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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 2 years

Text

Up To No Good

Druig x (f)eternal reader

Summary: After stopping the Emergance and practically saving the world. You decide to live with Druig and some of your fellow Eternals in London for the time being. With the holidays around the corner you get a free evening with your lover. And things well, they get interesting.

Warning: fluff all the way, friendly banter, more fluff, oh yes SmUt read if you dare

Masterlist

"Your hand is on my face." Mumbles Druig as he lays pressed up against you in the early morning. Rays of sunlight falling from out of the closed blinds cascading around your tangled bodies of blankets and limbs. Luckily for you there are no streaks of sunlight falling into your face.

"No it's not, your face is on my hand." You groggily mumble out, "This feels like a you problem right now actually so I don't know how I'm supposed to do a thing about this situati..oh ah okay stop tickling me unless you want death! Stop it! Druig I'll murder you in cold blood!" You laugh hysterically as his fingers tickle your sides, you wiggle and squirm as he does this. Now completely awake all by his doing.

Finally does Druig pin you to the mattress by your wrists, both of you breathing heavily, faces mere inches from one another. He smiles down at you, "Murder me huh? Now why do such a thing to me, maybe I need to remind you why I'm so wonderful?"

You raise a brow, "I believe I would enjoy whatever you're implying."

"What do you think I'm implying?"

"Something fun, a little risky, a little wild, a lot without any clothes on I mean it is getting a bit hot in here and I don't see any point in wearing this shirt anymore."

Druig laughs and leans down to capture your lips with his, then all too soon does he pull away to look into your wanting gaze. "That'll probably suffice for now."

Your face shows bewilderment at this news, "What! No not at all! I suffer from a condition."

"And what's that?" Druig smirks mischievously down at you as you shrug. An adorable smile upon your beautiful features.

"If I don't see you without a shirt on I'll die. It's incurable."

"Oh, well that's absolutely tragic." He kisses you again, "However, I think I can help."

Your smiles grows, "You can?"

"I can." Druig's lips are on yours in a second as you shift your bodies so that he can lay his torso in between your legs while you feel him up. Oh you are so loving this.

He purposely leans into you even more, knowingly causing friction against your neither regions while he kisses you sweetly. His hands leave your wrists so he can hold your face, you trail your fingers through his dark hair.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You raise a brow as your eyes look over towards the door. Druig kisses your cheek before leaning his head into your shoulder as he mumbles out an annoyed, "What? I'm a little busy at the moment."

"Dane made breakfast." Says Sprite on the other side of the door.

Druig looks at you and answers, "We'll be down."

"Okay good." She replies, "Try not to eat each other first he's very proud of his omelets."

You snicker as Druig smiles against your skin, "Yeah alright, be there in a minute." The sounds of Sprites footsteps against the wooden floor indicates the precious alone time you have with your sweet man again has been given.

You run a hand through his hair and down to his neck, "I don't want breakfast.." You leave a lingering kiss upon his head, "..I just want you."

He looks up at you, "I'm hungry."

You tug on his hair, "You're supposed to say 'yes my dearly beloved Y/N I also agree and for that I will make love to you and make Dane wait because you're more important then an omelet' and I'll think that's a wonderful idea."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. And then we make love."

Druig chuckles, "They'll hear us."

"Has that ever stopped us before?"

"Well...no."

You huff and push his cheek away, "Fine we'll go eat first."

Druig smiles joyously, "Fantastic, I'm so hungry too." Idiot.

You just simply roll your eyes and decide to wait it out until the time is right. Hopefully it doesn't last all damn day, for some reason you're unusually horny on this fine Thursday and cannot help it at all. Druig just looks so fine you could...

Sitting cross legged on the soft kitchen stool do you lean a hand against your cheek as Dane and Sprite carefully slide an omelet from the pan onto a plate. Sersi fills up some glasses with juice nearby on the opposite counter while Druig walks behind you to find the stool on your right.

He trails his hand across your back as he does this, your head snaps over to him but all you get is a little smirk paired with a wink as he takes a seat. What was that about? You ignore the signals to something he's not saying and instead look over at Sersi who's about to pour orange juice into a glass.

You make a fist when she goes to pour, freezing the juice in its large water bottle styled container so that it all slides out in one single ice chunk. She jumps back in surprise as the orange juice icicle thuds against the marble counter before rolling off the edge and onto the floor.

"Y/N!"

She whips around to give you the glare of a disappointed mother as you laugh, "What? It was already like that." You tease as Druig playfully smacks your shoulder which causes you to cackle more.

Sersi points down at the frozen orange juice, "Now it's all dirty."

"Dane keeps this place pretty damn clean, I think whoever wanted that juice will be fine." You reason as she crouches down to pick up the log of orange juice ice. "Just saying."

Sersi then holds it over the container it first came in before turning the ice into its liquid form. She looks at you, "I should have turned it to glitter and thrown it at you instead."

"I probably would have enjoyed that."

She holds back a smile, "I know. That's why I didn't."

"Who's ready for omelets?" Speaks an excited Dane as Sprite sits on your left.

You look from right to left and then back at Dane, "Probably the only four people here."

He shakes his head at you before taking the first plate and giving it to Sersi, "Here you go, love." She smiles shyly and walks around the kitchen island to sit at the table behind you all. Oh they're too adorable.

You look at Druig who's already looking at you, he tilts his head as a smirk plays at the corner of his lips, "Come here often?"

"Only when you're here." You flirt back.

"Oh really? Well then this must be quite the chance meeting."

"Must be."

"So beautiful, you free this afternoon?" He says as sly as a fox.

"Let me check my schedule a second." You pretend to pull up a phone and scroll through it before setting nothing back onto the counter, "I'm free. How about that?"

"Enticing news. I'll pick you up at one, wear something pretty for me love."

"Oh of course."

"Hello? Some of us are trying to eat here." Complains Sprite as you and Druig tear your eyes away from one another's to look at her.

"Just some casual conversation." You inquire.

"Casual my ass. Get a room."

You break out into a humored grin but hold your tongue and instead look at Dane, "So what's even in this stuff anyways?"

He sets a plate down for you, "Only the best."

"Good answer. Now you'll be judged." You cut a piece off with your fork.

"What happens if it's bad?" He asks semi-nervously, dark eyes glancing from you to Druig and back to you again.

"She'll freeze your piss next time you go." Says Druig so casually it takes Dane off guard for a second as he hands him a plate.

"Freeze..freeze my piss?"

You take a bite and nod, "I've done it before."

Sersi looks up from her meal, "They're kidding."

"No they're not." Whispers Sprite in between a mouth full of egg and cheese.

"Y/N once froze a man's arm right where he stood. Did you know that?" Says Druig dead serious, "So when he tried to bend the arm, it broke like an icicle."

You point your fork at Druig and nod, "Truth be spoken. And the reasoning you ask? That man made the absolute worst salmon and leek soup with that specific hand so I had to prevent anything else from being made by that arm."

Dane only nods, not saying a word as he gets a plate for himself before walking around to sit by Sersi, she smiles at him, "Ignore them. They love to tease."

"Y/N's not kidding." Says Druig with a mouth full of eggs, "I witnessed it myself."

"Thanks love."

"Of course."

"Let's see what's on the news today hmm?" Interrupts Sersi as she sends you two a warning look before turning her fork into a remote and turning on the television. Party pooper.

The news shows that some curly red haired woman has been killed in New York City over something illegal, yada yada super soldier serum blah blah new Captain America something else. You don't care enough to pay any real attention so by the time you're all done has the news anchor found the subject of today's weather.

"Snow, snow, and oh what's this? More snow." Says Sprite unenthusiastically as the weatherman points towards animated clouds hanging over London. "It's so cold and for no reason."

You take a sip of your juice, "The colds not so bad."

"Shut it Elsa you don't get an opinion on the current weather." Grumbles Sprite.

You playfully smack her arm, "I don't know who Elsa is but I stand by my statement earlier."

Dane turns his seat to face you three by the islands, "Oh she's a Disney character who can control ice and snow, kind of like you Y/N."

"Oh. Well that's cool." You snort, realizing what you just said, "Literally." Druig let's out a quick humored breath at your unintentional pun. "Is she like a good character? She a princess or something? I don't know a lot about Disney but she's probably a princess right?"

"A queen." Replies Dane, "She's one of the good ones, has white hair and lives in an ice castle."

You wiggle your brows at him, "Hmm. I like her, she sounds better then the white witch in that one story Sprite told me about. You know Sprite, the one about the Lion and that wardrobe or something. I think it's based off a book by C.S. Lewis?"

"The Lion, the witch, and the wardrobe." Says Sprite, "You're definitely more the white witch then Elsa."

You shrug, "To be debated."

"Oh I almost forgot." Says Sersi with excitement, "You guys are going to love what Phastos sent me." She gets up from her chair and hurries out of sight down the hallway towards her bedroom. Leaving the four of you to look around at each other questioningly.

"Dane. You know what that's about?" Says Druig as you and Sprite wonder the same thing. Something from Phastos? How interesting.

"No idea."

A few seconds later does the sounds of Sersi's footsteps against the wooden floor tell you she's on her way back. This time with a small shoe box in her hands does she stand by the hallway entrance, holding them up excitedly, "Pictures." She grins.

"Of what?" You ask, "And of who?"

She shakes the box, "Of us."

"From when?" Asks Sprite.

"I don't know, I think it was a decade after the camera was invented."

You raise a brow, "That means only some of us will be in those photographs. Question is, who and from what?"

"Well let's find out." Adds Druig as the three of you get up to see what Phastos sent. —-

Later that evening

Sprite holds up a photo before making a face and flipping it around for you to see, "Can you explain what you're doing in this photograph?"

"That's not me."

"Y/N." Sprite pauses a moment, getting rather annoyed, "This is clearly you."

You glance at the picture again, "Nope. That's not me, clearly my hair and this woman who I've never seen in my entire life have opposing hair styles."

She blinks, "But that's literally you with your arm around Kingo."

"This is in black and white who knows what actual hair color these two individuals have. Could be anyone from 1896."

"Yeah. You!"

You shake your head, "I don't think so, that would make me really old and I look really good right now."

Dane snorts as you simply shrug, Sprite appears to be forming a stress ulcer when Druig walks into the room. "Uh, what'r you three doing now? Still at it with the old pictures?"

"Hey love. Well we may have gotten distracted when Dane put on Frozen for a bit, then we had to watch the second movie and I kind of enjoyed it." You smile up at him while holding out the photograph, "Now Sprites just showing us some old pictures of random people at this party that looked cool as hell."

"Can I see?" He asks while walking around the lounge chairs to sit by your side on the couch.

Sprite slaps them onto the large coffee table covered in other old pictures, "Druig, you see Y/N in this one right?"

Druig looks at the image clearly of you and Kingo living it up at some party in the 1890's looking like absolute drunken bastards. He opens his mouth to speak but pauses and looks from the photograph to you to Sprite and then back to you again. You raise your brows at him.

He looks at Sprite, "I've never seen that woman before in my life. She's very attractive though."

"What the fu.." She purses her lips tightly together and huffs before falling into the big lounge chair behind her. "I give up."

You nudge Druig's shoulder, "Awe you think I'm pretty?"

"Always."

You snort while looking at the black and white image, "I look so fucked up."

Druig laughs, "Yeah you really did."

"What? So you can admit that's really Y/N then?" Says Sprite as she sits up in her chair, "Drunk at a party in the 1890's."

Druig looks over the photographs before sitting back into the couch, "It's plausible." He casually shrugs.

She clenches her fists together in frustration, "I wanna kill myself." She mutters through clenched teeth. Oh this running joke it getting to her just as you'd intended.

Dane snorts as you hold in your laughter when Sersi walks into the room, "You ate a hill yourself?"

Sprite slouches back into her chair, "You don't even want to know."

"Oh, alright then. So uh, is everyone still coming to the Christmas light festival tonight? I heard it's going to be wonderful and I don't just say that because I've been going every year since I moved here.....and I think it's genuinely a pleasant time."

"I'm going." Says Dane immediately.

Sprite sighs, "Guess I'll go too."

Druig sets a hand on your hip where no one can see and squeezes, you push his hand away to add, "We might just hang out here this evening. Make a pie or something."

Sersi grins, "Alright then, we'll bring you guys back a cinnamon pretzel. I'm going to get ready.."

"For the Christmas lights?" Questions Sprite, "It's snowing outside and you're planning on doing what? You've already got Dane here, no need to impress anyone else." Ah the voice of reason.

"But I was just go.."

"I think you look lovely." Says Dane as he admires Sersi with those big puppy dog eyes of his she's completely taken with.

"Oh, thank you love." She smiles almost shyly, "I'm going to go find my boots. Be right back."

Sersi exits the living room while you lay back to get more comfortable, leaning into Druig as Dane looks between the three of you. He smiles awkwardly as you cuddle into Druig's warm side. Eye set upon the puppy dog of a man, "So Dane."

He looks at you with those big dark gullible eyes, though you're not here to tease. "Yes?" He says, not ever sure where you're going with your random questioning.

A smirk draws upon your face as you tilt your head at him, "I think she likes you."

Dane breaks out into a smile at this, "Well that's good then, I like her a lot too."

Eyeing him up, you absentmindedly run your knuckles across Druig's jaw as you nod, "Right. But if you ever make her cry I'll kill you myself." You tell him with a stoically serious expression that puts him a little on edge. You look like a queen sitting upon her throne right now.

"Uh...come again?"

Sprite smirks at this, "She'll kill you man, commit straight up manslaughter."

"I will." You nod, "And anyone who tries to blame me for it will forget because Druig will make them forget everything."

"She'll walk away a free woman." Adds Sprite, "You'll be food for crows."

Dane swallows, "Oh uh, that's uh...that's good to know."

"It is." Agrees Druig, "There's not a thing I wouldn't do for Y/N. You'd be smart to think the same for Sersi."

"She's important to us more then you could ever know." You narrow your eyes at Dane, "Make her cry and you're fucked."

He swallows, "I don't, I don't ever plan on it. That'd be the last thing I'd ever do."

You point a finger at him, "But it's still on the list of things you could do."

Sprite shakes her head, "That's a problem."

"You planning on being a problem? Huh Dane?"

He immediately shakes his head, "No, not at all. That's not what I meant."

"Or is it?" Challenges Sprite as she leans forward in her chair, "Are you trying to mess with us? You think we're a pair of foolish little jesters?"

"We've been alive longer then your family linage." You add, "We've seen shit you couldn't ever have imagined."

"I don't think I want to." He whispers.

"No, no you don't." Retorts Sprite, "World's a wild wild place, Dane. You don't wanna add to the chaos."

"Yeah, we know the chaos well. So if you ever break Sersi's heart, we'll fucking kill you. You'll disappear and never be seen again."

"Gone. Just like that." Says Sprite with a snap of her fingers, "And no one will ever find your body."

"Eaten by tiny little bacteria, how delicious. I bet they'll love you, eat you right up like hungry baby sharks."

"I don't want to be eaten by baby sharks." Mutters Dane softly as his eyes dart from you to Sprite.

Druig just sits there with an arm around your shoulder, keeping to himself as he watches this whole interaction go down. Highly enjoying how you and Sprite are using scare tactics against poor Dane who'd never ever do anything to hurt Sersi at all.

Sprite narrows her eyes at Dane, "You could be picked apart by vultures. They'd poop you out and no one would ever be the wiser."

"You understand us Dane, you get what we're talking about?"

He nods, "Yes, hundred percent."

You and Sprite share a glance with one another and nod before speaking in sync, "Good."

A second later does Sersi walk into the room with boots in hand, "What're you all talking about now?" She asks innocently.

Sprite smiles up at her like you two weren't just threatening Dane, "Oh just about sharks. Nothing too interesting."

"Sharks. Such fascinating creatures." She says, "I love watching those National Geographic documentaries about them. They're pretty cool."

"Hundred percent." You nod, eyes on Sprite who also nods.

"Hundred percent." She says, repeating what you previously said before.

Sersi's none the wiser and simply pats Dane on the shoulder, "So we ready? I found my boots."

He quickly stands, "Yep, let me just get my coat." Gifting her a little cheek kiss as he makes his way towards the hallway entrance. Probably very grateful to have Sersi there to step up and save him.

When he's down the hallway in search of his coat does Sersi eye the three of you up suspiciously, "What did you tell him?" She asks, damn woman knows you all too well.

You and Sprite look to one another innocently, "Nothing."

She looks at Druig, "What'd they say to him?"

Druig simply shrugs, "Oh not a whole lot. Mostly just about sharks."

Sersi raises a curious brow but luckily doesn't press the matter, "Alright. Well Sprite you coming?"

"Yep. Just need my hat." She stands and exits the living room, leaving only Sersi, yourself, and Druig. The man who you're currently leaning against like he's a giant pillow.

Her dark eyes look at the two of you with a knowing expression, "Have fun you two. Try not to make too much of a mess."

"The kitchen will be spotless when you return." You reply, making an ok sign with your fingers, "No worries."

She smirks, "I'm not talking about making any pies."

"What, we're definitely going to be making a pie while you're all away for the evening." You reply, "It's going to be really good and probably something cinnamon related if Dane has that stuff lying around."

"Really?" She says, tone clearly sounding as though she doesn't believe a word you say, "We'll see."

"Ha." You make a face at her, "We will."

"Uh huh."

——

An hour later

Druig's lips lock with yours hungrily, hands feeling you up and down as he partially stands at the end of the bed. Half of his body between your legs as you two make out like two horny teenagers after one too many drinks. However neither of you are drunk, and age-wise around ten thousand something years old.

Your clothing is scattered across the carpeted floor save for what still remains on your person which is simply a thin type of revealing underwear. Druig in his boxers and absolutely nothing else, shirtless and ready to do some very dirty things with you.

His lips that have been sweetly pressed to yours swiftly part so he can see into your eyes, face and body hovering so close to you, "So I was thinking." He rasps, kissing you again before raising his head to look into your eyes.

You raise an inquisitive brow, "You we're thinking about what?"

He twirls a piece of your hair between two fingers, "We should get our own place." You give the idea a proper thought, he's nervous at the way your face contorts with deep concentration. He moves to lean on his elbows that press to the mattress on either side of you, head bowing down to kiss right in between your naked breasts while awaiting his answer.

You can't help but bite your bottom lip, head falling backwards into the soft sheets when he does this. Your mind turning to mush at his soft touch, "Our uh....hmm..hmm uh, own place?" He trails kisses up from the valley of your breasts to your clavicle, "Hmm, maybe...I don't know." Lips press to your lower jaw, then to your cheek, then finally the corner of your mouth. He's such a little shit.

Druig causes a bit of friction between the two of your scantily clad bodies, "We could live by the ocean." He kisses your cheek, hand holding your chin, he gently turns your head to the side to begin planting a plethora of butterfly kisses all over your jaw and neck. "I know how much you love water."

Such a flirt.

You can't help but moan when his hips roll against your thin underwear, you can already feel a familiar wetness down there. Him pressed to you doesn't help and with his hardening cock in those thin little boxers in between yours legs. Oh he's driving you mad even without the full contact, all through paper thin clothing.

"Ocean? Where you taking me?" You ask breathlessly.

He grinds into you again, "A place. Just for the two of us right by the water...you'd like that hmm?" His lips are dancing around your exposed neck, making this simple question all that much harder to answer.

You gasp aloud when his clothed erection pushes against your sensitive clit, your hands press to his muscular back. "Can we go...can we go to Scotland?" You ask when a quick moan slips out of your mouth as he rolls his hips again. You're breaking underneath his touch in the best way.

Druig chuckles at your reaction, head pressed to your forehead, "You'd leave here with me? Really?" His eyes are on you again, clearly he wasn't completely ready for that answer as you do love being around Sersi and Sprite very much. Have been for the past hundred or so years in between your lengthy visits to the Amazon before all the shit with the Emergeance happened.

Your hands hold his cheeks as you stare up lovingly into his beautiful blues, "With you. I'd go anywhere."

Druig breaks out into a joyful grin at this, he leans in to gift you a chaste kiss before pulling away just as quickly. "You would? Because we don't have to if you don't want to, I'm okay staying here with Sersi and Sprite."

You run a thumb across his plush lips, "Okay...I don't want to leave them yet." You admit at last, "But someday we'll have a place by the ocean alright? Just you and me."

Druig leans in to kiss you, "Just you and me."

His soft kisses across your neck turn more feverish and deeper as his body grinds into yours causing you to release a breathless moan worthily noted by Druig. He smiles before pulling back from your body altogether and standing, you yearn for his touch again but know exactly where this is going.

He tucks a thumb into the side of his boxers and stops, his eyes look up to meet yours. You give a slow nod and with that does he pull his boxers down all the way. You bite your bottom lip when his cock bounces out of his tight undergarments. He's hard and clearly ready to find his release within you when the time comes. Oh he's still as handsome as the first time you saw him, all of his that is.

He chuckles softly at your lustful gaze staring at his everything, he sets a hand on your naked thigh, your eyes follow his movement. His hand trails up your skin to the edge of your underwear, he fits his fingers in the area between the lacy fabric and your skin before gently tugging downward.

He pulls the material across your skin, you lift your hips a bit and with that is he able to take off your underwear fully now. Druig discards them onto the floor, forgotten for another time. He leans forward, resting his hands to either thigh while looking into your gaze the whole time.

You gift him a mischievous smirk, so soft and beautiful he gently parts your legs open before kneeling down. You rest a foot on his shoulder and swallow, "Wait." Druig's eyes are on your face in a second.

Gaze filled with slight concern does his brows furrow at you, "What is it Y/N?"

You blink slowly, "I just want you inside me. I don't need that now...just, just come here and fuck me......please."

Druig nods, "So polite." He crawls up to lay over you, "How could I ever decline?"

"You can't."

He smiles, "I could....if I wanted to."

You trail a hand softly down his spine, "No, I don't believe you could." Kissing him a moment after.

"Maybe you're right."

You hold his face in your hands, "My love, you know I am." Druig snickers, leaning in to press his lips to yours. He moves pleasantly against you, torso flush to your wetness at this angle on the mattress your currently in. He can feel how soaked you are, the familiar feeling of your area against him and all that he wishes to fill soon enough.

Druig leans away to stand at the edge of the bed, pulling your body towards the edge by your hips. Your hands hold tightly to the bunched up bed sheets as he lets your legs hang over the bedside. His one hand is placed onto your lower left abdomen for support as his right hand wraps around his cock.

He strokes it a few times before lining himself up with your entrance, you can feel as his tip slides against your folds and clit in a teasing manner until at last does he press his cock into you. His length fills you up, stretching your walls as he lets out a satisfied groan at the sensation of his manhood inside your warmness.

It's like the first time all those thousands of years ago all over again. When he was hopelessly in love with you and you with him, a night alone far away from the others during some festival. You went for a walk, not anticipating a heartfelt confession followed by making love to you in the grass underneath a full moon.

It was beautiful and felt amazing the first time he pushed inside you, it was the first time ever and felt so new but wonderful. He was new to it and so were you but together everything fit into place just perfectly. From then till now, Druig still knows how to pleasure you better then you could ever do to yourself. Or any other man alive for that matter.

He looks down to take in the way that your eyes close when he's first buried within your folds, how your brows raise in delight, mouth parting to take in more breath. How your hand squeezes at your right breast while the other takes a fistful of blanket. You're so beautiful, absolutely radiant in the dull glow of the bedroom lighting illuminating your best features before him.

All of you is perfect, but the closed blinds creating a gentle lighting that cascades over your body really does the best work. Highlighting your curves and breasts and gorgeous face with his cock inside you. That's enough to satisfy him for a millennia more, Druig can't believe how lucky he got to have you with him for all these years on earth.

He smiles when you slip a breathless gasp as he thrusts into you for the first time, your eyelids shut tight as he holds your hips before fucking into you over and over again. His fingers grip hard into the soft flesh of your hips as he parts you even further apart. Hips slapping against yours with each new thrust.

He's relentless and lustful to no end, so focused in on the moment, so adamant on finding your sweet spot to let you feel the most highest pleasure you so greatly deserve. Druig pounds into you, grunting as he thrusts into you over and over again. You could just about die happy.

This and many more other positions continue on for another thirty-five minutes, multiple orgasms had, a mess all over the bedsheets done as what is only natural. And now? Now he lays atop your sweaty vessel, stealing kisses to your lips and cheeks as he fucks into you like it's the last time he'll ever get a chance again.

You know he wants to fill you up one more time. To gift you his release, to feel as your walls clench around him before you two relent and surrender to sleep. And so he will.

Druig looks deeply into your soft gaze as he thrusts into your wetness, "One more time for me, Y/N. One last time for me darling and then we'll rest. Just give me all you've got left." He urges, capturing your lips with his.

Your hands trail pink fiery lines down his muscular back as his cock throbs from within you, hitting your sweet spot just perfectly does this cause you to cry out in pleasure. Walls tightening around his length when you reach your orgasm. He smiles against your cheek, "Perfect. You're so perfect." He whispers.

You run your hands through his hair, "I love you."

Druig kisses you, "My lovely Y/N, my soft touch of winter." He presses his lips to you again, "I love you."

You turn your head to the side as his cock twitches within you, biting your lip when his warmness fills inside your womanhood. You can feel him so deeply, all of him, every vein and muscle moving, pumping into you. Filling you up to the brim.

Druig moans beautifully in your ear as his hips steady out into small sloppy thrusts, he pushes deeper inside you. Wanting to feel as much of you as he can before the moment is over and done with. You let another minute pass, he gifts you one last roll of his hips, cock sliding inside before he pulls out completely and an immediate emptiness is followed.

You keep on your back with your face turned towards the ceiling as Druig finds his place by your side. He breaths heavily for a few moments to calm himself down before at last does he scoot himself closer to you. Throwing a bent arm over your stomach so that his hand can cup your left breast.

Druig gently squeezes the soft flesh, thumb rubbing over a hardened nipple as he kisses your shoulder. You lay a hand over his arm as your other one gently caresses his cheek with the back of your bent knuckle. He couldn't feel more content and neither could you.

After a long time spent like this does he nuzzle his nose against your right shoulder, "Y/N." Whispers Druig like he's about to tell you a secret.

You keep your eyes closed, "Yes love?"

"Did you leave a stain on my leather jacket?"

"Huh?"

"Are you the one who left a bleach mark on my leather jacket?"

You open your eyes to look at him, "And what if I did?" You ask in a playfully manner.

"Then I'll have to go find another."

You snort, "I thought there'd be dire circumstances for my crime."

"Like what?"

"Oh something...dirty." You smirk wickedly as he gently squeezes your breast again.

"Perhaps I could do something about it." He admits, "But I believe this was enough, don't you think?"

You pout, "We can do this again....you could be a little more rougher next time."

"Rougher?" He raises a brow, "You'd like that?"

"Uh....yeah. If you want to."

Druig smiles brightly, "I'd love to."

Oh he's the absolute best.

Hello dear readers, thank you for making it this far I appreciate your eyes upon my work. Please leave a comment or some feedback to help me improve my writing! Fine if you don’t, we’ve all got places to be....but a lil something would be nice :) More fics to come my friends!

#druig x reader #druig x you #druig x y/n #druig x female reader #druig #eternals x reader #eternals #marvel #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic

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beautifulletdownfics · 3 years

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Terrible to Meet You - A Harry Styles One Shot - Act 4, And love blooms in hearts not fields

Harry wants to get out of the house. Alex wants to get home.

Alex meets Harry at at crossroads. Harry meets Alex on a one way street.

A coffee shop OU fic feat. lattes, lamingtons & that Great Unfathomable Feeling.

Story Page Here Terrible to Meet You Playlists My Masterlist Here

7 Minutes 'It doesn't seem like long, but my whole world has changed'

Harry's insides were shaking.

He could feel it vibrating up and down his spine, circling his ribcage and then settling uncomfortably at the back of his throat. The nerves and anxiety sped around his body the closer to the Heathrow they got.

Tears threatened to pierce his eyes each time he looked over at Alex beside him. She was staring out the window saying silent goodbyes to London as they drove.

Harry really didn't understand how this moment came so quickly. He knew that Alex's feelings were as mixed as his. Harry wanted her to go home, she'd been trying all year. Heartsick and homesick, she'd pushed through living on the other side of the world to her family as the world suffered through something horrifying.

After getting the email, her last week in London was bittersweet. It was spent packing up her room and saying goodbyes for the second, third times. Harry helped her organise herself, and then put himself in isolation with Alex for her final 48 hours. She needed to present a negative COVID test to Australian officials before she could fly. Getting tested and locking themselves away together for two days was a special kind of magic, really. They didn't have to share each other.

After Harry, Alex was saddest to say goodbye to The Daily Dose.

She was going to miss Paul. Despite his eccentricities, he somehow managed to always keep the tone light and playful with her, and generally, the days passed quickly. Alex left Sydney for London after a gruelling university course left her feeling unmoored and unsure of herself, her time working for Paul had been an enormous time of discovery and healing for her.

He'd been a source of comfort and support for her, especially in the last year, and he was the shoulder she'd cried on far too often. Alex loved making coffee despite how most people saw the job. There was a satisfaction in the process, even in the daily grind—the cleaning, the busyness, the dead patches—and Alex liked leaving the cafe in the afternoon with the smell of coffee seeping out of her but a clean shop locked up ready for the next day.

She was going to miss that. But at the same time, Alex felt ready to go on and do more with her time now. The university degree hanging in her parent's study didn't feel like a straight-jacket anymore, and she was looking forward to finding work in her field.

London had been home for four years, though. She had many great memories here, not the least of which it was the city she flew the coup and found herself in. And the magic she thought was lost seemed to have redeemed itself in the final months of her being there.

She found herself, and then, she'd found Harry.

&&&

Saying goodbye to Harry was the hardest thing Alex had ever done.

They'd both cried the night before, but when it was time to part at the airport Harry was steadfast in his encouragement of her leaving. (Despite himself) He'd never once said he (seriously) didn't want her to leave, or that she shouldn't. He'd never implied it would spell doom for their relationship. Harry was 100% sure that Alex going back home to Australia was just the next line in their story, and certainly not the last one.

"You get home safely, okay?" Harry told her sternly, holding her face between his hands at the drop-off line. Both their masks were down around their chins, and Harry hated the tears he couldn't stop Alex from shedding, "This is a good thing, Al, you need to be home right now."

"I know," she nodded bravely, frowning as her chin wobbled, "But I don't want to leave—

"Shh, no," Harry shook his head and leaned closer, "You're not leaving me, you're going home.”

"When am I going to see you again though," she cried out, finally giving in to the (slightly) hysterical emotions that were bubbling just below the surface.

Harry's heart rattled watching the wave of doubt hit her. He pressed his lips into her hairline and held her for another long moment.

"You'll see me in Dubai on your stopover," he'd said, rocking her against his chest, his words hurried against the material of her shirt, “You'll land, use the bathrooms, and then FaceTime me. That's when you'll see me next. And then, you'll see me when you get to Sydney and call me again. Okay?

"Okay," Alex parroted quietly.

"Okay … You really have to go now," Harry looked behind her to where the doors to the terminal were.

She nodded and reached up onto her tippy toes, letting Harry press his warm lips against hers once last time. Alex squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold in tears but also the feel of him. His smell, where his body began and ended, how it measured up next to hers.

Their hearts reached out, trying to feel the other pressing through their chests from the other side. You're mine, you're mine, they said to each other.

"I love you," Harry told her, not for the first time.

Seeing the red wetness around Harry's eyes, Alex threaded her hands through his hair, "I love you, too."

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips again, "Go."

Harry's belief that they were going to be okay was unwavering.

If 2020 taught him anything, the whole world could change in a matter of weeks, so why not the entire outlook of his life as well? Why couldn't his meeting Alex change the course of both their lives moving forward? Something about meeting her felt like a one-time event, like something worth risking everything for. And he would, Harry told her numerous times that last week.

And as she walked away from him and into Heathrow, and Alex believed him.

&&&

Alex cried as her flight landed at Sydney International Airport.

She'd watched the harbour out her window as the plane circled the city, that perfect Sydney turquoise blue gleaming back up at her and it made her chest ache with relief.

Home.

Sydney airport was a stark change from the Heathrow she left behind. Their flight was met by police, abundance and army officers. It wasn't frightening though, Alex found herself swallowing back tears this time because she was so soothed by the fact she was back in Australia. Everyone was friendly and helpful, getting the flight of returning citizens through the airport and onto buses to the quarantine hotels. Alex's drove straight into the city centre and as soon as they started going by familiar places and landmarks she wasn't the only one teary in their seat.

"Well, here it is," Alex said to the phone screen not long after, tilting it around to show off the hotel room around her, "Home for the next fourteen days."

"Snazzy," Harry whistled as she pulled back the sheer curtains to reveal a staggering blue sky and then bright green treetops. He was sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of tea and a drizzly London morning just beginning, "And a view! Is that a balcony? Or a window?"

"A balcony but it's locked. I did get to smell the salty, beautiful harbour in the two-second walk from the bus into the hotel though." Alex settled on the bed in the middle of the room, the bedding crisp and clean underneath her, "I am literally inside this room for two weeks. No outside time. But I can see people outside walking around and having picnics in Hyde Park without masks on, so it'll be worth it."

"That seems unreal."

"It's like another world here," Alex agreed, yawning and finally feeling her body start to relax. "Anyway, how was your day yesterday? Wait, no, today?"

Harry laughed, "You've lost two days, I think. But it was good. I went and saw Paul, we had a cry together."

"Don't," she warned him, feeling the combination of over-tiredness and emotion simmering in her throat, "I've just travelled thirty-six hours, and I fucking miss you already, I'm not beyond completely losing it right now."

He smiled gently, "Have a shower and get into bed. I'm so glad you're there. Does it feel good to be home?"

"So good," Alex admitted, almost feeling like it was a dirty thing to be admitting to Harry, "Jess is going to come and wave at me from the park tomorrow with Noah. My mum's already sent a bunch of food to my room."

"You're exactly where you need to be," Harry told her.

Alex couldn't hold back her tears any longer, the guilt she felt—the pain of leaving Harry—wasn't any match to finally being where she'd wanted to be all year, "Yeah, I am."

&&&

Figure 8 'Lovers hold on to everything'

Four days into her quarantine, Alex started training herself to do headstands.

"It's harder than it looks! But I'm getting there now," She laughed, propping her phone up against the leg of the bed and crawling to the wall opposite. She was now on Day 11, and Harry had been getting an update daily.

"Please don't injure yourself," Harry moaned, getting a great view of her bum as she crouched down facing the wall and then rose up, kicking her legs up with her palms flat on the floor.

"See?" The blood all rushed to her head, and Alex's hair fell down over her face at the same time her t-shirt moved, revelling her belly and bra to Harry.

"Much better than yesterday," he told her, "Maybe tomorrow we could lose the bra?"

Alex laughed, her arms shaking as she came crashing to the ground. She was still working on the landing.

Just as she was about to reply, she heard a knock on the door, "Oh!"

"Dinner?" Harry guessed, watching her leap to her feet and disappear from view. A moment later, her legs walked across the screen, and Harry rolled over in bed to try to rid his phone screen of the glare coming from his windows open to the new London morning. "Oi!"

"Calm your farm," Alex tutted, retrieving her phone and grinning at Harry, "You'll never guess what I've got today."

"Hmm," Harry hummed in mock thought, "Let me guess, chicken and rice. A cookie and a ridiculous allotment of fruit?"

"Two bananas, an apple and four apricots."

"S'practically a fruit basket!"

"Tomorrow I get a glass of wine," Alex was already chewing, "Friday night drinks!"

"Friday date night?" Harry suggested, his fingers twitching with the want to be feeling her body between his sheets again, "You're fun when you're a little tipsy."

"Excuse me, I'm always fun!"

Harry laughed, "I can't believe you're so upbeat still. I'd been expecting a dip at some point. I would think a lot of people don't do so well in isolation for two weeks."

"I've got Australian daytime TV and a boyfriend who sends fun gifts,” she eyed the collection of books and puzzles Harry had organised, “I am looking forward to Sunday though."

Harry couldn't imagine how much Alex was looking forward to getting to see her family and friends when her time in quarantine ended, "Did you get tested today?"

"Yes," Alex screwed up her face, the memory of the swab up her nose still fresh, "Fucking hurt."

"Last one," he encouraged. "What's the first thing you're going to do with your brother when he picks you up?"

She halted before putting the next mouthful of warm, lacklustre dinner in her mouth, "It's supposed to be sunny and warm on Sunday, but I don't get released until the evening. So I think we'll just go to mum and dads for tea. Jess and Matt are going to be there."

"A large gathering in the home!" Harry looked scandalised, but he was smiling.

"I know, it's all very 2019," Alex joked.

Harry let out a long sigh from his chest, "I'm so happy you're there, but I miss you."

"You too," she said quietly.

"Hey," Harry called out, not having meant to dampen the mood, "Three sleeps until you get to meet Noah."

The mention of her nephew made Alex smile, "I'm gonna squeeze him so hard."

"Will you FaceTime me there?"

"O'course," her mouth was full, but she nodded emphatically. "My mum asked if we were going to have live music at all family events now."

Harry's laugh exploded out of him, he liked Alex's family very much already, "Happy to oblige."

"Because of you she's also back on Nathan about giving up the trombone in Year 8." Alex told him, "He was previously the musical hope for the family, but he stopped when the girl he liked at fourteen said she would only date a rugby player … Consequently, that girl is also responsible for how Nathan broke his nose."

Harry could sympathise with Alex's older brother, "We do crazy things for love."

&&&

"Could you say that again?"

"Were you not listening?"

"No I was, I just like hearing it in your accent."

"Harry," Alex complained, "I'm already shit at this."

"You're not!" He insisted, trying desperately to keep the grin at bay.

Alex frowned at him and pulled the hotel duvet up to her chin, crossing her legs and slipping her free arm across her chest. Harry's heart was racing, hearing her talk about how his words were making her feel was incredible. Almost as good as physically having her. Almost.

"Al," Harry stilled at the defeated look on her face. His smile disappeared, "Sorry, I wasn't teasing."

"I'm no good a phone sex, it feels weird."

"I know it does at first," he tentatively reassured her, hoping not to draw attention to the fact that over the years Harry had become sort of good at phone sex. By virtue of necessity, such was his regular travel schedule. "I promise it can be great, and we can only get better at it. You're not no good. On the contrary, I'm enjoying myself very much."

She was finding it difficult. And even more so, trying to learn Harry and what he liked—how his body responded—without actually having his body physically there felt impossible. Phone sex was awkward and difficult, and Alex was more self-conscious then she'd ever been, trying to navigate intimacy with Harry through a phone screen. There was a divide there. He was right though, the undercurrent to what he said was that they'd have to get better, there was no other choice. It was all they had.

"Show me what you were doing," Harry beckoned gently, sensing Alex relaxing back into the moment. "And just imagine I'm there, don't apologise for angles or lighting. I don't care."

It was her last day in the hotel, and Alex had woken up with an ache between her thighs. Harry Facetimed her the instant he got the photo of her lying in the sheets, her torso exposed and wishing for his touch. He'd been sitting at home on his Saturday night, watching the first five minutes of half a dozen things on Netflix yet not finding his mind was able to focus on any.

Alex he could focus on though.

Her five seconds of bravery felt far away now, but Alex slowly pushed down the bedding again, "I was thinking about you going down on me."

Harry smiled, "Go on."

&&&

Nineteen 'I felt you in my life before I ever thought to'

Three months passed.

The dreaded milestone ticked over which meant Harry and Alex had been separated the same amount of time they'd spent together in London.

It hadn't ever felt like this for Harry before.

He'd never known what this kind of missing someone was. Previously, he'd missed people, but not with a yearning or a longing that made his chest ache. Not with the kind of force that had him lying in bed at night unable to switch off the channel tuned to Alex.

What time was it in Sydney? Had he already sent her that link? Did she say she was spending the day with her dad? What could he say to get her back in that bikini from the day before?

Missing Alex felt like having an itch inside his mind he couldn't scratch.

But in a sense, how much he wanted to be with her only made his consequent decisions easier.

"You're hopeless!" His manager laughed him from LA, the whole team on the weekly check-in Zoom call. Generally there wasn't a lot to report between them, projects were on hold or cancelled. Harry had decided not to go back to the States to work on a few smaller things—a fashion shoot, a TV guest appearance and a small role in a film—giving his legal team some work in getting him out of contracts, but that was mostly sorted now.

If he was going anywhere, it sure as hell wasn't across the Atlantic.

"Not hopeless," Harry replied diplomatically, "It's something else … But it's not hopeless. It almost feels like having the answer and being the little kid jumping up and down on the spot, dying for the teacher to hurry up and ask the question."

A series of blank looks came back at him. Harry sighed. He'd never been bad at explaining his personal life before. It was always so rational, the relationships made sense or happened in a usual way. He just couldn’t shake the notion that all along, people had been right.

When you know you know.

He'd found Alex.

That was as simple as it was to him. But it didn't settle everyone else the way it settled Harry.

Alex.

Did the name not tick a checkbox in their heads too?

"So, you're going to Australia?"

"I just want to know what it could look like," Harry amended the assumption, but yes, he was going to end up wherever Alex did, and if that was Australia then that was that.

"Who's in Australia?"

The question wasn't to Harry, it wasn't about who he was going to Australia for., they all knew who Alex was. The question was about the industry—about Harry's career. It was who was in Australia for him to work with? Frankly, he didn’t see why the same people he worked with now couldn’t also be the people he continued working with either remotely, or with short trips abroad when travel allowed.

"Obviously, it's not like everything can be done there," Harry offered diplomatically, "But at least for the foreseeable future, with the world how it is … Music as the primary focus, I want to write the next album there. Spend some time seeing the country too, I've always wanted to."

He got a collection of nods, and a few spoken agreements, assurances that it could work.

"This isn't a temporary thing," he said of Alex, looking at the faces who helped him run his life, "We're going to be navigating this for the rest of my career. So everyone's going to need to add Sydney time to their Clock app."

&&&

When he met Alex, Harry knew.

When he landed in Sydney, Harry knew again.

It was the right choice, it was the right place for him to be. All he wanted was to be moving in her direction; in the same direction as her.

It was warm despite the late hour, the air was fragrant with it, in stark contrast to the London he left behind.

He tried to think back to the last time he’d been in Australia, to what it felt like back then.

If only he’d know then …

Harry opted not to apply for any special considerations or circumstances. He didn't want anything to jeopardise him being able to enter what was likely the world's most difficult country to get into now—especially seeing as Harry wasn't a resident, much less a citizen. Harry didn't want to hit the news. And despite evidence of people he knew in the industry being able to dictate where they quarantined on arrival, Harry requested nothing. He just wanted to fly in, go to whatever hotel they told him to, do his two weeks quarantine and then be with her.

"Have you landed?" Alex's voice was urgent and tinged with excitement.

Harry laughed, "Yes, how do you think I'm calling."

She squeaked, "You're here!"

"I'm here," he smiled under his mask, following the flow of fellow travellers walking through the empty airport, "Who ever heard of an International Airport having a curfew though? The pilot made the joke that if we were projected to land even a minute after 11pm, he'd have to turn around and go back to London. Which was like, a joke, but also not funny?"

Alex chortled, "You'll have to get used to the sense of humour here."

"Hang on," Harry saw a checkpoint of sorts ahead of him, "I have to go. I'll call you back."

"Call me from the hotel," she said, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

&&&

"Go to the window."

“Hi. What?" Harry could barely move his head off the pillow as his eyes struggled to open.

"Go to your window," Alex repeated, "Were you asleep?"

He sat up, heart thrumming quickly at the possibility of what he was going to see. A second before his mind had only barely been able to scramble together the cognitive function to swipe to answer the call.

When he got to the window, Harry pulled back the curtains—he'd ended up at the same hotel Alex had been in too—his room looked out over Sydney's Hyde Park, the fountain and cathedral framing his window. Although his top floor room with a (locked) balcony was a little bigger than hers had been he still felt as if he was living in their FaceTime calls. He was sure he'd become more acquainted with the trees and greenery out his window as the days passed.

"What am I looking for?" He asked, but Harry knew.

"I'm down here, can you see me? Blue jeans shorts … Yellow top? I've got a sign!"

Harry's eyes scanned the footpath opposite the hotel, there was a main road between him and the park. He'd been in the room less than 12 hours though, so he wasn't familiar with the foot traffic.

"I can't… Wait, I see you," his mouth opened in a huge smile, "Hi!"

Harry waved and pressed his hand to the window as his heart waved down at Alex's. He felt like his insides were being swapped around inside him as he took his first look at her in the flesh in nearly thirteen weeks. She had sunglasses sitting up on top of her head and a The New Yorker tote bag over her shoulder. He bit his lip at all the exposed skin he was looking at, feeling it a cruel injustice in the fact he would be touching his girlfriend for a fortnight.

Alex was squinting up at the hotel, one hand to her forehead, blocking the sun while the other held her phone to her ear, "How high up at you?"

"Next to the yellow and red flag," he said, looking for a distinguishing feature. He'd fallen asleep to the sound of the rope flapping against the building.

Alex's voice took a teasing tone, "Oh, who's that sexy man with his shirt off in the hotel window?"

"I can't read your sign."

"I only had a Biro," she lamented, shoving the makeshift sign under her arm, "It just says Hi."

"Hi," Harry leant his forehead into the window, "You look beautiful."

"So do you."

"You going to stand out there for the next two weeks?"

"Would you like me to?"

"Yes, please."

Harry watched her take a step back and lean against the wall to the park behind her, "I'd better get comfy then."

&&&

There was a couple in the room next door to Harry.

"I'm telling you, it's relentless," he implored Alex with his eyes, pausing for a second to listen to the sound of their bed hitting the wall, "They're at it constantly."

"Embrace it, some people are into that," Alex giggled from her parent's kitchen. She was making dinner for the whole family, with her AirPods in and Harry chatting to her as she chopped vegetables. "Let it get you in the mood, Harry. Is that voyeurism, or exhibitionism? I can never—"

"—Okay," He rolled his eyes, "Thank you, Comedian."

"You're just jealous you're not getting any."

"I really am," Harry said seriously, "If I have to wait, so should they."

Alex's laugh filled his ears, "It's alright, less than a week to go now."

"I cannot wait to be holding you," he said, longing in his voice.

Harry had mixed feelings leaving London. He didn't know when he'd be back, but at the very least he was going to miss his first Christmas with his family. With England in lockdown, it was unlikely that even if he had stayed, he would be able to spend it with them anyway, but Harry would miss them. He already missed them.

It wasn't like he missed Alex, though. And in all the conversations he'd had with his mum, or his sister, or anyone else, they'd all told him to go for her. They saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice when he spoke about her. Or maybe their hearts knew as well, as though Harry meeting Alex had been locked away in them all and now the light to that room was switched on.

So there he was, in Australia. To be with his love.

&&&

Ten Days 'Time has changed nothing at all, you're still the only one that feels like home'

Harry asked the nurse who took his last COVID swab to help him.

He hadn't requested anything up until that point, but he knew, even behind her protective gear, she was a friendly face. And he also knew that there were rumblings online that he was in Sydney. (All those spare and jet lag hours, he'd tried to stay off the internet, he really had)

The good news was it was just rumblings, because why on earth would Harry Styles be in Sydney.

All it would take was one photo to confirm it though, which in a sense, was fine, he didn't care.

But Harry didn't want that photo to be of any of his first moments back with Alex.

Let someone snap a picture in a couple of weeks, on a random beach or coming out of a cafe somewhere. Just not his first day. Not when he hadn't seen her since the beginning of September almost three months ago.

He asked if the nurse could help him arrange Alex for access to the hotel car park because the discharge information pack he'd received directed him to organise pick up on the street.

The next two days went slowly, those final 48 hours, waiting for a negative result and trying like anything to bat away fears that it wouldn't be the same. That somehow Harry and Alex would've lost the something that lit the spark in London.

He hated that feeling—the doubt—and when he confessed it to his sister, she batted it away as nerves. She said life was always full of uncertainty and risks, the idea was to choose the ones you thought were worth taking.

&&&

Alex stared at her legs as she sat, waiting for Harry in her dad's car.

It hadn't taken long to get the colour back to them, although mostly she was fixated on how she should have dressed a little nicer for the first time seeing Harry in months. She didn't even have proper shoes on, just the thongs that she'd kicked off the night before after coming back from the park with the dogs.

Harry hadn't seen this side of her. This casual, probably more Australian sounding Alex. The one with bare feet and sunglasses holding her hair back. He'd met her family over video calls, but what would Harry think when he was in a room full of them? They were loud and could have distasteful senses of humour. There were family jokes that Alex had never thought twice about before but now worried Harry wouldn't appreciate.

She'd slipped back into the comforting hum of life in Sydney so easily. Her friends, her family, her city. When she left Sydney hadn't felt like home, but as soon as she stepped back into it something in Alex let out a sigh of return. It was strange, leaving London just at the end of the summer months and falling straight into the beginning of a new summer here.

In front of her, Alex sensed movement. The door she'd been instructed to park in front of opened, and a very tall man in an army uniform stepped into the underground car park, propping open the door with his foot. He pointed to Alex in the front seat and said something to Harry, who was the next person to appear, followed by a nurse in full PPE.

Alex felt an explosion in her chest, an electric shock or a bolt of lightning. Two hearts jumping up and down in excitement.

She cracked the car door open and heard Harry thanking the two people escorting him, his hands moved as though they were itching to add a handshake to the gesture.

As soon as Alex was in his eyesight though Harry didn't think about anyone else.

She emerged and hovered by the front of the car, waiting for Harry to approach her, as if unsure what she was allowed to do. The sight of her in an oversized hoodie and small athletic shorts warmed him instantly. She looked perfect, with a tan that evaded her in London and a brightness behind her eyes Harry was addicted to already. He liked the thought that he was an errand, that picking up her boyfriend was on a list of things for her to do that day. The word 'normal' flashed in Harry's mind, and any worry he'd had about her or him or them together being different from how he remembered it disappeared.

"Hi," he smiled wide as he tugged down the mask covering his face and stepped right into her personal space, his bag and suitcase abandoned behind him.

Speechless, Alex breathed Harry in deeply through tears as she was tightly wrapped up in his arms. She couldn't bring any words to the surface, and so they just stood in silence, holding each other.

After a moment Harry turned his face into her neck and pressed a slow, warm kiss below her ear, "Hello, hello, hello," he said between kisses.

It only made Alex's crying increase, and she squeezed him tighter while leveraging herself higher up his body, not yet willing or able to step away.

"Alex," Harry said her name gently, "Let me see you, please."

She leant back but covered her cheeks with her sleeves, peering over at Harry through blurry eyes, "Wait a sec."

He smiled and pulled her hands away by her wrists, "Give me a kiss."

&&&

"You're such a tourist," Alex laughed as she drove, watching Harry lean forward in the passenger seat and try to take a photo through the windscreen of the Sydney Harbour Bridge above them.

"You know bridges are my passion," he said dryly.

She smiled as he sat back and slipped his hand back into hers.

"I quite like you driving," Harry said, eyeing her in the drivers' seat, "Look at you knowing your way around."

Alex grinned under her sunglasses, "We're in my city now, baby."

&&&

Harry's mouth hovered hotly over the skin below Alex's breasts.

"Harry," she ran her fingers through his hair, hating the anticipation.

His lips upturned at the impatience behind her saying his name. He pressed a kiss to the skin there, then another half an inch further down her tummy, "M'not in a hurry."

"I am," Alex urged.

"Oh?" Harry stopped and looked up at her, his elbows on either side of her hips as he held himself over her, "You are?"

"Yes."

"Going somewhere after this?"

She whined, whined, "No, Harry."

Alex hadn't taken him home to her family. Not yet.

She drove an hour out of the city to a beach suburb with what Alex had deemed the nicest Airbnb. It was private, and without Sydney's usual cohort of international tourists, the area was deserted except for locals. They could hear the ocean from the bedroom and see if from the kitchen. She'd booked them two nights; two nights to reconnect and just live in the presence of each other without her family stepping in and inevitably stealing Harry's heart.

(Except, of course, it was Alex's heart who has his, all this time)

"Look at you, fuck," Harry said, tilting back up to take her lips in his, pressing his torso, his thighs, his stomach, his hardened crotch into her. "Fucking gorgeous."

"We can do slow later," she all but begged, her fingers digging into his exposed back, "Please. Just … Just please, Harry."

Alex felt his hand brush over her thigh, deliciously trailing over the sensitive skin just below her hip bone and down between them. His eyes dipped down between them only briefly before Alex was feeling the tip of him pressing into her exactly where she needed it.

"Yes," her body relaxed into the feeling, remembering the London nights, the mornings and that first time in his living room.

"Alex," Harry said her name like he could hardly believe it, and at the same time as wanting to savour the moment he was thinking of their first, hurried time as well. His hips snapped forward, remembering that time the rush came from wanting to taste, to experience something new and to have Alex's body for his own the first time.

The urgency behind Harry's movements this time were for want of something had and sorely missed, something already claimed but given up for a time.

Alex's head was stretched back onto the pillow underneath him while she felt her body shift and squeeze around him. She wrapped her arms around his chest to feel him closer, wanting to hold onto him as he pumped in and out, sighing against her neck, trying to regulate himself.

"God, Al."

"Harry."

&&&

Four nights later, tucked into the spare room at her parent's house, Harry rolled over and took her hand.

"I think we should get a place here."

"A what?"

"A flat, a house, we should rent something in Sydney."

"Sydney?" Alex's tone elevated, almost touching the spinning ceiling fan above them.

"Yes, Sydney," Harry repeated, "You mentioned a job you liked the look of a few weeks ago, did you apply for it? "

"But what about London? That's where you live, God, what about your work, Harry."

"I want to be here, I'm not in any hurry to go back to what normal was. Normal didn't have you," Harry said, throwing out the script he'd built in his head the last month. His heart was doing the talking, extempore, "I've watched you this week, Alex, it's like you're a whole different person here. You're so happy and settled and joyful, which, by the way, I already thought you were but here … Do you really want to go again? Could you leave your family again?"

Alex felt her chest going into overdrive like everything was whirring around too quickly. She felt had to be honest, though, despite the way it made the fear climb further up her throat, "No. I don't want to leave."

Harry brought her knuckles up to kiss, "I don't want you to leave, either. So, what if we stayed? For as long as it's where you need to be?"

"But your family—

"—Doing this means one of us is always going to be away from someone," Harry told her, "I can handle missing my family, Al, I can't handle missing you. You're it."

"It just seems like too much to ask you to do, Harry."

"You're not asking," he insisted. "I can figure out how to work from here. London was my home base, I spent a lot of the year away anyway. And it's not that much further to LA for stuff, I … I'm saying I can make it work here, Alex. I want to make it work with you."

Alex's heart did a cartwheel, "You want to stay in Sydney?"

Harry's somersaulted, "I want to stay with you, yes."

The End. &&&

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Thanks for reading, everyone! x Kate

Tag list: @afterhoursharry @beautifuleclipses @bumbershots @coffee-doodle-doo @decadentdonkeyflowerzonk @elemayox @ficsthatmakemeswoon @finelinesupremacy @greatestview @hatnightin2008 @ifiwereaboy2323 @ihearthemcallingforyou @just-damn-bored @kakaym @kara-246 @lifeandsomethingelse @luminescencefics @micurq27 @miorni @monpetitchouchou16 @morethanamelodyy @piawhat @rubytersteege @staceystoleyourheart @stepping-into-the-light @steppingonoranges @stylesfics-xx @stylishmuser @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime @tpwkhoney @ursamajor603 @veryplatoniccircunstances @wanderlustiing @whatevarandomlygoes

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#fic: terrible to meet you #fic #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #1dff #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles story #harry styles long #hs fic

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] Also on AO3

Chapter 6: Jon

Jon grumbles to himself as he drives back through the streets of London. Stupid. Stupid of him to have left his notes behind and stupid to be going back for them now. He could easily wait until morning. There’s no real urgency in the matter. What can he possibly do in the next—he glances at the dashboard clock on his car—nine hours that can’t wait until business hours?

But after realizing he left them in his office, he was out the door and in his car before he thought about it. Even now, he can’t convince himself to just turn around and go back. There is an odd sense of urgency propelling him, hence why he’s driving instead of submitting to the capricious whims of the late-night London Transit schedule. He needs to get to the Archives, needs to get those notes. And, all right, maybe he’ll check on Martin while he’s at it.

Really, he might as well stay overnight himself. No point in driving back and forth more than necessary. He can get whatever work he wants done just as easily in the office, and it might be useful to have another pair of hands or eyes or ears or whatever he needs, even if—

Jon terminates that line of thought ruthlessly. Martin isn’t incompetent. He just doesn’t have the training the rest of them do. If Jon thinks about it too hard, he actually feels a bit of a heel for having been so harsh on the man without troubling to ask questions. He did what he could with what he had, and now that he’s come out and admitted it, Sasha has been more than willing to help him out. He is getting better. A lot better. And it’s only been a few days.

So...yes. If he stays at the office to work, Martin can help. And probably will, if he’s still awake. It is, after all, a bit late. Jon will have to be quiet, at least at first, because if Martin is asleep he doesn’t want to wake him. He needs rest. They all do, really, but Jon is an anxious mess at the best of times and this whole...situation isn’t helping, so his sleep is ofttimes restless at best and intermittent at worst. He’ll likely end up pacing the Archives for most of the night. Maybe he’ll check to make sure that CO2 system he talked Elias into having installed is working properly. Or maybe he’ll go through the statements. Martin found one that seemed to be from Jane Prentiss; Jon meant to read it the night before, but hadn’t got around to it. Yes, that will likely be what he does.

He turns a corner and slams on his brakes. There is a veritable wall of emergency lights before him—police, fire, even an ambulance. And it all seems to be centered around...

No.

Jon isn’t one hundred percent certain the car is even all the way off, let alone pulled over to the curb, before he’s out the door and moving towards the crowd. Something is happening, and it’s happening at the Magnus Institute.

Jon scans the people clustered on the sidewalk. There aren’t many, not that he expected there to be. It is, after all, well into the evening. Most people leave at five, or close to it. In fact, most of the people on the sidewalk seem to be from nearby buildings, mere curious onlookers gawking at the spectacle. Jon doesn’t see anyone he recognizes, and he slowly begins to relax.

Then panic strikes him like an almost physical force. Martin. Martin should be easy to spot. He’s big—not fat, exactly, just big—and one of the taller employees. He ought to be standing on the edge of the crowd, a bundle of anxiety and attempted helpfulness, talking to a police officer or an onlooker or looking around to make sure he isn’t going to get in trouble for something that almost certainly isn’t his fault.

He’s not there. Jon spins frantically, but Martin is nowhere to be seen. He could be on the far side of the crowd, or he could have stepped out for something, or—

Or he could still be in the Archives.

Jon runs towards the door, hardly aware he’s doing it. Something slams into him, holding him back, and he struggles, his panic rising. Something is holding him, he’s trapped, he’s in danger, but Martin is still in there—

“Hold on, sir, you can’t go in there!”

“No, you don’t understand, I have to—my friend is in there—” Jon fights to get free.

“Crews are inside, sir, they’ll find anyone who’s in there, but you need to stay out here. We can’t have you running into danger.”

The fireman—as it proves to be—deposits Jon behind a barricade. He grips it in both hands, staring desperately at the door to the Archives. There doesn’t seem to be any smoke pouring out of the door, which is...maybe promising, but maybe not. Maybe still too late.

There was a fire in the Archives, somehow. Martin was down there. If he didn’t wake in time...or if he wasn’t able to get out, if the CO2 suppressant system triggered and he breathed in too much of the stuff...

A chasm seems to open up before Jon as he suddenly, unexpectedly faces down the idea of a world devoid of Martin Blackwood. His mind conjures up thoughts of Martin’s not-too-chipper morning, Jon every day, of his quiet determination to do his job even when he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, of the earnest way he makes his reports. Of him appearing in Jon’s office with a cup of tea, made exactly the way Jon likes it, at the exact moment he needs it the most.

In that moment, Jon understands with crystal clarity exactly how important Martin is to him, and how much it will devastate him if he is gone. His grip on the barricade tightens and he begins to wonder if he can escape the notice of the firefighters in order to—

“Jon?”

Only one person—one living person, anyway—ever addresses Jon in that slightly disapproving tone. Jon turns to find Elias standing a few feet away, one eyebrow raised and his mouth set in a flat line. “Elias. What—what’s going on?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Elias’s disapproval is almost palpable. “I don’t see the others. I must say, I never would have expected you to run and leave them behind.”

“Leave—what do you mean?”

Elias’s lips tighten. “You think I wasn’t aware of what was going on? I did hear Tim talking about this ‘sleepover in the Archives’.”

Jon stares at Elias for a second, comprehension eluding him. Then, suddenly, ice floods his veins as he realizes what Elias is implying.

Not just Martin. Tim and Sasha doubled back to spend the night, too.

“Oh, God,” he manages to choke out.

Elias’s expression shifts. “You weren’t aware?”

“No!” Jon turns desperately back towards the Institute, towards the Archives, frantically scanning for any sign of...anything. “No, I thought—they both should have gone home by now, I—oh, God. No.”

He starts to dodge around the barricade, but Elias has his shoulder in an iron grip. “Steady, Jon. The ECDC said not to—”

“The what?” Jon jerks his head around to face Elias. Realization hits him, yet again, and while he would have sworn there isn’t enough blood left in his face for it to drain any further, he is apparently wrong about that. “Jane Prentiss is here?”

“Jon, you’re getting hysterical. Calm down.”

“Calm down? You’ve just informed me that my entire staff was in the Archives, which apparently were not only on fire but invaded by a woman completely riddled with dangerous worms, and you want me to calm down?”

“The fire was apparently small, and, I suspect, set mostly with the intention of triggering the CO2 suppressant system—”

“If that is supposed to make me feel better, Elias, it is failing.” Jon turns back to the Archives and contemplates making a break for it. It’s fifty-fifty whether Elias will stop him, or just wait to see if he survives and then fire him, but the emergency staff are—

There’s a lot of activity around one of the doors. Jon lets out a ragged gasp as two paramedics come out, wheeling a stretcher between them with a body on it. He doesn’t—can’t—know for sure who is on it, not from that distance, not in the dark and with his eyesight, but he does. He knows, with a certainty that he can almost taste, that it’s Martin on that stretcher.

And he isn’t moving.

“Jon!” Elias shouts, but Jon is past hearing him, too preoccupied with rushing across the lawn. He has to get to him, has to see—

“Stand back!” A figure in a hazmat suit suddenly looms up, barring his progress. “You can’t come in this area!”

“Damn you, that is someone I care about, I need to know he’s okay!” Jon cries, his voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this area is off-limits until we’re sure we’ve contained the infestation,” the figure in the hazmat suit says. “You should be able to see him once he’s out of quarantine.”

“But—” Jon’s eyes desperately track the stretcher as they wheel it past, the two attendants tossing terms and orders back and forth. It is Martin, he was right, lying very still. There’s an oxygen mask clamped over his face, and he’s—oh, God, he’s covered in blood—he was attacked—the worms, or Jane Prentiss, or both, they attacked Martin, he is hurt, he might be dying, he could already be dead and the oxygen mask could just be for form’s sake and nobody will tell him because they have to control the damage and cover up what’s happening and Jon can’t even be at his side because he might still be infested with the parasites that riddled Prentiss’s body and oh, God, what will he do if Martin survives only to be like that, this is all his fault, why in the name of God’s green earth did he think the Archives would be safe, why was it only Martin he suggested stay, why hadn’t he either had all of them stay, or had all of them stay somewhere else—

The slam of the ambulance doors jolts him out of his thoughts, and he draws in a great gasp of air, which he realizes he’s been forgetting to do somewhat. It would start calming him if not for the fact that he suddenly realizes where his thoughts are trending and starts panicking all over again. “Tim and Sasha! Where are they?”

The figure hesitates, then waves at someone. Another hazmat-suited figure comes over to them, and Jon can see the scowl behind the clear plastic mask, even over the breathing apparatus. “Get back behind the barricades! This area is under quarantine, and unless you want to be quarantined too, I suggest you stay clear.”

It crosses Jon’s mind, for a fleeting second, to ask if he’d be quarantined with Martin, but the thought is gone before he can speak it, fortunately. The figure that still holds him is already speaking, though. “Mack, how many people have we found so far?”

“Two, the man they just brought out and...well, what’s left of a woman,” the second figure says. “I’m told everyone should have been gone for the day.”

“My assistants decided to spend the night,” Jon says. He can hear the hysterical quality in his own voice but is helpless to stop it. “There should be two more, a man and a woman—he’s got, ah—and she’s—” He flounders as he tries desperately to conjure up a description of either Tim or Sasha. The only face his brain seems willing to contemplate just then is Martin’s, bright and eager, pale and scared, still and bleeding.

“We haven’t found them, sir, but we’ll keep looking.” The second figure��s tone changes—concern, maybe? Still, he waves at the first figure, who shoves Jon easily back behind the barricade.

Someone, probably Elias, is talking. Jon honestly isn’t listening. He’s torn between proceeding immediately to the hospital to stalk the lobby until someone lets him see Martin—he assumes they’re taking him to the hospital, anyway—or staying here to make sure Tim and Sasha are all right. He should probably be concerned about the Archives, about what caught on fire, on whether or not any important statements got burnt and how big the fire was, and he’s not going to lie, a part of him is. But he’s willing to let that concern lie until later. Right now, he just needs everyone to be okay.

“Jon,” Elias says loudly, directly in his ear, and Jon about jumps out of his skin. He turns to see his boss looking at him with something that might be concern and might just be annoyance. “The worms are dead. ECDC is about to go in and remove Jane Prentiss’s body. I’m going in to supervise. Do you want to come?”

He really doesn’t. Quite apart from the fact that he’s been sufficiently upset by the few worms he has seen around the Institute and really doesn’t want to see how many are still in the Archives, even dead, he’s just about decided that he needs to be at the hospital. Martin doesn’t have anybody, as far as Jon knows, and anyway he needs to see for himself that Martin is all right. But he also knows that this is part of his job, and a part of him does need to see the Archives for himself as well, before...before whatever cleanup will happen.

Besides. Tim and Sasha are still down there.

“All right,” he manages. “Lead the way.”

He’s tense and distracted. Far from the mad rush that drove him a few moments before, he follows Elias at a more sedate pace, and he’s only half-aware of the fact that he’s balling the cuffs of his cardigan into his hand. Damn it, he bought this one brand-new when he got appointed Head Archivist and he’s already worried snags and stresses into the cuffs. He can’t help it, he’s got a compulsion to fiddle with the ends of his sleeves when he’s nervous or distracted—among other things—and this is hardly the first sweater he’s ruined like this, but it’s still been less than eight months and he’d sort of hoped he would be over this by now. He forces himself to uncurl his fists and shake his sleeves back into some semblance of order before entering the Archives.

They instantly go back into his curled fists when he sees the state of the Archives. There are worms everywhere. He cannot, for the life of him, figure out where they all came from. They’ve seen a few scattered around outside the Institute, one or two making their way inside, but this many? God, they must have been breeding in the damned walls...

The thought sends another sticky spiral of panic and guilt through him. If the worms were breeding in the walls of the Institute—of the Archives—and Martin’s been sleeping here this whole time—then this is entirely Jon’s fault. This could have happened at any time and he never would have known. He doesn’t doubt for a minute that Martin was awake when all this happened, but if Tim and Sasha hadn’t been there, he might have been asleep when the worms attacked.

He might not ever have woken up.

Jon looks desperately around, trying to keep his mind on the present and not on hypotheticals. There are files that have been pulled out and...are probably ruined, to be quite honest, as there’s some sort of...substance on them. There’s a great deal of activity surrounding what appears to have once been the body of a woman, in what appears to have once been a red dress, and Jon’s stomach turns uncomfortably as he thinks about Timothy Hodge’s statement...and Martin’s. The remnants of suppressant foam still linger, and while the gas seems to have mostly dissipated, the smell is...unpleasant. The smell of worms, and earth, and rot.

Then Jon’s eyes fall on a blank space, a curved-out negative in the sea of silver-white, and his heart lurches as he realizes he’s staring at the spot where Martin lay before the attendants took him out. He steps closer, not even consciously aware he’s doing it, and stares at the space, a perversion of a snow angel on the Archives floor. There’s blood on the wood, still tacky, and Jon wonders how much there is, whether it’s too much for a normal human to survive.

“Were you here when they...?” Jon addresses the nearest person, indicating the spot where Martin’s body obviously was retrieved from.

“Was the one who found him,” the figure confirms. It sounds like a woman. “Not a reporter, are you?”

“No, I’m—I-I work here.” Jon should probably point out that he is, in fact, in charge here, or at least in this portion of “here”, in theory anyway, but he’s too preoccupied with finding out everything he can. “How was—what was the situation when you found him?”

“A bloody mess.” The woman waves a hand at the area. “Worms were all dead, thankfully, but there was still a bit of gas in the place. We knew we were looking for Jane Prentiss—Mr. Bouchard called us in as soon as he knew what was what—but we didn’t know there was anyone else here. I almost stepped on him before I saw him. Thought he was another dead body at first.”

Jon’s heart nearly stops in his chest. “But then?”

“He moved. Thought it might’ve been the worms at first. They were all through him. Looked like bloody Swiss cheese. But they were all as dead as the ones out here. No, it was him, struggling to breathe. I started pulling the worms out best I could and shouted for help. The paramedics showed up and helped out. He was starting to come round at that point, but...well. People aren’t meant to breathe carbon dioxide. They gave him oxygen and wheeled him out. He’ll need to be quarantined a bit until they’re sure he’s not infested, and they’ll be checking his lungs, but really, I think he’ll be fine.”

Jon exhales heavily. He really shouldn’t be relieved. Honestly, one look around the Archives should be enough to convince him that things are...bad. They are bad. God, so many worms, and some of them were in Martin’s body. There is also a human corpse on the floor. And there’s still no sign of Tim or Sasha. But those five words give him more of a sense of relief than he’s felt since he saw the first emergency light. I think he’ll be fine. Martin will be fine.

It’s enough to relax Jon to the point that he can wade carefully through the worm corpses to check the damage to his Archives, while Elias supervises the ECDC people in preparing to remove Jane Prentiss’s body, or what’s left of it anyway. Not far from where Martin lost consciousness—not died, thank God—is another odd clearing—not so much a clearing as a slight thinning in the concentration of worms. Jon eyes it, decides it’s a concern for later, and concentrates on trying to figure out where the hell the worms came from in the first place.

He finds the answer when he wanders into his office and finds the cheap shelving unit shoved to one side, twisted and askew, and a hole in the wall behind it. It should have been an exterior wall, but no, it looks like someone put a piece of drywall over an entrance. Curious, Jon touches the hole lightly. It’s person-sized, as though someone burst through the wall. At first, he’s inclined to assume it was made by Jane Prentiss, forcing her way into the Archives, but a second glance proves otherwise. The break in the plaster indicates that it came from his office, not into, meaning that someone was in his office and, somehow, knew this tunnel was there.

That should be worrying. It is worrying. Jon wonders who did it...who would break into his office, let alone push through this wall...who would put Martin in danger, because almost certainly this is how the worms got in and attacked him. He’d suspect Tim or Sasha or both, since they’re clearly not here, but he knows in his heart of hearts neither of them would deliberately put Martin at risk. They’re a family, the four of them, even if Jon’s been trying not to admit that, and they both care about him. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.

But if they didn’t know...

There’s a commotion from behind him, and Jon jumps. The thought passes through his mind that Jane Prentiss might not be all that dead after all, or worse—that she’s not alone, that she brought another of her victims along with her. He grabs at the first object he sees that could reasonably be considered a weapon—a paper knife he found in one of the drawers when he first took the job—and steps out into the Archives proper, not at all confident that he can do anything but at least willing to make the attempt.

He drops the knife instantly when he sees the two figures in the middle of the Archives, both looking panicky and quite out of breath. “Tim! Sasha!”

He rushes towards them, heedless of the worms popping and squishing under his feet. Tim looks up at him and waves at something on the floor—a hole. Jon realizes all of a sudden that they’re standing next to an open trapdoor in the middle of the Archives, something he had no idea existed before this moment.

“Call...police,” he manages to gasp out between heaving breaths.

“They’re outside,” Elias says, sounding somehow both worried and annoyed. “Tim, what is going on? What is the urgency?”

Sasha meets Jon’s eyes, and he’s genuinely never seen her so scared. “There’s a body in those tunnels. It’s Gertrude Robinson and she’s dead.”

#tma #the magnus archives #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#panic attacks #canon-typical worms #Jon still needs a hug #ollie writes fanfic

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fanaticfangirl001 · 5 years

Text

The Singer and The Actor

Joe Mazzello x plus sized reader

Summary:Y/n L/n, is the lead singer of the band, Limitless, which she was the last to join after the former singer was told to fuck off, she is also Joe Mazello’s girlfriend. When he asks her to come see him in London, her life begins to change for the better:her band’s successful, and friendship to an old hysterical queen and his king of hearts.

Author’s note: This might be a little AUish but after seeing Bohemian Rhapsody I wondered what music would be like if Freddie hadn’t passed away.

Ps: I had to include Jim and no Jim in this isn’t dead either.

PPS: if anyone has any thoughts on this concept don’t be afraid to message me or ask something.

@queen-irl-af @kiillerqueeen @rami-malek-trash

Y/n looks around as she steps into the baggage claim at Heathrow Airport. Grabbing her dark purple luggage she sits on a bench still looking around for her familiar redhead. A British accent pulls Y/n out of her searching.

“Thought I forgot about you.” The voice says smiling.

She looks beside her to see a man that looks a lot like Joe but with long shaggy brown hair, and dressed like he stepped out of the 80s.

“Joe, is that..That can’t be your real hair.” Y/n reaches a hand to touch it.

“It’s not. What do you think?” Joe hugs her.

“I think that you’re crazy for just walking off the set to come and get me.” Y/n laughs as Joe grabs her bags.

“I told them I’d be back.” Joe tossed the luggage into his rental car. “How’s the band?”

“You’re not getting a sneak peek. We’re still writing the album.” Y/n hops into the passenger seat.

“The one of many.” Joe reassures.

“ It took a lot of convincing for this one. I swear the manager is just waiting for us to fail.” Y/n vents rubbing her temples.

“So he’s a dick.” Joe summarizes

“Kind of. He implied to the record label that I couldn’t be the front man of the band because my feminine features would distract from the rock vibe.” Y/n does a little shimmy in while buckled up.

“But you’re the front man.” Joe turns into a long strip of road.

“Yup.” Y/n replies.

“Total dick.” Joe parks the car and opens the door for Y/n.

“Exactly, he hates me. The guys, I don’t know if they don’t see it or they don’t care. Which hurts a little.” Y/n admits as she gets out.

“Well I think you are the best singer ever.” Joe throws an arm around his girlfriend as they start walking towards his trailer with Y/n’s luggage.

“You need to stop saying that. It’s not true.” Y/n says as Joe tosses her luggage and shuts the door.

Joe pulls Y/n closer to him and whispers “ There’s some special guests to the set and Rami might pee his pants.”

“So Freddie is coming to the set. I thought only Brian and Roger?” Y/n asks, since Joe tells her everything about the upcoming film, he had to tell someone.

“Well he changed his mind. Brought his husband,too.” Joe shrugs.

“You better do a good job, Freddie is John’s bestie for life.” Y/n reminds him as Joe is taken away by production assistants.

Y/n sits at an empty table where she can watch the current band scene. She keeps her songwriting notebook in her purse so she can work on the album while she’s supposed to be “relaxing on vacation”. Her bandmates told her that they will keep things going and when she comes back they can resume recording and writing the album.

“I never know how to stay out of people’s way on these set things.” An older gentleman with a robin’s egg blue button up shirt says sitting down beside her.

“I wouldn’t know, my first set, my first actor boyfriend.” Y/n gestured to the four boys getting ready to be on the farm.

“Which one is your’s?” The man asks.

“The one dancing to Boss Ass Bitch, I should probably call him that from now on.” Y/n laughs.

“ How long have you been with your Boss Ass Bitch?” He asks.

“Eight months, and you?” Y/n replies politely.

Jim gestures towards Freddie and Roger, paling around like no time has passed since they last saw each other,” This is my Boss Ass Bitch, and we’ve been together for a while.”

“My Boss Ass Bitch, has another name though, it’s Joe.” Y/n panics thinking that Jim call Joe a bitch and he doesn’t understand the joke.

“Mine’s called Freddie, and I’m Jim.” Jim replies easily.

“ Oh uh I’m Y/n.”

“The incredible Y/n, the greatest singer in the universe.” Jim says with a smile on his lips hidden a little by his mustache.

“Joe really needs to stop.” Y/n hides her face in her hands.

“How do you know my husband didn’t say that?” Jim asks.

“Did he?” Y/n looks shocked.

“No, you were right with Joe.” Jim answers patting her shoulder. “ But it’s sweet that he’s very supportive.”

“Wish my band mates were.” Y/n blurts out from under her hands.

“What’s wrong?” Jim looks at her sympathetically.

“Our manager hates me.” Y/n pulls her head out of her hands. “I shouldn’t really talk about it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to spill the tea, as the kids say?” Jim asks.

“Well he just says mean things to me and I can’t figure out why. He tried to tell the record label that I couldn’t be the frontman because I have femine features, and they would distract from our rock vibe.He also said I couldn’t sing.” Y/n explains.

“And then what happened?” Jim in invested in the band tea.

“The head of the record label played our demo, and then he said I was talented, and said if our manager didn’t agree he could have arrangements made for him to represent another band. He agreed that I was good, but that’s not the end of the story.” Y/n says without taking a breath.

A production assistant rushes over and Jim whispers something to her and she returns with two water bottles.

“Oh thank you.” Y/n thanks the assistant and continues telling Jim all the mean things her manager has said about her ranging from: her appearance, her style, song lyrics, singing voice. “It’s like I can’t do anything right.”

“If it means anything I, a complete stranger, think you’re very nice.” Jim offers.

“It’s just if I wanted to be yelled at for everything I do, I’d move back in with my parents.” Y/n blurts out a little tmi, about her home life.

“Love, you need something stronger than water today.” Jim pats her shoulder.

“I don’t drink.” Y/n laughs softly.

“You have reasons to.” Jim laughs with her.

“This world sucks.” Y/n sighs.

“This world is the only one with cats on it.” Jim reminds her. “Come on, let's find some cats.”

“They have cats on set?” Y/n asks.

“Freddie was dead set on his cats being portrayed. So yes, many cats on set.” Jim leading the way to where the cat handlers were.

“Jim, they aren’t going to let me play with them. They have a job to do.” Y/n says to Jim while apologizing towards the handlers and various assistants that her and Jim passed.

“It’s acting. Besides a few pets from us might help with their performance anxiety. And you’re in need of some cat therapy, or frankly retail therapy.” Jim says sitting on the floor by the cat crates. He gently pulls Y/n down to join him.

Cats slowly begin descending upon the two. Two very curious and trusting cats plop themselves on top of Jim’s lap.

“He called me a whale too, cause of my hips.” Y/n adds as cats swarm her legs.

“Y/n the way I see it, the more hips the more places for cats to sits.” Jim says placing cats onto her lap. Three, then four, then five.

“They are pretty cute.” Y/n pets the cats on her lap. “I’d rather have a bunch of cats as my manager than Peter.”

“Peter’s a cunt name too.” Jim adds as kittens from his lap try to climb onto Y/n’s looking like their playing king of the hill.

“He is.” Y/n agrees.

“Have you tried telling your bandmates?” Jim asks.

“Yeah, but they just think I can’t take constructive criticism, except for Jake. He’s my best friend. I befriended him through the band. He’s the youngest, and my big sisterness kicked in.” Y/n admits.

“Keep him around. Best friends are good to have, especially in the music industry. “Jim says gently standing up and helping Y/n with cats and getting to her feet.

“How did you do that?” Y/n asks.

“Do what?” Jim smiles.

“Cheer me up, with cats.” Y/n smiles.

“Joe talks about you a lot, you like cats and the color purple.” Jim lists off.

He offers her his arm and they link arms walking back to the set.

#joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello #borhap boys imagines #borhap boys

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thatdamnokie · 6 years

Text

today, i watched rocknrolla for the first time and kept a running tab of live commentary which can be found below the cut and is a stupid amount of ridiculous and will not make ANY sense unless you’ve also seen rocknrolla and like--have some vague memory of how the movie happens because this was all pretty much stream-of-consciousness or whatever.

yoooo i dig the opening song. okay. off to a good start.

for real thought the dark castle logo was hogwarts fml

is that… mark’s voice?

who is this muscular motherfucker?

LOOK AT THAT FUCKING BONG PIPE THING

that’s as tall as a toddler what the fuck

look at all these people in this movie!

THAT WAS MARK

mr. strong ladies and gentleman

… wait lenny looks super familiar, what else have i seen him in.

this all seems very complicated.

idris and gerard!

counselor’s cute too

why is everyone in this movie so fucking cute

WHERE ELSE HAVE I SEEN THIS GUY

every time mark speaks i jump

wait is that—gerard’s actual accent?

lenny, you are a terrifying dude.

and mark i want to ruffle your hair.

archie, that profile, sweet gracious.

… fuck he’s in the background and i just can’t stop looking at him.

this all sounds very, very complicated.

he calls him “len” omg

“do i look like a fucking immigrant” u h m

okay so pretty sure i don’t like lenny, they should just let archie be the leader

enter the russiannnsss

your sweater is dumb russian guy

i like his accent though

guys i don’t know enough about real estate hustling to be able to explain this to another person

aw sweet russian sweater man giving him his painting

… wait no camera man show me the painting

“whiskey is the new vodka” sure yuri whatever you say

lenny i can shoot whiskey better than you can you fucking bitch

dude you can’t hold your sauce can you?

archie

archie help him

fuck he is so handsome

that jawline

“famous archie smile” I WANNA SEE

dude you need to be nicer to people when whiskey makes you that sweaty?

… i’m sorry but i think i could outdrink arch’s boss???

bless whoever made mark narrator

yooooo stella!

i like her!

dude she looks boss as fuck

“i don’t feel like smiling”

dude a marriage of convenience where you don’t have regular sex sounds awful

“welcome to the—speeler?” did he say speeler?

tom!

some of the names in the opening credits didn’t look familiar but these faces do.

wait is gerard gay or was he making a joke?

that. accent. gracious.

just picture that growling in your ear. fuck, i want a british boyfriend guys. i mean it.

i like the color scheme of all this like everything’s—muted, but still classy?

okay i dig 1-2 and stella’s broship.

can you imagine just calling him twelve to save time

“just a black eye, nothing more.”

dude she has louboutins! or something like them! the ones with the red bottoms, i’m probably misspelling it.

hanging out at the country club. very classy.

arch, you’re all limbs.

… you’re also scary.

duuuuude he has a way of talking that just makes me nervous. like an undercurrent of a threat, things implied…

“in there like swimwear” i’m stealing that.

duuuuude lenny’s robe though?

i got office envy! look at that desk.

WHO FALLS BACKWARDS IN THEIR CHAIR

oh shit they took the painting

… that i still don’t know what it looks like, guys let me see it

len you are boned.

“and archie’s gonna have to go… to work.”

he is literally the tallest dude in every shot.

is he giving him slapping lessons rn.

… yes he is.

oh no

JESUS

ARCHIE

we do NOT HIT PEOPLE

gracious.

i’m torn because on one hand, that would probably really fucking hurt, his hands are probably as big as my fucking face

on the other hand—would i let mark strong slap me?

… maybe.

“but you keep the receipts because this ain’t the mafia”

idrisssss

fuck if he smiled at me like that i’d do whatever he said too

“everybody have fun tonight! <3” :D EVERYBODY WANG CHUNG TONIGHT

“now fuck off”

oh twelve

ugh all the style in this movie.

wardrobe goals.

i want that bag.

“… maybe.” bro you said that like you wanted the d, and i can’t say i blame you.

i like how yuri says london.

for a split second i thought that was tom holland???

ohhhhh what’s gonna happen now!

does everyone just like—drive mark around in these movies

OMG it’s the same money

this shit is hysterical

i want to mess his hair up. because if we were in public he’d probably hate it and tbh i’d be too scared to do it but maybe privately…

guys… i feel like i’d fit into the uk.

ohhhhh an INFORMANT

… oh that dude is cute!

oh that dude is CRAZY

oh, drugs, right. these are the drugs i do not do.

his name is TWELVE archie

see, he’s so good at being quietly threatening

his laugh is so… <3

i think ship stella and yuri—

oh FUCK i forgot she was married

he’s also gay as shit, yuri

dude she just got so sad…

“you devil”

oh duuuuuude

you want that v so bad and it is so obvious

they both have nice hands.

poor bob. :(

twelve you sweet scottish bastard.

UHM

OKAY

that’s a twist.

twelve noooo

dude be cool

DUDE

DUDE THIS IS NOT HOW YOU HANDLE THIS

CALM DOWN

oh my god

duuuuude, twelve.

dude.

bob. bob honey i am so sorry.

is he crying? T.T

TWELVE DO SOMETHING

“no I’M FUCKING SORRY”

YEAH WELL YOU SHOULD BE

a—a poof?

is ‘poof’ a bad word?

guys i don’t know anything about british slang.

bob honey relax…

ohhhhh i’m not sure if that was a smart question to ask right that second.

archie, you’re so classy and wonderful and probably wouldn’t freak out on people like that. probably.

this van gentleman is so delightful ( i am so bad at names rn )

so his nickname is van gentleman.

TANK

there we go.

i like this broship.

in which arch continues to be all. fucking. leg.

OH SHIT

i was NOT PREPARED

“like most things american they’ve eaten the natives” i mean…

i really like his comparison of the crayfish and greed, but like… i also really want bbq now… (have you HAD bbq crayfish? shit’s delicious.)

also HOLY SHIT was not expecting them to be stuck on him like leeches? that’s terrifying.

archie has like—this hidden mercy about him… like he got a weird look on his face and i couldn’t tell if it had to do with the quid dude or putting the other guy back in with the crayfish.

it’s his STEPSON?

ohhhhh an american!

oh he is handsome.

mickey. <3

what else have i seen this rocker dude in…

“ladies of the pole”

mickey’s hat ftw

oh this fedora guy is cute.

JUNE

i love that name AND her bangs!

this movie was a phenomenal soundtrack

aaannnddd definitely thought that dude was masturbating for a second

wait is that the guy from the beginning?

LENNY

... wwwooooowwww

lenny is an ASSHOLE

LENNY

johnny, johnny honey you do not deserve this

why is this movie full of people who deserve better than they got???

LENNY don’t you DARE

that is NOT OKAY

FUCK YOU

gosh, kid, bless your heart…

SHOW ME THIS FUCKING PAINTING

there are so many different accents in this movie and all it’s doing is confirming the fact that i never left my “i want a boyfriend with a nice voice” phase

“guns nuns and cowboys” idk what this bonanza thing is but i’m in

johnny you are very scary and i’m sorry that your stepdad made you like this.

dude stop touching june?

“it’s tasty and exotic—a bit like your june.” lenny you’re disgusting.

that’s an intense line of questioning, lenny.

this fucking painting.

ARCHIE

STOP FUCKING WITH THE MICROPHONE

oh my god

i literally just want him to never stop talking

omg bob.

dude twelve looks piiiiiiissed.

i think… i missed a part of the plot.

guys i want to be a part of this world but i’m only able to say that because no one’s very asked me to like… torture someone.

or sleep with someone gross.

victor you handsome bastard.

russian is such a guttural language i love it

FUCK YOU LENNY

at least you’re getting better at shooting your whiskey? fucking asshole.

like i like him less and less because he’s just GROSS you guys

jk could still outdrink him.

if you touch archie lenny i will reach through his screen and rip your face off.

i really wouldn’t be threatening someone who could snap you in half but okay

who the hell is cookie?

you look like a one-many party

omg where are your pants

cookie i love you you disaster of a man

omg i want to be invited to one of these parties

like just let me relax in a corner with an old fashioned and a cute boy

OHHH THEY FUCKED

OKAY

that explains a lot

dude bob that’s—okay but like they thought he was going to prison, that was just an accident

wait does archie know?

dude stella i want to be your friend so you can help me with my wardrobe

… twelve. twelve what are you doing.

stella looks so fucking unimpressed

YEAH BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING

dude, stella, girl, i’m sorry

at least one of you can dance

oh bertie you gay as shit

stella why did you marry this man

i like this closed captioning thing they’re doing.

who. is. the. informant.

“and remember—i *am* dangerous.” yes you are baby.

bertie you are so awkward

bob. bobby no. D:

BOB

oh bertie don’t act like you didn’t like getting bossed around i saw it in your face

y’all he is fucking ENAMORED

i’d go see this guy live.

that bouncer wasn’t fucking around. one hit knockouts.

… john. johnny. what are you doing

JOHNNY DO NOT STAB THE BOUNCER

HE IS MAKING ME SO NERVOUS

HOLY SHIT

JOHNNY

ALL RIGHT COOL LET’S JUST SHANK THE BOUNCER

johnny you are batshit crazy

“fucking mutt” wait, what does that mean?

mumbles is a handsome man.

ohhhh this is an awkward conversation.

“made a pass.” right.

ohhhh. oh he knows.

twelve, dude, i’m sorry.

he looks so uncomfortable.

but hey like this means they didn’t fuck so that’s a thing?

boooob, sweetheart. <3

they’re all such good mixes of good and evil.

except lenny. fuck lenny.

ooooo that lady has pretty hair.

oh wait THAT’S cookie?

then who was pantsless homie?

this movie has such a big cast and i can keep track of like four people.

this club lounge place looks cool though.

he helped him get off the rock? that’s pretty rad.

p.s. this movie has a great soundtrack tbh.

all the same kiddos maybe just stick to weed and the occasional hallucinogens

say no to cocaine and crack

oh, johnny. :(

buddy.

holy SHIT this guy’s scars though!

DUDE

how many scars do these russian guys HAVE

… ADJNSJANSOAPSLKKJADSM

TRAIN

OKAY

WAIT NO TRUCK

JESUS

… more scars i guess?

… wait i wonder if archie has scars like that?

ohhhhh noooo yuri.

yuri did your friends die?

LENNY you’re racist and i do not like you.

oooohhhh why do i feel like so many bad things are gonna happen in the last part of this movie.

twelve you’re limping my baby who hurt you

… oh

THAT is who hurt you

also i ship those two russian guys

i like how stella was apparently just watching the entire thing from a distance

and then has the audacity to critique him lmfao

holly shit right into a STOREFRONT

dude NONE of y’all are having a good day

this entire scene is fucking—something else

guns

knives

golf clubs

just

anything you can pick up and use as a weapon at all

WHAT THE FUCK

ARE THESE DUDES JUST INDESTRUCTIBLE

“ABANDON SHIP RUN FOR YOUR LIVES”

YEAH BITCH AGREED

OH SHIT COPS

BOB ARE YOU JUST GONNA WAVE LIKE THEY’RE YOUR BROS

THIS IS STRESSFUL

PARKOUR

bob you look like a puppy

and twelve looks like a zombie

and then there’s mumbles who just stole the coolest bike helmet i’ve ever seen

twelve, honey, you just can’t catch a break

dude russian guy is fucking RIPPED

kudos to who did the cinematography of this because it looks fucking cool

this is the slowest high-intensity chase i’ve ever seen

ripped and covered in blood. i dig it.

twelve you faker

oh hi ruskies

archie do you own any clothing that’s not black, grey or blue…?

fuck i love that jacket, but it’s so long it just makes him look even taller

LENNY

YOU NEED TO NOT BE SO FUCKING RACIST?

and get your hands off his testicles!

gracious.

everyone in this movie needs jesus.

johnny stop calling him pedro.

can…. can i see the painting please.

please.

guys.

this poor scottish guy.

yuri got cake.

johnny… sorta reminds me of freddie mercury in some of these shots? for like a few seconds at a time.

… okay so i’m full of dread between this monologue and what’s happening on the golf course.

lenny. buddy. you really got like. not do that. stop calling everyone immigrants

OH SHIT

GET HIM

GET HIM VICTOR

YOU GO BABY

this is a weird juxtaposition in terms of scenes though?

lenny getting his legs beat

and johnny’s super sad speech about the cigs

dude i can’t bring myself to feel bad for len.

wait where’s archie?

“and that is also why i cannot give that painting back.”

this is a set up for something really really bad.

and then they have moments where they act like dudes i know and i warm up to pete and johnny.

bobby stop fucking with that poor man. you’re gonna make him fall in love with you.

“i’m going back to bed.” “can i come?”

*smack* okay, that shit was funny.

johnny you need some chicken.

oh these motherfuckers.

… guys i wanna be a rocknrolla

lmao a protest

that flat looks disgusting.

dude you need to treat your bro better

ASJANSJASN

THEY TOOK THE PAINTING

CAN I SEE IT

LET ME SEE THIS FUCKING PAINTING

OH MY GOD THIS IS GREAT

if this movie ends without me seeing this fucking painting i’m going to kill someone

good man cookie.

TANK’S WATCHING P&P

COOKIE YOU DA REAL MVP

gerard’s laugh though

… well then

like if she wasn’t so unhappy in her marriage i’d feel bad

THE INFORMANT YES TELL ME

… sydney shaw?

“where did he learn a word like pseudonym?”

awwww he likes her…

oh she likes him!

okay good because that sex didn’t look romantic at all.

“you’ve got very good taste mr. one-two.”

lenny fuck you.

you’re gonna be alive for like three more years, relax.

archie. <3 that protectiveness—even if it is for lenny.

aaannnnddd enter the russians.

what a clustfuck.

wait TWELVE

DAMNIT TWELVE

OPEN YOUR EYES

… oh you are FUCKED

ooosajdnaksdjnajsdna this is anxiety-inducing

y’all this is why drugs are bad

and then nice outside scene. birds chirping. looks like a lovely day.

oh shit ARCHIE WITH A GUN

there’s no way that twelve is still alive

what the FUCK

am i SEEING

dude archie, me too

omg ARCHIE HELP HIM

that SMILE

dude i’d laugh too

OH SHIT

welp.

okay, we all figured archie was gonna kill people

put your FUCKING TONGUE BACK IN YOUR MOUTH

wait he SHOT TWELVE?

omg everything is happening at once.

wait, stella, what’d you do?

OMG

dude she looked FREAKED OUT

yuri… dude, what are you doing…?

UHM

WHAT

WAIT

WHAT IS HAPPENING

STELLA YOU LITERALLY FUCKED TWELVE LIKE A SECOND AGO

ohhhhhhhhhh

ohhhhhhh noooooo

ohhhhh NOOOOO

oh stella, honey you in danger girl

archie looks a thousand percent done and he’s been around this kid thirty seconds

wait archie was in prison?

this sydney shaw person put arch in prison…

duuuuuude younger!archie ;-;

“uncle arch” T.T

WHAT the fuck, lmao

just whipping out his gun, nbd

archie stop that. they’re babies.

johnny man you’ve—been fucked up for a while.

dude archie you look miserable.

ohhhh nobody died.

THANK YOU ARCHIE

GET HIM

i hate this entire family.

who all is about to die in this weird basement silent hill place.

… dude. johnny’s face though.

like i’ve felt like NO sympathy for lenny this entire time but i feel bad for johnny. :/

“a hot bath and a cold razor”

… dude

“because you’re poison john.”

o u c h

but like he is CRAZY

help i don’t know who to feel for

i feel for everyone

… except lenny

OH SHIT

WHAT THE FUCK

LENNY

JESUS

DUDE

HE IS GOING TO KILL HIS OWN STEPSON

what the fuck is happening.

YES THE INFORMANT

wait.

WAIT.

IT’S FUCKING LENNY????

OH MY GOD

“you are a VERY dirty bastard sydney.”

WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT

THE

FUCK

STOP KILLING EVERYONE

I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

NO NO NO NO THIS ISN’T WHAT I WANTED

this is STRESSFUL

“put your hands up!”

*thud*

okay that was funny

THE BOYS!

oh, archie.

oooohhhhh… all this shit…

archie. fuck, you can hear the betrayal in his voice.

shit, this is sad.

“there is no spring without a winter. no life without death.”

… archie?

oh a time skip!

oh SHIT johnny got a GLO UP

“c’mon then give us a cuddle”

i’ll GLADLY you give you a cuddle

OH MY GOD THE PAINTING

SHOW ME

S H O W M E

… you literally put those russian guys in pieces, didn’t you archie.

you terrifying motherfucker.

GUYS I WANT TO BE IN THIS WORLD

FUCK YOU GO GET THEM JOHNNY

... wait was there supposed to be a sequel?

… WAIT

WAIT NO

YOU FUCKING SHOW ME THAT GOD DAMN PAINTING

oh my god.

fuck it.

fuck that.

nope.

like mid-credit scenes are the least y’all can do.

… wait is that tom and gerard just like fucking with each other, it might be, that’s sort of adorable.

dude that gay club looks like fun though.

i don’t dance because i’ll spill my drink but.

awwwww guys i could watch them dance forever, like, this shit is funny.

ohhhh i hope this means that archie becomes the new lenny. he’d be a much better lenny.

and now we sway to this groovy end credit music while i sit and seethe in hatred that i never saw the painting and i’m pissed about it. :))))))

… fuck.

welp, guess i’ll just have to write shit about how the fuck this dude falls in love with a cop then.

#rocknrolla #commentary #mark strong

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thedandeliondays-blog · 6 years

Photo

• sometimes you just need a few bad-ass females to perk up your day. •

1. WILD A biographical book-turned-film based on the true story of Cheryl Strayed. A recent divorcée with no prior hiking experience, Cheryl embarks on a motivational, inspirational journey of self-discovery and healing - hiking the Pacific Crest Trail.

2. Colonia Also known as ‘The Colony’ - stars Emma Watson (Hello, ultimate feminist Queen!!) as Lena, one half of the young German couple who the film is based around. During the 1973 Chilean coup d'état her boyfriend Daniel is abducted by the secret service after getting caught up in a military operation where supporters of the President Salvador Allende are being rounded up by the military. Lena tracks him to a secret organisation ‘Colonia Dignidad’ which presents itself as a charitable mission run by a preacher. She joins the organisation in hopes to find a way to Daniel, only to then realise that it is actually a cult which no one has ever left alive.

3. Bend it like Beckham A romantic comedy based in London, telling the story of Jess, an 18 year old girl who breaks the mould. Raised in a family of Punjabi Sikhs her family expect her to go on to university, secure a high-end job and become a model housewife for her Sikh husband, but Jess has other plans. Jess has a love and remarkable skill in football, her family’s worst nightmare as ‘girls don’t play football.’ She secretly joins a local girls team, meeting her best friend Jules (Kiera Knightley) and eventually falling for her coach Joe. It all seems like the perfect secret, a double life until the all important final is scheduled for the day of her sisters wedding!

4. Memoirs of a Geisha A Japanese-American epic drama based on a novel by the same name. Chiyo, born to a poverty-stricken family is sold along with her sister into a life of servitude. Satsu, her older sister is sent to a brothel while Chiyo is bought by the ‘Mother’ of a geisha house in Kyoto. Chiyo strives to become a world-renowned geisha with a lot of troubles and setbacks on her way, mostly from the cruel and jealous rival she has in older geisha Hatsumomo from the same okiya. A story of love, strength and self-worth - I recommend both the film and the book.

5. Matilda Although it’s a film aimed at the younger generation, Matilda addresses some major subject matters such as sexism, child neglect and personal identity. Matilda is a gifted child from a broken home, constantly put down by her slob parents and favoured less than her older brother. She teaches herself to read by visiting the library when her parents leave her home alone as a young child (the film and book imply that she is around four or five), her parents do not value education but she begs them to let her go to school. At Crunchem Hall elementary Matilda meets the tyrannical headmistress Agatha Trunchbull who abuses her position to bully the children in her care. Along with the help of her kind teacher Miss Honey, Matilda rids the school of Trunchbull and eventually is adopted into a loving home with Miss Honey.

6. The Help An insight into the world of African-American women forced to work in White households in Mississippi during the 1960′s. Skeeter, an aspiring writer from a White family who has been raised by her beloved Constantine, a maid who brought her up and then was cruelly dismissed by her Mother when Skeeter was away at university - works in secret with the housemaids around Jackson, collecting stories and insights from those who have experienced life as “The Help” - some accounts describe generous and loving households while others reveal the cruel, brutal lives they have faced as employees of White families. This book adaptation is not just a pivotal movement for women, but especially for people of colour too.

7. Cadet Kelly You may have come across this one if you watched Disney Channel during the early 00′s. Starring Hilary Duff, Cadet Kelly is the story of an 8th grade girl sent to military school by her Stepfather who is a commandant of the George Washington Military Academy, where she initially has trouble fitting in, especially with her Cadet Captain who dislikes her instantly. It’s a story of growth and acceptance, resulting in a happy ending - like all Disney’s!

8. Carrie A classic film with many remakes, Carrie tells the story of a troubled girl - neglected by her overly religious Mother who frequently locks her in a cupboard to pray for repentance. Carrie is bullied at school, one of the most cruel attacks being when she begins her period in the school showers, something which her Mother hadn’t warned her about - and thinks she is bleeding to death, causing a hysterical reaction which the other girls find hilarious, cruelly chanting at her and banging the doors to the showers until a kind PE teacher rescues her. Carrie experiences unexplained powers which she regards at first as miracles, but then researches Telekinesis and realises that she has a gift. She uses the gift to fight back against her Mother, determined to go to prom which her Mother declares a sin. The prom is a disaster after the school bully rigs the voting of prom Queen so Carrie is up on stage in time for a bucket of pigs blood to drench her, the bucket knocking her date unconscious. Full of rage Carrie releases uncontrollable powers that kill all but 11 of her school peers, setting the gymnasium on fire and causing carnage throughout the town.

9. Mulan A classic Disney movie based on the true story of Hua Mulan, it tells the story of a female warrior from the Han Dynasty in China. Conscription means one male from each family must join to fight against the Huns, Mulan’s father is an elderly war veteran who wouldn’t be strong enough to make it home from war, so Mulan cuts her hair and dresses in his armor so she can pass herself off as a man eligible to enlist. Mulan fights against the Huns, falling in love with her Captain but of course she can’t reveal her true identity or she faces being killed for her deception.

10. Tracks Based the memoir of the same name by Robyn Davidson, tracks chronicles her nine-month journey on camels across the Australian desert, documented by a National Geographic photographer. The cinematography is exceptional in this film.

11. Erin Brockovich A dramatisation of the true story of Erin Brockovich who fought against the ‘Pacific gas and electric company’. Starring Julia Roberts, Erin is an unemployed single mother of three children who has recently been in a traffic accident and is suing her doctor. She loses the case and after a lot of persuasion her lawyer feels sorry for her and gives her a job. She begins researching the case notes in the files she’s employed to file away, eventually finding a loophole in a case against the PG&E, she takes them to court - resulting in $333 Million for the victims of the case. Erin herself receives a $2 Million bonus, enough to set her and her children up for life.

12. Belle Both empowering for women and also for people of colour, especially those who are mixed race. Belle is inspired by the 1799 painting of Dido Elizabeth Belle, the illegitimate, mixed-race great-niece of the 1st Earl of Mansfield. She is found living in poverty by her father and entrusted to the care of Mansfield and his wife. The fictional film centres on Dido's relationship with an aspiring lawyer; it is set at a time of legal significance, as a court case is heard on what became known as the Zong massacre, when slaves were thrown overboard from a slave ship and the owner filed with his insurance company for the losses. Lord Mansfield rules on this case in England's Court of King's Bench in 1786, in a decision seen to contribute to the Abolition of the Slave Trade Act of 1807.

13. 10 Things I Hate about you So much more than a 90′s chick-flick! 10 things is a modernisation of Shakespeare’s ‘Taming of the Shrew’ - revolving around Kat Stratford (Julia Stiles) who plays a headstrong, feminist with no interest in social hierarchy or boys. Her sister is forbidden to date boys until Kat does, spurring off the beginning of Patrick’s (Heath Ledger) interest in her. Paid to date her by the popular boy who wants her sister, Patrick eventually falls for her and she him but this is so much more than a love story. We get to watch witty Kat verbally destroy sexist classmates, high school norms and social status, making this one of the best girl power movies of the 90′s.

14. Pocahontas Another Disney classic based on a true story, Pocahontas is the adapted version of the life of Matoaka (later nicknamed Pocahontas) the daughter of Chief Powhatan, also the name of their tribe in North America. A free spirit, she fears being married off to Kocoum, a brave yet serious warrior from her tribe. She visits Grandmother Willow, a talking willow tree for advice - who alerts her to the Englishmen arriving in the new world. Though historically inaccurate in significant parts, Pocahontas became the first Native American Disney Princess and first woman of colour in a leading role in any Disney film.

15. The Craft A film showcasing female empowerment and sexuality, also showing dramatic examples of what can happen when women tear each other down instead of building them up. The craft tells the story of a coven of modern-day witches, using witchcraft and black magic for their own gain, and the negative repercussions they encounter.

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torentialtribute · 5 years

Text

The sadness of Gazza… a lost boy who seems beyond help

Paul Gascoigne was not present when the beautiful new site of Tottenham was officially opened on Wednesday night.

It was Gascoigne, not Tottenham, who announced his participation in a test-event match against the legends of Inter Milan at the weekend. The club would have liked him to be part of the brass band, but nothing could be guaranteed around Gascoigne

Paul Gascoigne got a huge ovation when he was in the legendary game Tottenham played huge ovation when I played for Tottenham in the legendary game

Paul Gascoigne got a huge ovation when I played in the legendary game Tottenham

He had to be part of the closing ceremony in White Hart Lane, but did not show and Tottenham did not want such a positive opportunity to be overshadowed by a new round of Where & # 39; s Gazza? If I made it, it would be a great surprise. If he didn't, nobody could tell what had happened.

He was always random but 51 years of addiction have taken their toll. The question of whether he will turn up, how he turns up, is now just as unpredictable. Unfortunately, he arrived injured on this occasion and could only play a role as a cameo. His old teammates liked to find him again, just like the fans, but the club?

Addicts struggling with recovery can be extremely demanding company. It is like the life and soul of the party. Those types are nice, but sometimes they relax a bit more when they have moved to the next show.

He will always be there in spirit at Tottenham's new house because the rooster is on top of the mighty end of Park Lane and bears his highly individual signature. It's a replica of the one on White Hart Lane, up to the dent Gascoigne threw in with an air rifle one day. The kind of joke that is hysterical if you're his teammate, less if you're the stadium manager who has to explain why the club's logo is missing his head.

Gazza was nowhere to be seen at the grand opening of the magnificent new stadium van Tottenham at the grand opening of the beautiful new Tottenham stadium

Gazza was nowhere to be seen at the festive opening of the beautiful new Tottenham stadium

There are so & # 39; n hundred stories and many are wonderful. No doubt Robbie Keane spoke a lot when he revealed that Gascoigne had left his legendary teammates on their way to the race in the bus. & # 39; A story about a pheasant, & # 39; Keane said, but he didn't want to reveal anymore. Firearms may also be involved this time. They often were. And ostriches. And stolen – or acquired, say – vehicles.

There is a chapter devoted to him in Danny Baker's second autobiography, Going Off Alarming, which describes the journey from Shepherd & # 39; s Bush to Park Lane. Gascoigne is trapped in traffic and leaves the taxi and convinces the driver of a double decker, complete with cheering passengers, to let him take over the wheel.

He then leaves the bus to come into contact with construction workers who allow him to use his pneumatic drill to dig up the road and he leaves the drill the rest of the way to the Rolling driver -Royce from stranger.

& # 39; When I have told this story to friends, I wonder internally if it has, like most human stories, been polished and embellished over the years & # 39 ;, Baker writes. & # 39; But it is not. Paul Gascoigne really drove in broad daylight to the London bus full of people around Marble Arch. & # 39; It was more than 20 years ago and what has unfolded since it was more an accident than joy.

After being addicted for 51 years, the legendary player does not seem to help "

Legendary player does not seem to help"

When Gascoigne shows up the soccer player again in a conventional environment, he asked him why the game could no longer do for him. The duty of care rested with his former clubs – Tottenham, Newcastle, Rangers – and the Football Association.

Gascoigne's behavior has become more alienating. The clubs are in an impossible bond.

It was lovingly thought of his indulgence of children and brilliance with one. the ball can find expression in an academy or community program, but protecting problems leaves room for maneuver. This is a man who is segmented under the Mental Health Act and is currently being tried for assault.

Similarly, the hospitality lounges are suitable for a person who cannot be in the vicinity of drinks, in particular the strange relationship of society with the celebrity means that there are people who accompany him to the bar alone, despite what they know.

Dimitar Berbatov and David Ginola belonged to the Tottenham legends on Sunday, Javier Zanetti played for Inter Milan, Jurgen Klinsmann switched between the two sides, Jose Mourinho stood on the sidelines.

But Gascoigne & # 39; s short appearance was, by common agreement, the high point of the afternoon. It attracted the greatest cheers and overwhelming warmth.

The bitterest irony is that in fact tragic football conditions would know exactly what to do. They would have stood and renamed suites, rebuilt statues, the estate of Paul Gascoigne would make overtime. It's just the man who escapes them: the pathetic little dent in their golden, shiny cock.

Gascoigne is still loved.

Gascoigne is still very popular with fans, but his behavior has become alienating in recent years.

Gascoigne is still very popular with fans, but his behavior has been alienating in recent years

Mendy needs a wake-up call

Manchester City is a better team with Benjamin Mendy; but they are not bad without him.

So Mendy needs to reform now and returns to the first team at a crucial stage in the calendar.

Mendy missed seven months of last season and only came back after the competition had already been won, and this season he missed or was selected for 23 Premier League matches, except for a single Champions League group game, the full FA Cup run and all successful League Cup campaigns, with the exception of 27 minutes of the semi-final second leg, City won 10-0 against Burton Albion.

In other words, it is hardly irreplaceable. So, with the 3am nightclub sessions, the late arrivals for treatment and 24 penalty points on his driver's license, Mendy is a pretty maintenance-free item.

That would be just about acceptable if it was an essential part of the Pep Guardiola team and barely missed a game; But in a player who has spent most of two years injured, is it really worth it? If he doesn't knuckle, he can find out soon

Benjamin Mendy maintains much maintenance in Manchester City and is hardly irreplaceable (19459007)

Too much denial of racism

Benjamin Mendy maintains a lot of maintenance in Manchester City and is very irreplaceable

FA President Greg Clarke apologized to the British players for racist abuse that had nothing to do with him, that it was almost possible to miss the apology of the Montenegrin FA. Instead, Secretary-General Momir Djurdjevac took advantage of the opportunity to visit Wembley for the UEFA conference on discrimination to abolish mass racist singing in Podgorica as the work of & # 39; three or four

Djurdjevac pointed to the many attendees who had heard nothing wrong at all: the President of Montenegro, the Prime Minister of Montenegro, the Minister of Sport of Montenegro and the head of the Olympic Committee of Montenegro. We can certainly agree with a broad canvas of independent observers.

And perhaps the abuse was not clear in every part of the land. Clive Tyldesley, who commented, was not aware of it, for example. That can happen.

Sounds can also be confusing, but it can be confusing but it is not the case.

The racial abuse Raheem Sterling was fired by the general secretary of Montenegro

mainly abroad. However, the nature of the hymns in Podgorica was unmistakable, both for the black players in England, and the largely white gathering of press photographers around the field. They did not know what to do, but did not know what to do.

& # 39; I'm not saying it didn't happen … & # 39; Djurdjevac said, implying exactly that. At best, I would accept the handful of idiots theory. And that's the problem.

Even Paul Pogba, who condemned the treatment of Juventus player Moise Kean during a match against Cagliari, spoke of & # 39; a small racist group & # 39 ;. It wasn't that. That's not it. Football Against Racism in Europe described the problem in Italy as & # 39; an epidemic & # 39 ;.

For some reason, however, we are confronted with this, everyone would like to point out the many people who attend football matches without dehumanizing black players, as if this is a badge of honor. And although racism is belittled in this way by people with the power to tackle it, other such events will continue in Podgorica and Cagliari.

Sorry Gareth, you are wrong with Wembley sale

Gareth Southgate came out in favor of Wembley last week. Aside from the fact that Mr. FA wanted to sell it to have just been subordinate to Fulham's relegation in the first week of April, after being Europe's # 3 largest savers in the summer transfer period, the argument of the English manager to miss a crucial point about rent.

& # 39; We were tenants in 1996 and that was a great tournament & # 39 ;, Southgate said. Yes, but England did not feel like tenants in 1996. Wembley, rented or not, was associated with English football, the biggest matches, the biggest occasions.

That was not what it would be like to go through this most recent sale. Once Wembley was the home of the Jacksonville Jaguars, eleven national teams in the country had to be shunted to accommodate the NFL, as soon as the new owner could rent the house, but he chose, England would drift.

There are other ways to finance football at the base, without sacrificing the national stadium. Leasehold Wembley in 1996 was very different from what was proposed.

England manager Gareth Southgate came out last week in support of Wembley "

England manager Gareth Southgate came out to support Wembley's sale last week" for sale Wembley last week "

England manager Gareth Southgate came out last week to support Wembley

A reality check is needed on QPR

Steve's record McClaren in 2019 was bleak, no doubt, but Queens Park Rangers was subject to a £ 42 million bill for breaking Financial Fair Play rules, resulting in uncertain and drastically reduced circumstances, where exactly do they think they would be?

McClaren leaves Rangers eight points free from relegation, in the 17th, which sounds good – if not better than many had expected.

Ole Gunnar Solskjaer hee ft may have announced that he will not be Manchester United's money on the transfer market, but will continue to circulate around a £ 100 million move for Jadon Sancho and other significant bids for Declan Rice or Callum Hudson-Odoi.

And that's the point. Sancho is a great player, but he is also 19; Rice is 20; Hudson-Odoi 18.

Sancho may therefore be the best £ 100 million that United has spent, or a disappointment – and Solskjaer cannot guarantee any way. No manager can. Just like Jose Mourinho and Louis Van Gaal before him, Solskjaer will return to premonition; and in the current market a very expensive one.

Jadon Sancho would represent a huge investment for Manchester United and is a risky venture "

for Manchester United and risky matters"

Jadon Sancho would represent a huge expense for Manchester United and risky affairs

Hamers show last in town

Saracens have signed a five-year contract with Tottenham to host their annual Big Game competition at the new stadium play. Previously the London Stadium had been a location, so this can concentrate a few thoughts.

Leaving with rugby and a bust of cricket – the wicket could only run from east to west, making it treacherous in the sun – chances for landlords are diminishing rapidly. Baseball is coming, but the logistics are terribly expensive, and the single athletics competition costs millions.

The stadium has always suffered from competing with other outdoor locations in the capital, so that leaves … West Ham The tenants of the anchor the landlords spend most of their team in court.

Take them with you and the Olympic Stadium would be the disastrous white elephant that many predicted.

Not since Tony Adams fell down the stairs at Stringfellows celebrating his one-year-old son's birthday, a family evening has been marked in such a absurd way as Mother's Day in the Pickford household.

Everton's goalkeeper traveled north to mark this occasion and ended up in a weak midnight, in which an off-duty bouncer was beaten, and his fiancé, Megan Davison, was grossly insulted by an assertive gang of boozers.

If reports of the abuse directed against Pickford's partner are correct, there was considerable provocation.

But why would you visit the type of establishment that is populated with pumped up half sausage, especially with your mother? What happened to say flowers?

<img id = "i-a3d0631d8c68fcb2" src = "https://ift.tt/2HYN9N8 -78_1554407225574.jpg "height =" 379 "width =" 634 "alt =" Jordan Pickford was involved in a discussion outside the Sunderland bar on Mother's Day "Jordan Pickford was involved in a discussion outside Sunderland on Mother's Day"

outside a bar in Sunderland on Mother's Day

Secret & # 39; s out …

Roy Hodgson says Crystal Palace this summer Wilfried Zaha and Aaron Wan-Bissaka can sell, which will certainly be welcome news to a gentleman on a train in the north last month.

In the open view of everyone who rode through the carriage, he studied a spreadsheet on his laptop, with the highlight : SALE OF ZAHA AND WAN-BISSAKA.

The two players share the representation ie and the traveler did not wear a Crystal Palace training suit.

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#The sadness of Gazza… a lost boy who seems beyond help"

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lamingtonladies · 7 years

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The Darkening Ecliptic – Ern Malley

Printable pamphlet here

These poems are complete. There are no scoriae or unfulfilled intentions. Every note and revision has been destroyed. There is no biographical data.

These poems are complete in themselves. They have a domestic economy of their own and if they face outwards to the reader that is because they have first faced inwards to themselves. Every poem should be an autarchy.

The writing was done over five years. Certain changes of mental allegiance and superficial method took place. That is all that needs to be said on the subject of schools and influences.

To discover the hidden fealty of certain arrangements of sound in a line and certain concatenations of the analytic emotions is the “secret” of style.

When thought, at a certain level, and with a certain intention, discovers itself to be poetry it discovers also that duty does after all exist: the duty of a public act. That duty is wholly performed by setting the pen to paper. To read what has thus been done is another thing again, and implies another order of loyalty.

Simplicity in our time is arrived at by an ambages. There is, at this moment, no such thing as a simple poem if what is meant by that is a point-to-point straight line relation of images. If I said that this was so because on the level where the world is mental occurrence a point-to-point relation is no longer genuine I should be accused of mysticism. Yet it is so.

Those who say: What might not X have done if he had lived? demonstrate their different way of living from the poet’s way. It is a kind of truth, which I have tried to express, to say in return: All one can do in one’s span of time is to uncover a set of objective allegiances. The rest is not one’s concern.

Dürer: Innsbruck, 1495

I had often, cowled in the slumberous heavy air, Closed my inanimate lids to find it real, As I knew it would be, the colourful spires And painted roofs, the high snows glimpsed at the back, All reversed in the quiet reflecting waters — Not knowing then that Dürer perceived it too. Now I find that once more I have shrunk To an interloper, robber of dead men’s dream, I had read in books that art is not easy But no one warned that the mind repeats In its ignorance the vision of others. I am still the black swan of trespass on alien waters.

Sonnets for the Novachord

(i.)

Rise from the wrist, o kestrel Mind, to a clear expanse. Perform your high dance On the clouds of ancestral Duty. Hawk at the wraith Of remembered emotions. Vindicate our high notions Of a new and pitiless faith. It is not without risk! In a lofty attempt The fool makes a brisk Tumble. Rightly contempt Rewards the cloud-foot unwary Who falls to the prairie.

(ii.)

Poetry: the loaves and fishes, Or no less miracle; For in this deft pentacle We imprison our wishes. Though stilled to alabaster This Ichthys shall swim From the mind’s disaster On the volatile hymn. If this be the norm Of our serious frolic There’s no remorse: Our magical force Cleaves the ignorant storm On the hyperbolic.

Sweet William

I have avoided your wide English eyes: But now I am whirled in their vortex. My blood becomes a Damaged Man Most like your Albion; And I must go with stone feet Down the staircase of flesh To where in a shuddering embrace My toppling opposites commit The obscene, the unforgivable rape. One moment of daylight let me have Like a white arm thrust Out of the dark and self-denying wave And in the one moment I Shall irremediably attest How (though with sobs, and torn cries bleeding) My white swan of quietness lies Sanctified on my black swan’s breast.

Boult to Marina

Only a part of me shall triumph in this (I am not Pericles) Though I have your silken eyes to kiss And maiden-knees Part of me remains, wench, Boult-upright The rest of me drops off into the night. What would you have me do? Go to the wars? There’s damned deceit In these wounds, thrusts, shell-holes, of the cause And I’m no cheat. So blowing this lily as trumpet with my lips I assert my original glory in the dark eclipse. Sainted and schismatic would you be? Four frowning bedposts Will be the cliffs of your wind-thrummelled sea Lady of these coasts, Blown lily, surplice and stole of Mytilene, You shall rest snug to-night and know what I mean.

Sybilline

That rabbit’s foot I carried in my left pocket Has worn a haemorrhage in the lining The bunch of keys I carry with it Jingles like fate in my omphagic ear And when I stepped clear of the solid basalt The introverted obelisk of night I seized upon this Traumdeutung as a sword To hew a passage to my love. And now out of life, permanent revenant I assert: the caterpillar feet Of these predictions lead nowhere, It is necessary to understand That a poet may not exist, that his writings Are the incomplete circle and straight drop Of a question mark And yet I know I shall be raised up On the vertical banners of praise. The rabbit’s foot of fur and claw Taps on the drain-pipe. In the alley The children throw a ball against Their future walls. The evening Settles down like a brooding bird Over streets that divide our life like a trauma Would it be strange now to meet The figure that strode hell swinging His head by the hair On Princess Street?

Night Piece

The swung torch scatters seeds In the umbelliferous dark And a frog makes guttural comment On the naked and trespassing Nymph of the lake. The symbols were evident, Though on park-gates The iron birds looked disapproval With rusty invidious beaks. Among the water-lilies A splash — white foam in the dark! And you lay sobbing then Upon my trembling intuitive arm.

Documentary Film

Innumerable the images The register of birth and dying Under the carved rococo porch The Tigris — Venice — Melbourne — The Ch’en Plain — And the sound track like a trail of saliva. Dürer: “Samson killing the Lion” 1498 Thumbs twisting the great snarl of the beast’s mouth Tail thrashing the air of disturbed swallows That fly to the castle on the abraded hill London: Samson that great city, his anatomy on fire Grasping with gnarled hands at the mad wasps Yet while his bearded rage survives contriving An entelechy of clouds and trumpets. There have been interpolations, false syndromes Like a rivet through the hand Such deliberate suppressions of crisis as Footscray: The slant sun now descending Upon the montage of the desecrate womb Opened like a drain. The young men aspire Like departing souls from leaking roofs And fractured imploring windows to (All must be synchronized, the jagged Quartz of vision with the asphalt of human speech) Java: The elephant motifs contorted on admonitory walls, The subtle nagas that raise the cobra hood And hiss in the white masterful face. What are these mirk channels of the flesh That now sweep me from The blood-dripping hirsute maw of night’s other temple Down through the helpless row of bonzes Till peace suddenly comes: Adonai: The solemn symphony of angels lighting My steps with music, o consolations! Palms! O far shore, target and shield that I now Desire beyond these terrestrial commitments.

Palinode

There are ribald interventions Like spurious seals upon A Chinese landscape-roll Or tangents to the rainbow. We have known these declensions, Have winked when Hyperion Was transmuted to a troll. We dubbed it a sideshow. Now we find, too late That these distractions were clues To a transposed version Of our too rigid state. It is an ancient forgotten ruse And a natural diversion. Wiser now, but dissident, I snap off your wrist Like a stalk that entangles And make my adieu. Remember, in any event, I was a haphazard amorist Caught on the unlikely angles Of an awkward arrangement. Weren’t you?

Night-piece (Alternate Version)

The intemperate torch grazed With fire the umbel of the dark. The pond-lilies could not stifle The green descant of frogs. We had not heeded the warning That the iron birds creaked. As we swung the park-gates Their beaks glinted with dew. A splash — the silver nymph Was a foam flake in the night. But though the careful winds Visited our trembling flesh They carried no echo.

Baroque Exterior

When the hysterical vision strikes The façade of an era it manifests Its insidious relations. The windowed eyes gleam with terror The twin balconies are breasts And at the efflux of a period’s error Is a carved malicious portico. Everyman arrests His motives in these anthropoid erections. Momentarily we awake — Even as lately through wide eyes I saw The promise of a new architecture Of more sensitive pride, and I cursed For the first time my own obliteration. What Inigo had built I perceived In a dream of recognition, And for nights afterwards struggled Helpless against the choking Sands of time in my throat.

Perspective Lovesong

It was a night when the planets Were wreathed in dying garlands. It seemed we had substituted The abattoirs for the guillotine. I shall not forget how you invented Then, the conventions of faithfulness. It seemed that we were submerged Under a reef of coral to tantalize The wise-grinning shark. The waters flashed With Blue Angels and Moorish Idols. And if I mistook your dark hair for weed Was it not floating upon my tides? I have remembered the chiaroscuro Of your naked breasts and loins. For you were wholly an admonition That said: “From bright to dark Is a brief longing. To hasten is now To delay.” But I could not obey. Princess, you lived in Princess St., Where the urchins pick their nose in the sun With the left hand. You thought That paying the price would give you admission To the sad autumn of my Valhalla. But I, too, invented faithfulness

Culture as Exhibit

“Swamps, marshes, borrow-pits and other Areas of stagnant water serve As breeding-grounds ...” Now Have I found you, my Anopheles! (There is a meaning for the circumspect) Come, we will dance sedate quadrilles, A pallid polka or a yelping shimmy Over these sunken sodden breeding-grounds! We will be wraiths and wreaths of tissue-paper To clog the Town Council in their plans. Culture forsooth! Albert, get my gun. I have been noted in the reading-rooms As a borer of calf-bound volumes Full of scandals at the Court. (Milord Had his hand upon that snowy globe Milady Lucy’s sinister breast . . .) Attendants Have peered me over while I chewed Back-numbers of Florentine gazettes (Knowst not, my Lucia, that he Who has caparisoned a nun dies With his twankydillo at the ready? . . .) But in all of this I got no culture till I read a little pamphlet on my thighs Entitled: “Friction as a Social Process.” What? Look, my Anopheles, See how the floor of Heav’n is thick Inlaid with patines of etcetera . . . Sting them, sting them, my Anopheles.

Egyptian Register

The hand burns resinous in the evening sky Which is a lake of roses, perfumes, idylls Breathed from the wastes of the Tartarean heart. The skull gathers darkness, like an inept mountain That broods on its aeons of self-injury. The spine, barbed and venomous, pierces The one unmodulated cumulus of cloud And brings the gush of evanescent waters. The lungs are Ra’s divine aquaria Where the striped fish move at will Towards a purpose darker than a dawn. The body’s a hillside, darling, moist With bitter dews of regret. The genitals (o lures of starveling faiths!) Make an immense index to my cold remorse. Magic in the vegetable universe Marks us at birth upon the forehead With the ancient ankh. Nature Has her own green centuries which move Through our thin convex time. Aeons Of that purpose slowly riot In the decimals of our deceiving age. It may be for nothing that we are: But what we are continues In larger patterns than the frontal stone That taunts the living life. O those dawn-waders, cold-sea-gazers, The long-shanked ibises that on the Nile Told one hushed peasant of rebirth Move in a calm immortal frieze On the mausoleum of my incestuous And self-fructifying death.

Young Prince of Tyre

“Thy ear is liable, thy food is such As hath been belch’d on by infected lungs” — Pericles

Inattentive, suborned, betrayed, and shiftless, You have hawked in your throat and spat Outrage upon the velocipede of thriftless Mechanical men posting themselves that Built you a gibbet in the vile morass Which now you must dangle on, alas. The eyeless worm threads the bone, the living Stand upright by habitual insouciance Else they would fall. But how unforgiving Are they to nonce-men that falter in the dance! Their words are clews that clutched you on the post And you were hung up, dry, a fidgety ghost. The magpie’s carol has dried upon his tongue To a flaky spittle of contempt. The loyalists Clank their armour. We are no longer young, And our rusty coat fares badly in the lists. Poor Thaisa has a red wound in the groin That ill advises our concupiscence to foin. Yet there is one that stands i’ the gaps to teach us The stages of our story. He the dark hero Moistens his finger in iguana’s blood to beseech us (Siegfried-like) to renew the language. Nero And the botched tribe of imperial poets burn Like the rafters. The new men are cool as spreading fern. Now get you out, as you can, makeshift singers: “Sail seas in cockles, have an wish for’t.” New sign-posts stretch out the road that lingers Yet on the spool. New images distort Our creeping disjunct minds to incredible patterns, Else thwarting the wayward seas to fetch home the slatterns, Take it for a sign, insolent and superb That at nightfall the woman who scarcely would Now opens her cunning thighs to reveal the herb Of content. The valiant man who withstood Rage, envy and malignant love, is no more The wrecked Prince he was on the latter shore.

Colloquy with John Keats

“And the Lord destroyeth the imagination of all them that had not the truth with them.” (Odes of Solomon 24.8.)

I have been bitter with you, my brother, Remembering that saying of Lenin when the shadow Was already on his face: “The emotions are not skilled workers.” Yet we are as the double almond concealed in one shell. I have mistrusted your apodictic strength Saying always: Yet why did you not finish Hyperion? But now I have learned not to curtail What was in you the valency of speech The bond of molecular utterance. I have arranged the interstellar zodiac With flowers on the Goat’s horn, and curious Markings on the back of the Crab. I have lain With the Lion, not with the Virgin, and become He that discovers meanings. Now in your honour Keats, I spin The loaded Zodiac with my left hand As the man at the fair revolves His coloured deceitful board. Together We lean over that whirl of Beasts flowers images and men Until it stops . . . Look! my number is up! Like you I sought at first for Beauty And then, in disgust, returned As did you to the locus of sensation And not till then did my voice build crenellated towers Of an enteric substance in the air. Then first I learned to speak clear; then through my turrets Pealed that Great Bourdon which men have ignored. Coda We have lived as ectoplasm The hand that would clutch Our substance finds that his rude touch Runs through him a frightful spasm And hurls him back against the opposite wall.

Petit Testament

In the twenty-fifth year of my age I find myself to be a dromedary That has run short of water between One oasis and the next mirage And having despaired of ever Making my obsessions intelligible I am content at last to be The sole clerk of my metamorphoses. Begin here: In the year 1943 I resigned to the living all collateral images Reserving to myself a man’s Inalienable right to be sad At his own funeral. (Here the peacock blinks the eyes of his multipennate tail.) In the same year I said to my love (who is living) Dear we shall never be that verb Perched on the sole Arabian Tree Not having learnt in our green age to forget The sins that flow between the hands and feet (Here the Tree weep gum tears Which are also real: I tell you These things are real) So I forced a parting Scrubbing my few dingy words to brightness. Where I have lived The bed-bug sleeps in the seam, the cockroach Inhabits the crack and the careful spider Spins his aphorisms in the comer. I have heard them shout in the streets The chiliasms of the Socialist Reich And in the magazines I have read The Popular Front-to-Back. But where I have lived Spain weeps in the gutters of Footscray Guernica is the ticking of the clock The nightmare has become real, not as belief But in the scrub-typhus of Mubo. It is something to be at last speaking Though in this No-Man’s-language appropriate Only to No-Man’s-Land. Set this down too: I have pursued rhyme, image, and metre, Known all the clefts in which the foot may stick, Stumbled often, stammered, But in time the fading voice grows wise And seizing the co-ordinates of all existence Traces the inevitable graph And in conclusion: There is a moment when the pelvis Explodes like a grenade. I Who have lived in the shadow that each act Casts on the next act now emerge As loyal as the thistle that in session Puffs its full seed upon the indicative air. I have split the infinite. Beyond is anything.

#poetry #The Darkening Ecliptic #ern malley #this thing was a hoax btw read about it #also i made it with a shithouse program so its kinda ssketch #pamphlet

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londontheatre · 7 years

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Speech and Debate. Patsy Ferran (Diwata) and Douglas Booth (Howie). Photo credit Simon Annand

There’s an increasingly absurdist undertone in Speech and Debate, in which the courses of action following unprofessional behaviour in public office are frantically considered in a spirited and borderline hysterical, fast-paced production. This most American play lacks any sort of subtlety in its narrative – a moment when teenagers Diwata (Patsy Ferran), Solomon (Tony Revolori) and Howie (Douglas Booth) are all told by their parents that they are making a lot of noise in their respective bedrooms serves as a metaphor for the play as a whole. I don’t think it needs calming down; I have previously recommended bringing ear defenders to shows that are unquestionably too loud – that isn’t the case here. That said, even the programme cover page has a loudspeaker on it, which says something for this play.

The set, at least to begin with, is fairly sparse, particularly in comparison with some of the plays that have taken place in this studio space before. The performance space thus looks bigger than it really is, allowing characters and dialogue room, physically and metaphorically, to breathe comfortably. While it is undeniably a high-octane show, it’s never overpowering, though it does come close to being so on occasion. The sense of frustration Howie experiences when being, in effect, cross-examined, albeit by telephone, is palpable, while Solomon comes across as the sort of person who can dish it out but can’t handle a taste of his own medicine.

Completing the set of characters is the class teacher (Charlotte Lucas); Lucas in later scenes also plays Jan Clark, a journalist, who comes to an after-school club at the invitation of Solomon, in connection with his continuing quest to expose a different teacher for, um, inappropriate extra-curricular activity.

Clark’s presence either destabilises or diffuses an environment already tense by the time she arrives, by way of the teenagers finding each other out. I have occasionally wondered what it must be like to be growing up in the digital era, with others able to view social media profiles. This play gives its audiences a hard-hitting, whilst amusing, portrayal of trial by internet.

There are ebbs and flows in the script – a scene called Extemporaneous Commentary, funnily enough given the title, goes on for too long – another one called Group Interpretation is over all too quickly.

Whom the Speech and Debate playwright, Stephen Karam, is influenced by is not so much implied as broadcasted loud and clear, with extracts from Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, and lengthy ‘vlogs’ (blog entries in video format) by Diwata, in which repeated references are made to the Mary Rodgers musical Once Upon A Mattress. Thankfully, no prior knowledge of either show is needed to understand anything that is said about them.

I very much enjoyed the parodies both of musical theatre as a genre and of certain types of musical theatre aficionados. The title of the show, ultimately, doesn’t really do it justice – no character is a caricature or a stereotype, and no punchlines feel forced or artificial. It’s unusual to come across a play that treats youngsters respectfully without either disdaining or deifying them. With sufficient plot twists to keep things interesting, this play is well cast, well performed, and laugh-out- loud funny.

Review by Chris Omaweng

Three misfit teenagers are brought together by a sex scandal in their school with nobody taking them seriously until they speak out with hilarious consequences.

Featuring Douglas Booth (Riot Club, Noah) and Tony Revolori (The Grand Budapest Hotel and coming soon Spiderman:Homecoming), Patsy Ferran (Treasure Island, As You Like It) and Charlotte Lucas (Red Velvet, Posh). Presented by Defibrillator, Tom Attenborough directs this fiercely funny play by Stephen Karam, the Tony Award-winning writer of The Humans.

Living in a social media minefield, where peers are judgmental and adults are dictatorial and condescending, Howie, Solomon and Diwata grapple with homophobia, online privacy and how to get the lead in the school play!

Trafalgar Studio Two 14 Whitehall, London, SW1A 2DY Age Restrictions: Suitable for age 14+ Show Opened: 22nd Feb 2017 Booking Until: 1st Apr 2017 Book Tickets for Speech and Debate

http://ift.tt/2lOGVmY LondonTheatre1.com

#IFTTT #LondonTheatre1.com

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years

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Still Lies the Midnight: A TMA Whumptober fic

Also on AO3. Part of a longer work.

But after realizing he left them in his office, he was out the door and in his car before he thought about it. Even now, he can’t convince himself to just turn around and go back. There is an odd sense of urgency propelling him. He needs to get to the Archives, needs to get those notes. And, all right, maybe he’ll check on Martin while he’s at it.

He turns a corner and slams on his brakes. There is a veritable wall of emergency lights before him—police, fire, even an ambulance. And it all seems to be centered around...

No.

Jon scans the people clustered on the sidewalk. There aren’t many, not that he expected there to be. It is, after all, well into the evening. Most people left at five, or close to it. In fact, most of the people on the sidewalk seem to be from nearby buildings, mere curious onlookers gawking at the spectacle. Jon doesn’t see anyone he recognizes, and he slowly begins to relax.

He’s not there. Jon spins frantically, but Martin is nowhere to be seen. He could be on the far side of the crowd, or he could have stepped out for something, or—

Or he could still be in the Archives.

“Hold on, sir, you can’t go in there!”

“No, you don’t understand, I have to—my friend is in there—” Jon fights to get free.

“Crews are inside, sir, they’ll find anyone who’s in there, but you need to stay out here. We can’t have you running into danger.”

“Jon?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Elias’s disapproval is almost palpable. “I don’t see the others. Never would have expected you to run and leave them behind.”

“Leave—what do you mean?”

Elias’s lips tighten. “You think I wasn’t aware of what was going on? I did hear Tim talking about this ‘sleepover in the Archives’.”

Jon stares at Elias for a second, comprehension eluding him. Then, suddenly, ice floods his veins as he realizes what Elias is implying.

Not just Martin. Tim and Sasha doubled back to spend the night, too.

“Oh, God,” he manages to choke out.

Elias’s expression shifts. “You weren’t aware?”

He starts to dodge around the barricade, but Elias has his shoulder in an iron grip. “Steady, Jon. The ECDC said not to—”

“Jon, you’re getting hysterical. Calm down.”

“The fire was apparently small, and, I suspect, set mostly with the intention of triggering the CO2 suppressant system—”

There’s a lot of activity around one of the doors. Jon lets out a ragged gasp as two EMTs come out, wheeling a stretcher between them with a body on it. He doesn’t—can’t—know for sure who is on it, not from that distance, not in the dark and with his eyesight, but he does. He knows, with a certainty that he can almost taste, that it’s Martin on that stretcher.

And he isn’t moving.

“Jon!” Elias shouts, but Jon is past hearing him, too preoccupied with rushing across the lawn. He has to get to him, has to see—

“Stand back!” A figure in a hazmat suit suddenly looms up, barring his progress. “You can’t come in this area!”

“Damn you, that is someone I care about, I need to know he’s okay!” Jon cries, his voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this area is in quarantine until we’re sure we’ve contained the infestation,” the figure in the hazmat suit says. “They’re taking him to the hospital. You should be able to see him once he’s out of quarantine.”

“But—” Jon’s eyes desperately track the stretcher as they wheel it past, the two EMTs tossing terms and orders back and forth. It is Martin, he was right, lying very still. There’s an oxygen mask clamped over his face, and he’s—oh, God, he’s covered in blood—he was attacked—the worms, or Jane Prentiss, or both, they attacked Martin, he is hurt, he might be dying, he could already be dead and the oxygen mask could just be for form’s sake and nobody will tell him because they have to control the damage and cover up what’s happening and Jon can’t even be at his side because he might still be infested with the parasites that riddled Prentiss’s body and oh, God, what will he do if Martin survives only to be like that, this is all his fault, why in the name of God’s green earth did he think the Archives would be safe, why was it only Martin he suggested stay, why hadn’t he either had all of them stay, or had all of them stay somewhere else—

“Two, the man they just brought out and...well, what’s left of a woman,” the second figure says. “I’m told everyone should have been gone for the day.”

“We haven’t found them, sir, but we’ll keep looking.” The second figure’s tone changes—concern, maybe? Still, he waves at the first figure, who shoves Jon easily back behind the barricade.

Someone, probably Elias, is talking. Jon honestly isn’t listening. He’s torn between proceeding immediately to the hospital to stalk the lobby until someone lets him see Martin or staying here to make sure Tim and Sasha are all right. He should probably be concerned about the Archives, about what caught on fire, on whether or not any important statements got burnt and how big the fire was, and he’s not going to lie, a part of him is. But he’s willing to let that concern lie until later. Right now, he just needs everyone to be okay.

Besides. Tim and Sasha are still down there.

“All right,” he manages. “Lead the way.”

He might not ever have woken up.

Jon looks desperately around, trying to keep his mind on the present and not on hypotheticals. There are files that have been pulled out and...are probably ruined, to be quite honest, as there’s some sort of...substance on them. There’s a great deal of activity surrounding what appears to have once been the body of a woman, in what appears to have once been a red dress, and Jon’s stomach turns uncomfortably as he thinks about Timothy Hodges’ statement...and Martin’s. The remnants of suppressant foam still linger, and while the gas seems to have mostly dissipated, the smell is...unpleasant. The smell of worms, and earth, and rot.

“Were you here when they...?” Jon addresses the nearest person, indicating the spot where Martin’s body obviously was retrieved from.

“Was the one who found him,” the figure confirms. It sounds like a woman. “Not a reporter, are you?”

Jon’s heart nearly stops in his chest. “But then?”

But if they didn’t know...

He drops the knife instantly when he sees the two figures in the middle of the Archives, both looking panicky and quite out of breath. “Tim! Sasha!”

“Call...police,” he manages to gasp out between heaving breaths.

“They’re outside,” Elias says, sounding somehow both worried and annoyed. “Tim, what is going on? What is the urgency?”

Sasha meets Jon’s eyes, and he’s genuinely never seen her so scared. “There’s a body in those tunnels. It’s Gertrude Robinson and she’s dead.”

#whumptober2020 #no.18 #panic attacks #the magnus archives #fic #time travel fix-it au #part of a longer fic #the rest is in progress i promise #ollie writes fanfic

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