is he the new nic cage

Sneak Attack Heart Attack

Pairing: Pansy Parkinson x Tom Riddle

AU: Modern, non-magical; college student!Pansy, older drug dealer!Tom

Word Count: 1,136

Written For: bunimalsfiberdolls, muclbloods


She meets him by accident.

But it isn’t—it isn’t her fault, okay? It isn’t. The trendy off-campus hipster coffee shop—like, come on, which pretentious Beat-wannabe co-owner asshole had decided it was a good idea to call it the fucking Reading Room, God—anyway, the trendy off-campus hipster coffee shop had been empty. Completely devoid of customers. Just the bored teenaged barista in the neon-fuchsia One Direction tank top and the Suspiciously Hot Guy in the corner.

And, like, what was she supposed to do? She’d had a Calc textbook stuffed into her bag—Marc Jacobs, Fall, 2016, she fucking knew polka-dots were going to stage a comeback—that weighed more than, like, all of the watermelons at Whole Foods combined. She’d been thirsty, and hungry, and tired from the seven-lane traffic clusterfuck that had been the 405-north; she’d been laser-focused on passing her fucking Calc final, and the Suspiciously Hot Guy in the corner had been like her token oasis mirage in the middle of the fucking desert.

Because she’d never actually seen Anthony Goldstein before, only talked to him on the phone, and in the heat of the moment it had seemed categorically unfair to assume that his arrogant, nasally, Claritin-commercial voice couldn’t belong to the guy who was so hot that he was basically making his thousand-dollar leather jacket look like his bitch from where Pansy was standing.

Besides—

Math tutors could totally have leather jackets and perfect cheekbones and mouths that could inspire some ludicrously shitty descriptive poetry like ‘sinfully swollen’ and ‘dangerously decadent’ and—and math tutors could have eyebrow piercings, okay? They could.

Drug dealers, though—

Drug dealers could not have nametags.

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Celebrity Novels, Reviewed

It’s easy to write a novel: Just keep typing until you have something that is very long and mostly lies. But getting that mess published is another beast entirely—unless you are famous, in which case your every utterance is assumed to be worth printing. As a result, there are a ton of embarrassing books with famous names attached to them. We sampled a few to see whether they were really that bad and found that yes, they were.
 

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THE JUSTICE RIDERS
Chuck Norris, Ken Abraham, Aaron Norris, and Tim Grayem
B&H Fiction, 2006

Who knew that Walker, Texas Ranger, would be the best ridiculous-name-giver since Stan Lee? If you want to read about “Ezra Justice” as he teams up with English sharpshooter “Reginald Bonesteel” to fight “Slate Mordecai” and teach the Wild West about the Bible, The Justice Riders is the grocery-store paperback for you! The book wraps up with Justice sharing the gospel with Mordecai, then shooting him dead after the bad guy rejects Jesus—which is sort of Norris’s worldview in a nutshell.

MIKE PEARL


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PARADISE ALLEY
Sylvester Stallone
Putnam, 1977

The plot of Paradise Alley is a predictable yawn about three brothers in 1940s Hell’s Kitchen who get involved in underground wrestling in search of a quick buck and learn heartwarming lessons, but Stallone’s prose makes what could have been a merely mediocre novel memorably awful. He was likely aiming for a Dashiell Hammett–esque hard-boiled style but winds up sounding both simplistic and overly fond of the stalest stereotypes of New York City tenement life. When your fight scenes include lines like “Patty McLade dropped to the floor like a whore’s nightgown,” it’s time to go back to writing movies that are mostly inspirational jogging scenes and anguished grunts.

HARRY CHEADLE


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VOODOO CHILD
Nicolas and Weston Cage
Virgin Comics, 2007

One time, Nic Cage and his black-metal crooner son, Weston, came up with an idea for a comic book about the child of a slave who was killed in the 1860s and gets resurrected by black magic to clean up the streets of post-Katrina New Orleans. Then they got an artist and a writer to make their dreams into reality, because the Cages are not like you or me. This book is like if Spawn impregnated the Candyman with his demon seed on the set of Treme while a cuckolded Todd McFarlane masturbated in a corner. In other words, it’s fantastic.

DAVE SCHILLING

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