woody!!!

Hey guys!

I searching for new blogs to follow (again.) :D

Like or reblog if you post a lot of one of these things:

Marvel:

  • Romanogers or Pepperony
  • Scarlett Johansson or Natasha
  • Chris Evans or Steve
  • Gwyneth Paltrow
  • Maxinoff Twins
  • Daredevil

The Hunger Games:

  • The Movies
  • Jennifer Lawrence or Katniss
  • Josh Hutcherson orPeeta
  • Woody Harrelson or Haymitch
  • Elizabeth Banks

The Mentalist:

  • Jisbon
  • Simon Baker or Patrick
  • Robin Tunney or Teresa
  • The whole cast

The Blacklist

  • Liz
  • Red

Game of Thrones

  • Maisie Williams or Arya Stark
  • Sophie Turner or Sansa Stark
  • Lena Heady or Cersei Lannister

The Veronicas

Gotham

Natalie Dormer

Emma Watson

Can You Feel It?

The icy feeling of dread creeps into every fiber of your being as you rush back home, a steady mantra of shit shit shit shit SHIT… running without bound through your consciousness. You were supposed to be back by nine, but had gotten caught up at Woody’s house. Now, you’re going to have to face the consequences of that mistake with your father.

The thought of facing your father has you tugging your sweatshirt tighter around you, hunching over as you walk up the sidewalk up to the dim lights of your house.

You open the door quietly, lifting it up to stop the squeak that would’ve surely given you away. Holding your breath, you creep quietly down the hallway to the stairs. If you can just get to your room before–

“You’re late.”

Those two words strike deep into your heart, stilling it for a moment before it makes up for lost time and quickly speeds up, adrenaline rushing into your bloodstream.

“Come here.”

Gulping, you slowly edge down to the living room, your mouth suddenly dry as your hands become slick with sweat.

“Now!”

You cover the last few yards with long, uneven strides, coming to a halt at the foot of the door. You take in your father’s drunken appearance, the man clearly having been around the bend tonight. He sprawls his hulking, intimidating figure on the worn couch, staring back at you with narrowed, beady eyes.

“Where were you?” he says gruffly. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t even move an inch from his place on the couch, but you nonetheless feel the hair on the back of your neck prickle uncertainly.

“I was… out.”

“I can see that, do I look blind?”

You swallow thickly, your heart pounding in your ears. Tread carefully. “No, I just meant I was with friends.”

“What friends?”

“Some friends at school.”

Your father surveys you with cold eyes. “What friends?”

You hesitate.

Your father shifts in his spot, a dangerous tone slowly seeping into his words. “What. Friends.”

“My friend Woody,” you finally say, licking your lips.

“A boy?”

You nod.

Pause. “Are you fucking him?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, you feel a stab of red-hot anger at those prying words. “That’s none of your concern,” you reply back coldly.

It’s actually quite amazing how fast your hulking, sprawling, drunken mess of a father can move. Before you can so much as raise your hands up, your father is out of his seat and lumbering toward you, a glint of mania in his eyes. He shoves you against the wall, holding you there with a strong hand by your throat. You wheeze, grabbing onto his hand with your two smaller ones, trying futilely to pry it away.

“How dare you talk to me like that, your own father?” You screw your eyes shut as spittle flies into your face, the smell of alcohol engulfing your senses.

Your father slams you back against the wall. “Look at me!

You have no choice but to wrench your eyes back open, black spots starting to appear in your vision. Your father stares you down. “How dare you speak to me like you’re better than me? You are nothing, just a whiny little slut who takes and takes and takes from your poor old man. You better show me a little more respect!”

You nod. Yes, anything, you’ll agree to anything, just get those fingers away from your throat!

Your father complies to your wish, throwing you down forcefully. Pain explodes in your mind as your head collides with the wooden table with a sickening CRACK!. You feel the looming presence of your father over you, and in your panic, you grab the closest thing to you – an empty bottle of Jack Daniels, ironically enough – and swing it up. The bottle smashes against your father’s temple, and he grunts as he staggers back.

Shit.

Stumbling up, your heart in your throat, you watch as he hunches over like a caveman, blood slowly oozing from a wound where you hit him. A murderous, downright psychopathic look glint in his eyes.

“You… bitch…”

You waste no time in turning tail and fleeing, running into the night with all you can muster as you burst out the door with your father raging and screaming behind you. You don’t look back, sprinting down the street with only one thought in mind: Get to Woody’s house.

You don’t slow down until your see Woody’s house in sight, your oasis of love and reprieve twinkling innocently with bright lights. You take the stairs two at a time before banging on the front door as a hysterical sob erupts from your lips. Thankfully, his parents aren’t home tonight.

Woody answers the door, looking like he just woke up. The look of drowsiness disappears quite quickly when he takes in your shivering, trembling form.

“Oh my god,” Woody whispers as he opens the door to let you in. You enter, sighing in relief when your head the lock of the door behind you. He can’t reach you here. He can’t.

You waste no time in turning back around and collapsing into Woody’s arms, a choked sob wracking your shoulders as you fight to reign back your shock and terror. Woody holds you tightly, murmuring words of comfort as he gently smooths your hair out and presses light kisses to your forehead and temple.

“You’re safe, you’ll be alright, he can’t hurt you here…”

Eventually, you’re able to calm down enough to pull away, though your entire body doesn’t stop trembling. Wordlessly, Woody takes your hand and gently pulls you to his living room, sitting you down and turning the lights on. You close your eyes when you hear Woody give a sharp intake. You feel his fingers ghost over your neck where bruises are probably already blossoming.

“Did he…?”

You nod, tears escaping out as you say in a shaky voice, “H-he… he never d-d-did this b-before.” You swallow thickly, your head swimming. “He n-never actually hurt me before.”

Woody’s voice grow steely with anger and loathing as he replies, “It was only a matter of time.”

You draw in a shaky breath, your voice broken and small, so small. “Wh-what am I going to d-do now?”

Woody stands up, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment before reappearing with a first-aid kit. As gently as possible, he starts to clean your wounds, his grey eyes filled with care and worry. It’s not until you’re properly treated that he says, “You stay away. You leave that house of yours.”

“I… how?” You shake your head. “He’s the only family I’ve got left.”

Woody sets the wet towel he was using to treat your head. He takes your hand in his, warm and soft. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he says. “You’ve got me, and I swear to God and every other dirty in the universe, you are not going back there. Not after tonight.”

“But–”

Woody takes your hand and places it on your chest. You feel your heart thump rhythmically in its cage.

“This is your heart,” he says, staring up at you. “Can you feel it?”

You nod silently.

“It pumps blood through your veins, which it keeps you alive. There’s a reason why it’s in your chest, because it’s one of the most important parts of your body.

“So tell me.” Woody slides his hand up to cup your cheek. “What does your heart tell you to do?”

You slowly let your eyes drift back open, meeting his. You know the answer, you always have. “I want to stay with you.”

Woody nods, leaning back. “That’s what I thought.” He cracks a small smile as he scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Much to your surprise, you’ve stopped trembling.

“You’re going to be okay, because I’ll be here, all the way. We’re a team, right?”

You sigh, snuggling into his arms. In his arms, all your worries melt away like snow in the sun. In his arms, you know you’ll be alright.

“Right.”

~~~~~ Laura Palmer ~~~~~

Lionsgate has begun developing Now You See Me 3, a year before it releases Now You See Me 2 on June 10, 2016, as part of its strategy to focus on franchises.

CEO Jon Feltheimer made the disclosure Friday during the company’s conference call with analysts to discuss quarterly earnings. “We’ve already begun early planning for ‘Now You See Me 3,‘” he said.

Feltheimer said production has wrapped on Now You See Me 2 has wrapped. Mark Ruffalo, Woody Harrelson, Jesse Eisenberg, Isla Fisher, Dave Franco, Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine will reprise their roles. Jon M. Chu is directing the sequel from a script by Ed Solomon and Pete Chiarelli.

All That's Left Behind...

“Oh, look how cute you are!”

You cringe at the way your mother gushes at your new boyfriend. God, surely she’s not doing this on purpose, is she?

Woody, however, takes it in stride, smiling warmly and reciprocating the hug your mother gives him. “Thank you, I hope so,” he replies with chuckle. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

Your dad shakes his hand firmly, smiling down at Woody. “Nice to meet you, son,” he says. You can’t help but notice the way he holds onto Woody’s hand for a moment longer before letting go and stepping back.

You clear your throat, snaking your arm around Woody’s. “Well, I’m just gonna show Woods around town, is that alright with you?” you ask.

Your mother smiles at that, shooing you and your boyfriend away. “Go, it’s fine! Show him the place you grew up in.”

You let out a relieved huff. You love your parents, really, but perhaps it’s better to wait till dinner to really show Woody your real parents. “Thanks, Mum.”

As you turn away, you hear your mum call after you, “Don’t ruin your appetite!”

Woody laughs as you roll your eyes. “Honestly, she still treats me like I’m 16,” you grumble.

Woody gives a lopsided grin, shrugging. “She’s probably just glad you’re home,” he responds. He frowns after his statement. “Now, where are we going?”

You grin as you tug on his hand, veering off of the sidewalk to cut through the park next to your old house. “There’s this one shop I want to visit. They make the best hot chocolate.”

When you enter the shop, you’re met with the musky, comforting aroma of coffee and old books. The scent wafts through the door that gives a jingle, bringing you back to all those times you came in here with friends, boyfriends, or on your own. You surrender to the memories, a pang of nostalgia hitting your gut.

“Bit hipster,” Woody observes.

You jab him playfully in response, smiling. “Shut it, you, you’re ruining my profound moment.”

Woody grins at that, intertwining your hand with his. “Well, you might as well show me this famous hot chocolate.”

You gladly lead him to the front, ordering a large hot chocolate and laughing at the way Woody’s eyes widen at exactly how big the coffee cups holding the large beverage is. You giggle when Woody snaps a selfie with it, screwing up his face into a ridiculous expression as he flashes a thumbs up.

“You’re so weird,” you tell him, shaking your head exasperatedly at him. Woody merely shrugs, picking up the cup with both hands and taking a long drag.

But before you can ask him how it is, the doorbell jingles again, and you look up…

To find a shadow walking in.

You easy smile drops immediately at the sight of him, shuffling in. He’s older, more refined from the teenage, acne-ridden boy you used to kiss and run and laugh with. Glasses perch upon his nose, green eyes hiding under his dark bangs.

Before you can stop yourself, you cast your mind back to all those innocent, reckless, fleeting moments of your youth. Moments when you fell into each other’s arms when no one else would, when you comforted one another with sweet, whispered words under the stars in the very park you had just crossed. These are the memories in your mind, with the first love of your life haunting them.

You lean back against your chair when your ex-boyfriend sweeps his gaze to you. You stay frozen, locked in his gaze, wondering if he remembers you. Would he? The girl he had loved, then betrayed?

“… Anyone home?”

You tear your eyes away from the green-eyed stranger – yes, he is a stranger to you now – back to Woody, blinking. You can’t help but to giggle at the foamy mustache your boyfriend has acquired, Woody’s tongue swiping up to lap it away.

“I said, this is quite amazing stuff,” he repeats.

You grin back, replying, “Well, I recommended it. Why wouldn’t it be anything less than amazing?”

Woody shrugs, a playful tease tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I know a few instances…”

You give him a playful shove before glancing back at your shade. He’s turned away from you now, his body language conveying a sense that he’s not the least bit interested in you.

As you and Woody quickly finish up, you exit back out the shop. Despite your better judgement, you look back one last time.

You’re met with the eyes of him, looking at you and holding your gaze. You stare back, now knowing for sure that he recognizes you. You think of the wall you have built between you and him, stained with all the mistakes and flaws of a once-beautiful relationship.

As you walk down the streets, you find that you can think little else but of him.

“Who is he?”

The question pulls you from your thoughts. You look up to Woody. “Sorry?”

Woody regards you with a curious expression. “The man back in the shop. The first time he came in, you went white as a sheet. After that, you kept glancing at him, and I saw him glancing back at you a lot too.”

You sigh heavily through your nose, suddenly redirecting your route and leading Woody to a small hill under a massive oak tree. You sit how, Woody quickly following suit.

“I used to come here with him, all the time,” you say, staring hard at your feet. “We’d share stories, ideas, everything, under here. There was nothing we kept from one another.

“Well,” you fix, closing your eyes. “Nothing, except for the fact that he loved another girl.”

You hear Woody suck in his breath at that, but you continue. “I was devastated when I found out. After that, I had horrible trust issues. I forced myself not to get close with anyone. Well, no one… until you.”

Woody looks down, his long hair brushing against his shoulders. “And now…”

You shrug, reaching down to pull out a fistful of grass. “Now, they’re just memories I prefer to keep shut away. But I guess seeing him has broken that dam.”

“Does it still hurt?” Woody asks. “You know… after all these years?”

You cock your head at that. “I guess… yes, but not as much as before. Besides.” You give him a lopsided smile as you turn to him. “It led me to you, right?”

Woody looks back at you for a moment before chuckling softly, reaching out and pulling you into his strong arms. “Yes, I suppose that is a very good thing.”

You snuggle into his chest, grinning back. Yes, as much it had hurt, you suppose you should be grateful that it’s brought you Woody.

“Are you going to dwell on him any longer?”

You sigh into his shirt, pondering the question before shaking your head.

“These streets are his,” you reply, “and he can keep them.”

~~~~~ These Streets ~~~~~

Things We’ll Never See Again

Your hands stay clasped together, resting on the sturdy wooden table in front of you.

Why did this all fall apart?

No more time for questions. The mediator stands before you and your seated husband – ex-husband.

You don’t know why, or how, it went up in flames. All you know is that it happened gradually, slowly. And it relieves you, as sad as it is.

You know this is going to affect your daughter more than anything. She’s a small, vulnerable five-year-old. And as much as it relieves you, it pains you to know how your child will forever be torn…

The woman before the two of you asks about any final statements before the inevitable sorting of money, custody, and the way your days will be for the remainder of your life. You throw a blank glance at him, keenly aware of the way you’re both sat apart as the life you had built with him burns at the pyre. You still remember the first time you met him.

He had such unruly long hair and he wore the bright smile of a winner. Something which faded as years of touring went by. He was lively, happy, and he had energy whenever he rested those grey eyes on you, kissing your cheek or sweeping you off your feet.

His face now lacks the sweetness it held before. Dark circles hang underneath the eyes that once enchanted you. Oh Woody, when you lose that spark?

You know you don’t love him anymore. The love you once held for him has shattered into ash and burned with the house of cards you both created. You filled the structure with memories of affection, which acted like furniture in the flimsy home.

Perhaps it was the constant touring, the feeling of loneliness that prompted you to file for divorce. You remember when it first started. Things weren’t that bad. He’d write to you – emails, texts, sometimes even postcards and physical letters – with loving, humourous words. They weren’t anything new, but you loved the words he used. They were just so Woody. You were convinced things hadn’t really changed.

But behind all of the smiles you two shared, it never changed the fact that he was never home, and he still isn’t. So that’s why your daughter will have to stay with you.

He looks at you with a remorseful look, as if all the other glances he’s given you throughout your relationship are discarded. He’s angry, in pain. But you’re relieved.

The metaphoric house you two built burned to the ground. No more semblance of love for him lies with you. And it’s sad, so, so sad.

But you’re okay.

That night, you hold your daughter in your arms, unsure of how she’s processing her father’s absence.

“Mummy?” she asks with a tune of a melody.

“Yes, my love?” you say quietly, a smile spreading to your face.

“When is Daddy coming home?”

You don’t answer for a few seconds. You know Woody is staying with Dan and his family for a while…

Your eyes begin to tear up, and you want anything but for your daughter to see.

“In a little while, honey,” you reply, rubbing your hands up and down her arms. She smiles innocently and resumes her humming.

How oblivious she is, not fully comprehending. But she’ll see Woody soon. Soon, soon…

~~~~~ Things We Lost in the Fire ~~~~~

Wanna Hear a True Story?

The sickeningly loud bass reverberates into your bones as you struggle with the insanely tall heels that are pinching your feet. You brush a lock of hair out of the way, your heart thumping along to the beat. Already, your provocatively revealing outfit makes your skin crawl, as it does every time you have to put it on.

“Come on, time to go!” your boss barks out. You bite back a scathing retort, knowing that he already hates you enough as it is. Sighing, you put on your brave face and strut out to the cheap lights shining on you, taking your place by your designated pole. You flash a smirk and a wink to the horny, almost feral-looking man below you. You’ve been here long enough to know which ones are the more… generous type. His eyes rake up and down your body as if you’re no more than a piece of meat. A familiar feeling of bile rises up your throat, but you swallow it down as you begin your dance for this low-life degenerate.

You hate it. All of it. You hate the fact that you’re selling your body and being objectified by strangers. You know women that don’t mind it – women that you work with – but this is something that makes you physically sick, that makes you shudder every time a customer runs his sweaty hands up your thighs.

But if this job feeds your son back home, you’ll do it. Every night, all night, you’ll do it. For him.

And so the dance continues.

~~~

You see a group of new guys enter, their raucous laughter making your skin crawl. You turn away from them, knowing that they’ll come, sooner or later.

It’s not until one says, “Check out that one,” that you turn back. You feel your breath catch and your heart skip a beat, time seemingly slowing down as you stare at the group of men.

Because tagging along, in the back, is your high school sweetheart.

Tagging along is Chris “Woody” Wood.

Your mind flashes through those untapped memories with him that you’ve kept carefully hidden in the back of your mind. Sneaking out at night. Getting drunk with him at the park. Woody’s sweet smile as he looked down at you and whispered kind and loving words to you, holding you in his strong, sturdy arms. Quite honestly, they were the best moments of your life.

And then university happened, and everyone moved away when you were left back home. The two of you grew distant, and finally lost contact entirely.

Woody stares back at you, a look of disbelief growing on his face as he openly gawks at you. You suddenly feel the urge to cover yourself up, to hide away from the world. No. Not him, not him. Why does he have to see what you’ve become?

One of the guys laughs and claps a hand on Woody’s shoulder, startling him out of his stare. “Looks like Woody’s found one he likes!” the guy laughs.

Woody flashes his friend a nervous smile, barking back an unconvincing laugh. “Yeah, she seems like my type.”

You tear your gaze away from him, the feeling in your gut making you want to vomit as you shake your hair forward to hide your face. You squeeze your eyes shut before you hear Woody move closer, taking a seat in front of you.

Seeing no route of escape, you finally look back to him, forcing a brilliant smile on your face. “What can I do for you?”

Woody doesn’t smile back, staring up at you. You shake your head biting your lip and trying again. “What would you like, babe?

Woody, to your disgust, tightens his lips and continues to stare in that pitiful way. After another pause, he finally replies, “What are you doing here?”

You scowl. “If you want a dance, you better pay up.”

Woody glances at his friends before looking back at you. Slowly, he reaches down into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, and you feel your stomach drop. A part of you didn’t want Woody to follow through with your request.

Woody pulls out a hundred-pound note, quirking an eyebrow at you. “That gets me a private room, right?”

You look down at Woody with a gaze of contempt, setting your jaw. Is he really going to humiliate you like this? “Of course.”

You look down as you take Woody’s hand, the same hand that gently cradled your face after your father got a little too drunk, a little too violent, all those years ago.

But instead, Woody tugs you away, leading you outside. The cool air is a nice reprieve from the stale, sweaty air of the club.

Woody assesses you, looking you up and down like countless men before him, but lacking that hungry look. You fight the urge to cover yourself up.

“What… happened to you?” he finally whispers out again.

You scowl. “I became a stripper. What does it look like?”

Woody breaks his gaze from you, choosing to look down instead. “I guess a whole lot’s changed since I’ve seen you last…”

You sigh, running a shaking hand through your hair. “Woody…”

Woody looks back at you.

“What else would you do if your son was at home by himself, crying, because you can’t feed him?”

Woody visibly flinches at your words, and you continue, spilling out your story. “And the only thing you can do is sleep with a man, to sell your body, to a man?”

Woody bites his bottom lip, glancing at you for a moment before looking down again. “You’re not the only one with a kid. That’s no excuse to be living a life like this.”

You laugh mirthlessly, feeling all the pent-up rage, frustration, and hopelessness well up in your eyes, spilling over as you say, “Woody, you remember my father, right?”

Woody’s eyes quickly grow steely at the mention of your abusive dad. “Yeah, I remember a thing or two about him.”

“I ran away, with my sister. We ran out before he killed us, or worse. And since then, I’ve been barely keeping up with my life. I wake up every morning wanting to kill myself, to just end it all, like my sister did a couple years ago. But I can’t, because I can’t leave my child. I can’t leave him alone. So don’t tell me about my life. You have no idea the shit I had to go through.”

Woody purses his lips before tentatively reaching out toward your face. You don’t move, your heart thumping heavily, as he wipes the tears from your cheeks with a gentleness and care that you can’t even remember the last time you’ve felt from someone else. The slight dropping of your eyes and lean toward his hand is all the incentive Woody needs to pull you close to him and hug you tightly. You clutch onto him like a lifeline, your heart aching at the feeling of security and sturdiness only your Woody could give you.

“I’m sorry,” Woody whispers into your hair. “I didn’t know…”

You shake your head as you press your nose into Woody’s chest, losing yourself in his familiar scent. Even after all these years, he still feels the same. A part of you yearns for the innocent callousness of your youth.

After another minute, frozen in the moment, you lean back, careful not to smudge your makeup as you wipe the tears away. “I… I have to go back,” you mutter back.

Woody merely nods at your words. After a moment, he takes out his wallet and empties it out, handing it to you.

You step away from the money, shaking your head. “I don’t need–”

“It’s not for you, it’s for me,” Woody cuts in, pressing the money against your chest. “Buy something nice for your son. Take some time off. Take care of yourself.” Woody hesitates for a moment before sticking his hand back into his pocket and pulling out a pen. He takes your hand and scrawls a series of numbers on the palm of it. “And next time you need help, call me, please.”

You take your hand away and cradle it gingerly against your chest, your other hand holding the wad of cash he gave you in an iron grip. Now, it’s your turn to gawk at him at a loss for words. “I–”

Woody leans forward and places a soft kiss on your head, pulling back and gazing at you with soft eyes. “You don’t have to thank me.”

You merely watch as Woody steps back and gives you another nod before spinning in his heel and disappearing down the street, abandoning his friends back in the club.

You look down at his number, mouthing them to yourself until they’re engrained in your mind. You think back to the moments when you had prayed for any god in the universe to help you, to send an angel to you.

It looks like one of them had heard you.

~~~~~ What Would You Do ~~~~~