friendly reminder that when my biopic gets made the opening credits need to be an eighties teen movie style montage of me waking up late, hurriedly getting dressed, running out the door etc etc set to new orders age of consent
In which Harry’s no good with his words but he sure is good with his mouth.
some harry face sitting action maybe?
Author’s note: This is a continuation of “Mess o’ Mine.” I would suggest reading that first, if you haven’t already. I thought this was gonna be the end but then I fucked up so… there’s also a part 3. Hope you enjoy! I did!
You’ve been running through the events that have occurred, confused at the escalation and the outcome. No issues have been resolved, and there wasn’t really a conversation or discussion. You don’t know any more than you did when you heard Harry singing your poems. Has he used your writing in more songs on his album? Has he read your whole journal? God, you hope not. One poem is bad enough.
Harry hasn’t been around, hasn’t tried calling for the two weeks since he showed up on your doorstep. You’ve flipped the channel whenever he shows up on your television and scrolled at record speed when he’s popped up on your social media feeds. Maybe you should feel relieved and cleansed of his toxicity, but you don’t. Instead, you feel a little broken, like your stomach is splintering into pieces, and your mind still feels split open. Not only that, but you can smell him, feel the weight of him on top of you, taste the foreign flavor of his mouth. This isn’t what you need.
A whole other wave of confusion has rolled over you in terms of your relationship with Harry, if there still is one. The two of you have crossed a line without any prior thought or contemplation. Years upon years of friendship have been threatened, and you’re not even sure how it happened. Why did he kiss you? How did the two of you end up in bed, naked between the sheets? If you were confused about it before, trying to figure things out has only worsened your introspection.
Disney’s “Dragonslayer” (1981), a weird and fascinating film worth a second look, made during the Disney “Dark Age,” when they took unusual chances on atypical, dark tone live-action movies like Tron and Something Wicked This Way Comes.
Request: i. need. s ome sports supportive reader x archie. like wearing jersey to school on game day, wearing his jacket, cheering him on from the sideline. yelling at his coach when he yells at archie. just owningit. being cute. being supportive.
“That’s my jersey.” You turned, a wide smile on your face as your eyes met Archie’s.
“Yeah!” He smiled right back.
“You look better in it than I do…” He teased, hands coming down on your shoulders.
“You said it.” You turned back to your locker, blowing your hair out of your face.
He leaned over to your ear. “You coming to my game tonight?”
“Am I coming to your game tonight?” You asked mockingly. “Of course I’m going to your game tonight.”
“Can you not yell at Coach this time?”
“Listen you made a great pass, and he had no right to yell at you for that,” you defended yourself. “It’s not your fault he couldn’t run it.” Closing your locker, your brow crinkled in anger. Archie laughed. “I’m still pressed.”
He swung his arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his side as you two walked next to each other down the hall towards your class. Grinning, Archie replied, “I know you are, babe.”
The game was typical. The Bulldogs were crushing, and you’d like to think it was solely because of your beautiful boyfriend. You’d catch his eyes every once in awhile from the sidelines, smiling widely to show support. “Go, Arch!” You’d yell whenever he had the ball, always finding his small grin under his helmet.
“Hey!” You turned, narrowing your eyes at Coach Clayton. “L/N, I’d tell you to get out, but you really help him play better. So, I’ll just ask you,” he leaned in close to your ear. “To stop! Screaming! In my ear!”
Eyes wide with surprise, you coughed slightly. “Strong lungs you got there.”
“See you two are getting along better today,” Jughead commented sarcastically over the fence. Raising a bright blue jacket, he pushed it over towards you. With it’s blue and gold color scheme, bold R on the breast, you knew exactly what it was. “Archie told me to go and grab it from his house for you. Said it would be cold.” You reached forward to grab it from him, tugging it over his shoulders. “Look at you two. So eighties coming of age movie.”
Out of nowhere, the crowd suddenly roared in disgruntled, surprised noises. They resembled a crowd booing, but less angry, more concerned. The three of you had been distracted from the field for a moment, however you didn’t have to see the field to know that something had happened.
You turned, seeing the ref angrily blowing his whistle. You noticed the letters on the scoreboard change. 34-31. While the Bulldogs were still winning, it was the fourth quarter, and this score was too tight for comfort.
“Time!” Clayton called angrily, waving his arms in the air and pulling the team into a huddle. You leaned against the fence next to Jughead.
“You think it’s because you weren’t watching him for two seconds?” He joked, elbow nudging your padded shoulder.
“I mean you’re kidding but… It means a lot to him.” You frowned.
Jughead sighed. “Never thought I’d be friends with a quarterback.”
“Never thought I’d wear a letterman’s jacket. Yet here we are.” Archie’s eyes lifted from the heads of his teammates to meet yours. “For that goofball.”
“One second, Coach,” he murmured, taking steps over to you.
“Hey, baby,” you said softly, “You alright?”
“Yeah, just stressed,” he sighed.
“You guys got this,” you assured him. “You need anything?”
“Just you, here,” he answered softly. “I like the jacket.”
“It’s warm,” you nodded. He smiled, pulling on the thick fabric to bring your lips to his. You pulled back, scrunching up your nose. “You stink.”
Archie lightly punched your shoulder. “Hey.”
“Hey, you know what. You go out there, you kick ass? I’ll cuddle you tonight regardless of whether or not you shower.” You leaned forward, kissing him one last time, before lightly pushing his chest. “Go kick some ass.”
As a happy birthday to Mark Hamill, it’s difficult to do one better than what @800lbproductions has done here. Truly fantastic and epic and most importantly, appropriate for the man who brought so much hope and imagination into our childhoods!
1. The Winchesters acting dangerous in prison garb reawakened a kink I’d forgotten I had.
2. They are also objectively terrifying.
(And yet still moral: after all, they did escape from maximum security without ever having to kill anyone.)
3. And probably escapees from an eighties action movie.
4. Dean with fuzzy bedhead worriedly calling his boyfriend is something I never knew I needed.
5. Cas loves his stupid Winchester family more than life itself.
6. They are also driving him to the point of an emotional breakdown.
Look at him. He’s about to fucking cry, and all because they can’t go two seconds without their compulsive messiah complex bullshit.
7. But on a more positive note, Dean undeniably loves him back
Look at this face. This is not the face of a man looking at a “little brother figure.” This is the face of a man looking at his one true love, and it is beautiful.
8. Every one of the British Men of Letters has an inexplicably intense, homoerotic fixation on Cas.
Maybe they all have an angel fetish?
9. Crowley remains an unapologetically salty bitch, and I hope that never, ever changes.
Also, every interaction he has with Cas is a gift.
10. Destiel is real and beautiful.
Look at these two platonic bro pals riding in the back seat together (and low-key probably holding hands.) Another thing Dean has insisted he’d never, ever do. Just like shorts. And wearing women’s underwear. And cucumber water.
It’s almost as if he systematically hides aspects of himself that might viewed as “feminine,” or “not straight.” Whatever could that mean, I wonder.
“Hell Comes to Frogtown,” a movie where Rowdy Roddy Piper has to mate with the last women on earth, the only trouble being that he has an explosive device on his penis rigged to go off by remote signal.