no!" they cried in unison. Why? Because how on earth could a movie with an R-rating and an unknown 13-year-old lead be a good idea? 🙅‍♂️🙅‍♀️ But hold on to your cinematic hats, because after its Sundance debut, Thirteen found a home at Fox Searchlight Pictures. 🎉 Cue the confetti and celebratory dance moves! The film was like a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered, and it ended up grossing $4.6 million at the U.S. box office. Cha-ching! 💰💸 And now, in the age of TikTok and countless viral videos, Thirteen is making a comeback. People are watching, laughing, crying, and confessing in the comments section about how they too experienced a whirlwind of teenage emotions. Who knew that a film made on a shoestring budget could have such a lasting impact? 📱😲 Catherine, you genius, you. You brought out the best in your cast, making them dig deep into their own teenage trauma to deliver performances that still resonate today. It's like watching a bunch of young actors transforming into emotional superheroes. 🦸‍♀️🧠 And as if that's not enough, Catherine and her partner-in-crime, Nikki Reed, have their eyes set on a TV series revival. Picture it: Thirteen Afghanistan and Thirteen Detroit. Because why stop at one teenage journey when you can explore how 13-year-olds survive and thrive in different corners of the world? 🌍🤷‍♀️ So there you have it, folks. Catherine Hardwicke, the unstoppable force of nature who turned a tiny budget into a cinematic time capsule that still leaves us laughing, crying, and cringing at the memories of our own teenage escapades. 🎬🌪️# Catherine Hardwicke: Making Movies and Breaking Banks Ah, Catherine Hardwicke, the fearless warrior of the film world. 🎬 With a determination that could make a honey badger jealous, she charged into the production of her film Thirteen like a kid sprinting towards the ice cream truck on a hot summer day. But unlike that kid, Catherine wasn't getting any ice cream, and she certainly wasn't expecting a smooth ride. "We made it by hook or crook, you know? And for no money. I got paid three bucks the whole time," proclaimed the indomitable Hardwicke, not even batting an eyelash. I mean, who needs a paycheck when you're busy birthing a cinematic masterpiece? 💰😅 But seriously, folks, let's talk about Thirteen. Imagine a story where an honors student named Tracy suddenly finds herself in a whirlwind of trouble after meeting the real-life embodiment of teenage rebellion, Evie. And what's Evie's mission? Well, forget lemonade stands, because she's all about introducing Tracy to the magical world of sex, drugs, and crime. 🍋🚫🎉 Picture this: Hardwicke armed with a budget so modest it would make a squirrel's savings account look impressive. Two million dollars? That's like chump change in Hollywood, where trailers have more square footage than some small countries. And guess what? She shot this cinematic triumph in less than a month. That's right, less time than it takes some folks to decide on a paint color for their bathroom. 🎥🕒🚽 "I like elevating things," Catherine declared, and boy, did she deliver. Thirteen is all about capturing those teenage years when hormones are attacking your brain like a swarm of overly enthusiastic bees. 🐝🧠 They say youth is wasted on the young, but Hardwicke clearly wanted us all to feel that awkward teenage magic. But oh, the journey to getting this gem onto screens wasn't exactly a smooth ride. Every studio turned her down faster than a raccoon digging through a trash can. "No, no, and for the love of cinema, no!" they cried in unison. Why? Because how on earth could a movie with an R-rating and an unknown 13-year-old lead be a good idea? 🙅‍♂️🙅‍♀️ But hold on to your cinematic hats, because after its Sundance debut, Thirteen found a home at Fox Searchlight Pictures. 🎉 Cue the confetti and celebratory dance moves! The film was like a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered, and it ended up grossing $4.6 million at the U.S. box office. Cha-ching! 💰💸 And now, in the age of TikTok and countless viral videos, Thirteen is making a comeback. People are watching, laughing, crying, and confessing in the comments section about how they too experienced a whirlwind of teenage emotions. Who knew that a film made on a shoestring budget could have such a lasting impact? 📱😲 Catherine, you genius, you. You brought out the best in your cast, making them dig deep into their own teenage trauma to deliver performances that still resonate today. It's like watching a bunch of young actors transforming into emotional superheroes. 🦸‍♀️🧠 And as if that's not enough, Catherine and her partner-in-crime, Nikki Reed, have their eyes set on a TV series revival. Picture it: Thirteen Afghanistan and Thirteen Detroit. Because why stop at one teenage journey when you can explore how 13-year-olds survive and thrive in different corners of the world? 🌍🤷‍♀️ So there you have it, folks. Catherine Hardwicke, the unstoppable force of nature who turned a tiny budget into a cinematic time capsule that still leaves us laughing, crying, and cringing at the memories of our own teenage escapades. 🎬🌪️ Read the full article

[suhnshinehaos]

love lines : episode 12 (part two)

synopsis : yn struggles to read the blurring lines between fiction and reality when they are cast in a drama with their estranged childhood friend, mingyu, and their celebrity crush, jaehyun.   pairing : kim mingyu x gn!reader x jeong jaehyun   genre/s : actor au, smau, fluff, angst, my terrible attempts at humour

s01e12 : make it up

next  ➤ episode thirteen : high five? love lines ➤  masterlist

this can’t be happening, what actually has gotten into me? you think to yourself, a crease forms in between your brows, deepening with each passing second. mingyu’s living room is illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the windows; your features illuminated by the light from your phone screen. a sigh moves past your lips, you’d be getting an earful from doyoung and jun the second they read your tweet. placing your phone on the coffee table in front of you, your eyes take in everything they possibly could: the movie posters that hung on the wall, the awards up on the shelf.

he really did well for himself, a wistful smile begins to play on your lips, disappearing just as quickly as it came. you’re proud of him, that much you always knew. even before you got cast in last summer.

“hey, sorry to keep you waiting.” mingyu walks in, a shoebox in his hands. he makes his way towards you, sitting on the couch, making sure to keep his space. you were already hesitant on coming over.

you point to the shoebox that rests on his lap, “is that what you wanted to show me?”

the box itself had a bit of dust covering its surface, layers and layers of tape holding up its sides. mingyu holds the box out towards you, nodding towards its cover, “open it.”

“if this is one of those prank gifts, i will literally walk out of the door.” you shake your head, slowly taking off the box’s lid.

truthfully, you didn’t know what to expect; maybe mingyu had actually gotten you a pair of shoes. your breath gets caught in your throat when a photograph is the the first to greet your gaze, one of you and mingyu. the memory is still clear in your head: outside of your old high school, on the very first day. his arm is around your shoulders, yours is around his. matching grins to the camera, making peace signs with your hands.

“what’s all this?” you look up at mingyu, eyes wide and voice slightly shaking.

“i guess you can say they’re my best memories.”

your hands seem to have a mind of its own, going through the various items that filled the dingy old box. you find photographs of you and him throughout the years — on your first days of school, in halloween costumes, photobooth strips from fairs and arcades. you find several movie tickets of all the films you’ve seen together, recalling conversations on how you were eventually going to be in one together. you find pieces of paper torn from a notebook, from messages secretly passed back and forth in class. at the very bottom of it all, a letter.

taking it out, you run your fingers on the neatly folded piece of paper, “you got this?”

tears threaten to prick the corners of your eyes, but you hold them back with a quiet gulp. your eyes trail over mingyu’s features. for a second, you think you see regret flash through his eyes. the air is thick with tension, his gaze holding yours. you don’t recall much of what you had written, only the final words: i won’t contact you anymore, but i hope…when success finds us both, our paths cross again.

at the time, six months into his ‘disappearance’, you really meant those words.

“i did.” mingyu nods, finally averting his eyes, “but only recently, around last year. my dad found it while cleaning our place, it got buried in other letters and packages.”

“and you never thought to reply?”

mingyu keeps his gaze on his lap, jaw clenching, “i didn’t, i- i thought it was too late.”

“mingyu, i-” you pause, stopping yourself, mind going entirely blank. a heavy sigh moves past your lips, “what am i doing here? why are you showing me this?”

“i just…” mingyu looks up at you, “i want you to know that i- i never stopped thinking of you, and i’m really sorry for everything that happened.”

“i already forgave you, remember?”

“you deserve more than an apology over the phone.” mingyu smiles, softly. sadly. he takes the letter in your hand and the box on your lap.

you chuckle, though you’re not completely certain as to why. shaking your head, “don’t worry. you’re doing a great job of making it up to me so far.”

“i am?”

“you are.”

taglist : @thejungjaehyun @itsyaapollochild @jwyluvr @yoonohing @horangheyy @sunset--and-vine @anothershorthuman @yeponing @fairiejunie @jaehyunieloml @yeombin @jeongelic @flowerbin131 @sebongajju @leilaidk @jkprkerz @sonje78 @maddypool31

from reese, with love <3 tiny bit of angst for this one >:) feel like yn should have some alone time with the boys for this episode hehe anyways- season one is almost ending and i'm so excited to see where everything goes !! anyways, hope everyone has/had an amazing day. take care always :D

[one-boring-person]

Gabrielle's Friend.

John Rambo (Last Blood) x reader (platonic)

Warnings: vague mention of illegal activity and poor parenting

Context: The reader is Gabrielle's friend. One afternoon whilst she is waiting for Gabrielle to get ready, she has a conversation with her friend's "uncle", John, who she tells her story to.

A/N: for whatever reason, as soon as I watched the last Rambo movie, this is what came to mind as a fic idea.

Masterlist

"You're pretty comfortable around the horses." A gruff voice remarks somewhere behind me, his tone intrigued under the thick accent.

Turning around in surprise, I feel my eyes widen slightly as I catch sight of my friend Gabrielle's "uncle" standing a little way away, his dark eyes fixed on me, expression mostly neutral. Embarrassed at being caught, I step back, drawing my hands back to myself as the horse I was patting snorts and shifts where it stands, head moving back into the confines of the fenced area. Looking down, guiltily, I swallow and go to apologise.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" I start, only to be cut off by the rugged man as he comes nearer.

"It was an observation, not a gripe." He muses, appearing somewhat amused.

"Oh, oh, right. Sorry." I apologise again, sticking my hands into the pockets of my faded jeans and keeping my gaze slightly downturned.

"You haven't gotta apologise." John says, reaching out to greet the horse just past the fence, rubbing its neck fondly.

"Right, ok." I respond, trying not to say sorry again, "He's magnificent."

I gesture at the tall stallion, marvelling at his smooth coat and lean build, the dark chestnut colouring catching very nicely in the fading rays of sunlight. John smiles slightly, the expression guarded and careful.

"Yeah, he is. Right ass, though." He comments, drawing a small laugh from me.

"I don't know, he seems pretty friendly." I reply, smiling myself as I watch the tall horse interact with the muscular man, admiring the evident trust between them.

"It's all a show." John chuckles, glancing back at me, "You seem good with horses. It's (Y/n), isn't it? Gabrielle's friend?"

"Yeah. She's my only friend, and the kindest person I know." I confirm, flicking some hair from my eyes, "As for the horses, I have some experience with them, so I guess I'm used to being around them."

"Experience?"

"Yeah," I nod, "My parents owned a farm when I was a kid. We had a couple of horses, which I spent a whole lot of time with. I used to love them."

I smile at the memory, scuffing the toe of my old boot in the dust at my feet, my heart aching along with the surge of nostalgia.

"They still got the farm?" John asks, watching me carefully.

Sighing, I shake my head and look up again, casting my gaze towards the distant mountains.

"No, they...lost it." I inform him, somewhat reluctant to give him the real reason.

"Lost it?"

Bowing my head in embarrassment and shame again, I hesitantly reply, finding myself somewhat trusting of the older man across from me.

"It was seized when I turned thirteen by the police. Turns out my parents weren't all that great, but I guess I already knew that."

His full attention is on me now, the slightly unnerving, piercing stare he's perfected over the years trained purely on me, as if he can see straight through me. Blushing in shame, I continue scuffing the dirt.

"I'm sorry." He finally says, turning his stare away from me for a couple of seconds.

"Don't be, it's not your fault they were flawed." I try to reassure him, glancing back at the house, wondering how long Gabrielle will be; she's supposed to be driving me back into town, where I'll find my next corner to sleep in.

He grunts slightly, watching now as the stallion trots off towards the other horses in the field.

"What happened to you after that?" He questions, seemingly curious.

"I was put into foster care, until I turned seventeen." I inform him, unsure of why I feel I can tell my life story to his man. He seems safe, and trustworthy.

"Until?" Unsurprisingly, he picks up on this part of the statement.

"Yeah. When I turned seventeen, my foster parents kicked me out onto the streets." I clarify, picking at the hem of my shirt, "I've been living day by day since then."

Once again, we fall into silence, the older man seemingly thinking something over in his head, regarding me carefully as I watch the horses across the field, still impressed by the view here even after seeing it many times.

"Do you have any other family? Friends?" John inquires, cocking his head.

"No. Gabrielle is my only friend, and even she doesn't know about my situation." 

"Why not?"

"I never wanted to worry her. It's not her problem, or something she needs to worry about. I'm not even sure why I'm telling you, it's not like it matters." I smile grimly, shrugging as I talk.

"Hm." Is all he says, still regarding me.

At this point, I hear my name being called from somewhere behind me, the sound of Gabrielle's voice interrupting the two of us.

"I'm gonna go. It was nice meeting you, sir. I'm sorry for rambling." I say to John, starting to step back towards the car.

"It's fine. It was nice meeting you, too." He responds, smiling slightly as he watches me go.

[theimmaterialplace]

holding on | emily prentiss x reader & spencer reid x reader | ch. 1: prologue

Summary: Emily is an easy person to love, even if you shouldn't. This becomes apparent when she leaves you after two years of hiding your relationship, if you could call it that, with just a text. It's not long after that you are alerted with news of her death and you break down completely. Confiding in Spencer, the one to introduce the two of you, seemed like a good idea at the time but it becomes something more. You slowly begin to heal and then one day you see her, alive and well, and every feeling you have for her comes back to you. You're met with both your present and your past and you don't know what to do.

Contains: female!reader, bisexual!reader, friends with benefits/ hidden relationships, mentions of death, angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2k

A.N: I like making things complicated and messy so here we are! I hope you enjoy whatever the hell this is! Also, this is first time writing for cm so sorry if the characterization is off; we’ll get there eventually!

masterlist | read on ao3

I want to be the power ballad that lifts you up and hold you down

I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery

And I can wish all I want, but it won't bring us together

Plus I know whatever happens to me

I know it's for the better

- Phoebe Bridgers, "Waiting Room"

It’s not uncommon for you to wait on Emily but even this is a new level of tardiness you’ve never encountered with her. She’s nothing if not kind and always alerts you when she’s on a new case or has to reschedule. It worries you to say the least.

You really shouldn’t care this much for her but mistakes are supposed to be made. It’s just that you can’t even begin to consider Emily a mistake but if she is one, she’s the best mistake you’ve ever made.

Sometimes, you think she looks at you with something akin to adoration in her eyes and it takes every bit of your control not to look at her with that same exact look. She’s a profiler, after all, and you’re typically one to wear your heart on your sleeve but she made herself very clear in the beginning.

Your agreement was simply just a friends with benefits situation, no feelings involved. That lasted for a while, truly. You had managed a little over a year with her before you realized that the feeling in your stomach was the fluttering of butterflies. It had frightened you but you decided that she was worth it, even if the decision might come back to haunt you.

Twirling the wine of glass in your hand, you contemplate calling her but decide against it because you don’t want to seem desperate. It may be an accurate description but you weren’t going to show that. Ignoring the waiter who’s been shooting you knowing looks for the past hour, you decide just to leave. You call the waiter over and ask for the check. He just nods at your words; his eyes filled with pity and it pisses you off more than anything,

It’s not that you care that you got stood up because you understand that her work is demanding. It’s more that you’re worried for her because she’s been inactive and short in her recent messages. You hadn’t received a good morning or good night text in days. It makes you wonder if she’s finally gotten sick of you. You’d like to believe that she would at least grace you with a text informing you of this decision but you’re not the best at predicting her.

Emily is a very closed off person and you respect that, you do. It’s just sometimes you wish she didn’t compartmentalize every part of her life into tiny, separate boxes. She likes to pretend that you and Spencer aren’t friends, even though it’s how you were originally met. She tells you that no one needs to know and at the beginning, you were okay with this but lying to Spencer is something you wish you didn’t have to do.

You have to pretend not to know every little bit of Emily she shares with you that she also shares with her team and try not to focus on every little detail he shares about her that you don’t already know. You feel a bit guilty but you figure that she wouldn’t really mind. The only thing that would make her annoyed, never mad because she says anger is useless, is if you mixed her personal life with her work life. You understand to a degree but you also wish that you didn’t have to hide.

Clearly, you were too far gone for her. You always had to take a step back and remember that you weren’t in a relationship with her. If only she didn’t make it so easy to love her. When this ended, you were going to end up heartbroken and that was okay with you. You had accepted that a long time ago but now that you’re actually faced with the inevitable, it scares you.

Emily Prentiss was not the first woman you were with but she’ll be the one to always haunt you. She’s shaped you into the person you are today without even knowing it. You’ll never regret your decision to be with her but you’ll always be left with the “what ifs”.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the man who sits across from you and it’s only until he coughs that he brings you back to reality.

He’s handsome in a rugged sort of way. If you weren’t so enamored with Emily, he surely would have fired something in you but as it is, she is the only one able to cause a spark in you.

“Hi, I saw you here and couldn’t help but notice how you’re alone. Such a shame since you seem like such a catch.” His voice fits him well and he has a nice smile despite its crookedness.

“Ah, my date couldn’t make it. I guess he got busy with work or something. It happens to the best of us.” His eyes narrow the slightest bit at use of “he” and you wonder why. He’s the one hitting on you, after all. It’s gone as soon as it comes and he’s back to those kind eyes.

“Oh, he’s one of those. Well, I know when I’m unwanted when I hear it. Have a lovely night…” He shoots you one last smile and gets up and leaves the restaurant. The waiter shows up and you pay immediately and get into your car as soon as you can.

It’s only when you arrive at home do you see it. You have one new message from Emily and it brings a smile to your face until you see the contents.

Emily <3

I think it’s time we called it quits.

Don’t contact me anymore.

Goodbye.

At first, you feel nothing. You reread it and reread it until it’s practically ingrained into your vision. You knew it was coming but seeing it actually made it real and before you know it, you’re crying.

You feel like a fool because you’ve known that this was just a casual thing for her. It doesn’t make it any easier to accept. Perhaps what hurts the most is her demand to not contact her anymore. You would have been fine, loving her at a distance but remaining friends. Emily cutting you off completely had never been a possibility in your mind. It almost makes you want to laugh though because although you’d never thought of it, it’s such an Emily thing to do. You just never thought it’d be something to happen to you.

A fool, you might be, but better to have loved than to have not. It’s like you had thought earlier, Emily would never leave you, even if she had in person. There would always be reminders of her in your life; in the interior design of your home, in the music you listened to, in the movies and books you had shared together, and in the hidden, ignored corners of your heart.

It hurt. God, did her short messages pain you but you’d seen it coming. You had time to accept it but that did nothing to quell the tears that fell down your face or the sobs that wracked your body.

You cry yourself to sleep, still in the dress she bought you, the one she said you looked your best in and always brought out her coyness to the fullest.

When you wake up, you’re thankful it’s a Saturday because you can’t imagine facing anyone today. The most you want to do is get drunk on every bottle of wine you own, which is quite a few. You hope it’ll be enough to keep your mind off of Emily.

You go to the bathroom and you can’t help but wince at the image you make. Your makeup has run all over your face and you look like la llorona with the mascara and eyeliner running down your cheeks. Your lipstick is smeared beyond comprehension and overall, you look like a mess, not even a hot one at that.

You look like the stereotypical girl who has just gotten heartbroken and so you scrub it all off until your skin is clear of the previous night’s emotions. You change into something comfortable, throwing the dress into the hamper rather than the trash because you can’t bear the thought of throwing away things from her. Maybe it’d be the smart thing to do but you can’t.

You’re in a sort of limbo and you’re unsure of where to go from here. You’ve accidentally built up your life around her and now that she’s gone, you’re left with nothing but yourself.

-

It’s only a week later that Spencer shows up to your place, looking worse for wear. He looks like you did on that day when Emily broke up with you but worse. His eyes are bloodshot and his nose is bright red against his pale complexion.

“Um, could I come in?” His voice cracks and he only shrinks further into himself and you nod at him, opening the door to accompany his skinny frame.

You guide him to your couch and place the cup of tea you had made for yourself into his hands since it seemed like they needed something in them with all the twitching they were doing.

You sit in silence, knowing that whatever he had to say would eventually come out.

His tea has stopped steaming when he finally speaks up. “Today, my colleague was taken by the person she had been chasing after. We found her and apprehended the person she had been chasing but… But we were too late. By the time we had gotten there, she was already wounded and she was pronounced dead two hours, thirteen minutes, and twenty seven seconds ago. She’s dead and I never got to say goodbye.” With his proclamation, his tears begin again and you take the cup from his hands.

“May I hug you, Spencer?” He nods and that’s all it takes for you to take him into your arms. He sobs into the crook of your neck. It’s hard to connect the image of the nerd you know and care for to the man who’s breaking down in your arms. You rub soothing circles on his back and try to keep up with his words but they’re too quiet and unintelligible to your ears.

The both of you sit there like that for a while. It could have been five minutes or an hour but you can’t tell and you bet he can’t either.

When he finally runs out of tears, he whispers something so quietly that you think you’ve misheard him.

“I never got to say goodbye to Emily.”

Emily . She’s his colleague. He had said she in his retelling of the events. It takes your breath away and you have to stop the tears from coming on because you’re not supposed to care for her, not like this. Not in front of anybody, especially not Spencer.

She’s dead. Emily is dead. It’s a truth you don’t want to accept. It makes you glad that Spencer is still hidden in your neck because you’re sure your face can only show the agony you feel over such a reveal.

Your worst nightmare has come true, it seems. You don’t want this. Anything but her leaving you permanently. She can’t be dead, not the woman who’s changed you so irrevocably and made you feel like life was worth living.

You could accept loving her in quiet, away from her, but not at the cost of her death. You can’t deal with this, not when Spencer needs you so push it away. You shove the pain and agony down until you’re numb.

You’re supposed to be nothing but an acquaintance to her. She hadn’t even loved you. You shouldn’t feel like your heart has been ripped violently from your body and that your soul will always have an Emily sized hole left in the wake of her death.

You focus on Spencer so that you don’t break down and you’re grateful that he doesn’t notice your little episode. You can’t confront this in front of anybody. It’s better to deal with your grief in private, just like everything else you did with Emily. It made sense for the last thing you’ll ever do for her to stay quiet and watch from afar.

[forgiveness-in-the-misery]

Skwisgaar's Psychology

After rewatching Metalocalypse a total of three times ever since the news of the potential finale movie I kind of had a realization; I really fucking love Skwisgaar. I also started by halfway through rewatch two realized that his story and background and general psychology is really fucking fascinating to me.

So I am going to do my best to discuss his character and his psychology and how we see him progress through the show....I already did this with Toki a while back and kind of would love to do it with Murderface and maybe Pickles as well, I'd say Nathan, but he's the....least fucked up in a sense.

Skwisgaar let's start has the most dialogue in the first couple of seasons of the show and even then it isn't overwhelming compared to the other members of the band. By season four he speaks very little and rarely.

When we are introduced to him in the beginning of the show he seems to be like the rest of the group; a diva spoiled rich rocker who has been grossly wealthy for so long that he's forgotten how to function as a human.

You also with the first season especially have this running gag that isn't even a running gag that Skwisgaar or Toki will say something weird and then the other will add onto it and they just say weird shit about life and death or the violence of man, it's weird, and strangely endearing.

Which speaking of how those two play off each other brings me to the fact the pilot episode immediately establishes that these two are almost always together. The band goes to a grocery store and everybody splits up, except for Skwisgaar and Toki who go off together when in all reality that isn't remotely necessary. We also learn in that first episode that Skwisgaar gets pissed when Toki teases him and calls him a woman despite Skwisgaar calling him one like a second earlier and also that Skwisgaar is sexually attracted to elderly women.

Two things are heavily associated with Skwisgaar as a character; he is extremely sexually active and he's got his guitar with him in 99% of scenes. Skwisgaar also doesn't appear to be the most talkative, he can be bitchy and throw tantrums like the rest of his bandmates, but also seems to be more prone to crying and becoming anxious or worried for his friends and their wellbeing/safety, in terms of socializing he seems to be a bit awkward and seems the most comfortable communicating through sex and music. He's teasing and can be a dick, but there's no real edge to it. He also while seeming in some regards to be a bit....dumb to be blunt about it seems to actually be rather smart, though often seems to just keep that to himself probably because he knows who his friends are and they aren't prone to listening to people.

Season one wasted no time in introducing the band's parents and this included Skwisgaar's mother, Serveta. One thing that I do find super interesting is that he is the only member of the band who comes from a single mother, technically it isn't interesting, but the theory (probably canon) that their fathers aren't really their fathers at all and that their mothers became pregnant by the Deth Star makes it interesting. To me at least.

With Skwisgaar's mom in regards to the first season of the show we quickly learn that their relationship is strained. She's an older woman who just like Skwisgaar is very sexually active, we see her come onto Nathan's father who is married and sitting with his wife and son, Skwisgaar's reaction to this is to get upset and begin frantically playing his guitar. Skwisgaar spends a good portion of this episode drinking and at one point saying that ever since his mom got there his stomach had been hurting and he'd just been feeling like absolute shit. When we see him bonding with his mom he's brushing her hair and looking like he'd rather be dead or any place else, seeing him helping her groom is weirdly a red flag to me.

We learn by the third season of the show that his mother is intensely vain and in love with herself, she resents Skwisgaar because being pregnant with him and giving birth to him ruined her 'perfect' body and I'm sure the years where he was too young to fend for himself annoyed her because it meant she couldn't party or have men over or run off whenever she wanted, something I get the feeling that changed when he was about ten years of age. In a bonus video that comes with the first season of the show you see interviews with the band on various random topics; one of the scenes that is...uncomfortable to say the least is when family is brought up. Skwisgaar begins to say something, but trails off and becomes visibly upset before saying he's just going to shut down for a while, Toki confesses some more physical abuse before also shutting down.

I'm going to take a guess that Skwisgaar only had his mother when he was growing up and she only had him, I'm sure she has parents and maybe even siblings and aunts and uncles, but it appears that she has absolutely no relationship with them and Skwisgaar most probably never met these people.

The walls of Serveta's home sport dozens of headshots of herself and a couple of pictures of Skwisgaar as a kid thrown up by the front door almost as an after thought. It's likely and most probable that Skwisgaar was thrusted into the position of caretaker and even a husband sort of position when it came to his relationship with his mom; given the task of looking after her, holding her hair back when she pukes after a night of drinking, doing laundry, cooking, cleaning, etc. We know when he was about ten or thirteen years old he came home from school to find his mom having sex with two men, an event that scared him and led to him being chased by wolves and falling into a pit where if he weren't a demi-god he legit would have died. I feel like his mom reached a point with him where she stopped caring whether or not he saw her....personal life, perceiving him as an adult despite still just being a boy and also seeing him as somebody who is taking up space in her home and preventing her from having fun.

When she marries Tyr they're all over each other constantly....until Skwisgaar and Tyr become friends and begin spending time together, then she cheats on him. She was jealous that her latest man wasn't giving her constant attention and got angry at the concept of sharing him with her own child, which is super fucked up.

Skwisgaar throughout the show has a fake persona. He likes to pretend he in some way is like his mom; he likes to pretend he has his head up his own ass and doesn't need anybody but himself, he loves himself more than he could ever love another person. Which isn't true. At all.

I think that growing up with a narcissistic parent who emotionally neglected and emotionally abused him put him in a position where he had to shut down like that. He had to learn at a very young age that crying and yelling and being angry gets nothing done except maybe piss his mom off more, after finding his guitar he threw himself into music and appeared to shut himself off socially, preferring music over human interactions.

Music is something that Skwisgaar can rely on no matter what happens; he will always have a guitar, he will always be able to create music even if it is just for himself and nobody else. People come and go, people physically hurt you, people emotionally hurt you, or make you feel worthless. When we see the flashback to the night Magnus was kicked out of Dethklok Skwisgaar is faded into the background, almost like a ghost with his slumped shoulders and his hair curtaining his face as if he wants to just disappear. When they're auditioning for a replacement Skwisgaar is positive he doesn't want somebody else in the band, that they are fine just being four.

I think it comes from the fact he was terrified of repeating what just happened with Magnus, finding somebody he might think he can bond with over music only for that person to turn into a monster who makes him feel like he can't even do the thing he loves more than anything correctly....Then Toki came in and when they had their duel it quickly turned from a competition into a conversation. Because that's the one way Skwisgaar knows how to communicate, the way he is the most comfortable with; he likes to communicate through guitar and finding somebody who he could speak to through music excited him.

It's clear for obvious age related reasons that Skwisgaar has/had a care taker role where Toki is concerned. I mean he was about 15/16 when Skwisgaar took him into the band so he was a literal child, even when he's older Skwisgaar still looks out for him and is in his own sense immensely protective where he's concerned. Skwisgaar is also that way with the rest of the band even if it's more subtle. He worries about his bandmates, if they get injured or nearly killed it bothers him and he doesn't want anything to happen to them. When the band is going to break up he completely shuts down, because admit to it or not they had become the only family he ever had. I think Skwisgaar is so hard wired from his childhood to care for people that it's something he can't shake and maybe with the band he doesn't feel its a bad habit, because unlike with his mom, his bandmates arent forcing him to look after them. It's something he does because he wants to do it.

Of course in regards to his attraction to older women that definitely comes from issues relating to his mother....I don't think it's in a creepy Freud way, but more so just wanting to feel cared for back. Very obviously he can't exactly approach any of his bandmates and ask for a hug....well except maybe Toki and Pickles if he's super drunk or high, but outside of those two instances....they aren't people he could exactly just ask for validation or comfort or consolation. They aren't....good with that shit. Older women though usually have a tendency to be coddling and kind, Skwisgaar probably learned that as a teen or in his twenties, I think it's less about the sex factor and just feeling important. In terms of sex with people closer to him in age (I will die on the hill that he's bisexual, because he keeps just throwing it out there that he would blow a guy and he had multiple three ways with Melmord) I think it's a distraction for the most part, he uses sex the same way he often uses music, and honestly....He grew up seeing his mother have men over constantly.

Skwisgaar didn't grow up seeing love or healthy relationships, he saw his mom parade various men through the house and maybe she kept some of them for a while and I doubt the relationships were healthy and I'm sure he knew that his mother didn't love any man she dated or married for a short while. Even in the show he isn't fond of love or marriage, the only time he dates somebody is when he moves back to Sweden and finally starts to get his life together in a more healthy sense and that relationship didn't feel like it was based on sex. It was based on physical and emotional affection and it was the only time Skwisgaar ever looked actually happy in terms of intimacy.

Sex is a job, a chore for him; he's the God of Life so it's technically what....it's y'know his thing, creating life. As a lot of people notice....he seems far more sexually active after him and Toki's second fight in regards to music and petty bull shit. Season four is essentially the season where Salacia gets what he wanted aka the band tearing itself apart and you can see them all fall apart individually. For Skwisgaar falling apart means closing himself off, throwing himself more into his guitar and more into sex. He becomes more of a tool and an object as if that's all he wants to be, because being a person who opens yourself up and lets people in and tries to care about people ends up with you being hurt, badly.

Which does bring things back to his super complicated slightly homoerotic to the point even the show had to mention it for a hot second relationship with Toki.

We can gather from Doomstar that Toki was far more into music when he first joined Dethklok which I think worked out great for Skwisgaar, because as I said before; Skwisgaar communicates through music and this gave him somebody that he could talk to without the awkwardness of verbally conversing.

Though that changed clearly and you can feel that Skwisgaar is bothered by it, like in some weird way it feels like a minor betrayal. Toki notoriously never practices or puts in a lot of effort in terms of making music which Skwisgaar often comments on, complains about, or gets on him about. Reasonable. Guitar is part of who he is, but at the end of the day a talent that made him rich, that's what it is to Toki.....Skwisgaar on the other hand his guitar is literally an extension of himself and seeing him without a guitar in his hand for longer than a single scene gets weird.

Still despite the two of them losing the art of communicating through their music....they're close. Super fucking close. If you watch Metalocalypse and tell yourself going into the show that you're going to focus heavily on a single character or on a certain relationship you notice a ton of shit. Like you notice that Toki and Skwisgaar almost always sit together, stand together, talk over one another, finish each others weird sentences or ideas, copy each other to the point they spend an entire episode bickering like children over copying each other, and often spend their time hanging out together. Again. They're really close as if they're a single person split into two.

They're close to the point that inverse their fans just to some extent assume the two of them are fucking and madly in love and I mean I'm gonna be honest just objectively speaking here I would not be surprised to find out they have had sex before at least once or more times. Just saying.

That aside though and just sticking to the platonic here....They're close, Toki means as much to Skwisgaar as guitar does, and that's saying a lot. One big reason I want to bring up their relationship is that his relationship with Toki brings to light Skwisgaar's issues with death or more specifically death where Toki is concerned.

In season one when Toki has a bit of a breakdown and Pickles suggest they kill him, Skwisgaar looks tense and uncomfortable and says that he doesn't like the idea because it's a lot and it makes him feel not so good. In a deleted scene where the band watch Nascar together Pickles ask Toki and Skwisgaar if they were supposed to be dead or in jail or something because it's the same episode where they got shit faced and got into a high speed chase. Skwisgaar when responding about it changes the word dead/death out for sleep, stating they were supposed to be put to sleep but just had to do community service instead (Toki corrects that it was jail, not being put to sleep). In the deleted IKEA scene when Toki stressed says maybe the two of them should just kill themselves Skwisgaar immediately freaks out and later when they return to Nathan and Murderface they both look super emotionally fucked up and when Nathan ask if they had been crying Toki gets defensive and says no while Skwisgaar beginning to cry again says they had been crying. Then of course after Toki ruins Skwisgaar's reputation and becomes Magnus Jr. for a few weeks and ends up having a panic attack and making an ass of himself....Skwisgaar thinks he's having a heart attack and freaks the fuck out terrified that he's dying.

Then finally for a compilation of Skwisgaar not handling Toki dying well; in Doomstar before they go in to save Toki Skwisgaar makes the sorrowful comment that sometimes he wonders if they should have stayed a one guitar band. It isn't him being a dick, he isn't saying this isn't worth it. He's saying essentially that Toki was stabbed, kidnapped and possibly murdered and it's completely his fault; if he hadn't taken Toki in then none of this would have happened. Which immediately leads me to believe that post the funeral episode that Skwisgaar spent those months high and drunk and late at night blaming himself for Toki being taken/murdered. That's a lot of blame to put onto yourself and to say its your fault solely because a few years ago you took this kid in off the streets is honestly heart breaking.

Early on in the series there's an episode where Toki's pissed that he isn't seen as Skwisgaar's musical equal, he wants solos, and Skwisgaar turns him down. Which through the series and within that episode itself we easily learn why Skwisgaar never gives him a solo; Toki has performance anxiety and he never practices and quite honestly knows almost nothing about guitar. It's valid. Either way in this particular episode Toki gets pissed and decides he wants to take lessons, Skwisgaar offers and Toki turns him down because last time they tried...he kind of just ended up beating the shit out of Skwisgaar. (to be fair don't dump a bucket of blood on your friend's head) So he goes off and finds an elderly man to teach him how to play guitar, Murderface being a dick decides to tell Skwisgaar that Toki is super good at guitar now and.....Skwisgaar doesn't react well. He gets pissed off and has nightmares about Toki becoming better than him. He even confronts Toki and his guitar teacher and threatens to kick him out of the band. When he realizes at the end of the episode that Toki is still....really not great with music....he's chill again, everything is forgiven.

I kind of think that episode is a reason people perceived Skwisgaar as a dick or is one reason, but honestly he isn't being a dick. I mean sure, a bit, but they're all dicks. The thing is guitar is a crutch for Skwisgaar, it is super important to him and he doesn't know who he is without his guitar, without his music. So somebody else threatening to take that from him freaks him out and he reacts poorly to it.

Then we get to near the end of the show when the same issue arises except completely different. Toki again later in the series ask Skwisgaar for a solo and Skwisgaar annoyed refuses him, Toki being the mild psycho shit that he is decides to just kind of ruin his life as revenge. Again by this point in the show its kind of obvious if you actually pay attention at all that Skwisgaar keeps telling him he can't have solos because Toki never fucking practices and even in the studio Skwisgaar has to record most of the rhythm guitar parts. He's also known since Toki's audition that the kid is prone to choking up and making mistakes, so he's technically protecting him without just outright confronting him.

Toki writes a book calling out Skwisgaar as an abusive tyrant and an over dramatic bitch. Admittedly Skwisgaar is a slight diva and just like the rest of them can be a total asshole, admittedly to a lesser degree than the others. What's really fucking interesting for me personally about this episode is that Skwisgaar is catatonic and depressed for 99% of it. He doesn't speak. This starts literally the second that Toki releases his book saying that Skwisgaar abuses him, this is before Skwisgaar's career goes down the toilet, his career hadn't been impacted by this yet.

Skwisgaar falls to pieces because Toki, Toki who he's known since he was just sixteen and took in off the streets and they're always practically attached at the hip and have been since day one just released a book calling him an abusive monster.

I do have a feeling one reason this fucked him up is because he might be terrified that he's turning into Magnus without realizing it, that perhaps he has become an abusive monster and has been making Toki feel the way that Magnus made him feel towards the end of his time in Dethklok. I think there also is probably something soul crushing about the person you love platonically or otherwise referring to you very publicly as abusive. Of course all of this worsens when Skwisgaar's career begins to fall to shit, eventually towards the end when Toki is at the top of his ego trip being a prick Skwisgaar does confront him, that in itself is interesting.

Skwisgaar goes in way calmer than I would be in that situation, sure he gets pissed off as they bicker, but again he's waaayyyy fucking calmer than anybody else would be especially since Toki just yells at him through the entire conversation. Of course interestingly is that Toki perceives Skwisgaar in a way that isn't entirely true, he thinks Skwisgaar mocks him and thinks of him as nothing which isn't true at all, when he says Skwisgaar laughed at him he just responds that he never did that and he sounds slightly hurt by that. They're both hurt and none of these men are good with healthy emotions. Skwisgaar never loses his shit on him in the entire conversation, he looks like he could easily go ape shit but instead warns him that the audience will eat him alive the second he fucks up.

Which turns out to be true, Toki fucks up and people begin turning against him which leads to him having a severe panic attack. Like I mentioned before Skwisgaar thinks he's dying and tries to save him, scared out of his fucking mind at the concept of Toki dying. Which....the dude just spent several weeks treating you like garbage and calling you a monster who abuses him, if Skwisgaar was actually a shitty person then he would have laughed at him or mocked him or given him shit about this moment for years to come....but he doesn't do any of that. He is worried about saving him, probably terrified that if Toki dies then their last conversation was a fight.

Their dynamic changes a lot after this, not in a way that's overly obvious unless you watch it closely. They spend a lot less time together and what feels almost out of character initially in Dethcamp is....Skwisgaar easily going along with Murderface and bitching about Toki, because....again can't stress the Scandinavian dudes are always attached at the hip and now suddenly he's easily saying mean shit about Toki. It feels weird until you remember that not long before this they had a massive fight, Toki called him abusive and momentarily ruined his career and most likely afterwards tried to act like nothing happened at all while Skwisgaar probably wasn't capable of doing that.

Occasionally in season four Skwisgaar and Toki will sit together or stand together, still talk or have that physical closeness but it's far between and you see Toki spend a majority of his time with the toxic trio: Murderface, Rockso, and Magnus. Skwisgaar spends his time typically with Murderface and Pickles then near the end spends most of his time with Nathan.

Skwisgaar is a person who grew up in a home lacking affection and love or safety, he didn't grow up with examples of love or healthy relationships and as far as he's concerned relationships are a waste of time and energy because they all end the same.

Of course for as much as he says that, as they all say that....it's bull shit. He cares deeply about his bands and him trying to act near the end like Dethklok was just another gig it isn't, these people are his close friends and his only real family. Seeing Pickles and Nathan fall apart wrecked him and having Toki turn on him so easily gutted him. Skwisgaar is a super emotionally fragile person, he seems absolutely terrified of showing anger or aggression as if it's something he's never been comfortable with or learned when he was young gets you nowhere or perhaps there were men around who were violent and loud and it made him scared to ever be that way. He's the only one of the band we never see really lose his shit or be randomly aggressive and violent, he also strangely enough cries the most out of them canonically. People always make the assumption Toki cries a lot, but like canonically he cries waaayyyy fucking less than Skwisgaar.

I really find Skwisgaar interesting....clearly and this analysis might be a jumbled mess, but there's strangely a lot of things to unpack and things I probably didn't even touch on as much as I could have, because this is already insanely long. I have a deep appreciation of him rewatching this show now that I'm older and far more into analyzing works of fiction.

I hope that this was remotely coherent.

[quicksilverownsmysoul]

13 Going on 30 pt. 3

A Peter Maximoff x reader fanfic based off the movie 13 going on 30

Summary:  You are so excited when the most popular girl in your school agrees to come to your 13th birthday party. But after a cruel prank you find yourself wishing that you were popular and older. By some miracle your wish is granted but isn’t as wonderful as it seems. You turn out to be a major jerk and you don't even talk to your best friend Peter anymore. Can you fix everything and get back to normal or are you stuck living like this forever

Warnings: Angst, Some suggestive content, But it’s mostly pure fluff. (Also Peter has no powers in this fic, and some scenes will be changed to fit Peter and his personality and so I can be creative with it!)

Word Count: 2103

Peter thought it was safe to say that adult life sucked. And it wasn't just because he had run out of lucky charms this morning and had to settle for something called shredded wheat that was hidden away in the back of the panty. They were gross and tasted like cardboard, but Peter was all out of groceries so this would have to do.

 No nothing had seemed to go right for him after high school, he went to college, (even though he spent most of the time partying and goofing off), got the degree and yet he was barely scraping by. But he couldn't complain, all that much at least. He enjoyed his job and even if at times it was hard to earn money he wouldn't trade it for the world. He had fallen in love with photography in freshman year and decided to major in it. He had a minor in business too, something you had always told him would be useful as a backup. You were always practical like that, making sure he never completely fell over the edge. But he was hesitant to use it, because in using that minor it kinda meant he was giving up his dream. Giving in to the regular, soul crossing 9 to 5 job that everyone seemed to have. Peter was a dreamer at heart, in a way it would kill him to do anything other than photography.

He ate a spoonful of his cereal, making a face at the dull taste. Chewing, he glanced over at the stack of bills littering the counter. A lot of them were piling up, sooner or later he may have to give into the normalcy of a business job. Work had been slow lately and very boring. More often than not people hired him to take photos for their weddings or graduation, simple stuff. Stuff that had him bored out of his mind. But there were no clients currently so until he got one he had all the time in the world to himself. Which he loved at first but now it seems he was falling into a bit of a routine.

Peter aimlessly wandered around the kitchen lost in thought, his eyes drifted toward the collection of pictures pinned to his fridge. There was a picture of you on there, from before you had cut him out of your life. Peter set the bowl down on the counter and gently lifted the magnet to pull the picture off. It was a polaroid of you two, You had your arms wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, hugging him from behind. His hands were resting on yours, you both were smiling, teeth missing.

This picture was from the first day of first grade. Even back then Peter had had some feelings for you. And the way his eyes looked at you and not the camera was proof of this. Peter ran his thumb gently over the faded picture, for a moment he let himself wonder about how you were doing, before he snapped himself out of it. He put the picture back in its place and picked his bowl back up. It was too early to be having thoughts like that. 

Peter yawned and lazily plopped down on his worn out sofa, flipping through the channels on the tv. There was nothing on, signing he threw out the rest of his cereal, it had gotten soggy while he was busy reminiscing. He dropped the empty bowl into the sink, only adding to the collection of unwashed dishes. He glanced over at the phone and the soft blinking of the red light, indicating he had voicemails he hadn't listened to yet. He knew he was going to have to take her calls sooner or later but right now he didn't want to deal with her. 

He headed to the park and decided to do some laps on the path, running always helped him to relax and clear his head. He always got stares and shy smiles from the women that were jogging, he found out that apparently the silver hair that everyone made fun of him for was very attractive to women now. Something he used to use to his advantage to pick up the occasional hook up.

After that he went to go get groceries and then played on his pacman machine until lunchtime. He totally knew how to spend his time. He made his way over to the kitchen and looked at all the new groceries he had bought. Twinkies, instant ramen, mac and cheese, he picked up the box of lucky charms, weighing the option of eating it for lunch. He thought better of it and put it back on the shelf, he really needed to eat healthier, god knows sooner or later his metabolism was going to give out.

He picked up the phone and placed an order form the Chinese place a couple blocks away, ordering way more food than he needed. That way he wouldn't have to cook for the next few meals. Peter was inherently lazy and cooking was not something he was very good at. So when he would he just ordered takeout and leftovers so he could eat them later. He hung up the phone and walked over to the fridge and took out the milk, drinking it straight for the carton, while he was doing that he heard a loud knock on the door. “That was quick.” The knocking continued non stop over and over, “I’m coming hold on!” He yelled out as he shuffled to the door and opened it peering through the opening that the chain allowed. “You know it’s rude to-'' The words died in his throat. There was a woman standing at his door, wearing a coat over her night dress. 

*******************************************************

You hadn't been able to pay attention to the briefing your boss gave, your assistant came in about half way through and handed you a small slip of paper. She said that she had found Peter’s address like you had asked. You had pulled her into a hug, creating an awkward tension in the room. The meeting had seemed to go on forever, and for the life of you you couldn't even remember what it was about. As soon as the meeting ended you had bolted out the door, ignoring the calls of your boss and colleagues telling you that work wasn't over yet. 

You had found his apartment after randomly asking strangers in the street which way it was. You were at his door, the number on it hanging lopsided. You began to rapidly knock until the door was pulled open. “You know it’s rude to-” 

He paused as he saw you staring at him. He furrowed his brows in confusion. “You’re not the chinese delivery guy.” 

You felt your eyes widen as you took him in. “Peter?” You asked in a small voice. 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you. “Yeah?”

 You let out a sigh of relief, smiling. “You’re tall.” You looked him up and down. “And you’re so handsome.”

His face turned red at your words. He didn't even know who this random woman was that was standing here, telling him he was handsome. He leaned against the doorframe, taking another drink out of the carton. “I’m sorry do- do I know you?” 

He watched your face fall. “You don’t know me?” 

“No?” He said, wiping the dribbling milk off his chin. Even after all these years his mannerisms were the same. 

“Wait! “ You said rushing forward. He jumped slightly at the sudden action. “It’s me, I saw you yesterday. Well I was thirteen yesterday so I guess it wasn't yesterday. Because now i'm old and I don't know where I am-” Peter watched you ramble on and slowly began to close the door. You continued on. “But you were there at my party-”

Peter paused, squinting his eyes and looking at you closely.. “(Y/n)?” He asked hesitantly, reopening the door as much as the chain would allow. “(y/n) (y/l/n)?” You smiled wide at him. 

“Yes! Yes it’s me!” 

Peter slammed the door shut in your face. You heard him unlock all the locks on his side of the door, when he was down he swung the door open. “Hey.” he gave you a small smile. You lunged at him and tackled him in a hug, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. He just stood there frozen, slowly moving his free hand up to awkwardly pat you on the back. “Come in I guess.” He muttered. 

You pulled back smiling at him. Even after all this time your sweet smile could make his heart skip a beat. You looked around his small apartment taking it all in. Peter did his best to kick discarded clothes into the closet, and keep you from seeing what a mess it was. You looked along his walls to see framed pictures of portraits and beautiful landscapes. “Are you still taking pictures?” You asked,

“Uh yeah, they pay the bills.” He quickly grabbed the pile of unpaid bills, stuffing them behind the couch cushion. “Usually.” He muttered under his breath. You were pacing around his apartment, in confused circles. He nervously rubbed the nape of his neck. “Hey, (y/n) I don't wanna be rude but why are you here?” 

“Petey I told you.” You said moving closer to him, he let out a little laugh. 

“Petey wow, no one has called me that in ages.” 

“Petey listen I came here cause something really weird is happening. Yesterday was my 13th birthday and then today I woke up and I’m this!” You said gesturing to your body. Peter tried his best not to look you up and down, he couldn't deny that you had grown up well. You were even more beautiful than he remembered. “And you’re that!” You said gesturing towards him. 

Peter looked down at himself self consciously. “Gee thanks. Do I really look that bad?” 

“No!” You quickly said. You felt yourself blush as you looked him over. His hair was tousled and messy, he was wearing an oversized  pink floyd crop top and from the looks of the hem it seemed he had made it himself. You watched the veins in his hands ripple and his arms slightly flex. “Uh you,” You let out an embarrassed laugh. “You actually look really good, like really good.” 

Peter flushed at your words and turned away so you couldn't see his blushing face. “Wow.” He whispered under his breath, he lifted a hand up to his face, doing his best to hide the smile that was forming. He turned back to and regained a serious composure. “Are you sure you're okay (y/n).” He took in your mismatched outfit and broken heel. “Are you high? Have you been smoking pot? Doing drugs, cause if you are I’m not judging as long as it’s just weed or something. Cause I mean I get it, I get stressed to and every now and then need-”

“No, no.” You said shaking your head rapidly. “Wait do you do-,” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “Do you do drugs Peter?” 

“No! No.” Peter shrugged. “Ehhh well not drugs, just weed.” He defended. But looking at your judgmental eyes he quickly continued on. “And I don’t, well I don’t that much any more. It was in college you know how it was.” 

“Actually I don’t.” You moved even closer to him. “Look, I was sitting in my closet, and I- I skipped everything. I can’t- I can’t remember my life.” Your eyes were watery as you started back at him. His heart ached seeing you like this. You continued on. ‘You need to help me remember my life.” 

At this he scoffed, and pretended to look around as if you were referring to someone else. “Me?” he said pointing to himself, letting out an airy laugh. “That’s rich.”

“What why?” He let out another laugh at your response, this one was dry. He looked at your face and saw that you weren’t kidding, you were serious about asking for his help.

“(Y/n) I can’t.” He was in disbelief, did you seriously have no idea what you had done to him. “I don’t know anything about you. I haven't seen you since high school.” Your face morphed into one of confusion. 

“What?” 

What he said next pained him, and he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes. “(Y/n). We’re not friends anymore.”

You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. “What?”

Taglist:

@lets-imagine-fanfics @steamboat-local @weasly-twin-simp

Let me know if you want to be added!!

[whump-mania]

prologue: the journal

(tw implied parental death, apocalypse scenario)

9/17/2034

my name is Quinn Taylor. i am 13 years old and im writing in this stupid notebook about nothing because my stupid mom made me because i need to “work on my writing” and i think thats stupid and boring. she said i can write what i want so im writing about that i dont want to be writing. she said i have to write ten sentences. maybe i can make really short sentences and be done so i can stop. this is sentence six. this is the seventh one. eight. nine. ten okay done bye journal

9/20/2034

i have to write in my journal again because its monday. my weekend was fun though. dad took me to see a movie. i think it was the one with the minions but like the seventh one. it wasnt good but he bought me popcorn so it was ok. we went to the post office after. i like the post office because all the stamps are cool. school today was boring. i got in trouble because i was late because i was in the bathroom. i dont wanna do this anymore im bored

9/21/2034

My mom read my entries and she said I have to use good punctuation now. I don’t really want to because it’s exhausting. But now I’m going to do good punctuation because she said that if I did then we can go to the pool on Saturday. Swimming is fun and it’s still hot in the fall so it’s okay. Sometimes there are leaves in the water. I really don’t like punctuation. It makes me feel like a grownup. Boring. Boring. Boring okay done.

9/22/2034

I am really really mad. I have to write THIRTEEN sentences today because my MOM said that my last three sentences yesterday weren’t sentences. I know you’re reading this mom!!!! I think your rules stink!!! But I really want to go to the pool so I take that back. But your rules still kind of stink but only a little bit. Hey mom, when we go to the pool, can we bring the darts that go to the bottom? I can get the ones all the way to the deep end. It’s really cool. I would have been done here but I have to write thirteen sentences. This is so so so dumb. My hand is cramping now. This is too much.

9/23/2034

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten.

9/24/2034

Sorry, I had a really bad day yesterday. My mom said that since I called her rules dumb we can’t go to the pool tomorrow and I got really mad. I really wanted to go to the pool and now we can’t. But she said that maybe if I do a good job next week we can go next Saturday. So I’m going to try harder next week, and hopefully I can go swimming. I just remembered that I don’t have school on Monday. Maybe I won’t have to write in my journal on Monday. That makes it a lot easier for me to earn the pool. Maybe my dad will come swimming with us too. I like when he throws me up in the air.

9/28/2034

Someone at school said something really weird today. She said her dad and a bunch of his friends are going to “rule the world” and it’s gonna happen on Friday. I think that’s kind of stupid. That girl is kind of weird (sorry if that sounds mean). I asked her why and she said “because”. That means she’s making things up. I really hope my mom likes the sentences I’m writing. I found the pool darts in my closet. I’m going to throw them all the way down to the deep end this time. I hope my ears don’t clog up.

9/29/2034

The girl from yesterday didn’t show up to school today. Nobody knows why. I don’t know why I’m still thinking about her. I never talked to her before yesterday. Maybe what she said kind of creeped me out, I don’t know. But she didn’t come to school today. Am I at ten sentences yet? Nope, I’m at seven sentences now. I think doing this has made my handwriting better. I guess that’s a good thing?? Thanks mom…I guess.

9/30/2034

school got cancelled today. im really scared. i dont know whats going on. the principal told us they found spray paint on the doors saying really scary things and no one can come to school now. mom is on the phone with my friends mom making sure hes ok. my dad is at work still and i want him to come home really bad. i dont know whats happeni

10/1/2034

mom and dad went to the store together to get a lot of food so we can stay inside. its friday now and i yelled at them to not go because of what the girl said and they said we need to eat so they went anyway. im in my room. i want them to come home so bad. mom im sorry i thought your rules were dumb i love you please come back home

5/27/2038

It’s really weird looking back at all of these. It’s freaky, knowing I wrote these on the day everything fell apart. Never thought I’d see this thing again. I’m on a scouting mission right now, for food and supplies. I thought I would visit my old house. It doesn’t have a roof anymore and my bed is all moldy. But this book, this damn notebook is in the same place I left it. If Daniel saw me slacking off right now he’d kill me. I guess I’ll leave this here forever.

A lot of shit has happened to me after 10/1/2034. But in all honesty, I think the saddest part of all of this is that I never got to go swimming.

tag list: @tears-and-lilies @mammonsemptycreditcard @abitefullofwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @xzinn-fury @whumpasaurus101 @whmp @freefallingup13 @sadistgalore @firewheeesky @finch-birb @authorofemotion @lavmars @whatwhumpcomments @w-whump @wingedwhump @writerat @wvnda-whump @whumblrwork @ficklefuddle @yesimlonely

[dwellordream]

“...By the 1920s, only the very poorest Danish families had to depend on the economic contributions of adolescent children for survival, but in most households daughters were still expected to help supplement the household income by handing over their pay. Especially in their first years as wage earners, parental control over children's income was considerable. Mothers in charge of the family budget generally kept most of the wages, permitting adolescent wage earners only a limited weekly allowance for personal expenses. Young women's family responsibilities continued in other ways as well. 

While sons were given much more leeway, daughters were generally expected to contribute their labor to the household after they arrived home from work. "In my family, all the children were sent out to work after their [Christian] confirmation [at the age of thirteen or fourteen], and we all had to give mother some of the money we earned for housekeeping," Gerda Eriksen recalled of her working class youth in the early 1920s. "But," she continued, "the girls also had their chores—running errands, peeling potatoes, setting and cleaning the table, doing the dishes, bringing up coal from the basement. My brothers never had to do any of that. That was women's work."

But if contributing wages and labor to the household continued to be the unquestioned norm, young women's sense of their rights and obligations vis-a-vis the family was nevertheless changing in other ways in the early decades of the twentieth century. When earnings were sufficient, some daughters decided to strike out on their own and live independently in rented rooms, small apartments, or boarding houses, but given their low wages this was a possibility for the very few. More frequently, young working women sought to use their earnings as leverage to negotiate a stronger position within the family. Especially after World War I, when most families were able to place themselves safely beyond the poverty line, the necessity of individual sacrifice for household survival began to fade.

This allowed even working-class daughters to assert their right to new privileges in exchange for their economic contributions, and in the 1920s they did so in increasing numbers. Young women's sense of what they could legitimately demand from their families clearly sprang from their status and experiences as wage earners outside the home. In the labor market, and particularly in jobs other than domestic service, young women learned a rhythm of time and labor that divided daily life into paid work and one's "own" time. This was a rhythm already familiar to most men, whose lives had long been split into realms of work and leisure. Therefore, (male) wage earners were the obvious beneficiaries when Danish government regulations in 1919 limited the work day to eight hours, allowing working men more free time than ever before. 

Married women, on the other hand, did not experience a similar shortening of the workday. Whether they worked outside the home or not, housework, child-rearing, cooking, and cleaning were never ending tasks, and unlike their husbands, they had to snatch their few leisured moments in between domestic responsibilities. As working women, daughters were precariously positioned between these different patterns of daily life. Even though they took on wage labor much like their fathers and brothers, young women were simultaneously expected to share the steady burdens of domestic work with their mothers and to devote their nonworking time to household labor. 

It was this discrepancy between expectations fostered by labor market participation in the context of increasing standards of living, and the realities of family life that became increasingly intolerable for many young women in the 1910s and 1920s. In their minds, earning a living and bringing home money positioned them on a par with male members of the family, entitling them to at least some of the same prerogatives. Consequently, while they did not resist having to hand over a substantial part of their earnings, they more and more openly resented that their financial contribution did not always earn them what they considered its reasonable counterpart, namely the right to free time. As a result, families with adolescent daughters were plunged into conflicts about the degree of personal autonomy that labor market participation and wages ought to bestow. 

Intrafamilial conflicts are often difficult for historians to document, but in this case tensions between parents and children are easily discernible. They surface, for instance, in the immensely popular advice columns of the 1910s and 1920s. Convinced of their right as wage earners to at least some free time and exasperated by their parents' unwillingness to grant them this privilege, some young women turned to advice columnists, hoping for replies that would affirm the legitimacy of their demands. 

Among the correspondents was "Betty" who openly questioned her parents' authority. "I work from 8 A.M. to 6 P.M. every day," she explained. "When I come home, I am tired, but I still have to fix dinner and look after my younger sister. In the evenings my parents say I have to do needle-work, but I would rather read or go for a walk. Can they really demand that I stay at home? I am seventeen and a half years old, and I pay my mother Dkr. 8 every week."

Similarly, "a Copenhagen girl" found the relationship between rights and duties in her life unreasonable. "Before I leave in the morning," she complained, "I have to light the fire, make coffee and pack lunches. When I come home, the dishes are still sitting there, and there are errands to be run. Sometimes I want to meet my girlfriend at night, but my parents will almost never let me go. They say there is no reason to 'gad about,' but I don't understand what is wrong with having a little bit of fun at night when you work all day." Other evidence also suggests that many young women openly struggled to obtain the right to leisure and independent activities they thought they deserved. 

Personal narratives often reveal both the intensity of such conflicts and the ingenuity of young women bent on getting their way. Emilie Johansen, who grew up in a middle-class family in a suburb of Aarhus recalled, for example, how she and her sister enlisted the help of an older aunt in their conflicts with an authoritarian father. "He was so strict. He would never allow us to have any fun, never allow us to go anywhere. It was hopeless. But then my aunt—I guess she was feeling sorry for us— we talked to her, and she hired us to do some cleaning and stuff. And we would get there and she would say, 'Why don't you girls run off to see a movie?' I don't remember if we ever actually did any work."

Equally resourceful, Copenhagen native Anna Eriksen depended on the backing of an older brother, who, in exchange for small favors, would promise to act as her chaperon outside the home only to vanish as soon as the siblings were out of their parents' sight. In addition to such evidence, numerous magazine articles and newspaper columns from the 1910s and 1920s chronicle the anger and bewilderment of parents who found themselves in constant conflict with their daughters. For mothers, this seemed particularly difficult. Not only did their daughters' desire for a "modern" life seem a rejection of their own norms and values, which in itself was hard to bear, but on top of that, some girls directly flaunted their disrespect of maternal authority, especially if fathers were absent, indulgent, or merely lackadaisical.

"When my daughter is not at the office, she thinks life has to be lived in a cafe, or in other places where people are judged according to their dress and style," "Ninka's mother" wrote to a women's magazine in 1921. "If I tell her to stay home even a few nights a week, she acts as if I've just imposed a life sentence on her." "She doesn't listen to me," another mother complained of her seventeen-year-old daughter. "When I tell her to stay home, she just laughs and says that you are only young once, that this is the twentieth century and not the Middle Ages, and that she is already wasting too much of her youth in a dirty factory. Besides that, she has her own money."

Even more desperate, the mother of one of the much maligned Langelinie girls told a newspaper journalist that she had "begged and pleaded with [her daughter] not to go there, but it doesn't help. I have to go to work, and my neighbor tells me that as soon as I am out the door, she takes off." Using whatever means it took, many young working women who came of age in the late 1910s and 1920s thus pushed for new personal freedoms and especially the right to free time. While some parents never gave in to their pressure, most young women seemed gradually to succeed in carving out of daily life at least some uninterrupted time devoted to relaxation and their own enjoyment. 

From the mid-1920s, the frequency of daughters' publicly voiced complaints declined dramatically, and coming-of-age stories no longer featured such conflicts. Apparently, Ernestine P. Poulsen, born in 1902, described a phenomenon that extended beyond her family when she explained that "I fought a lot of battles with my parents [over the right to leisure]. Perhaps I cleared the way because when my [younger] sisters came along, they did not have to do the same. My parents had kind of accepted that girls also needed time of their own."

This did not mean, however, that conflicts between parents and daughters faded. Rather, the grounds of conflict merely shifted. Much resistance to giving young women free time derived from the material conditions of daily life—the practical assistance of grown daughters was still important for the well-being of many working-class households—and from a more general reluctance to give up control over children. But parents' reluctance also stemmed from their misgivings about young women's actual use of their leisure time. 

Had daughters simply demanded more time to pursue leisure activities within the home, had they insisted on participating in cooking classes and sewing circles, or had they wanted to attend lectures on hygiene and housewifery, they would probably have been met with more understanding. But these were not the kinds of activities young women longed to engage in, and therefore the question of female leisure remained a contentious issue throughout the postwar decade.

Working-class and middle-class daughters had of course not been entirely without time of their own prior to the 1920s. Nor had they been completely confined to the home. Girls from the countryside had always been allowed to participate in regional fairs, celebrations, and local get-togethers of young people. Urban working-class daughters had long socialized outside the home on staircase landings and front steps, in backyards, and on city streets or in neighborhood parks, and many middle-class daughters belonged to women's clubs and organizations. 

What constituted the major departure from convention in the 1910s and 1920s was young women's insistence on their right to "go out," an activity significantly different from the kind of casual socializing that took place outside their parents' windows or in clubs and organizations under adult supervision. "Going out," Regitze Nielsen recalled, "that was when we got dressed up and went somewhere." More specifically, "going out" meant pursuing pleasures that took young women away from home and family, into the public, and, in particular, toward new forms of commercial recreation, including movie theaters, cafes, dance places, and amusement parks. As a social practice, this form of "going out" challenged older norms for female behavior in several ways. 

First, it obviously entailed their deliberate desertion from the domestic world, if only momentarily. Second, "going out" meant young women venturing outside familiar neighborhoods and beyond the realm of adult control and surveillance, claiming for themselves the right to an independent, unsupervised social life distinct from familial traditions. Third, as opposed to more traditional forms of leisure for women, "going out" was a strictly peer-oriented activity in which kinship ties had much less significance than freely chosen and carefully cultivated friendships among girls and young women who usually met in school, at work, in clubs and organizations, or in the neighborhood where they lived. 

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, "going out" meant women's entrance into public spaces traditionally defined as male territory and often imagined as sites of immoral activity where men and women freely mingled, potentially transgressing social and sexual boundaries. Because each of these four aspects seemed to pose a fundamental threat to the social and sexual status quo, intense controversies between parents and children over young women's new leisure activities reverberated throughout the postwar decade. Years after families had conceded to daughters' demands for more time of their own, parents struggled to control or at least influence their use of that time. 

By dictating curfews, prohibiting particular activities and specific locations, insisting on being introduced to friends and companions, and demanding the chaperonage of brothers, parents sought not only to protect their daughters against potential dangers but also to maintain at least some authority. Consequently, when young women ventured out into the public sphere, they generally did so under the intense scrutiny of parents who continued to hold some power to revoke their newly won privileges. Thus, even as "going out" gradually became a regular part of young women's lives, treading carefully remained an often perplexing prerequisite.”

- Birgitte Soland, “Good Girls and Bad Girls.” in Becoming Modern: Young Women and the Reconstruction of Womanhood in the 1920s

[rvspberry]

Idk if I’m gonna end up posting this on AO3 because it’s very different from what I usually write.

But below the cut is some Johnny Lawrence sexuality crisis angst with a happy ending if you feel like it. (Heavy Christian themes and Lawrusso ending ahead.)

He was righteous, on high, the Almighty personified. Forgiving, and gracious in victory, and good through and through. Set his mind to something and he could make the whole world come alive.

That’s how Johnny felt at the Tournament, at least, when the entire crowd swarmed the floor and lifted LaRusso onto their shoulders, and Johnny snagged the first place trophy. Handed it up like an offering, a sacrificial lamb — all that Johnny had at stake, all that he’d lost, given freely and openly to this holy being.

The crowd grew louder. Johnny called out, “You’re alright, LaRusso. Good match.”

Got a pained, “Thanks,” in return.

He’d touched someone holy and lived to tell the tale.

~

Once Johnny is at Bobby’s house that night, since Sid and Laura flew to Miami for the week before Christmas, he asks Bobby to pray with him.

“You okay, Johnny?”

Johnny glances up to find worried blue eyes looking over at him, sizing him up — no, not quite. Measuring him, trying to gauge Johnny for what no one could see. Bobby’s eyes are such a different blue than Johnny's, clear and crisp but never cold. Johnny wonders if Bobby sees anything, if Johnny shows anything.

“I just…” Johnny rasps, gripping the glass of water in hand again and taking a hesitant sip. They told him at the hospital that he’d have to rest. Asked if he wanted to press charges, but Johnny just shook his head. “I need some guidance.”

“No better place to look to than to Jesus,” Bobby agrees, reaching out to take Johnny’s hands. He closes his eyes, and Johnny pauses for a brief moment, body going stiff, before he follows suit. Takes a deep breath as Bobby begins. “Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name.”

Daniel.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” Bobby continues.

Johnny squeezes his eyes tighter and tries not to let his grip tighten, too.

“Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Please forgive me. Please. Daniel. I’m sorry.

“And lead us not into temptation—”

Daniel’s eyes. His grin, his mouth, his lips. Daniel’s body. The confident smirk when he gets up into Johnny’s face.

“—but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory,” Bobby finishes, squeezing Johnny’s hands. Johnny blinks his eyes open, jaw clenched, to see Bobby giving him a small smile. “Forever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen,” Johnny repeats weakly, clenching his teeth against the urge to cry. To sob.

To throw himself onto the floor and mourn the loss of a life he’d had for years now, the life he’d fought so hard for. The life of a champion, of a winner, the life of a kid from Encino Hills. The life of someone normal, a leader, head dog even though he came into this life late, no rules established, flying blind and feeling his way into his place.

“You’re sure you’re okay, man?”

“I’m not,” Johnny chokes out. Hangs his head.

There are too many thoughts in his head, too much guilt and shame, and he can’t focus on one without the other flaring up to take his attention. Back and forth, back and forth, between Kreese almost killing him and Daniel’s sensei saving him and Daniel winning the match, to needlessly tormenting Daniel all semester and making a bigger ass of himself each and every time. Over and over, like it was on a loop.

“Do you want to pray again?” Bobby asks, voice dropping lower. “Sometimes it helps. The… repetition. Try to focus on the words this time. Focus on God. Let the spirit take you.”

Take me where? Johnny thinks, but he just tightens his hands around Bobby’s and nods.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

~

When Bobby leaves at the end of the summer to go to college in Oregon, a special school for religious studies, he leaves Johnny with his new number and a prayer book.

“If things get hard, turn to God,” he reminds Johnny. Pats Johnny’s back while they hug tightly. Johnny hasn’t been apart from Bobby since they became best friends at thirteen, both newly enrolled in Cobra Kai. “God has a plan for all of us, and you can find all your answers in the Lord, man. You just have to be open to hearing them even when they’re not the answers you want.”

Johnny keeps the prayer book. Says a prayer every night. Calls Bobby once a week, like clockwork, and stops drinking. He gets kicked out of Sid’s house when he turns 18 in July, gets a job as a handyman, then starts apprenticing for a carpenter, then starts working construction. It’s hard work but it’s honest work.

~

Every time his eyes turn to one of his coworkers, when they catch on the sweat and grime smeared over their muscles, or the curve of their ass, or the line of their jaw, Johnny recites one of those prayers in his head.

Dear Lord, please give me strength when I am weak, courage when I am afraid, love when I feel forsaken, wisdom when I feel foolish, comfort when I am alone, hope when I feel rejected, and peace when I am in turmoil. Amen.

Every time he gets asked out for drinks by his well-meaning colleagues, he politely declines and spends ten minutes praying in his car after his shift is over, hands blistered, muscles aching.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among sinners and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Every night, Johnny lays in bed and freestyles his prayers. God needs to know, he probably already knows, but he needs to know that Johnny doesn’t want to be like this. He wants to change. He wants answers. He wants to be open to them, just like Bobby told him.

~

“Go out tonight,” Bobby laughs when Johnny calls him on a Saturday at his usual time. “Just get out and have some fun. Go to a movie. Buy yourself dinner, whatever. Go meet someone. You’re just working and sleeping. You need to live a little, Johnny.”

Is that what God wants me to do? Johnny thought to himself. To go out and find a woman to settle down with? Is that God’s plan?

It’s what Johnny’s supposed to do, right?

“Okay, okay,” Johnny groans into the phone, ready to slam it back onto the receiver when Bobby whoops in elated triumph. “Some good, clean fun. Fitting for the best friend of a pastor’s son.”

~

Johnny goes to the movies. The new sequel to Alien, aptly titled ‘Aliens,’ looks halfway decent. Definitely not a good clean movie, but Johnny can live a little. It’s on its last leg, only playing the earlier showings, so Johnny snags the ticket since he figures he can be mostly alone that way. He loiters in the lobby trying to decide between popcorn or an overpriced box of candy to go with his soda. The bored teen behind the counter pops her gum and rolls her eyes as she waits for him to make up his mind.

He doesn’t fidget as he looks in the glass case, even as much as he wants to. It’s been conditioned out of him.

“Back straight, shoulders down, chin up, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Hey, can I get a large popcorn please?” comes a voice from beside him.

Johnny glances over, shaggy hair whipping around his face, and spots the one person he thought he’d never see again. Daniel LaRusso looks the same as he did before — a little taller, maybe, his long limbs filled out a little more, but still the shrimpy kid who kicked his ass.

Same eyes, same voice, same body.

Same mouth.

Dear Lord, please give me strength—

“Johnny? Johnny Lawrence?!” Daniel’s words cut through his prayer.

Johnny inhales sharply. He has to control himself. Give me the strength when I am weak, courage when I—

“Holy shit, man, look at you,” Daniel laughs, tapping Johnny’s bicep tellingly. A year-plus in construction had done wonders for his body, and his arms in particular. “Like a brick shithouse. Are you on steroids?”

“No, I work construction.” Johnny doesn’t know why his voice sounds so rough. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hi, LaRusso. Small world meeting you here, I guess.”

“Yeah, man! You here with anyone?” Daniel glances around, as if trying to pin someone else in the lobby to Johnny, but there was no one to match him up with. No one to match up Daniel with, either.

“No. You?”

“Flying solo today,” Daniel croons, running his hands down his chest. Johnny blushes and looks up at the ceiling.

Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee—

“What movie are you seeing?” Daniel asks, taking the tub of popcorn from the teen and passing a bill over the counter. He snagged a handful and popped a few butter-soaked pieces into his mouth.

“Uh…” Johnny glances down at his ticket. “Aliens.”

“No way! Me too!” Daniel says around chewing the popcorn. He pauses and looks at Johnny with his head cocked curiously. “You wanna watch it together?”

~

O, my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You. I detest all my sins because of your just punishments, but most of all because they offend you, My God, who are all good and worthy of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen.

~

The movie theater is empty. There’s butter on Daniel’s bottom lip, shining in the dimly lit room. Johnny licks it off in the black silence of the end credits.

Kissing Daniel feels like coming home. It feels like touching something divine, and Johnny’s stained gold in all the places they touch.

Is this God’s plan? Johnny asks himself. Daniel’s fingers tug at his hair, nails scraping gently over his scalp. Johnny pulls Daniel across the seat and into his lap as he swallows Daniel’s moan.

Below Johnny’s hands, Daniel feels like an answer.

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 8

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Taglist @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

CW for discussion of abuse and description of PTSD related flashback

Helping Gideon Lightwood visit old memories from his childhood was much harder than Alastair could have anticipated. Gideon did not know exactly where they would find the information they needed, so they had been visiting several memories where he thought he might have overheard something to do with his father’s dealings in the occult. There were several instances where Gideon had seen or heard something he hadn’t understood back then but did now. References to supernatural woman he was interested in mostly, it seemed like Benedict Lightwood had had an interest in sex with supernatural women.

So far nothing that might relate to what was happening to Thomas, though. There was an instant where Benedict Lightwood said something about a rival in business falling ill with an unsettling smile, where Gideon now realized that had been his doing, but they hadn’t yet figured out what creatures Benedict had made deals with beyond the women he’d bargained with for sexual favors. Alastair suspected the creature that might claim Thomas’ life had bargained for much more than sex. He couldn’t imagine giving up someone’s life for sex, whereas Alastair could picture a cold and heartless person such as Benedict Lightwood offering up someone’s life in exchange for money and power.

Part of the problem was that there were only so many of these memories Alastair could take and he was surprised Gideon was doing so well. It was a long time ago, of course, but Alastair couldn’t imagine ever being able to show someone else memories of his father. Not even those where he wasn’t drunk. He could talk about it, perhaps, but he could never show, he never wanted anyone to see just how defenseless he’d been.

Even seeing the memories of someone else’s neglectful father was difficult for him and the occasional racist comment brought back memories from school. Gideon surely didn’t agree with any of that, did he? Still, Alastair pushed through. This was important. This was for Thomas. He didn’t know if Thomas was right, if he was in danger, but Alastair knew he wasn’t going to let him die.

Gideon noticed after a while, it was getting difficult for him. ‘We can continue tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I can tell it’s not easy for you.’

‘I’m not used to visiting other people’s memory,’ Alastair said as an excuse. ‘That’s why I’m getting tired.’

He didn’t want Gideon Lightwood to think he was weak and he couldn’t take this. Entering other people’s memories being exhausting was at least believable.

Over the next week, he easily fell into this new routine. Mornings he would go with Thomas and take a walk. They explored the different trails in the forest, and talked about books, music, history, art. Alastair felt like he was getting to know Thomas better, and the more he did, the more he fell in love. Thomas had grown up handsome, tall and muscular, yes, but he was also kind, empathetic, and conversation with him was so easy. He had many interests, and could easily talk about them for a long time. Alastair had never liked small talk much, but neither did Thomas, so instead they soon found topics they were both interested in to discuss.

He would eat lunch with Thomas and his parents, and then continue with Gideon’s memory, always careful not to take it too far. It had to be difficult for Gideon as well, to go over memories of his father, but he didn’t show it. Perhaps he was just very good at concealing his struggle for his son’s sake. Alastair could respect that.

‘Alastair, maybe we should take a break,’ Gideon said after visiting a particularly difficult memory of Benedict yelling at Gideon and his younger brother when they’d interrupted him in some occult ritual. They’d been going over memories for a week now, but so far they hadn’t found the answers they were looking for. Hints, yes, and this ritual could point them into the right direction but right now neither knew what exactly Benedict had been summoning.

They copied everything they remembered about the ritual and wrote it down, and Alastair suspected Benedict Lightwood had been summoning some creature. It was very uncommon for humans to be able to do magic, the ability Alastair had was a rare exception. He imagined Lucie’s ability was a similar exception, whereas Thomas’ sight was a little more common, but still rare. But humans could make deals with benefactors for power, something that rarely ended well. So far, it seemed Benedict Lightwood had made deals with multiple beings, some less consequential and mainly about sex, whereas others had given him the power to make opponents fall sick which must have cost. He suspected there were multiple benefactors involved, something Alastair didn’t think was common. For some people, enough was never enough.

‘Are you alright?’ Alastair asked. ‘Those memories must be difficult for you.’

Alastair was still doing the best he could to conceal how distressed it was. It wasn’t his father, it wasn’t his memory, but he’d been looking through the eyes of Gideon Lightwood with his father yelling at him, experiencing it as if he was Gideon himself. He tried his best to push back his feelings, to breathe. He narrated to himself, describing the room and its contents in a desperate attempt to not lose control. That was something his therapist had taught him, a method to ground himself in reality and assure himself he was safe.

‘I’m fine,’ Gideon said with a small smile. ‘But I can tell using your ability is difficult for you, and I don’t think it’s just because using the ability is tiring. I noticed you tensed up a bit more with every memory we visited. And the last one… I did not realize how bad that one really was before reliving it and I’m sorry for exposing you to that.’

Alastair guessed he now knew why Thomas was so annoyingly observant. It ran in the family.

The memory didn’t really take him by surprise. Nowadays, Alastair could often tell when it was coming even if he hadn’t learnt how to control it. He was thirteen years old and had come home after a particularly bad day at school and all he’d wanted was some time alone to cry and listen to some very loud music. He’d been badly bullied at the time, but he hadn’t dared tell his parents about that. Cordelia hadn’t been at home, fortunately, playing with a friend, Lucie perhaps. But his father had, and he’d noticed Alastair shaking, the tears in the corners of his eyes he’d tried to conceal. His father had been drunk, as he was always drunk, but he’d still noticed how upset Alastair was. He’d started yelling at him, calling him weak and pathetic. At the time, Alastair had still hoped he would carry cortana someday and fight monsters with it, before the sword had chosen Cordelia and Alastair had realized he’d never really wanted it anyway. His father had yelled at him that he would never be worthy of cortana, that he was weak and would run away crying at the first sight of danger, that he’d never be anything but worthless.

‘Alastair!’

Deep down, Alastair realized it wasn’t real, it was a memory and his father wasn’t here. It felt real though. He could hear Gideon Lightwood’s voice, even if all he saw was his father, stumbling drunk.

‘Alastair, I need you to breathe, alright?’

Alastair tried to take a deep breathe, in and out, like he’d practiced many times before. He always struggled with this, purposely breathing tended to make him light in the head. Still, it was better than not breathing at all.

‘Tell me what you can see,’ Gideon Lightwood said.

‘I see my father, bottle in his hand,’ Alastair said with a trembling voice. ‘But that’s not real. It’s a memory. I am in the cottage, and my father isn’t here. You are here, and you’re talking to me.’

Slowly, the cottage’s living room returned and he was sitting on the couch next to Gideon Lightwood again, carefully breathing in and out in an attempt to maintain a sense of control.

‘I took it too far,’ Gideon said. ‘I am terribly sorry, Alastair. I truly didn’t realize how bad the last memory was.’

He felt his cheeks warm, ashamed to let Gideon see him like this. Most of the time, he’d been alone when such a flashback happened, or he’d had enough time to run to his bedroom or a bathroom or anywhere he would be alone. He knew rationally there was a good chance Gideon Lightwood wouldn’t think lesser of him, but a voice inside screamed at him that now everyone knew how weak he really was.

‘Do you want some tea?’

Alastair nodded, still focused on his breathing. ‘Not the English kind,’ he added.

He focused on his surroundings, told himself over and over that he was safe, that he was far away from his father and nothing bad would happen here.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said when Gideon returned with two cups of hot water and a selection of tea bags. It wasn’t his mother’s tea, but it would do.

‘This is not your fault,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s mine, and I’m sorry. I don’t think we should continue looking through my memories.’

‘But Thomas’ life might depend on it. And not all of them are as bad as that one.’

‘I do not remember enough to be sure a memory is safe for you and I cannot in good conscious expose you to more memories like that. We’ll find another way. Thomas wouldn’t want you to trigger your symptoms for his sake,’ Gideon said. ‘We got some information I still need to work out. I take it you haven’t often visited other people’s memories?’

‘I’ve known for some time I can enter other people’s memories as well as my own, but apart from with my family I’ve never done it,’ Alastair said. ‘It is very invasive. I can’t imagine how you could show your memories of you father to someone else.’

Sometimes he and Cordelia would watch movies in Cordelia’s memory, but beyond that he rarely visited other people’s memories.

‘It was a long time ago, and I can tell it hurt you much more than it hurt me,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s not easy, but for Thomas I can do this. I won’t ask more of you.’

‘I’m the only one I know of with this ability though,’ Alastair.

‘That’s not your fault, is it? Did you always have this ability? It was not given to you by something?’ Gideon asked.

‘As far as I know I’ve always had. I think I was seven, maybe even eight when I realized other people couldn’t revisit their own memories the way I do.’

The ability had always come natural to him even as a child, and he’d freely talked about it with classmates in primary school, leading to some very confused reactions. One time when he was five or six he’d tried to teach Cordelia how to do it, which had ended with her throwing a toy tea kettle at his head because she couldn’t do it and they were both getting frustrated. Back then his father had been very interested in his ability when he wasn’t drunk, and when he was eight he and his father had visited a memory of his father killing something monstrous in a forest in the United States, a horrifying deer like creature that had eaten a hiker. He still remembered the way it had gotten up on its hind legs, limbs all bending and twisting in the wrong way. How it had howled, the most horrifying sound Alastair had heard in his life. Alastair had had nightmares for weeks and his mother had been very angry with his father for showing him something like that when she found out.

In the years to come, his mother would yell at his father more often, but that never made him change, and she didn’t leave until Alastair was diagnosed with PTSD. She’d yell at him, beg him to go to a clinic. But his father had always refused, denied the problem, and Alastair had done the best he could to protect both his sister and his mother from him when he was drunk. He suspected even his mother had not truly seen how awful he could become when he was drunk, Alastair had made sure of that.. His diagnosis had been a wake up call for her. But at least she was safe now.

‘We need to know what being my father dealt with.’ Gideon sighed. ‘This would be much easier with his journals, but so far Tatiana ignored my calls.’

‘Perhaps if we look again,’ Alastair said. ‘Sometimes it helps to go over the same memory again, see if there’s something we missed. The details can make all the difference.’

‘No,’ Gideon said. ‘You just had a panic attack from my memories . It’s because of my father’s abuse, isn’t it? He brings up your bad memories of your own father. I won’t take you back into my memories, I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I… I know what it is like to grow up in a broken home. So if you want to talk, I’m here and I promise I’ll keep your secrets.’

Alastair was tempted to retreat in his shell, to refuse to talk about it as he always did, but he felt oddly comfortable around Thomas’ father. He was kind and empathetic, like his son, and he’d helped him through a flashback. He suspected Gideon Lightwood understood that being told his father was a hero and being a hero came at a price wasn’t kind, even if it wasn’t the same for him. It was very clear that Benedict Lightwood was not and had never been a good person, whereas even Alastair acknowledged his father had done good things once.

‘It seems unfair,’ Alastair said after a silence. ‘To complain about my father to you. From what I’ve seen, yours was worse.’

‘It is not a competition of who has it worse, Alastair,’ Gideon said. ‘My brother and I have both found our way to move on from everything that happened. We had each other, we had friends, a support system that could help us through it. I think that until recently, you have been very alone, and that makes it much harder.’

‘Thomas has been kind to me,’ Alastair said. ‘During our morning walks the past week, but he was also kind when we went to school together. I appreciate that.’

He hated to admit it even to himself, but he didn’t think he’d ever had friends beyond Thomas. In his childhood they’d moved around often and he’d gone to so many different primary schools that he’d never been able to make friends, and when he’d gone to secondary school he’d first been bullied badly, then turned to bullying others in a desperate and hopeless attempt to protect himself. The other bullies at that school might have considered him a friend, but Alastair did not. He knew these boys would have picked him as a target if he hadn’t shown how vicious he could be with his words. And at his last school, he’d simply stopped caring and kept to himself, just cruel enough to make sure the bullies knew better than to bother him.

‘I’m glad to hear you’re getting along with my son,’ Gideon said. ‘Do you have any other friends?’

‘My sister, Lucie occasionally although we’re not close,’ Alastair said. ‘That is all. I never knew how to make friends, and it didn’t help that other children always thought I was weird.’

Alastair had always been one of the smartest children in his class, and other children could be jealous. Some thought it was impossible that a brown boy was doing better than them. Others simply didn’t understand the things he was interested in. Then there had always been children who made fun of the weird food his mother had made for lunch until he’d resigned to eat school lunches even if those were usually terrible.

Alastair considered for a moment, but then continued. ‘I did have one other friend, from when I was fourteen until recently. We mostly wrote emails to each other, texted after a while. He was about six years older than me, and at the time he was the one person I thought I could trust. But I was wrong about trusting him.’

He wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal his relationship with Charles, but at least this would give enough context on why he’d been so unwilling to trust anyone. Charles had done the best he could to isolate him, positioning himself as the one person he could trust. Charles had discouraged him from coming out to aunt Risa, which he’d considered at the time, citing that Iran was very homophobic as a reason. But just because the laws in Iran were homophobic, didn’t mean all Iranian people were and both his mother and aunt Risa had been open to learn more. And because Charles had seemed so trustworthy, so caring, Alastair no longer knew how to be sure he could trust someone. Even now he was wary, there was a voice inside screaming to run, to get away before this ended badly. It also felt nice though, talking to someone who had grown up in an abusive household and had survived. If Gideon had, maybe he could too.

‘What happened?’ Gideon asked gently.

‘I’m not sure…’ Alastair began.

‘You don’t have to tell,’ Gideon said. ‘I know it can be hard to trust someone after having your trust broken so many times.’

Alastair took a deep breath. He wanted to trust Gideon, he really did. It must be so nice to have father like him. ‘He wasn’t just a friend, we were in a relationship. I thought it was everything I could want, and for a time the illusion of being loved was enough to push away the pain. I thought that just what love was like. I left him some time ago when I finally realized what he did wasn’t alright.’

‘You said he was six years older than you?’ Gideon asked.

‘Yes,’ Alastair said. ‘I was sixteen when I entered a relationship with him. I didn’t realize at the time that it was creepy that such an older man was interested in me. I thought it meant I was mature and was so flattered by his attention.’

‘It can’t have been easy to leave him,’ Gideon said.

Alastair stared for a moment. He didn’t expect people to understand that. Cordelia was sweet and caring but he didn’t think she really understood why it had taken him so long to leave. She had a point, why keep going back when every dismissal was like being struck with a dagger? Why keep falling for his praise when Charles would mock him only moments later? Alastair didn’t understand it himself either, only that he’d genuinely loved and worshipped Charles.

‘I had help,’ Alastair admitted. ‘Cordelia spent some time trying to convince me to leave. But even when I started recognizing just how bad he was treating me, I think part of me still longed for his praise.’

‘I think you are very strong, Alastair, that you could choose what was right for you and leave him.’

They were interrupted by Thomas, who entered the room carrying a bag of groceries. Alastair was once again struck by how beautiful he was. In school, Thomas had still been small and skinny and Alastair simply hadn’t noticed him that way. But he’d grown up tall and muscular. Yet his features were still refined and handsome for someone so tall. And he was so different from Charles. Kind, empathetic, a little insecure. Thomas didn’t think emotions were a weakness that needed to be concealed, Thomas would not mock him for feeling. Back at school he’d thought Thomas must have it so easy, to be so kind, but perhaps he was kind because that was what his parents had taught him. Alastair had learnt later that sometimes, the worst people were the ones who had it easy, the ones who had everything yet wanted more. People like Charles, or like Benedict Lightwood.

He wondered sometimes if Thomas liked men as well. So far Thomas hadn’t mentioned it, but he hadn’t mentioned any past or current relationships with girls either. He wondered if he could have a chance with him, with someone who genuinely seemed to care about him in a way Charles never had. To Charles he had simply been convenient, broken and isolated and very much willing to do whatever it took to keep his lover happy and satisfied, scared he might be abandoned if he did not. He imagined it would be different with Thomas, who was closer to his age. A relationship with him would probably feel more equal, exploring both their desires and needs, and not just his partner’s. Thomas was interested in what he had to say, in his opinions, his interests. Thomas could make him laugh, something he’d rarely done the past years.

‘Did something happen, Tom?’ Gideon asked.

Alastair had to agree Thomas looked a little distressed.

‘Yes, but perhaps it’s better if I show you,’ Thomas said. ‘Alastair, would you be able to help? If you’re not too tired, that is. I know it can be exhausting.’

Alastair had used his ability much more than he was used to, but suspected he could do this. However, he preferred to know what he was getting into. He didn’t want to see something that would trigger another flashback and definitely not in front of Thomas.

‘I can do it, but since I’m tired it would be easier if you told me what you saw before diving in.’

He wasn’t sure why he kept pretending it was just his ability. It was easier somehow, a more acceptable excuse. He doubted it was believable though.

Thomas nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I saw someone, and I thought I recognized aunt Tatiana. But now I’m not complete sure, and since dad will be much more likely to recognize her I think it’s best to show. And there was someone with her I don’t know. It’s not the first time either, I think I saw her a week ago but she turned away too quickly then and I didn’t realize… It’s probably best if I show the rest.’

Alastair nodded, and he concentrated to bring both himself and Gideon into Thomas’ memory. He saw the town’s grocery store through Thomas’ eyes, and he tried to slow down the memory.

When Thomas exited the grocery store, he saw a woman enter, a girl behind her. He didn’t think either of them noticed Thomas, whose gaze was fixated on the pair. The first woman was around forty, he guessed, long brown hair and light eyes. Alastair didn’t recognize her, but had to admit she resembled Gideon. The girl behind her didn’t look anything like the Lightwoods. She was unearthly pretty with long silver blonde hair and she wore a long white summer dress that left her shoulders bare. She had to be in her late teens, a daughter? So far Gideon had mentioned Tatiana had had a son, Jesse, who died, but he’d never mentioned her having any other children, nor had Thomas mentioned anyone else. And he’d just said he didn’t know who the girl was.

‘I’m not sure it was really Tatiana, I thought maybe I was just jumpy from everything,’ Thomas said. ‘And I have no idea who that girl could be.’

Thomas turned around and took the car back to the cottage and Alastair reversed the memory, focusing on the part where Thomas had looked at the pair. Gideon has turned pale.

‘That’s her. That’s Tatiana.’

‘But who is that girl with her?’ Alastair asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Gideon said. ‘As far as I know she had no children beside Jesse.’

Alastair took a good look at the girl, but couldn’t see anything unusual about her. Very pale blonde hair, a rosy pale skin, light eyes. She looked around sixteen, but had a perfect clear skin most girls that age didn’t have.

‘She looks kind of helpless,’ Alastair said. ‘The girl, I mean.’

‘I guess so,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you think she’s human?’

‘I’m not sure a supernatural creature could look so helpless next to a regular human woman,’ Alastair said. ‘If she was scared of something far more powerful than her, she’d probably look for another powerful being to protect her, not Tatiana. At the same time, there is something unearthly about how she looks.’

Alastair wasn’t sure what to make of her, but tried to take in as many details as he could. She was dressed in a white summer dress, wearing spotless white ballerina shoes and it occurred to Alastair that if she walked around on these shoes often, they shouldn’t be so white. Alastair was glad he wore mostly black as it didn’t stain as easily.

‘I’m not so sure she’s human,’ Gideon said. ‘I’ve seen a succubus visit my father, she reminds me of her. She’s younger though, but maybe succubae and the likes were children once too.’

They left the memory, returning to the living room of the cottage the Lightwoods had rented. Gideon added some things to his notes, describing the girl.

‘At least we are sure now it was Tatiana,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you think we should go talk to her, now that she’s here?’

‘If I can find out where she’s staying, yes,’ Gideon said. ‘But I think it would be best if I go see her alone, see if I can reason with her.’

Gideon left for the town to see if he could find his sister, promising he’d be back in time for dinner. Alastair hoped he would be safe, he didn’t trust Tatiana in the slightest. He understood why Gideon might want to give her a chance, he’d do the same if Cordelia turned against him. Not that he could picture that happening. She could be annoying, frustrated with him, but she’d never betray him.

Alastair decided to stay a little longer. Thomas wasn’t motivated to play chess anymore after a week of losing every game they’d played. Alastair guessed he made it too difficult, and instead opted for a game of ludo which led to much frustration on Alastair’s part. The dice seemed to favor Thomas.

‘I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re cheating,’ Alastair insisted.

Thomas threw his hands up. ‘How am I supposed to cheat. We both use the same die.’

Thomas threw the die and rolled another six. Unbelievable.

‘I’m done with this game,’ Alastair announced when Thomas had won.

‘You won at chess lots of times the past week,’ Thomas said. ‘I only won at this once.’

‘This game is stupid. You’re either cheating, or it’s just luck.’

Thomas smiled, and Alastair was very annoyed that his smile was so attractive. His lips looked soft, and Alastair very much wanted to know if they felt as soft.

‘I think you’re just a sore loser,’ Thomas said.

‘No I’m not,’ Alastair said indignantly. ‘I just don’t like it when games are solely luck based like this one.’

‘You didn’t dislike it before you lost,’ Thomas pointed out.

‘You really have to rub it in, do you?’

‘My sister Eugenia is worse,’ Thomas said. ‘Do not ever play monopoly with Eugenia, it will end in murder if she doesn’t win and she usually doesn’t.’

‘I never liked monopoly,’ Alastair said. ‘You know, the original monopoly was supposed to criticize capitalism. The modern version still does a pretty good job of showing why capitalism is terrible. Unfortunately, it goes over most people’s heads.’

‘In what sense?’ Thomas asked, and Alastair fell into a lecture on why capitalism was terrible.

Charles had been one of those people who insisted that capitalism wasn’t perfect, but it was the best system out there and modern society was only possible because of capitalism, which Alastair thought was stupid. Why assume any modern inventions were only possible because of capitalism and colonialism? When they were still together, Alastair had been very insecure in his own ideas and thoughts. Charles was so much older and wiser, he had to know better. After the break up, Alastair had realized that Charles’ ideas were stupid and mostly convenient to rich white men. He’d grown more confident in his own ideas since then, even if people tended to think he was radical.

‘You’re really passionate about this,’ Thomas said. ‘I like the way you light up when you talk.’

‘I hope you listened to what I said as well as how I said it,’ Alastair said.

‘I did, and you make some very good points,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I always thought we have to work within the system for change, but I admit I’m not expert.’

‘I’ve always been fascinated by political theory,’ Alastair said.

‘But you quit studying politics, right?’ Thomas asked.

‘Most other students didn’t take my ideas seriously,’ Alastair said. ‘Including my ex boyfriend. He wasn’t a student though, he’d already graduated by the time I started. And I’m fairly certain I don’t want to be a politician myself, having to deal with white right wingers all day is exhausting. I don’t know how to explain to them that you should care about other people.

But I spoke to some other students in the university’s multicultural association, and figured sociology might be a better fit for me, and I think doing research, figuring out new solutions and writing about them might be nicer. I’m not great at getting people to like me, let the people with better charm try to convince others I’m right.’

Alastair hadn’t socialized much, but he’d attended a couple of events hosted by the multicultural student association. Since many of the members of that association were Muslim, Alastair could be fairly certain there would be no alcohol there.

‘If it’s any consolation, I like you,’ Thomas said with another sweet smile that definitely made Alastair want to kiss him.

Charles had said the same thing at some point. With his habit of looking through memories, he tended to remember what people said word for word. But Thomas was so genuine in what he said, so open and honest, it wasn’t the same at all.

‘Really?’

‘Of course. You’re clever and passionate and you never make me feel weird or stupid for my interests. And I’m glad you decided to come here this summer, even if the circumstances aren’t as great as we’d hoped. If I’m going to die, I’m glad I had the chance to know you.’

Alastair took Thomas’ hand. ‘You’re not going to die,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you.’

[breaniebree]

What is your favorite moment of each ship in ASC ?

Hi, nuninho2000!

What a great question! This will take some thought!

Remadora -- I really love the moment he tells her that he's a werewolf and she's like "Duh" and Remus is completely baffled. One of my favourite lines is where Tonks basically tells him she thinks he's freaking out enough for the both of them:

He shook his head, swallowing slowly. Now that he had finally begun he was determined to get the words out. “The man’s name was Fenrir Greyback and he’s a notoriously well known and dangerous werewolf. I’m not notorious, but I am dangerous and… a werewolf,” he finished, lamely.

He tugged his hands away from her, marching into the kitchen, his hands in his hair again.

Tonks watched him march away from her and she followed him, spinning him around and slipping her hands into his back pockets again and holding him against her. “I know that already. So, what?”

Remus simply stared at her. “So what? That’s all you can bloody well say! I just told you that I’m a fucking werewolf!”

Tonks nipped at his bottom lip. “And, I figured that out already. Did you think I didn’t suspect when you always left me on the moon cycle? Your scars? Your possessive nature? I like a little danger, Remus. I’m an Auror.”

“Nymphadora, I am not a little danger! Do you have any idea what a creature like me can do? I can break through doors and walls with my strength! I can track you for kilometres, I can hear anything almost ten kilometres away. Look at me!” he exploded, pushing her away angrily and slapping his hands on his bare chest. “I did this! Me! I lock myself away and if I don’t take the Wolfsbane Potion without anything to hunt or to kill, I claw at myself; scratching my own skin off, clawing at myself in desperation! That monster lives inside of me! The wolf is inside of me all of the time! I am the wolf all of the time! The mask of the man just hides my true face. Do you understand? Why the fuck are you not freaking out?”

She moved towards him carefully. His eyes were wide and amber now, his hair tousled from his hands. He looked panicked, she thought, and even more like the sexy bewildered professor that she fancied. She placed her hands on his abs, sliding her palms along his rib cage, up his chest and over his shoulders.

“I think that you’re freaking out enough for the both of us to be honest,” she said teasingly, kissing the skin below his ear. “I like your mask, but I think that it’s time for you to take it off now.”

Remus stared at her in confusion. “Nymphadora, you’re not even listening to me!”

Tonks put her hand over his mouth. “No, you’re not listening and I’m pretty sure that’s a serious flaw in your personality. Are you honestly standing there waiting for me to change my mind about you?” His eyes flickered in pain before he masked it and her own eyes narrowed. “I’m a klutz, a complete spaz, if I’m honest with myself. I had hoped that I would grow out of it, but obviously it’s something that is part of me no matter what I do. The wolf is part of you and I think that it’s time that you get off your high horse and stop being so bloody ashamed of it.” -- Chapter 95 of ASC

Zeerius - hmm... I love a lot of moments with them. But I think one of my favourites is when he comes home after a full moon with Remus worried that Harry is still annoyed with him for not letting him go and he finds Harry sleeping on the sofa with Zee in the chair. He wakes up and she's making breakfast and wearing his clothes and he's just completely swamped with love over the normalcy of it.

Sirius rubbed his tired eyes as he unlocked the front door to Black Cottage and let himself inside. He stifled a yawn, smiling when Marauder came over to greet him, rubbing the dog behind the ears. “Good boy,” he whispered, “Did you keep Prongslet company all night, good boy.”

Marauder burrowed closer to him, eager for affection and Sirius pat him gingerly on the head, kicking off his shoes as he called Kreacher to him.

“How was he?”

“Kreacher did not stay. Master Sirius’ lady said she would stay.”

“What?” Sirius asked in surprise as his gaze zeroed in on Zee, stretched out across the armchair, his duvet burrowed around her, her mess of dark caramel curls hanging over the back of the chair. “Go back to Grimmauld Place, Kreacher, thank you.”

The elf vanished and he smiled at the image of ‘his lady’ curled up and walked over to her, bending his head to kiss her forehead and then he realized that Harry was stretched out across the sofa, glasses on the table next to an empty bowl of popcorn kernels with Lady Godiva sleeping in front of the couch as if keeping watch.

Sirius stared at the two of them, his heart quite literally swamped with love. He tenderly brushed Harry’s hair out of his eyes and kissed his forehead. He stood up, pulled his jumper over his head and tugged his tee shirt down in its attempts to ride up and then he lifted his son’s legs to plop himself onto the couch, putting Harry’s legs on his lap. He pulled the duvet close to him and punched one of the throw pillows into position next to his head and was asleep in minutes. [...]

Sirius woke up less than three hours later to the smell of bacon. He rubbed a hand over his face, grinning at the sight of boy and dog snuggled on the sofa. He carefully extricated himself from the couch, wrapped Harry up a bit tighter and bent to kiss him. He was so innocent and young looking when he was asleep and his heart ached for the little boy that used to want to sit on his lap and ask for slooches. He kissed him again because Harry was asleep and he could and then he snapped his fingers at Marauder who jumped down, shaking his fur, and followed Sirius into the kitchen. Lady Godiva was still stretched out next to the couch as if keeping watch. He let Marauder outside and then grinned at the image of Zee at the counter frying up bacon and sausage and scrambling eggs in his sweatpants rolled at the ankles and his favourite worn jumper.

He slipped his arms around her waist, kissing her ear and her neck. “How do you look so fucking incredible all of the time?”

She laughed and tilted her head to the side so that he could kiss her neck some more. “With flattery like that, I’ll give you all the extra bacon you want.”

He smirked and blew a raspberry on her neck and she laughed. “When did you get back?”

“Last night. I came straight over.”

“You stayed the whole night with him?”

Zee shrugged, smiling as he held her in his arms, swaying gently too and fro while she continued to fry the meat and scramble the eggs. “Harry and I had a movie marathon and he did some of his homework. I didn’t really feel like being alone and since you had run off all mysterious like, I thought we could keep each other company.”

“Sometimes my wife needs attention, Zee and my kids… I mean, I’m a wanted man.”

She snorted and elbowed him. “I already know Remus is your wife, you prat.”

Sirius grinned and kissed her ear. “Thank you. You didn’t have to stay with him last night, but… thank you. I didn’t really want to leave him alone, but I’m trying this whole ‘he’s not a little boy anymore so I should trust him just a bit’ parenting attitude.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

Sirius blew his hair out of his eyes and grinned, his arms still wrapped tightly around her waist. “Well, I don’t have him wrapped in a bubble yet so bully for me. I mean, this school year has been pretty easy going for him, outside of the Dementors, but with these Horcruxes and trying to figure out what the next step is, I just… sometimes I want to just hold him in my arms and never let go.”

Zee carefully put the scrambled eggs onto three plates along with the bacon and sausage before she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes and kissed him deeply.

“You are a wonderful father, Sirius Black, and Harry is very lucky to have someone as amazing as you loving him. But you do have to let him grow up. Even when it’s scary and terrifying and the thought makes you want to throw up at not being able to protect him all of the time, you still have to do it. But, he’s thirteen, not quite a boy, but not quite a man, and right now, you can still hold him close, but you have to learn to let go as well.”

Sirius kissed her, his hands sliding up her back to play with her messy curls, his lips on hers, his tongue meeting hers. He pushed her back up against the counter, lifting her hips to hold her up as he kissed her, hard and soft, long and deep as she sighed against him happily.

“Can you two at least snog in a room where the bacon isn’t?” Harry said, snatching the plate from behind the snogging couple with a grin. “I’d like to keep my appetite, thanks.”

Sirius smirked and cuffed Harry lightly across the head making his son grin. “Brat.” -- Chapter 123 of ASC

Hinny - Like Zeerius, I have so many moments I love with them. I love when Ginny kisses him when he's five and I love when Harry's in denial of his feelings for her. But one of my favourite scenes I've written is the one where they compare scars. I think it really shows the depth of their friendship, their relationship, and I just think it's totally sweet.

Ginny gently brushed his fringe off his forehead. “I remember everything about you, Harry.”

“I thought your parents would never let me back there. I thought Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus would send me away because I did freak things… that’s what… that’s what the Dursleys had told me.”

Ginny tenderly stroked his cheek and down his jaw with her knuckles. “In that memory I saw… you said that they beat you?”

Harry nodded. “That first night when Uncle Siri tried to give me a bath, I guess my whole back was cut up from the belt, it was about a week old, but they hadn’t been taken care of properly and they’d festered a bit. I have a few tiny scars on my back from it, barely noticeable.”

Ginny lifted his tee shirt and he shifted to show her four tiny white scratches that were vertical just under his shoulder blades. She leaned in, gently brushing her lips over each scar and he shivered before he pulled his tee shirt back down and turned to hold her back in his lap.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Ginny told him.

He shrugged, his fingers playing with the tips of her hair. “I didn’t know any different. I just knew that my parents had died and that they were my only relatives. They didn’t want me and made sure to tell me almost every day. I was a burden, a freak of nature, and they didn’t want my unnaturalness under their roof. I slept in the cupboard under the stairs. They’d lock me in the dark as punishment, and they would starve me. I remember being afraid to tell my dads that I was hungry or too afraid to get up in the middle of the night to use the loo… but Uncle Rem and Uncle Siri, they gave me a home and I never looked back.”

Ginny took his hands in hers and brought them to her lips. “Only look back at the good.”

“You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

She smiled, her hand brushing over the palm of his left hand. “How did you get this scar?”

Harry glanced down at his palm to see the thin white line in the centre. “Broke a glass when I was four and it wasn’t properly treated.”

Ginny nodded and rolled up her right sleeve to show him a small crescent scar on her elbow. “From when I fell off Charlie’s broom when I was eight. I told Mum I fell out of a tree.” At his grin, she pushed her shirt aside to show him the scar on her left shoulder. “And this is where Ron pushed me off the roof of the shed when I was seven and I landed on my arm on the side, tore it open pretty bad. Percy patched me up after I made him promise not to tell Mum, and then he helped me get Ron back by pranking him into thinking there were spiders in his bed. Percy and I snuck into his room in the middle of the night and put itching powder in his sheets so he woke up all red and covered in itchy spots and Percy told him that they looked like spider bites.”

Harry laughed. “That’s pretty evil. I remember that. When I came to stay we had to check every nook and cranny of his room before he’d let me turn out the light to go to sleep.”

She grinned. “Don’t mess with me.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said on a strangled laugh. He stared at her for a moment before he lifted up his tee shirt again to show her the long thin jagged scar in the centre of his back. “Horntail.”

Ginny rolled up the left leg of her pants to show him a tiny scar the size of a sickle just behind her knee. “Gnome bite.”

Harry pointed to the small scar near the elbow of his right arm. “Rogue Bludger.”

Ginny lifted her right arm to show him a tiny half moon scar under her elbow. “Fred clipped me with his toy broomstick and the wood broke and cut my arm.”

Harry bent his head and lifted his fringe to show her a tiny thin barely noticeable red line on the top of his head. “Fell out of the treehouse.”

Ginny pulled her sock off and showed him a small cut on the bottom of her heel. “Stepped on a cactus leaf that KJ snipped off her plant.”

“That’s fresh,” Harry said. “And it’s not going to scar.” He took her foot in his hand and bent his head to press a soft kiss to the cut, making her shiver.

“I ran out of battle wounds.”

He chuckled and kissed her foot again. “We’re we competing?” He touched the lightning bolt on his forehead. “I win — Horcrux.”

Ginny smiled, her fingers slipping under his tee shirt to slide up his chest. “Emotional scars don’t leave physical marks, but I know that you can feel those scars just the same. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Harry, but if you ever do want to talk about it, you know that I’m always here for you, right?”

Harry’s hands rested on her hips. “I know that.”

Ginny’s lips curved slightly before she leaned in and kissed him softly. “We can snog now if you’d like.” -- Chapter 217 of ASC

Romione - I don't write as much Ron and Hermione as I should. But I think one of my favourite scenes with them is when Ron is trying so hard to be the perfect boyfriend and not complain to her like he usually would and Hermione is like who is this? Where is my Ron?

Hermione snuck a glance over at Ron, admiring his tall frame as he walked next to her. She loved how attentive he’d been over the last month and a half. She loved how sweet and caring he’d been and most of all, she loved snogging him senseless. But she found herself missing the less agreeable Ron more than she wanted to admit.

The friend Ron would be complaining by now. They’d been in the bookstore for almost twenty minutes and while she had a stack of four new books that she was interested in, she was browsing without any real purpose, wondering how long she could spend in here before he complained. The fact that he hadn’t complained yet, worried her a bit.

Ever since they’d made their relationship official, he’d been the perfect boyfriend. Attentive and sweet. Affectionate and kind. He still made her laugh and complained about his homework, but he didn’t pick fights with her anymore either. She was making an effort to say things that would normally set him off. His blue eyes would spark in fire before he’d grind his teeth and not respond.

She hated that he didn’t respond.

It wasn’t that she wanted to argue with him. Who wanted to fight all the time? It was exhausting. It was just that fighting with Ron was… well, foreplay. The word surprised her when she admitted it, but she knew that it was true. She liked arguing with him. She liked watching his blue eyes fire up, the way his face would flush and the muscles in his neck would contract. She’d had more fantasies of shutting him up with her lips than she was willing to admit to.

But now that she had the opportunity to snog his brains out when they fought, he never fought back. It was a contradiction she hadn’t expected.

They spent another thirty minutes in the bookstore before she bought the four books in her hand and led him outside.

“It’s so lovely in there, maybe we should browse around a bit more?”

Ron’s mouth twitched. “Or we could go for a walk, maybe hit up Zonko’s?”

“I’d rather go back to the bookstore,” she said, smiling at him. “We can look at the romance novels again.”

Ron looked like he wanted to do just about anything else. “Um, yeah, I guess, if that’s what you want.”

“Ron, stop letting me do what I want!” Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Ron only stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“This! The bookstore! I love it there!”

“I know,” he said. “You love books. They’re like your happy place, I get it.”

“But you don’t like books!”

Ron frowned. “I have nothing against books. I just don’t see the appeal of spending hours looking at them. It’s a colossal waste of time.”

“But you just spent fifty minutes letting me do just that! And now, when I mentioned going back inside, you immediately agreed to do so!”

“Because you said you wanted to!”

“Ron, if this relationship is going to work, you can’t just do everything that I want all the time!”

Ron was looking at her as if she had two heads. “So, you don’t want me to go to the bookstore with you?”

“Of course I do! I want you to do things with me that I love!”

“That’s what I’m doing!”

“But I don’t want you to!”

Ron gave her a confused a look. “I’m not a Seer, Hermione. If you have a problem you have to bloody well say it.”

“You’re being too nice to me!”

Ron looked positively dumbfounded. “What do you want from me? I’m trying here, okay! I’m trying to be the man you deserve and doing the things that you want to do to make you happy! And now you’re telling me that I shouldn’t do that? What do you want me to do? Drag you into Zonko’s under protest? Tell you that I have no desire to spend another minute in that sodding bookstore!”

“Yes!”

Ron shoved his cold hands into the pocket of his coat. “I don’t understand you. You’re mental!”

Hermione gave him a light shove. “Don’t call me mental!”

“Don’t act mental, then!” Ron retorted. He grabbed her arm before she could shove him again.

“Why are you like this?”

“Why are you like this?” Ron repeated. “Merlin knows I don’t know how to act when you become a mental shrew!”

“Daft prat!”

“Sassy witch!”

“Absolute tosser!”

“Mental bint!”

“Wanker!”

Ron grabbed her, ignoring the way she hit his arm and pulled her up against him, his voice low. “Absolutely, when I’m thinking about you.”

Hermione’s face flushed. “Ron!”

He tilted his forehead down to hers. “Why are we screaming at each other? Aren’t we supposed to be done fighting now?”

Hermione slid her hands up his chest, linking them behind his neck. “Says who?”

She pulled his face down to hers to kiss him and he made a growling sound in his throat as he lifted her. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he held her and she lost herself in his kisses. A part of her was very aware of the fact that they were only a few metres outside of the bookstore, in the middle of the street where anyone could see them. But another part of her wanted his lips on hers more than she wanted to take another breath, let alone think about the embarrassment of their very public displays of affection. When her mouth moved down to his throat, she felt the hardness against her and she smiled, suddenly feeling more bold.

“Is fighting with me turning you on?”

“No,” he insisted, his hands sliding down to boldly cup her bum. “Absolutely not.”

Hermione slapped his hands off her bum and slid down his body. “Ron, we don’t have to agree on everything. We don’t have to always do the things that I want to do or the things that you want to do. If we’re going to make this work, we have to go back to how we were. My friend Ron would never have let me mosey around a bookstore for almost an hour. He would have cut me off at twenty minutes and made me leave to go to Zonko’s.”

Ron pulled her close again and kissed her. “I guess I’m just wondering if as your boyfriend if I do something like that, you’d stop snogging me.”

Hermione nipped at his lips, a soft smile on her face. “I have no plans of that. Do you plan to stop snogging me?”

“Hell no,” he muttered, his lips moving to her ear. -- Chapter 252 of ASC

Feo - Theo and Finn, they do have a lot of moments together, mostly smutty which we all love (or maybe just me LOL 🤔). But one of my favourite moments I wrote with them is actually one of the smutty ones. I absolutely love the scene where Finn takes him against the window of the study in Norfolk Manor.

But he also didn’t want to leave Finn.

He’d gotten used to waking up wrapped in his boyfriend’s arms. He loved the support Finn gave him; the calming way he had about him. Finn was always assuring him that everything would be okay. He’d gotten used to Finn being there day after day and the thought of going back to school and only seeing him on the weekends was more painful than he could bear.

As if he’d heard him, arms encircled his waist from behind and a warm mouth pressed against the side of his neck.

“How was the session today?”

“Good. Really good,” Theo told him. He turned his head to kiss him. “Did you just get back?”

Finn nodded and began to unbutton Theo’s shirt. “I did.”

Theo chuckled as his dress shirt was spread open and Finn began to work on his black trousers. “Let me take off my Wizengamot robe first.”

Finn’s mouth sucked on his ear so sharply that Theo felt the sensation between his legs as he pushed Theo’s trousers down, followed by his boxers. “No.”

Then his hands were all over and Theo felt a whoosh of magic as suddenly all of his clothes were gone except for the open purple robe. Finn turned him around and knelt in front of him. He started with soft kisses on his thighs, on the back of his knees, and then his mouth was wrapped around him and Theo could do nothing, but hold onto his boyfriend’s hair as he pleasured him.

Finn’s mouth brought him right to the edge before he stood up, kissing Theo’s cheek and turned him around towards the window. Theo groaned when he smelt the oil and then his boyfriend’s hands were doing the most delectable things to his arse.

“Finn...” he begged. “I want to touch you.”

Finn ignored this and Theo groaned when he felt his boyfriend’s finger rock into him. Then Finn was tugging his clothes off and Theo caught a glimpse of his boyfriend’s reflection in the window standing gloriously naked behind him before Finn pushed him up against the glass, and slid into him.

Theo cried out at the intrusion and then there was nothing but pleasure. Finn’s hands slid around to grip him, pumping him in rhythm with every thrust. His thumb stroking under the head, circling and tugging, and it wasn’t long before Theo cried out his name as he came all over the window pane. Finn rode him harder, pinning him against the glass. One hand continued to gently fondle Theo’s spent cock, the other held his hip as he thrust himself forward. Theo was panting, the pleasure building more and more as Finn’s lips brushed the back of his neck and then Finn panted his name as he emptied himself.

Theo sighed in contentment when Finn slid out of him. Finn’s arms turned to pull him into his embrace and they stumbled towards the sofa in the library, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“So, you like my robe then?”

Finn chuckled against Theo’s hair as he snuggled him closer on his chest. “Yes. More than I expected. You look incredibly sexy in it. Proud and confident and it makes me think of all of the great things I know you can accomplish. Then it makes me think of how much I want to be part of your life while you do those things. Then I just want you. All of you. I’m so proud of what you’re doing, Theo.”

“You make me want to aspire to be more,” he said.

Finn gently brushed Theo’s hair away from his face. “I love you.”

Theo smiled and kissed Finn’s chest before he froze, eyes widening as they locked onto his boyfriend’s green ones. “Finn! I think Blaise was in the bloody garden!”

Finn grinned. “He was. He disappeared rather quickly when he caught sight of us in the window.”

Theo blushed scarlet. “And I... I can’t leave that mess on the window for Kiki.”

“Mmm,” Finn said absently, running his hand down Theo’s chest and down to grip him in his hand.

Theo groaned as he felt Finn revitalize him with magic. “I only would have needed a few more minutes, you know.”

Finn shifted him so that he was under him on the sofa. “I know, but I need you in my mouth right now.”

Theo gasped as Finn did exactly that and he again wondered how he was going to survive the whole school year without seeing this perfect man every day. -- Chapter 236 of ASC

Deamus - Dean and Seamus, I did play around with them a lot. They have a lot of moments I like as well. I love how much they are friends first and lovers second which I think says a lot about their relationship. I love writing them playful and teasing the way best mates are, but to still show how passionate they are for each other. I love how they don't just say "I love you" but that it's "I really love you." I don't know, I think that sums them up really well.

“Ditto. I really love you, Seamus. How often can a bloke say that he’s in love with his best mate?”

Seamus reached for the soap to help his boyfriend wash up as he spoke. “I really love you, too.”

Dean smiled as Seamus washed his chest. “I finished Katie and Jason’s engagement portrait last night.”

“You did? Why didn’t you show it to me?”

“Well, probably because you crawled into bed, climbed on top of me, and snogged my brains out.”

“Oh? I did do that, didn’t I? Maybe if you’d tell me how good my new muscles look, I wouldn’t feel so self-conscious.”

Dean ran his hands over Seamus’ flat stomach where the beginning of abs were coming in. His constant workouts with the Gryffindor Quidditch team had really done wonders for his body over the last few months. “You don’t have a single self-conscious bone in your body.”

“Sure, I do! Now, tell me how sexy I am.” -- Chapter 262 of ASC

Bleur - They have a lot of moments too, most are with family. And I know I had a lot of lovely compliments on the last Bleur scene where she basically tells him she doesn't care how he looks because she loves him. But one of my favourites is actually their first kiss. I like the way Fleur is very into him while at the same time being like, I'm more than just a pretty face and you will know that about me and respect me.

“Did you still want to grab some dinner and discuss the new project tonight?”

Fleur smiled warmly at him. “Oui. I caught up on some reading of za history we found in Anguilla ze ozzer day and I might have come up with a new plan to open za cursed box we found in za ship.”

Bill grinned. “Great. I can’t wait to hear your idea. I want to talk to you about the new project the goblins are trusting us with as well. We’ll be heading down into the London Catacombs. Have you ever been?”

She shook her head. “Non, but I was in ze ones in Paris. Zey are very terrible, I theenk.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure going down there isn’t going to be a walk in the park. It’s definitely going to involve some cleanup as well. We’ll talk more over dinner. How does Italian sound?”

Fleur moved closer to him as more people climbed onto the train. “It sounds très bon.”

Bill’s breath hitched slightly as her body pressed into his and her pheromones assaulted him. He saw the man’s eyes change behind her and he immediately wrapped his arms around her in a possessive fashion that surprised him.

“Miss, may I —”

“— No,” Bill growled. “Run along.”

The man’s eyes met his and he seemed to come out of his trance.

Bill looked down at Fleur, who’s blue eyes were staring up at him. “Sorry, I don’t like seeing men throw themselves at you like you’re up for auction.”

“You never do.”

“I never do what?”

“Zrow yourself at me like ze ozzers.”

Bill’s eyebrow rose. “We work together. I respect you too much to allow myself to act like an imbecile.”

Fleur stood on her toes, her lips brushing his cheek. “You theenk I cannot tell ze difference?”

The feel of her lips on his cheek made his whole body tremble in response. He moved his arms away.

“Fleur…”

“I know zat you find me attractive, n’est pas?”

“Of course I find you — you’re beautiful! That’s not the… we work together.”

Fleur smiled seductively. “And zis makes you not want to kiss me?”

Bill stared at her, his fingers twitching at her waist. “No.”

Fleur moved away from him, her eyes flashing in hurt before she masked it. “Je suis désolé, my mistake.”

Bill swore under his breath. Being around her was harder than he wanted to admit. She was incredibly beautiful, that was a given. She smelt like heaven and when she laughed, her eyes danced and her lips parted in the sweetest way. She was smart and creative and her willingness to learn intrigued him. She picked up on things fast and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, was one of the best new recruits he’d ever had.

The fact that being around her made him as hard as rock was another situation all together.

They stepped off the train and Fleur started moving across the platform. He grabbed her arm, roughly pulling her back into his arms. Her lips parted in surprise and her eyes widened as he simply bent his head to hers.

The moment his lips touched hers, he knew that it had been a mistake. Now that he had kissed her, no one else was ever going to make him feel like this; no one else would ever come close. He tugged her closer, his hands moving into her hair, deepening the kiss and when she moaned against him, it was enough to pull him out of his trance.

Her cheeks were flushed and her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes.

“If you think that I don’t think about doing that a few thousand times a day along with a few naughtier things then you’re stupid.”

Fleur’s eyes flashed in anger. “‘Ow dare you call me stupid!” Her fists hit him angrily on the arm.

“I didn’t mean — fuck!” He dragged his hand over his face. “I think that you’re far from stupid, Fleur. You’re one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. One of the bravest as well and the sexiest. I just meant… of course, I’m attracted to you. You’re bloody gorgeous! I love the way that your eyes dance when you laugh. I like watching your little booty dance when you bypass the puzzle piece when we’re exploring. I like spending time with you and I spend most of my time with you trying to convince myself why I can’t touch you. You have men throwing themselves at you all the time, even some women. I don’t want you to think that what I’m saying is because of your Veela thing — because it’s not.”

Fleur stepped towards him, her eyes softening. “I can tell ze difference, Bill. I want you to touch me.”

Bill’s breath hitched. “You do?”

She nodded. “I want you to kiss me again.”

He did. Long and deeply until someone whistled at them and he broke away, smiling at her. “Will you go out with me, Fleur?”

She smiled. “Oui, but if you call me stupid again, I will make you wish you hadn’t, oui?”

Bill grinned widely. The fact that he just found her threat as incredibly sexy as the rest of her made him question his own sanity. “Oui.”

But he couldn’t wait to find out what came next. -- Chapter 189 of ASC

Georgelina - George and Angelina are fun to write because I love the idea of someone loving George for who he is and not comparing him to Fred. I love how when he takes her to the Yule Ball, she knows he's not Fred, but he's afraid to hope because as much as he loves his twin, this is the first time in his life he wants someone to really see him as separate from Fred. Angelina does that. I love her friendship with Fred as well and how she's not afraid to tease and poke at him. But one of my favourite moments with them is still when Molly shows up at the twins' flat and finds Angelina in the closet.

George woke up slowly, the early morning sunlight reflecting through the small dingy window of his bedroom. He blinked a moment before he turned to smile at the woman sleeping next to him. Her dark hair was swept up in a silk head wrap, but he was greeted by the lovely nakedness of her back. He grinned, shifting so that he could plant kisses down her spine. She stirred under his lips and when she rolled over, he merely moved his lips to her breasts.

“Good morning,” he murmured as his mouth continued to plant kisses over her skin.

“Morning,” Angelina said, her fingers moving into his hair. “What time is it?”

“Still early,” George answered, sucking the dark peak into his mouth.

“Mmm, the sun comes up late in the winter, so that’s not true.”

George chuckled and looked over at the clock. “Almost nine.”

“Nine... and you’re still here?”

“I’m closing the store tonight so Fred agreed to open. There were some early deliveries to the Ministry that needed to be shipped off. You look delectable.”

Angelina chuckled as his stubbled jaw slid down her stomach. “I doubt that. But after I shower, eat your heart out.”

George’s lips curved and her thumb reached down to trace his lips.

“I love that smile. The one that lights up your whole face. Especially when I’m the one who gives it to you.”

“You always make me smile,” George told her. “You’re still coming with me on Sunday?”

Angelina tugged his face up to hers to kiss him. “Even if I didn’t want to, your mum would insist on it.”

George chuckled. “She likes you.”

“Well, she thinks I'm a good influence on you because you wrote your NEWTs.”

“But you’re a bad influence,” George finished. “Downright naughty in fact. Seducing her son all over London without a care in the world. Tut tut tut.”

Angelina grinned. “In my defence, her son wasn’t putting up much of a fight.”

George kissed her, covering her body with his. “None whatsoever.”

Angelina’s hands slid down his back and into his pyjama bottoms. “When did you put on clothes?”

“When I got up to use the loo a few hours ago,” George said. He used her momentary distraction to kiss her breasts again.

“It’s not like you have something he hasn’t seen before,” Angelina pouted, her hand wrapping around him

George smiled. “True. But you know how Fred is, knowing that I’m the better looking twin is one thing, but seeing me in all of my naked glory is something else entirely.”

She laughed. “Prat. You’re ridiculous”

“And you’re beautiful. I love you, Ange. I love you more every day. You make me so happy.”

Angelina kissed him deeply. “Me too. My teammates say that I’m always smiling and that’s because of you. I love you.”

George deepened the kiss as her hands fondled him just as Fred’s voice interrupted them.

“Oi! You two decent? I’m coming in!”

George barely managed to cover Angelina’s tits before the door to his room burst open. “Fred, boundaries!”

Fred shrugged. “I’ve seen it all before. Right, Angelina?”

Angelina scowled at him. “Walking in on me in the bathroom hardly counts as seeing it all.”

“Which was an accident and I am truly sorry for that, but listen!”

“Who’s running the shop?” George interrupted.

“Ron, nitwit. He’s home for the holiday. Now, I received another shipment of mirrors in and I think that after this batch we’ll be able to sell them. I know with all of the supplies we were making for the Ministry, we got a little backlogged, but this is it, Georgie!”

George grinned. “Yeah?”

Fred nodded, leaning against the doorjamb. “I figure we’ll gift one to Charlie and to Mum and Dad, because that will make us Mum’s favourite, and starting in the new year, VainMuch will be a go!”

Angelina sat up, holding the sheet over her breasts. “And it was important for you to tell us this right this very second because...”

Fred wiggled his eyebrows. “That was just to help cool you off because Mum’s on her way up and I don’t know how much longer Ron can distract her.”

Fred had barely turned around before George and Angelina jumped to their feet and attempted to find clothes. Angelina had just pulled one of George’s G jumpers over her head before George urged her into the closet to hide at the sound of Mrs Weasley stepping into the boys’ flat.

“Mum!” George exclaimed loudly in front of the closet door. “What a pleasant surprise! What are you doing here?”

“Hi, George,” Molly said, standing on her toes to kiss her son’s cheek. “Ron and Fred were just showing me the new stock. The store is really looking grand!”

“We told you that we knew what we were doing amidst the explosions and general chaos.”

Molly nodded. “I should have had more faith in you boys. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Fred said as George smiled next to him.

Molly pursed her lips. “I’m sure that you’ve both heard by now what happened a few days ago in Hogsmeade. Theo is staying with us for the holiday. I don’t want that poor boy to be alone in his grief. He needs friends and he needs family.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” George said. “Want us to come by and cheer him up then?”

“This isn’t the sort of thing one cheers up, George,” Molly insisted. “We just have to be there for him as much as we can be and show him that the world will go on, no matter how much he thinks it may not!”

George nodded. “We can do that.”

“Good. Now, is Angelina still joining us for Christmas?”

“On Christmas Eve,” George corrected, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pyjama bottoms. “I’m going to have dinner on Christmas Day at her house.”

“Oh, but George that means you’ll miss Charlie.”

“We’ll pop by after dinner. Her family does Yule at tea time.”

“Good,” Molly said, her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think that it’s about time you pick up after yourself in here, George? It looks like a pigsty!”

George shrugged. “Just a place to sleep, Mum.”

“Well, this ‘just a place to sleep’ needs to be cleaned. No, not cleaned — decimated!”

George grinned. “Mum, that’s a bit extreme. It’s not like we have mice living about. It’s just some old clothes on the floor. Fred and I moved out, remember? We can take care of ourselves.”

“Hmm,” Molly murmured as she began to move around the room and pick up her son’s clothes. “At least pick your clothes up off the floor. Dirty socks and piles of unwashed clothes and this?”

George swallowed when she pointed to the black and white striped bra on the floor. “Er. I sometimes like to wear those.”

Molly rolled her eyes before they suddenly narrowed at the closed door behind her son. “George Fabian Weasley, are you making that poor girl hide in your closet?”

She pushed him aside and pulled the door open and Angelina managed a small smile.

“Er, hi, Mrs Weasley.”

Molly looked between the two of them. “Do you two think that I was born yesterday? At your age I was already pregnant with my second child. Come out of there!”

Angelina carefully extricated herself from the closet, pulling George’s jumper down a bit. It almost hung to her knees, but it was all she was wearing.

“Are you angry?” Angelina asked, hesitantly.

Molly’s eyes were kind as they looked at her. “No, of course not, dear. You two are no longer children. And considering some of the ways that Bill and Charlie concealed their overnight guests, the closet is kind of funny.”

“You knew about those?” Fred asked from the doorway.

Molly turned to stare at her son. “A mother always knows. Just like I knew about Melinda Cummings sneaking down the drain pipe under your room two years ago, Frederick.”

Fred swallowed. “Blimey!”

George gave his mother a sheepish smile. “I love her, Mum.”

“I know that, too. Angelina, dear, please don’t let him live like a slob. I’ll see you boys tonight for dinner and you too, dear. You’re always welcome.”

She kissed them all on the cheek and then was gone.

Fred stared after her in wonder. “You don’t think she knew about the time Alicia and I shagged behind Dad’s work shed, do you?”

Angelina slipped her arm around George’s waist. “I wouldn’t bet against her.” -- Chapter 254 of ASC

Nevannah - Neville and Hannah are still very much exploring their relationship, but to choose one moment between them so far... I think I rather like the scene where he helps her bake. I think it's so sweet and shows how enraptured he is with her.

Neville licked his lips and watched her get to work. It wasn’t long before the lemon fairy cakes were baking and she started to make red velvet ones. By the time the fairy cakes were cooling, they were making frosting. He watched in amazement as she waved the spatula over each cake like an artist. His own attempt in comparison looked like a small child had stomped on it.

Hannah giggled. “It’s all about the movement in the wrist, like this.”

He watched her again frost a perfect cake and when he tried, he ended up with a splotch of frosting on the table next to him. When she giggled again, he scooped it up with his finger and put it on her nose.

Hannah’s eyes widened in surprise before her own finger dug into the chocolate and spread it on his cheek. It took no time at all before both of them were spotted in frosting. Hannah was laughing as he chased her around the kitchen, his fingers full of frosting. The house-elves were busy chasing after them, mopping up the frosting that they left in their wake, but neither of them noticed. Neville cornered her against the counter by the cupboard and leaned in to steal a kiss.

“You taste like chocolate,” he whispered.

Hannah’s hands slipped up his chest, spreading frosting as she went, but neither of them noticed as her lips met his. They lost themselves in long, slow kisses that left both of them breathless and it was only when the charm rang to signify that the fairy cakes were done, did Neville pull away, licking frosting off his lips.

“I think I rather like baking.”

Hannah’s cheeks flushed as she fumbled to wipe her hands on her apron. “We have to um… the cakes.”

Neville watched her hurry off to get the red velvet cakes out and he grinned. Yeah, he definitely liked baking. -- Chapter 268 of ASC

Perdrey - As to Percy and Audrey, well, I love writing the two of them being naughty and having fun. I think they are both very good for each other, but my favourite moment with them so far is still when Arthur catches them kissing and Percy is amazed at how easily she charms his father. I think that's the moment where you can see he's falling for her.

Audrey ran her hands through her hair as Percy buried his face on her shoulder. “I’m starved, but this was a much better lunch.”

He kissed her shoulder. “You’re going to be the death of me. This is how we’re both getting fired.”

She grinned. “Worried you’ll get caught in a compromising position?” She fixed his crooked glasses. “I’ll protect you.”

“You can’t just send me your knickers in the middle of the bloody day!”

“I can,” she said. “I did. Are you going to give them back?”

“No,” he growled. “Absolutely not.”

Audrey smiled. “So, you do like it when I send you my knickers.”

“Audrey...”

She grinned. “That’s what I thought, Mr Weasley.”

Percy sighed as she kissed his chin. “Miss Mayfair, you will be appropriately punished later today for this misbehaviour.”

“Absolutely, Mr Weasley,” she murmured against his neck. “I may have borrowed a pair of handcuffs from the office.”

Percy grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged her mouth back to his for a long, deep kiss that left both of them breathless. They stumbled out of the unused restroom like drunks, giggling and laughing. Audrey had just kissed him once more when he heard a familiar voice clearing their throat behind him. Percy rested his forehead against Audrey’s before he slowly turned his head and grinned sheepishly at his father.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Percy,” Arthur said, his ears reddening. “This must be the lovely Audrey.”

Audrey extended her hand. “Good afternoon, Mr Weasley. Audrey Mayfair, it’s lovely to meet you.”

“And you,” Arthur said, shaking her hand. “I’ve wondered about the woman who has made my son smile constantly over the last few months.”

“I’ve been keeping him to myself, I’m afraid,” she said, smiling up at Percy.

“We’ve noticed that as well,” Arthur said.

“How did you get roped into working on a Saturday?” Percy asked.

Arthur sighed. “I’m woefully behind in my paperwork. I came down here to log in some evidence in the Department of Files and Records. What are you two doing down here?”

“I was working on something for Mr Scrimgeour in courtroom ten. Percy came to steal me for lunch,” Audrey said, smiling up at her boyfriend.

Arthur smiled. “There’s a new deli that opened down the block. I had a corned beef sandwich on rye yesterday. It was almost as good as your mother’s. Speaking of, Ginny and Ron are coming home for the holiday today, Percy. Charlie and Aydin are coming in tonight as well. Why don’t you bring Audrey round for dinner tomorrow? We’d love to have you join us. Molly’s quite the cook.”

“I’d love that,” Audrey admitted, smiling at Percy.

Percy nodded. “Yes, Dad. That sounds… great.”

Arthur chuckled. “Good. We’ll see you then.”

When Arthur turned to head off, Audrey kissed Percy smartly on the lips before she hurried forward and linked her arm through Arthur’s.

“Actually, Mr Weasley, we’re going up to the same floor and I need to grab my bag. Perhaps I could accompany you back to work?”

Arthur’s eyes crinkled. “I’d love that.” He patted her arm gently before Audrey turned to smile back at Percy over her shoulder.

“I’ll meet you in the atrium in a bit and we’ll grab something from that deli, yes?”

Then the two of them marched off ahead.

Audrey smiled warmly at Arthur. “Percy tells me that you run the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. That must be terribly fascinating?”

“It has its moments,” Arthur assured her as the two of them marched off leaving Percy staring after them.

Percy shoved his hands into his pockets, the feel of her knickers there making him smile, and he thought so much for careful planning. Audrey was about to be shoved into the lion’s den.

He was surprised by how much he was suddenly looking forward to it. -- Chapter 266 of ASC

Lavenmae - I think my favourite scene with these two is when they tell Parvati that they are a couple.

“There you two are!” Parvati exclaimed. “Our parents barely said goodbye and you were running off towards the train, Mae. Hi, Lav!”

“Hi, Vati,” Lavender said.

“I just wanted to find a good compartment,” Padma told her sister. She started to get up to move, but Lavender grabbed her arm.

“No, she wanted to come and snog her girlfriend.”

Parvati laughed. “You finally found someone to fall for your charms, Mae? That’s great news! Unless you tell me it’s Li or Bones then we’re going to have words after how those two treated you.”

Lavender slipped her hand back into Padma’s and smiled. “No, it’s… Padma and I are together, Parvati. I’m her girlfriend and she’s… mine.”

Parvati’s eyes widened in surprise as she looked between her best friend and her twin. “You two! When did… Anthony’s party! Of course! I knew something had changed between the two of you.”

“We didn’t mean to keep it from you,” Lavender began. “It’s just that it was new and… it’s still new, but… Parvati, you’re my best friend and I know that this is weird, me dating your identical twin sister, but —”

“— I didn’t say that it was weird,” Parvati interrupted. “Padma, have anything to add?”

Lavender snuck a glance over at Padma and the girl’s dark eyes were smiling at her and then she grinned widely when Padma leaned in and kissed her softly before she answered.

“Kissing her makes me feel like I could be floating without a levitation charm.”

Parvati grinned. “Good. Now budge over and try to keep the enthusiastic snogging to a minimum when I’m around, yeah?”

Lavender blushed, but couldn’t stop smiling. Padma Patil was her girlfriend and suddenly, nothing else really seemed to matter. As she listened to her best friend start talking about her plans for the year, she knew that she still had a big goofy grin on her face and there was nothing that she liked better. -- Chapter 238 of ASC

Gransy - This is a couple I adore writing! I thought it would be so fun to add in two people we don't usually get to see much of, two people who you would never imagine getting together, and I love how many people have grown to love them as much as me. I think my favourite moment with them so far hasn't actually been published yet but it will be in chapter 284. I think it really shows a turning point in their relationship. Otherwise, I love the scene where he finds her the door.

The sound of movement in the doorway made her look up at her husband.

“How was the meeting?”

“Okay,” he said. “Did you remember to eat?”

“Yes. Mitzy brought me a sandwich and a salad.”

Greg nodded, clearing his throat. “Good. Um… I think I found a door for the shop.”

Pansy’s eyes widened. “You did? Where?”

“An antique place in Muggle London.”

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Why were you in Muggle London?”

“I was doing something for the Dark Lord,” he said. “But I found the door. It’s wood and painted a deep turquoise green with gold inlets carved into it. I thought it looked… sophisticated.”

Pansy’s smile widened. “Can I see it?”

Greg offered his hand to help her up and led her into the entrance hall where he had the set of double doors propped up against the wall.

“Greg! It’s perfect!” she shrieked.

It was sophisticated looking and it would make her shop stand out among the vast assortment of places in Apricity Lane.

“Good. I’ll get it installed in a few days." -- Chapter 270 of ASC

Thanks so much for this ask! It was fun to take a trip down memory lane!