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uomo-accattivante · 3 years ago

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Great article about Paul Schrader’s The Card Counter - a poker movie that’s not really a poker movie...

Some filmmakers write a hit movie and spend the ensuing years trying to escape its shadow. Paul Schrader never flinched. Forty-five years after his “Taxi Driver” script put him on the map, the writer-director has developed a body of work loaded with alienated anti-heroes compelled to violent and reckless extremes for the sake of a higher calling.

That includes “The Card Counter,” in which Oscar Isaac plays guilt-stricken Abu Ghraib vet William Tell, a man with a gambling addiction compelled to help the revenge-seeking son (Tye Sheridan) of a former colleague. Taking justice into his own hands, Isaac’s William Tell slithers through the Vegas strip in search of questionable salvation, not unlike a certain Vietnam vet named Travis Bickle did from the driver’s seat. As if to cement the comparisons, “The Card Counter” features Martin Scorsese as an executive producer, marking the first time the two men share a credit since 1999’s “Bringing Out the Dead.”

For Schrader, “Taxi Driver” comparisons are inevitable in all his work. “My tendency is to look for interesting occupational metaphors,” Schrader said in a recent interview. “‘Taxi Driver’ hit the bull’s eye of the zeitgeist and it doesn’t die. There’s no way I could’ve planned for that, but it does inform the stories I tell.”

At 75, Schrader continues to churn out movies much like his compatriot Scorsese, albeit on a much smaller scale. “The Card Counter” is the latest illustration of the secularized Christian dogma percolating through his work. “Our society doesn’t like to take responsibility for anything,” he said. “But I come from a culture where you’re responsible for everything. You come into the world soaked with guilt and you just get guiltier.” In his own prickly fashion, Schrader makes movies steeped in empathy for lost souls in search of redemption despite the daunting odds. “We’re all certainly capable of forgiveness,” he said, and chuckled. “Anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”

The “Taxi Driver” dilemma looms large in nearly all of Schrader’s work, from the dazzling high-stakes activism of “Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters�� all the way through Ethan Hawke’s eco-conscious priest in “First Reformed.” While the latter, Oscar-nominated effort brought Schrader new fans, “The Card Counter” is an even more precise distillation of his aesthetic — a moody, philosophical drama about the vanity of the personal crusade.

Schrader, who has labeled his homegrown character studies as “man in the room” dramas, embraces the parallels as usual. “There is this kind of myth that the taxi driver was this friendly, joking kind of guy who was a character actor in movies,” he said. “But the reality is that it’s a very lonely job, and you’re trapped in a box for 60 hours a week.” He saw the same logic with gambling, a wayward profession generally depicted in the movies in the context of escapist romps, rather than the somber rituals that afflict most players. “I thought about the essence of playing cards every day, or sitting in front of a slot machine. It’s kind of zombie-like,” Schrader said. “You see commercials of people in casinos laughing. But it’s a pretty glum place. Today with slots you don’t even have to pull the lever. You just sit there and let the numbers roll.”

The gambling figure led Schrader to the bigger picture of his character’s conundrum. “I was wondering why someone would choose to live in that sort of purgatory,” he said. “He doesn’t want to be alive, but he can’t really be dead, either. What could cause that? It can’t be a simple crime, murder, or a family dispute. It has to be something unforgivable. And that was Abu Ghraib.”

After the fallout of that debacle, William did time in a military prison, and reenters society before the movie begins. That was a world the filmmaker wanted to understand in clearer terms. Though Schrader has received blowback for his controversial Facebook posts in the past, in this case, the platform was an asset: He used it to track down soldiers who had done time in the United States Penitentiary in Leavenworth, the only military prison in the U.S., to better understand the initial claustrophobic world that Tell endures, as well as the conflict between the justice he’s received and what he deserves. “This man has been punished by his government, set free, and paid his due, but he doesn’t feel that,” Schrader said. “What does he do then? How does he fill his time? That’s how it all began.”

Schrader himself toyed with gambling when he lived in Los Angeles early in his career, but soon gave it up. “I very quickly realized I was only interested in gambling if it was really dangerous and I didn’t want to expose myself to that kind of danger,” he said. Years later, though, the experience helped inform his story. “There is this whole fantasy of gambling movies from ‘The Cincinnati Kid’ to ‘California Split,’” Schrader said. “But poker is all about waiting. People will play 10 to 12 hours a day and two to three times a day, a hand will happen where two players both have chips. Now you’ve got a face-off. But that doesn’t happen very often. Most guys who are there are running the numbers, the probability.”

He envisioned “The Card Counter” as a repudiation of the traditional poker movie, which builds to the giddy release of a final tournament. When that moment arrives in the movie, Schrader takes the movie in a bleak, shocking new direction. “It’s not really a poker movie — that’s a red herring,” he said.

William is immersed in his casino journey when he encounters Cirk (Sheridan), the crazy-eyed son of another Abu Ghraib soldier who committed suicide. Cirk blames the soldiers’ former commander (Willem Dafoe), and hopes to loop William into the plan. Instead, the older man decides to take Cirk under his wing to talk him out of the act, which doesn’t prove so easy. In the process, the gambler forms a curious bond with La Linda (Tiffany Haddish), a gambling agent and pimp whose icy, relentless drive to make the most out of the poker circuit brings William some measure of companionship on his wayward journey.

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It should come as no surprise that the “Girls Trip” breakout is nearly unrecognizable in the role of the calculated La Linda, which is also a distinctly Schraderish touch: From his work with Richard Pryor in 1978’s “Blue Collar” all the way through Cedric the Entertainer’s supporting turn in “First Reformed,” Schrader has made a habit of seeking out comedic actors willing to play against type. That’s partly opportunistic on his part. “They’re eager to do it because they want to expand their palette, so you can get them for a price,” Schrader said, chuckling again. “That’s necessary, given the kind of films I make.” But that’s not all: “They will always find a way to be interesting, even when they’re not getting a laugh.”

Which is not to say that the process comes easily to them. Haddish recently told the New York Times that Schrader had to coach her out of speaking in a comedic sing-song. The filmmaker put it in blunter terms. “On the first reading of the script we had, frankly, she wasn’t very good,” he said. “I told her to go back and read every single line without emotion. Then I said, ‘You’re not going to do that in front of the camera, but you can’t hit every line either. So let’s pick five or six lines you can hit where you get a smile or reaction.’ Quickly she got that it was a different rhythm.”

As for Isaac, whose disquieting turn suggests a maniac lingering just beneath the surface, Schrader once again turned to metaphor. “I told him to imagine himself on a rocky coast in the ocean,” Schrader said. “Waves are going to come up and get you all day every day. They’re going to try to batter you. Let them. The waves will go away. You’ll still be there. Don’t compete. In the end, the rocks will win. You have to learn to trust that the way these things are put together has more power than the individual movement.”

William’s routine includes an odd ritual in which he covers all the furniture in his various Vegas hotel rooms with white paper. While the motivation is never explained, Schrader said it stemmed from an experience with production designer Ferdinando Scarfiotti on the set of 1982’s “Cat People,” when Schrader realized the man was doing the same thing. “He said, quite simply, ‘I have to live here surrounded by these ugly hotel furnishings,’” Schrader recalled. The concept inspired the new movie’s most compelling visual motif. “Casinos are very ugly places. There are no exceptions,” Schrader said. “Often you aspire to finding pockets of beauty and there weren’t really any here except the only place he could control, which was his hotel rooms, where he could privatize his visions. I came up with this ritual for him to control those visuals.”

At a certain point, Schrader himself couldn’t control the visuals of “The Card Counter” for more prosaic reasons: After an extra tested positive for COVID-19, the production shut down last March, with five days of shooting left, and couldn’t resume until July. Though Schrader initially took to Facebook to fume at his producers, the pause eventually opened up an opportunity to tweak his vision. “I edited the film and put in placeholders for the five or six scenes of consequence that I hadn’t shot,” he said. “I didn’t have a fully finished film but I could screen it for people. Normally you only get that privilege if you have a big-budget film and you’re allowed reshoots.” The early audience included Scorsese, who provided a crucial note. “I asked Marty, ‘What am I missing?’ He said to me that the relationship with Tiffany and Oscar was too thin. So I rewrote those scenes.”

Schrader asked Scorsese to take on the executive producer credit as a favor. “I said, ‘Marty, wouldn’t it be nice to share a card again? I thought it would help sell the film but it would also be a cool thing to do after all these years,’” Schrader said. “Then a couple of weeks later his agent called wanting to work out a deal. What deal? I asked Marty and he said yes. That’s the deal!” Now, the pair are trying to collaborate on a new long-form TV series based on the Bible, though the timing has been delayed by production on Scorsese’s upcoming “Killers of the Flower Moon.”

In the meantime, Schrader has been mulling over the way “Taxi Driver” not only continues to inform his storytelling but the world at large. “Hardly a week goes by that I don’t notice or hear some reference to it,” he said. “But I don’t know how you’d tell such a story today. A number of writers have tried and I don’t think they’ve succeeded because it has to come out of a certain place and time. We have plenty of these incels around, but they’re not as original or revealing as they were 45 years ago when that character came on the scene. I wouldn’t know how to write about it.”

Instead, his next project is a love triangle called “Master Gardener,” which he hopes to shoot in Louisiana before the end of the year. He has several other potential scripts ready to go after that. And while he has expressed trepidation about the future of cinema in the past, he’s not convinced that audiences have given up on it yet. He recalled a conversation he had with Cedric the Entertainer when “First Reformed” made the rounds. “He said off-handedly to me, ‘You know, I didn’t realize there were so many people who liked serious movies,’” Schrader said, and chuckled once more. “Well, yeah, there are.”

“The Card Counter” premieres next week at the Venice Film Festival. Focus Features releases on September 10, 2021.

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#oscar isaac #the card counter #paul schrader #martin scorsese #tiffany haddish #tye sheridan #willem dafoe #taxi driver #master gardener #indiewire

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oingo233 · 4 years ago

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Rapture is a Boy (3)

Summary: Remus and you have always had a playful, loving relationship but his behavior around the full moon leads you to assume the worst. A huge fight ends with the two of you heartbroken. Will Remus reveal the truth behind his behavior? And will you still love him afterwards or has he truly lost you forever?

Young Remus Lupin x Reader

Warning: angst, cuss words, self-doubt, angst, cheating, angst (but not as much as there will be later mwhahaha)

Authors note: I try to keep my writing(self inserts) gender, body type, ethnicity and house neutral/not specified. If I ever slip up please let me know so that I can change it.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Word Count: 3k

Part Three

****After All This Time, There is No Love****

The common room walls seemed to pulse with the vibrations of the song, every ear in the room being invaded with music, cheers, laughter, and somewhere for some odd reason, screaming. Screams of joy of course. The party was alive and everyone had large smiles and butterbeer slipping through giggles or being shared through a kiss. This party would surely be talked about in the weeks to come.

But I was having a harder time of letting loose, and it would seem Lily is too. For our very reason for throwing the party could not make it, so what the hell was the point? Remus was off studying, James was off studying, so we had no lips to lock with our own, no body to dance and grip to, no one to have fun with in the way we wanted to tonight. Lily was sipping on a butterbeer, staring at the portrait with me, hoping they’d walk through.

“Ladies...” A hufflepuff named Paul collided into our sides, looping his arms around our shoulder. Lily to his right, I to his left. He was staring drunkenly at the portrait with us, his eyes going large and then small, as if he was searching for something. “What are we doing?” He chuckles to himself.

“I mmmeann seriousllyy, if-if you’re waiting for a snnog anny onne here will step up. Lilyy that is, she’s sinngle. I’d snnog you though (y/n) but Remmuss might tear mee apart-a-apart me.” He slurs, leaning in close to my face. “Pre,’ He mutters to himself “pretty,” he laughs again and saunters off, swaying his hips to the music, declaring he’ll chug another jug of butterbeer. I look at Lily and she stares back at me, mouth open and my own fighting a smile. Before we know it, we’re cackling like the bunch of witches/wizards we are.

“This is the worst, mission failed! M’ sorry Remus couldn’t make it,” Lily says, huffing hair out of her drink. The fire burning only brought out the red of her hair, she looked apart of the flame herself. I see why James was in love with her, she got her wits, charm, beauty, and kindness. So why would he miss this time to be with her? Does Peter really need the whole lot of them?

“mmmh,” I agree wordlessly, “M’ sorry James couldn’t.” She sighs into her drink, cheeks burning and she looks up at me.

“Me too.” She mumbles. I’m taken aback to say the very least. I was always just teasing, I mean I had a hunch sure, but for her to really admit it. Well, I’m not proud to say that I stood there like a daft cow for roughly 5 minutes before she groaned and bumped her shoulder into mine. Hiding her smile and embarrassment with a final swig of her drink.

“I- you- James?” Is all I can seem to get out of me, shock makes ya useless it seems. She nods slowly.

“Yes, I thought you knew already.” She shrugs, turning towards the raging crowd of drunk witches and wizards.

“Well, yeah..” I shrug just as cooly and she laughs, pushing me with her arm again.

“Stop, you did not because Remus doesn’t know, and you tell him everything.” She points out, but soon regrets it as my smile grows wickedly large.

“(y/n)!” But I was already half way through the portrait, muttering to myself just loud enough for her to hear.

“Remus! Remus, I’ve got to tell Remus!” I’m laughing hysterically as she chases me through the corridors, our robes trailing behind us like a little sea of black rolling by our angles.

“No! Please, don't!” She yells after me, both of us out of breath by the time we reach the same corridor as the library. “I’ll hex you...” She glares at me as we walk swiftly up to the library doors. Now, of course I would never ever snitch such a thing to anyone. This is Lily’s long kept secret and when I had my unrequited love for Remus she didn’t go blabbering it to him or anyone else, so of course I would return the favor of silence. My plan was to simply lead her to James, where they can now confess their undying love for one another after the secrets already out. But she didn’t know this.

“You won’t hex me Lily dear, you’re not that against James knowing. Why don’t you tell Remus yourself, or better yet, James!’’ I exclaim, smiling to myself for my own genius. God, Remus will be in more of a shock than I, all the boys will, no one more than James. She tilts her head in disappointment directed at me, we raise our hands and together we open the doors.

We are first greeted with an indifferent glance in our direction from Pince. We smile at her and nod our heads in her direction, then walk slowly (as in I’m matching Lily’s pace which is practically the march of dread) to the table the marauders usually sit. The table has all of our names scratched into the bottom.

I wish Lily would walk faster because I was bouncing to see Remus, he quickly apologized to me once again for being dismissive and it led to quite the kiss (or two) and left us with some unfinished business. We turned the corner of a large bookshelf and where we were expecting to see the boys, we instead saw no one at all.

“Where are they?” I ask Lily, she shrugs beside me, just as confused. Though her shoulders are slumped with either relief or disappointment, from the look on her face I can tell it is a mix of both. “Come,” I say wrapping my arm around her shoulder, “They’re bound to be here somewhere, yeah?” She mumbled back a yeah to me, and together we searched the entirety of the library.

But it was a waste of time. Hardly anyone was there, and certainly not the loud (yes, even when they study) boys we came here for.

But we did find someone of interest, walking back along the corridors we found someone perched by the window, staring out towards the forbidden forest, towards the shrieking shack. Lucy. Lucy is girl by the window. She looked worried.

I swallowed my pride and my anger. It’s irrational, I told myself, my emotions talking, not fact. I did all of this just to take two step towards her and ask a simple question. But the answer was anything but.

“Are you okay? And before you lie to us, you should know that we genuinely are good listeners and I like to think quite non-judgmental and-” Though I swallowed so much, I could not swallow my stress ranting, the one that spawns when I am put in uncomfortable situations, such as this one. A curse truly. But thankfully Lily cuts me off.

“Yes, so uhm... are you?” Lily asks. Lucy doesn’t even turn to us, she bites her lip and continues to stare out the window. We almost go to ask again, thinking she hadn’t heard us. But she starts speaking, her gaze never leaving the shack before her.

“I guess it’s always good to talk about our problems,” She laughs to herself, “Remus tells me that, says bottling things up only make it worse. I’m worried about him actually. Remus, do you know hi-” Her words fall short as she turns around and sees the expression on my face. Remus. She is worried about Remus, my boyfriend. Why was she worried? Why was he not in the library where he said he would be? What does Lucy know that I do not?

Why does she care about Remus enough to sit and stare out of a window for hours? I quickly came back the conclusion that Remus was lying to me, about where he was, and who he loves. He has been cheating on me.

I stager backwards and Lily grasps my hand in hers, giving it a squeeze.

“Are you two friends?” She asks, without venom or even a quiver in her lip, but I felt like my world was crashing down. I was thankful she asked the question because I wouldn’t have been as composed.

“Yes, er- sort of, closer than friends actually” She smiles to herself like she just said the sweetest thing. But it was just another stab to the heart, another hand constricting my throat. Not very convincing Lucy, I think to myself. Lily squeezes my hand again and goes to lead us away but Lucy begins to speak again.

“You’re (y/n) right?” She knows me. She knows me? I nod numbly and Lily quickly says goodbye for us, and rushes us away. She partly carries me through the portrait, I trail lamely behind her, not able of thought. She trudges us up the stairs to her bed where she promptly lets me sit and breakdown.

“Lily...” I don’t get to finish the sentence before she pulls me in for a hug, I didn’t realize how hard I was crying until my sobs made our shoulders hit into one another. She hugs me tighter, running her hands through my hair. Shhhsing me softly, and whispering sweet things in my ear.

“I love him, I love him so much,” I cry out, fisting her shirt in my hands. I think I feel her wipe away a tear of her own. God, I must be such a mess to make Lily herself cry. But I am a mess. I feel as though my very home has been taken away from me. This boy I gave my heart to, this boy I gave my very own body and love to, was giving it all to someone else. I confided in him, I trusted him, hell I’d even die for him. But he was playing me, he was using me. I have been loving a stranger.

“He doesn’t love me...”Is all I can mumble to myself again and again, rocking in Lily's embrace. We lay there until sleep takes us. None of the girls wake us up whether I belonged in Lily's bed or not, they noticed the way my face seemed blotchy and I was frowning in my sleep. But more than that they saw the tired look in Lily’s expression, and the rage hidden deep within.

I woke up to the sound of rustling clothes, and parchment. The sound of the girls dormitory coming alive, and everyone preparing for the schools day ahead. I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to lie there until I grew the strength to face my worst fear. Until I grew the confidence to walk out there, to love myself again when I felt anything other than beautiful or good. I felt disgusting, what was wrong with me that would make Remus feel the need to be with another? No, I didn’t want to get up until I was healed, until time would reverse itself completely.

But nonetheless I got up, because Lily was worried and Lily was watching and Lily was there to hold my hand and reassure me that I was wonderful, and worthy of love. That it was Remus. My Remus. Lucy’s Remus, it doesn’t matter. I love him, I still do. After all that happened, I wish love was something I could tear from me and leave behind, but it was at first a beautiful flower in my heart and now it is just a dead weed stuck in cracks. I will never be able to get it out.

Lily silently sits me on the edge of the bed. She fixes my hair for me, and wipes at my cheeks, and gives me a tissue. I blow into it, she throws it out. She kisses my cheek and waits for me to get dressed.

At last, we make our way through the sea of students and staff to the great hall. The laughter of fellow students makes the lump in my throat all that much larger. My hands begin to shake and so Lily holds it within her own.

“Look at me love,” She says, “Remus does not deserve ya after the shite he pulled. Ya need to talk to him love, you need to break up with him yeah? Feel the freedom in your new single life and get out there. Paul said he’d snog ya, yeah?” I know she was trying to make me feel better, and it almost worked. Almost. But I was still very much in love with him, I don’t know if I can move on. After knowing Remus so intimately, how could I? Nonetheless I swallow my despair and nod slowly to her. She lets go of my hands and we walk straight to the Gryffindor table. Straight to the boys.

My heart swallowed itself whole when I caught sight of Remus. He looked tired, exhausted even. His skin pale, and he looked in pain. The other boys didn’t look any more alive, but they were laughing with one another, though in a more sedated way. Remus was in his own world, reading a muggle book I gave him a while ago. He promised he’d tell me all about it and that we’d find a way to watch the muggle movies when we can. We never will.

My sadness is suddenly replaced with an intense anger. With rage and hurt I walk right up to the table, I stand behind Remus. The other boys look up at Lily and me with easy smiles, but they drop as they soon further dissect our appearance and with it our mood. Sirius goes to wolf whistle as if he was excited by the fact one of the boys were about to get hounded into, but Lily raises a hand and stops all sound at the boys part of the table.

I clear my throat. He is still reading, he smiles to himself as he reaches a rather humorous part of the book.

“Remus,” I call, my voice sickly sweet, it seems to shock Lily. She begins to walk back, not wanting to be in the middle of the spitfire. But the boys seems to soak in the scene with amusement. Remus hums in response, and puts his thumb near the edge like he does when he is about to finish a line and then close the book, but I was above waiting now.

“Could you Remus, for 5 seconds perhaps give me more attention when I speak to you than some fucking book. It’s like I’m talking to a godamn wall!’‘ I lose my temper near the end, and now half of the table was staring at us. Remus doesn’t even bother to mark the page, he places the book down and whips around to me with wide eyes. The boys no longer looking humored at all, everyone is giving me odds looks. I’ve never once acted this way with Remus, all our previous arguments were resolved rather quickly.

“Great,” I smile too big at him, then turn to the boys. Every word dripping sarcasm and fake calm. Remus only frowns more, his eyes darting across my face and than to Lily searching for an answer.

“Now, could you all leave us be or are you going to be obnoxious flies on said wall while I speak to my boyfriend for the little amount of time I have managed to grab his attention?” I grit out every word, as if fighting my anger, I did not mean to be so hurtful but I am very hurt myself. Did the rest of boys know about Remus cheating? Instead of leaving, they stare at me in shock, after some time of staring James goes to ask why I am being so rude but I cut him off.

“You know what?” My voice cracks, I am losing my resolve. With every second I spend staring deeper into Remus’s eyes my anger fades into sadness. A great sea of sadness. “Never mind, I am being rude. All of you can continue to ignore me completely, Remus, my love,” My voice cracks once again and I will my anger to come back so that I may do what I have to next. “You keep reading that book of yours and for the love of god don’t stop for anything, I mean don’t ever stop because what on earth could be of a more pressing matter? And boys, keep your sweet asses locked in place because I do always forget how much of fucking arseholes the whole lot of you are!” Remus stands up abruptly and caresses my forearm, he wishes for us to talk somewhere more privately but I jump back at his touch.

My lips curl up in a snarl “We’re over Remus! You cheat! You fucking liar!” I yell loud enough for the whole of Gryffindor table to hear, my anger has run from me completely and now nothing is left but Remus’s eyes staring deep into mine.

His eyes, as they well up with tears and dart around the room. His eyes growing red and defensive at all the people looking back at him. His eyes meeting mine once more, his mouth falling open and closing again. He goes to speak, but at last, I watch as he can’t hold the tears back anymore. He rubs aggressively at his eyes, and rushes out of the great hall. His friends racing after him, not before Sirius shoots me a dirty look and James questions Lily with his eyes.

And then it was done. The students begin to whisper behind hands and poke their fingers in our direction. The great hall filling up once again with chatter and gossip, I feel the color drain from my face and every feeling I previously had becomes overtaken with grief. It is over. I have lost him. After all this time, there is no love.

Lily catches me before I fall. She is now the one to rush me through the doors of the great hall, but we are stopped short. Stopped by the sound of horrible, horrible sobs and 3 boys trying their hardest to silence them. To comfort him. No pain in that moment would come to compare to the miserable feeling I’d carry around after that night. After seeing him lying there, body racked with sobs because of me.

Sirius looks up, he looks as though he is in pain as he bounces his leg and runs a hand through his hair. He looks around, anywhere but his broken friend. But then our eyes meet.

He begins to walk over to us, Lily stands as my guard. But nothing could protect me from the onslaught that is an angry Sirius Black...

Taglist:

@crazylokonugget @beyondprincess @1975weasley @goto-hi-this-is-my-brain@nicodoesntexist

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rafael-silva · 4 years ago

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(a place) in your arms: a tarlos fic

After TK has a tough shift, Carlos shows him a special place.

for the good things happen bingo prompt: tarlos + secret haven

established tk strand/carlos reyes, hurt/comfort, emotional/hurt comfort, cuddles, kisses, tk strand needs a hug, softness

****

The 126 had a pretty bad shift. That would be putting it lightly, though. It was one of those shifts where nothing went according to plan, where there seemed to be a wedge somewhere that no one was able to figure out. Let alone solve and allow everything to run smoothly. No, it was a pretty rough shift.

TK would even go as far as saying it was the worst shift he’s worked in Austin. In the past, some shifts were a mix of good calls and bad ones, but at the end of each one, TK would leave promising to be better next time, to learn from what happened on those difficult and challenging calls. That’s all part of the job, and something TK is very keen about: always learn from past mistakes, his own and others’ mistakes, as well.

But the thing is, during this particular shift, no mistakes were made, no new challenges surfaced that couldn’t be dealt with right then and there. They were all exactly where they were meant to be, at the moment they were meant to be there, every time. And yet, somehow that wasn’t enough. Only one call had gone in their favor. One call in twenty-four hours filled with the sound of the bell echoing throughout the firehouse.

Heaviness. It’s the heaviest TK has felt in a long time as he dragged his feet towards the showers at the end of the shift, and with all the energy he could muster, he set the water temperature a tad hotter than he normally does. He stands there, under the strong spray of water, his eyes closed as he feels the drops collide with his body, feels it roll down his skin just to be replaced with more water. He shivers, despite the warmth now surrounding him. He suspects it has nothing to do with the temperature. But he doesn’t move a muscle, he just stands there as the shower stall fogs up.

For the first time since he moved to Austin, he’s so drained he can’t even bring himself to think about the next shift. He loves his job, knowing fully in his heart that this is what he’s meant to be doing, but right now all he wants to do is go home and sleep wrapped in Carlos’s arms.

*****

Carlos arrives at the firehouse just as everyone starts filing out the bay doors. It was one of the days his and TK’s shifts ended at the same time and he usually picks TK up when that happens. From what he’s heard from Michelle, or more accurately from Michelle’s texts, is that they’ve had quite a bad shift, so he treads lightly. He had exchanged some quick texts with TK, making sure his boyfriend was doing okay in between calls and since it was also a busy day at the PD, Carlos himself couldn’t text much.

He looks around, but not seeing his best friends, he gathers she already left to get some much-needed sleep. He then spots Paul, Mateo and Marjan walking side by side, all of their expressions somber as they silently exit the firehouse. He gives them a supportive nod, which they return. Carlos then pats Paul’s shoulder as the other man walks past him and Paul looks grateful for the contact.

No words needed, Carlos thinks.

His name being called out grabs his attention.

“Hey, Carlos.”

Carlos directs his attention back to the house and sees Owen walking towards him, holding Buttercup’s leash as the dogs trots next to him.

“Hey, Owen,” Carlos replies. “I heard about the shift, I’m sorry.”

Owen shrugs, coming to a stop in front of Carlos and Buttercup stands beside him, giving Carlos a smile.

Carlos ruffles the dog’s fur in response.

“It’s all right, it happens. But listen—” Owen is interrupted by the sound of feet coming down the stairs behind them.

They both look over to see a very exhausted TK stumbling down the steps, his backpack thrown over a shoulder, wearing jeans and his iconic yellow hoodie. His hair is a mess, and Carlos knows that means TK just ran a towel through it to dry it up and decided that was enough.

Once at the bottom of the staircase, TK looks in the direction of the two men, immediately spotting his dad and boyfriend. He locks eyes with Carlos, not breaking their eye contact and there’s so much grief and weariness drawn in those green irises it breaks Carlos’s heart. He only looks back at Owen as the older man continues speaking.

“Take care of him,” Owen says. “He’s taking it pretty hard.”

“Of course,” Carlos nods. “Anything I can do to help.”

“You do help a lot,” Owen replies, a half smile pulling on his face. “Let me know if you boys need anything.”

TK is standing next to them as soon as Owen finishes his sentence.

“It’s going to be okay, son,” Owen says as he wraps his arms around TK in a tight hug.

TK returns the hug, nodding into Owen’s shoulder and closing his eyes.

Owen gives TK a comforting squeeze and pulls back. “You take care of yourself.”

Buttercup is now on his feet, his attention completely turned to TK.

TK looks down, Carlos notices a ghost of a smile passes over his face as he bends down to kiss the dog’s head, running his fingers through the soft, thick fur.

“Goodnight, boys,” Owen bids them goodbye and claps Carlos gently on his back as he walks away.

TK and Carlos turn to watch Owen walk to his truck, open the backseat door for Buttercup as the dog hops in. Owen waves at them before getting into the driver’s seat and driving away.

Carlos turns to look at TK, and TK’s face crumbles in an instant, his eyes filling with tears faster than a dam breaks. It seems the younger man was doing his best to keep it together for his dad, but now since they’re practically the only ones left standing in the firehouse, TK lets it all go.

“Hey, come here,” Carlos whispers, not wasting a second in pulling TK close and holding him against his chest, arms tightly tucked around TK’s shaking body.

Carlos feels TK’s hands gripping the back of his t-shirt, balling the material into his fists. A lifeline for TK, Carlos suspects, something to hold on to.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, babe,” Carlos continues whispering softly against TK’s ear. “I’m here, you’re not alone.”

TK’s response is tightening his hold on Carlos, wanting nothing more than to disappearing into the taller man’s strong and sturdy frame. He swallows the big lump in his throat, taking in a few deep breaths and letting them out slowly.

Carlos doesn’t know how long they stand there, wrapped around each other and he doesn’t really care. He meant what he said to Owen, he’ll do anything he can to help TK feel better.

Once TK is certain his knees won’t buckle beneath him and gathers some strength, he pulls back but doesn’t remove his hands from Carlos’s arms.

Carlos reaches out a hand, wiping away at the tear streaks staining TK’s cheek with his thumb, and TK immediately leans into the gentle touch.

“Let’s go home,” TK finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We will, but there’s somewhere I want to take you first,” Carlos replies.

continue reading on ao3

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howtosingit · 4 years ago

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Fic: this space between us is weighing me down

Carlos finds out about TK’s life-threatening incident.

A missing moment from 1x08.

1.4K | Also on AO3

- - - - - -

It’s actually Paul who texts him.

He’d been driving the Ackermans back home when he heard the call from dispatch, a report of shots fired at the location that he’d just left. Two other officers were already on the scene - the ones who had originally been called to the Crump’s house before he had unexpectedly come across Mrs. Ackerman and the two calls had converged. They’d agreed that Carlos should get the Ackermans home as soon as possible, for Mr. Ackerman’s safety, so he’d briefly watched the 126 gather their gear before he’d pulled away.

And now, gunshots.

He waits with bated breath, listening for the call for backup, wondering if he should just turn around. He looks in the rearview mirror, taking in the distressed state of both of his backseat passengers. Carlos doesn’t want to take them back there, knowing that it could very well be another trigger for Mr. Ackerman. He turns to his partner, opening his mouth to ask what she thinks they should do, but before he can speak, the radio crackles to life again.

“Scene is secure, no backup required. Dispatch, alert the nearest hospital that we have an incoming adult male gunshot victim, through and through to the left shoulder.”

Carlos’s heart pounds in his chest, but he refuses to let himself consider the worst. There were so many people on the scene, and while he likes everyone that he’s met from the 126 and would hate to see any of them hurt, he can’t be sure that the victim is one of them. He really, really can’t be sure that it’s the one person he needs it to not be.

It takes another 40 minutes before he gets the text.

He’s at his desk, filing his report for the evening, his mind struggling to make sense of the truly bizarre sequence of events. He glances down at his phone, sighing at the confirmation that he still has a few hours left of his shift. Carlos rubs at his tired eyes, reaching over to grab his coffee from the corner of his desk, and hears his phone vibrate next to him.

It’s a text from Paul, and the message causes him to freeze, the blood draining from his face as a cold shiver runs through him.

Hey, man. TK’s in surgery right now at St. David’s North. It’s looking pretty bad, so I thought you’d want to know.

The words roll through him, churning into a destructive storm in the pit of his stomach. His eyes prickle with the threat of tears, and he grips the edge of his desk tightly, trying to control his emotions. His breathing is shallow, the air pushing painfully through his lungs, and the room begins to spin slowly around him. He closes his eyes, trying to make it all stop.

He’s at work, he’s in the middle of a shift, and he cannot afford to freak out right now.

Somewhere beneath it all, he feels this huge onslaught of guilt and regret.

It’s been four days since TK had come over and they’d gone for a run. Four days since his grief over losing Iris again caused him to step over the line that he had so firmly drawn and kiss TK. Four days since he and TK had last spoken to one another.

It’s his fault, the silence. TK has acknowledged him on pretty much every call they’ve responded to, his mouth pulled into a thin line as he waved across the scene. Carlos always waved back, hoping that his own expression might convey everything that he has yet to say. TK always responds with a nod, as if he understands that Carlos just needs time.

Time that he might no longer have, now that TK is fighting for more.

Carlos thinks back to the past few nights, sitting on his couch with his phone in his hand, his fingers hovering over TK’s number, daring himself to call the other man. He wanted to reach out, to be near TK again, to talk to him and touch him and make things right. But, every time he came close, the guilt would overwhelm him, and he’d decide that the right thing to do was to give TK space.

The truth is, there’s a chasm between them, and it’s one of his own making.

More than anything, he wants to drive to the hospital right this minute and be by TK’s side. He wants to hold him and kiss him and tell him how sorry he is for pushing him away. He wants to tell TK that, while he knows things will be messy and hard and scary, that he wants all of that if it means that he gets to have him, too.

He just wants to be with him, no matter what.

The reality is, he can’t leave. There’s three hours left of his shift, and his sergeant won’t just let him leave for a person who, to an outsider, is just a one-time hookup-turned-friend. Besides, if TK is in surgery for a gunshot wound to his shoulder, there’s no telling how long it’ll be before he can have visitors.

So, Carlos stays where he is, trapped at his desk with his heart somewhere inside St. David’s North Medical Center, miles away from the precinct.

The rest of his shift passes in a blur, with him pushing paperwork and filling out a number of forms that all begin to look the same after a few hours.

When he finally clocks out, locking up his desk and grabbing his keys, he doesn’t even hesitate before driving in the direction of the hospital. Paul had updated him on TK’s condition only a few minutes ago, letting him know that he’d made it out of surgery, but that his blood loss had been a major concern for the doctors. They’d apparently repaired the firefighter’s collapsed lung, but currently had no idea what kind of long-term damage may have happened to his brain before they were able to get him into surgery.

Paul doesn’t say it directly, but Carlos knows how to read between the lines, all too familiar with the dangers of blood loss from a gunshot wound.

His heart refuses to believe that he’s spoken to TK for the last time, even when his brain tries to prepare for the possibility.

Carlos angrily wipes away the tears on his cheeks as he makes his way down the halls of St. David’s, the bright fluorescent hospital lights giving him no shadows to hide in. Nurses and doctors pass by, some looking worried as they stare up at him. He’s sure he’s quite a sight to see: a police officer on the edge of losing it.

He can’t be bothered by their concern.

The moment he spots TK’s pale face resting against the pillow, he nearly lets out an anguished cry, his feet stopping in the doorway of the room. He swallows down the sudden urge to vomit, his stomach rolling around like a monster that refuses to be tamed.

Captain Strand finally spots him, inviting him inside. Carlos responds, the polite lie coming after years and years of conditioning, though he can’t stop the way his breath hitches. His brain screams at him to run towards TK, to hold him tight and never let him go, but he pushes that thought down. He can’t lose it, not now that he’s so close.

TK’s dad passes him, resting a comforting hand on his neck. He wants to say something, possibly thank you or I’m sorry or something else that feels equally inadequate, but he doesn’t. Now that the room has been cleared for him, all he wants to do is be with TK.

He moves slowly towards the bed, taking in TK’s stillness. It’s not a trait that he associates with the other man, and it takes a moment for his brain to reconcile the person before him with the man that he’s known for months.

Seated by the bed, he hesitates only a moment before reaching out, his fingers dancing across TK’s knuckles where his hand lays near his hip. He lets out a breath, the sound stuttering through him, as he drags his palm up TK’s forearm to gently grip his elbow, feeling the faint pulse of blood coursing through his veins.

Another tear falls, but this time Carlos ignores it, his vision blurring as he stares at the blank face of the man in front of him.

The man who holds him in his orbit, the man Carlos is pretty sure he won’t be able to handle losing.

The man he’s falling in love with.

It’s the closest they’ve been in days, and yet they’ve never felt farther apart.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #tk strand #carlos reyes #I wrote a thing #tarlos missing moments collection

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toovirgins · 4 years ago

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Le Rêve - Part 6

Summary: After an unproductive studio session, George and Ringo leave in a hurry. John later returns to find his glasses and another unwelcome surprise.

Things were different now.

Not entirely—they still had the band, the songwriting partnership, the united front for the media and press. It’s just that now, the tour was completed with determination and efficiency, becoming just another box to check off. Now, Paul relied much more heavily on George’s suggestions, and in a fit of jealousy or competition (Who could be sure? What was the difference?), John did the same. Now, Lennon-McCartney hardly wrote together and never wrote alone, needing George or Ringo to be in the space as a buffer.

When Paul had come back into the room that night, George knew he’d found John. He entered wordlessly, immediately throwing all of his belongings into his trunk, and George didn’t have the heart to ask where he was going. He and Ringo simply stared, too afraid to test the waters that were more tumultuous than they’d ever seen.

When Paul had finished packing, he’d looked pointedly at Ringo until the man understood. Ringo pushed himself up out of the armchair and followed him out of the room. He’d returned only minutes later with a sad smile in George’s direction that he assumed was meant to be reassuring, but instead was plain unsettling—a visual marker of the notion that something had changed within the group. Ringo had unpacked his things on Paul’s side, and that was that.

They weren’t allowed to talk about what happened. It was this unspoken rule, but a rule nonetheless—which was rather fine with George at first, anyway. But as time dragged on and the air grew no less hostile, George figured that he would rather talk about it for hours if it meant getting the old dynamic back. He was torn between two opposite poles of the spectrum, a futile effort of trying to please both Lennon and McCartney. There was a bitterness flourishing within him at the recognition of his usefulness only when they didn’t need each other. But objectively speaking, he was given more say, more credit, more songs. He couldn’t complain. Or he shouldn’t complain.

Something about the unspoken rule led George and Ringo not to talk about it with each other, either. George knew Ringo was absolutely dying to; at every uncomfortable or unnatural interaction between John and Paul, George knew a concerned glance from Ringo was coming his way. Ringo needed to talk about things, and George felt right guilty in deliberately ignoring the desire. He was just holding out hope that if no one addressed it in any context, the universe would wash away that it even happened, and the band—their livelihoods—would live on.

The quick succession of knuckles against the side of his head jerked him out of his daydream (nightmare?).

“Hello?” Ringo quipped. “Anyone home?”

George scowled and slumped deeper into his seat. “Barely.”

He and Ringo had been dicking about in the studio for the past half-hour. It was just the two of them—Paul hadn’t shown up, and John, already in a sour mood for the day, had cursed the man under his breath and stalked off. That had been about an hour ago, and when John didn’t return, the remaining boys gave up trying to focus. After a brief quarrel over who dropped the ball on bringing the marbles and playing cards, Ringo suggested a friendly competition over who could butcher “She Loves You” on their respective instruments in a funnier fashion. Which, credit where credit was due, was incredibly entertaining; only minutes before now, George had been rolling on the ground in laughter when Ringo had seemingly pulled a bicycle horn from his arse and honked it in place of the famed McCartney-Harrison “Ooh’s”.

However, as many things do when one has an attention span of about two minutes, the game soon grew tired—the song was only so long—and the pair had resorted to quiet, mindless fiddling on their instruments. In turn, the lapse into silence and thought had led George down his aforementioned neuro-rabbithole.

“Are you all right?” Ringo questioned, lifting an eyebrow in his direction. “Y’just seem a bit… off lately, I dunno.” There was an urge there, a pull. Ringo was nearly leaned forward off his chair.

“Off how?” George mused, entertaining the idea a bit. His tone was light, but his expression was stern. It was clear that they were both acknowledging the Unspoken Thing; it was also clear that it would remain as such.

Ringo bit his lip and shrugged back, evidently noting George’s reservations. “Y’know. Quiet-like. At least, more so than usual.”

George scoffed at the referenced nickname. The Quiet Beatle. As if! Give him a question worth answering, and they’d see who the quiet one was then. Certainly not him. “I’ve just got a lot on me mind,” he muttered, lifting a shoulder.

“You’re more in demand than before,” Ringo pointed out bluntly.

A rub of the temples didn’t do much to soothe the stress in his body. The weight of the emotional and mental burdens he’d carried over the last few weeks was beginning to settle on his shoulders with Ringo’s prodding. A sudden exhaustion clouded over him. “I know.”

“Is that bad?”

George looked at his friend with dull eyes. “Should it be?”

He didn’t need an answer, but it still stung a bit not to get one.

After a long beat of silence, Ringo hastily changed the subject. “Maybe we should call it quits for the day,” he suggested with a half-hearted grin, tapping the bass drum lightly and modestly. It was almost a tick at this point, the drummer seemingly wholly unaware of his actions.

George decided to play along with the shift in energy. “I agree, Ritchie. Feels a bit useless without Their Royal Highnesses around to conduct us,” he added with a roll of the eyes and a giggle.

Ringo hummed in agreement. “Oh, John, oh, Paul, please save us! We can’t even remember what album we’re supposed to be working on!” He cackled at his own joke.

“Help!, isn’t it?” George partly ignored the dramatic flair and turned to flick off the amp. He caught Ringo’s sparkling stare as he reached to unplug his Rickenbacker.

“No, mate. We’ve done that one already. Y’know, the whole ‘film’ bit?”

George blinked. “Right.”

“George Harrison, foremost Beatles expert,” Ringo chided. He glared reproachfully at an imaginary camera. “Don’t do drugs, kids.”

“Piss off!” George tried to glower, overruled by the laughter in his voice. Ringo offered him a hand and pulled him up out of the chair.

“Fancy a smoke?”

George’s lips drew into a wide grin. Based on the context, he knew exactly what kind of smoke he was implying. “Race ya to the car.”

—

“Mind telling me where everyone ran off to?”

Paul lifted an accusatory gaze in John’s direction as the man entered the room, his brow deeply furrowed in concentration.

“How should I know?” John answered, scanning the room fervently. His eyes hadn’t met Paul’s yet, Paul noted with a twinge of annoyance.

“Was there not a session today?” Paul hinted, irked by the idea that John too may have tried to skip out. Sure, Paul had been late, but at least he’d intended on coming.

John paused for a moment, shooting him a critical glare. “You tell me.”

He didn’t feel like trying to defend himself.

After a long moment of staring expectantly, John realized he wasn’t going to get an answer. He huffed and returned to his search, tipping over a chair to peer underneath it.

Paul rolled his eyes and offered the glasses at arm’s length, clearing his throat to draw the attention. John blushed and hurried over to snatch them up. He quickly stuffed them back into his pocket.

In response to the twinge of curiosity in his gaze, Paul only shrugged. “Left ‘em on the settee over there, you did. Just figured you would return for them sooner or later.”

John grunted in response.

Paul raised an eyebrow as the man began to head for the door. “All right, then. Mind at least telling me where you’re running off to?”

“I just came back for me glasses.”

“Came back?”

“You weren’t there,” John muttered, nearly inaudible. “I left.”

Paul stiffened, viciously reprimanding the sentimental twitch his heart gave to John’s response. “’M just late. Got caught up in traffic, is all.”

It was a silly excuse. John quirked an eyebrow at the boldfaced lie, knowing good and well Cavendish was barely a ten-minute walk. Paul watched him chew his lip for a moment before deciding to let it be.

Paul accepted John’s compliance graciously and returned to tuning his bass. His skin prickled as he felt John’s eyes on him, watching him closely. Tensions were still incredibly high between them, on account of the thing-that-happened-but-“never-happened”—and it was taking a lot of getting used to. The feeling was unsettling; time and again Paul would have to physically restrain himself, ignoring the twitching desire in his hand to touch John or biting back a witty comment that only John would understand. The emotional connection they’d had was gone, or at least dormant, and Paul couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was going through that thick head anymore. It even seemed that Ringo and George had a better guess than him.

It was miserable, really, having to pretend that everything was just dandy. There had been a substantial amount of press upon return from the tour, which was more of an irritation than anything else. There, he could slide into his Paul McCharmly persona, the façade already being somewhat of a character. The lie got quite easy to live when one was already acting. But the media circus was relatively quiet now (as it would ever be), and the hardest part was trying to pretend in front of the three people that knew him better than anyone else alive.

He wasn’t even sure who the pretending was for anymore. It certainly did nothing to quiet his mind or soul.

“What are you working on?” It was a half-arsed effort at conversation, but an effort nonetheless.

“Nothing, yet,” Paul answered, frowning in the direction of his instrument. “I’ve got a bit—real simple, for ‘Wait’. Might add some flare to it, might finish it. Might run it through and absolutely hate it and scrap it. Who knows,” he concluded, almost to himself.

“I think we should talk.” John’s voice, quiet, low.

Paul glanced up at him with a start, desperately trying to mask the surprise on his face. John was looking at him with an odd expression on his face, something Paul couldn’t quite put words to. Only then did he realize that it was the first time the two of them had been alone since the incident.

Heart pounding, he tensed. “When?”

“Now.” The answer was definitive.

“About what?” Paul responded sheepishly.

John’s eyes flashed.

Let’s just forget it ever happened.

Paul felt a sudden wave of stubbornness wash over him, feeling hollow at the abrupt activation of the memory. Of course he couldn’t fucking forget it happened. He couldn’t, and he shouldn’t be expected to. None of them should. Paul noticed the sad, wondering gazes from the other bandmates as well. Sweeping it under the rug had been wholly counterproductive to the entire group (though he didn’t entirely want to test the alternative, either). Best case scenario, the whole thing wouldn’t have happened.

But it did. And life was infinitely worse now because of it.

Paul swallowed hard. This was all John’s fault. Paul could have kept the dream a secret for the rest of his life. A few shameful wanking sessions was probably all it would take to get over it, and while he might look at John a bit differently after, at least John wouldn’t be looking at him differently. About a week of awkwardness would likely ensue, and John would make some offhand comment about how Paul was acting queer, and the two would laugh it off, only one of them knowing how much truth the comment carried. It was John’s fault, because Paul could have figured it out on his own.

“You know what,” John answered coldly.

John wanted to be cold? Paul could do cold. “I really don’t,” he countered with sickeningly false innocence. “What’s got you all worked up, Johnny?”

“Fuck off, Paul, you know what I’m talking about. Don’t try to fuckin’ skirt around it anymore.”

Paul’s heart was hammering in his throat, the blood rushing in his ears. After weeks of drowning in his own head, hearing the words come out of John’s mouth so… dismissively was blindingly infuriating. He had been driving himself mad trying not to talk about it, to think about it, to feel it. He’d shoved the memory down with so much force he’d thought his soul would pop, only to watch it helplessly bubble back to the surface. There was no forgetting it, and there was no addressing it. And now, John was breaking the number one Unspoken Rule of the Unspoken Thing like he never gave a shit about them in the first place.

“Skirting ar-? I’m not skirting around anything. I’m truly blanking, Johnny.” He paused, throat too constricted to swallow the massive lump in it. “Are you sure it’s not something I was supposed to forget?” The comment didn’t have near the effect Paul had hoped.

“Every conversation’s got to turn into a fuckin’ brawl with you, doesn’t it?” John crossed his arms, looking like nothing more than a pissed-off older sibling.

Paul was beside himself. His voice cracked, the words coming out in a near-shriek, but he was so furious that it hardly mattered. “With me? Every conversation is a brawl with me?”

“D’you need to bloody hear it again?” John looked minorly inconvenienced. If he’d had a watch on, he’d be sure to check it right now lazily. His demeanor was utterly vexatious, awakening feelings Paul didn’t even know he had. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this upset with someone.

“You think you get some type of medal, standing up in front of me and acting like none of this matters?” Paul was on his feet now, openly striding towards him. Startled, John stumbled backward a step before smacking his back against the wall. “You want a bleeding award?” Paul raised his tone an octave and fluttered his eyelashes dramatically, a mockery on all levels: “Oh, John, you’re so stony and brave, I bet nothing ever rattles my big, strong man!”

“Fuck you,” John whispered, his eyes begging the conversation to slow down. But Paul was on a roll now, and he’d be damned if he didn’t let out all of the pent-up pain John and John alone had caused over the last few weeks.

“No, fuck you. Do you know how hard it’s been? News flash, John. Not everything is about how you feel. Hard to believe, I know.” John opened his mouth to speak, but Paul cut him off. He was practically on him now, pushing John against the wall as he helplessly cowered under Paul’s alarming tirade.

“Do you know how hard it’s been for me? Trying to figure out if I’m a goddamn queer because of you? And how about the sleepless nights, eh? You’ve had those too, I know it.” A sick sense of pride effloresced in Paul’s chest as John’s eyes shot wide with recognition. “Lying in bed and wondering if you’re not who you thought you were. Wondering what when wrong along the way to make you this way, and what the hell you can do about it now. It’s maddening. And you took my right to get an answer, John.” Paul’s voice broke a bit at the next part. “Talking to you was my only hope at figuring this out and you took it away from me. And now we can’t talk about anything anymore.”

When John started to speak again, Paul lifted a final triumphant hand in his face. “I’m not done. Because let me tell you, Lennon, I don’t care if you need to bawl it out or never think about it again. But don’t stand here and fucking bullshit me like this. I know you.”

John straightened against the wall, eyes flashing with a hatred that almost made Paul’s knees buckle. “You don’t have a bloody clue what’s bullshit. Your whole foundation is bullshit. You’re not pissed at me because you’re upset that our pretty union wasn’t consummated, and thus I robbed you of a chance to explore this bit of newfound sexuality.” John’s tone was mocking, saturated with pretentiousness and exaggeration. “You’re pissed at me because I was just another shag you didn’t get to fully add to your sexual conquests. Grow the fuck up, Paul. You want to talk about knowing each other? I know you. You’re the one who’s bullshitting yourself, not me.”

Attacking John back felt like a safer bet than trying to defend himself. “Like you were there for some miraculous consummation? Some beautiful, heart-wrenching dénouement to a tragic love story? You’re full of it. Don’t come for me like you had some higher ground to speak from. We’re not special, John. We don’t have some kind of cosmic soulmate connection where we can read each other’s minds and desires. You and I, as anything, aren’t going to live happily ever after. Go buy into some other fuckin’ fantasy.”

“You were a mistake,” John spat.

“Mistakes happened,” Paul concluded. “I didn’t.”

John gaped at him as Paul pushed off. His chest was heaving, tight with unrestrained breaths, looking like a cornered animal. Though it was impossible to explain, Paul watched in real time as something shattered in John’s soul. He didn’t know what it was, and it didn’t seem like John knew, either. Paul turned on his heel before he could give the sight any more thought.

“You told me to forget it. So that’s what I’m doing. For good.” Paul stalked back to where his guitar lay on the ground. He began to gather his belongings and pack up for the day. “This conversation is over.”

“So that’s it? You don’t want to talk about it?” John called out to him, planting himself in the doorway as Paul made for the exit.

“Get out of the way, John.”

He held his ground and spoke honestly for the first time in a long, long time. “You’re not gonna talk about it, yeah? That’s fine. Fuckin’ beautiful. I’ll talk about it. I love you.”

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #mclennon #part 6 #chapter fic #ao3 #more angst #there's a happy ending coming soon i promise

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the-magic-lava-lamp · 4 years ago

Text

Harvest Moon

Summary: {A light sequel to: Unforgettable} They laughed, sort of sadly. The full night sky enriched them with gentle peace, strengthened by the soft light of the stars. The temperature dropped considerably since Sam had initially come out. But he didn’t mind the nice chill, it braced his skin and left him with tingling goosebumps. It reminded Sam how real the moment actually was. Paying less attention to the hearty sloshes of water, Sam picked up his radio.

Ships: SamBucky

Word Count: 5,285

The light from the orange sunset flushed Sam Wilson’s cheeks, encouraging the spread of an internally hot blush. Color blossomed under his soft complexion with all the grace of the water rings rippling under the rocks skipping on the lake. Though the sweat was just beginning to puddle in his palms and drip down his temple, Sam was only focused on the fevered senses of comfort which had been deep-rooted in his chest since arriving back home.

The babbling waters had called him out to the docks just the same as they did when he was small. And following that nostalgia, Sam felt the ghost of supper on the stove. Turns out his fucked up Avengers mind could still remind himself to be home before the porcelain plates hit the table. No longer his Mama--but Sarah who would be annoyed with him and that was perhaps more threatening. He thought as his tiny radio played on.

AJ and Cass had fallen asleep with the gentle nudge of a fuzzy re-run of ‘Whose Line is it Anyway?’ and the promise of a hot meal when they awoke. Sam’s absence would be noticed very soon.

‘Sittin' in the mornin' sun

I'll be sittin' when the evenin' comes

Watching the ships roll in

Then I watch 'em roll away again, yeah

I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay

Watchin' the tide roll away, ooh

I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay

Wastin' time…’

He swiped salty sweat from his brow and found himself dwelling on the evening, wanting to change the direction of the souring sun. No matter what, Sam always began to mourn the day at around 5 p.m. Everyday could’ve been better. The threat of night’s permanent closure and the bearer of nightmares fermented him with anxiety. He was working on that issue with his therapist.

‘Now I'm just gon' sit, at the dock of the bay

Watchin' the tide roll away, ooh yeah

Sittin' on the dock of the bay

Wastin' time…’

Otis began the famed whistling as Sam leaned back on his hands, palms flat on the warm dock. He felt the movement just before a voice began whistling along behind him. It chirped delicately in Sam’s ear, until the song faded and with it--

Sam turned--Bucky Barnes sing-along.

Bucky grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Nice to see you so…” He craned his neck and squinted his eyes. “Lazy.” Even he looked a bit confused by the word choice.

“Thanks…” Sam chuckled.

“I just mean--” Buck paused, scratching down from his chin to his neck. Sam saw that he did that often enough to earn patches of grainy red skin under his facial hair.

Sam smirked, pulling his left thigh up and around from the edge. His eyes simmered Bucky’s blush.

“Have you ever had the time to laze around?” Bucky asked, amazed at his own wondering. “To sit and watch the sun on the water?” He gestured frantically outward. “You’ve been a busy guy...not that I helped you with that any…”

Sam shook his head. “Nah, man. Tracking your ass for Steve reaped some rewards.” He gestured for the man to rest his old bones down next to him and Bucky hesitantly took the offer. His knees cracked with sharp pops all the way down.

“No old man jokes, I swear-”

Sam held up his hands. “I wasn’t planning on it, Bucky.” He glanced at Steve’s old friend and for a moment, couldn’t believe the man of history books and horror stories was ‘sun-setting’ in Sam’s home-town. The orange light caressed his face in the same eerie way it’d done way back at Tony’s funeral.

“Thanks for letting me stay-” Bucky went to rub his chin again. “Not quite separate vacations but…” He chuckled, fading off. It was subconscious, the way Bucky led in with no follow through. He wanted Sam to be the one to initiate the conversation.

But Sam bit his tongue. He deserved to hear what Bucky had to say without having to pull it out himself.

Bucky turned with those doe eyes, tired but with enough energy left to admire his partner. “I hurt you....” He frowned, bitter with himself. “I know that and I’m damn sorry, Sam.” His voice was crisp and steady but his eyes wavered.

Sam sighed, eyes back on the water. “We were getting somewhere, man. And you just…” He flicked his hand out. “Disappeared on me.” He paused.

“I shouldn’t have left you...especially at such an ambiguous time for us.” Bucky stumbled slightly on his words.

Sam took a long blink, remembering the ‘unforgettable’ feeling of being held again. “I’m more hurt by the fact that I got nothing but radio silence from you-” He swallowed. “Past that-” He glanced at Bucky “Thing we had just started. I thought we’d reached a point where we could communicate.” He shrugged with muted emotion. “We were friends.” He added with a slight question in his voice. He watched Bucky’s eyes flicker with guilt.

“If you had given me a heads up, maybe. That’s all.” Sam patted his thigh. “I can understand needing space. I understand that even answering texts can be difficult as hell when your mind feels sick. I’ve been there, Buck. Shit’s hard.” He felt a dark twist in his stomach and tried not to dwell in his own memories. “I don’t hold this against you. I know you’re a good guy.” Sam made sure Bucky looked him in the eye for that particular sentiment. “But you should know how I felt about it. Whatever relationship we end up having; Friends, co-workers, partners-” He flicked his fingers. “I’d hope you’d think about how your decisions affect me.”

They held the next silence for a few minutes, Bucky seemingly taking in what he’d said. “For me, it was like I blinked and you were gone with the wind. I didn’t know how you were doing for months--if you were even okay. But then, out of the blue, you come back and you’re pissed about something that wasn’t about you.” Sam shrugged, feeling a bit lighter for every word he’d been simmering on for weeks.

Bucky grimaced, looking extremely pained. “I’m really sorry, Sam.” He repeated himself with genuine regret. The light around them bled darker. “I let a lot of my intrusive thoughts control me.” He hissed at his own words but quickly moved on. “Part of me let it happen because I’m not sure I could handle a competent hand on the wheel. I’ve lived as the...Winter Soldier longer than Bucky, you know-? And Holy shit that’s something I try not to perceive.” He turned, hoping he wasn’t over-sharing. “It’s terrifying to think it’s just in my nature...being destructive. I’m always nervous-” He paused again. “Not that I’m going to hurt someone--but the feeling that I need to will bleed back into me…” His voice faded off again as he picked at a loose string on his jeans.

“This is something you’re talking about in therapy, right?” Sam quirked his brow, needing the answer to be yes but the distant pain in his head reminded him that he dodged plenty of shit from his therapist.

Bucky nodded and before Sam could speak again, asked the question he’d been aching to for months. “I want to go back to you-”

“Of course you do.” Sam chuckled.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “How have you been, really?”

Sam thought for a minute. “Working myself to death, mostly.” He laughed, though it didn’t sound happy at all. “Been seeing Sarah and the boys as much as I can…”

The sky purpled, darkness bleeding into the orange hues. The stars would soon be visible and Bucky was almost positive Sam would now push the question off, neglecting the details. For as much as he complains that Bucky doesn’t talk about himself enough, Sam often avoids voicing his own feelings.

“Sarah was swamped and anxious, despite what she says-”

“And what were you feeling, Samuel?” Bucky playfully tapped his friend’s knee with a smug grin.

Sam rolled his eyes but grinned slightly at the familiar teasing. He wasn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words so he turned back to the water. “Thought a lot about the soul stone, actually.” The sentence rolled casually off his tongue but did nothing to relieve the stress it’d been causing him.

Bucky tried to remain stoic but a glint of concern shined over his eyes. The infinity stone felt somehow personal between them. Though nobody had memories of their time dusted, Sam and Bucky came out with a new sense of intimacy for each other. It was as if something happened in those 5 years, which felt like only a brief nap to them and in that blip, they’d connected. Falling together was comfortingly natural after that.

“My last thought before I...dusted, was ‘Maybe I’ll get to see Riley.’ ” Sam whizzed his palm in the air, voice breaking slightly and definitely against his will.

Bucky’s heart twitched. They’d gone dancing in the evening after Tony Stark’s funeral. It was the most blissful Bucky’d ever been and he’d spent the night in Sam’s hotel room doing the most talking he’d ever spoken. Nothing physical happened nor did either man think of it, they were too busy soaking up all the information they could get from the other before the night ended. They could truly get to know each other for the first time.

Bucky went on about his family, as much as he could remember anyway. Sam talked of his parents; Paul and Darlene and eventually trailed his way to Riley.

Sam halted his next thought for a few minutes because it was damn hard to illustrate. “I know we weren’t actually dead-” He rolled his lips together “Or maybe we were, still not clear on all that.” He sighed into another little laugh. “But I just want a few more minutes with him...you know?”

Bucky nodded, giving him a ‘go on’ expression.

“I guess our souls were floating around in the stone but--” He broke off, looking down at the water. “For five years, Both our names were on gravestones and in all that time, I couldn’t just see or feel him one time?” Fists now clenched into tight fists. His body language was horrifyingly angry, contrasting the deep despair that was the expression on his face. He was almost sure that none of his words made sense, they’d been jumbling around in him for months like a virus and to be regurgitated so suddenly felt...messy.

The radio, which Sam had long forgotten about, continued to roll-out soft volume static above glimpses of songs. “Fuck, Sam--” Bucky squinted towards the sky, taking in the brief glance into Sam’s head. “I know exactly what you mean…” He turned quickly, admiring Sam’s presence as his adoration for the man thumped like the heart-beat in his chest. “I always figured I’d never get that peace with my family...but I always assumed it’d be for some iteration of Hell.” He rubbed his palm against his neck and laughed.

Sam elbowed him lightly, forcing Bucky to find his words again.

“Knowing--through you and how I feel about you--” Bucky gestured between them. “That I had a mellow...impermanent afterlife(?) yet still didn’t get to see my family...well it feels like I was cheated.” He shrugged.

“I don’t think your soul’s going anywhere bad, Buck. Don’t know what happens after we’re gone for good but you’re not ditching me again.” He drifted off, feeling a sudden unbearable disappointment. “Nat’ll be there too.”

Bucky took in a breath, enjoying the tickling static of Sam’s hand. “Riley too, don’t worry about that, ok?” He tapped Sam’s hand. “I think, when we go back into the weeds and the dirt--”

“That’s a tender way of putting it, Bucky.” Sam blinked, trying not to put himself in an internal coffin because he was significantly chilled now.

Bucky smiled. “I think we get the peace of nothing. Just a return to nature with the souls of those we loved.” He rubbed his finger into the corner of his eye like a grandpa and sighed. “I’ve seen and experienced a lot of the Heaven/Hell folklore in my life and I’m not crazy about it, Sam” He wagged his finger and Sam pushed him slightly with a nice feeling of content.

“We can only comfort ourselves, nothing greater will do it for us. So we write ourselves a multitude of fiction that may, or may not, ease us into accepting death.” Sam bumped their elbows together and eyed a distant bird as it darted across and just above the water.

“I’m glad whatever it was that happened between us in that stone, happened.” Bucky added sheepishly. Turning to look at his partner under the increasingly vivid stars, Bucky hiccupped as a huge wave of affection hit him. “Cause I really like you, Sam.”

"But don't discredit yourself. It wasn't just the stone that magically brought us together--" Bucky lightly pushed Sam's bicep. "I-...I can't begin to explain how much it means to me that you made an effort to be my friend...even during the last few months of me ghosting you and not listening to you about the shield. You didn't have to do that."

Somewhere supper was threatening to get cold and Sarah was playing their meals with a concerned frown, Sam just knew that sister of his too well. He hoped to scrap together just a bit more time. "What can I say?" He smiled "I like you too. People need people, Buck. I wasn't gonna sit back and let you cut yourself off."

Bucky laid back on the dock, laying his palm flat to his chest. He repeated the phrase over and over in his head. 'People need people.' "Goes both ways, you know Sam?" He spoke with deep confidence but continued to laze on the dock, trying to find an angle where the sun was blocked and he could stare up at Sam. “Meaning, I hope you’ve been letting Sarah help you out...and seeing your therapist.”

Sam gently smacked his hand atop Bucky’s like a comforting beat of thunder. “Giving my best effort.” He nodded thoughtfully.

Bucky fluttered his eyes with the pace of his heart. “This is the first time I’ve seen you so...still, Wilson.”

Sam tossed his head back and laughed, knowing Bucky had hit the nail on the head with that one. The back of his neck cooled as he watched the slates of wood under them pale. The glimmers of tired orange light died and vapid pastel-white tones took their place, nestled in the cracks. Part of him wanted to disagree though he hadn’t the spirit. “I don’t like relaxing because it gives me too much time inside myself.”

Bucky nodded, encouraging Sam to go on. Fearing the man would never pick it up again if he suddenly decided to close himself off again.

“There’s too much to do...I feel like I don’t deserve it.” Sam shrugged, a clear illustration of his frustration. He’d definitely pulled this thread a few million times in his life.

“Don’t deserve it?” Bucky sat up just a little, resting on his forearms, he slanted his head as if the adoring smile was just too heavy. “C’mon Doll--” He cut himself off a bit too late.

“Slipping back into old habits, huh?” Sam rolled his eyes but waved a dismissive hand. “You’re cute.” He teased, shoving the guy gently.

Bucky played along, pretending Sam had used enough of that strength of his to knock him back onto the dock. “I think now is a great time for a few days off Sam.”

The man hummed, thinking about the public...what they expected of their new ‘Captain America’ and what the flicker of the new spot-light in his favor revealed about those who loved Steve for all the wrong reasons. Knowing, as a black man, he’d have to go above and beyond all those assumptions just to garner the same amount of respect they gave Steve. The anger he felt from that was righteous but god forbid he show any sense of hurt because then he’d just be labeled ‘ungrateful’ and ‘giving people grief’. He rubbed under his eye with a longing sigh. “I can’t really afford that right now, Buck.”

His body shivered as he tried to push away the intrusive images; Walker slamming into the man over and over without hesitation, thick puddles of blood covering his shield, carrying Karli’s lifeless body over an audience where half of the people celebrated her death...perceiving and exploiting her as another ‘super-villain’.

“Hey.” Bucky softly sat up and pulled Sam’s elbow until their eyes met. “I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” He didn’t pull away, instead hesitantly he curled his hand around Sam’s arm. His fingers pressed dimples into Sam’s skin. Bucky nestled there and his friend exhaled a little, unclenching his body.

“It’s daunting.” He nodded to himself before tipping his chin to face Bucky. “A bucket doesn’t hold a tidal wave but that’s all I got.” He shrugged, noticing Bucky’s quirked brow. “Something my dad used to say...meaning there’s too much to say so I gotta give you a shitty summary, you know?” He shook his head.

“I know I’m one to talk but try using more words...buzz-words if you have to.” Bucky looked momentarily proud of his modern vocabulary and squeezed Sam’s arm tighter.

Sam chuckled. “Let’s say...nerve-wrecking.” He added, bumping his elbow into Bucky’s side. “With all that’s happened...I’m worried--” He landed on a word he felt comfortable with. “Being Captain America...it’s heavy on my shoulders, man. I know I can do it, I trust myself when it comes down to the wire. I hold myself to my standards.” He trailed off again, listening to distant sounds of kids skipping rocks across the water. “I know where this job’s going to take me and I’m ok with that, glad to do it.” He looked back at Bucky with determined eyes.

“I’m not concerned with my fate.” Another deep breath racked his body, he wasn’t used to being so utterly serious with his current company. “I think about how it ended for Tony and I worry about the kid--”

Bucky nodded, He’d only briefly been aware of Stark’s ‘surrogate’ son and spoke a handful of words to him at the funeral, Sam and Wanda at his side.

Sam rubbed his neck with his free hand, feeling intense pressure all over his body. All his limbs tingled as if they were asleep. He’d not realized the true extent of how much this had been eating away at him. Speaking of eating, dinner was for sure cold by now…“Met his Aunt at the funeral.” She’d been proud of her boy but behind her eyes lived guttural fear, Sam knew that much. “I’m thinking about Rhodey because I sure as hell know the pain of losing your best friend.”

Bucky tightened his grip on Sam even further. He’d lost Steve so many times but the time had come for the permanent end and by then...well had they even felt like best friends anymore?

“I can’t even figure out what’s going on with Wanda.” Sam clicked his tongue with a bitter chuckle. “Girl’s doing her best to stay off the grid and I can’t imagine that’s good for her. I know Torres can handle himself but I wonder if I should be helping him more. Not to mention Bruce. What the hell is his mental state right now?” He added with a confused wave of his hand. “I’m even worrying about Scott!” Sam rubbed at his eyebrow and sighed. “This is all beside Sarah and the kids, who I’m constantly thinking about.” He laughed, voice strained and tired.

Bucky waited a few seconds, just to make sure Sam had finished. In that short moment, his heart swelled for him. “You’re a good person, Sam. But you’re only one man.” He shook him just a little bit. “Truthfully, You’ll always be concerned for them. It’s just in your nature. Don’t fight the intrusive thoughts...accept their presence and remember you’ve got a team.” Bucky trailed off, going over what he’d just said again in his head.

Sam’s shoulders sank with another deep sigh. “Thanks, Buck.” He swiped his hand down his face and noticed how much lighter he felt.

Bucky responded physically. He tugged Sam down with him as he laid back on the dock, shoulders bumping together harmoniously which sent chills through Bucky’s entire body. The good kind...maybe the amazing kind. Hell, they tingled under his skin just about every moment he spent with Sam. That deeply buried fear that he might spend the rest of his life making himself excruciatingly uncomfortable in his own body, trapped under his skin which was always crawling, faded from the realm of possibility each time Sam’s presence flushed Bucky with comfortable jitters.

“You’re getting good taste, by the way-”

Bucky only squinted at him, still half in deep thought. So Sam started Otis’s whistling again and watched his friend realize what he was talking about. His nose scrunched up while he nodded.

“How do you decide what to listen to?” Sam turned, they were nearly nose-to-nose. “I mean, how do you narrow it down when you’ve got decades to catch up on?” Sam’s mind flickered through artists like a jukebox--which was 1 thing he’d always wanted to buy, a real old school one.

Bucky shifted his jaw, making an eerie click, a precursor to his amused grin. “I made a list of artists I remember liking before…” He waved his hand, turning slightly to watch the dewey clouds cover the moon. “And the periods in-and-out of being frozen...I have a list of what I remember by decade-” He chuckled.

Sam sat up on his forearms. “I’d like to see these lists. The record set-up in Sarah’s living room is not a decoration, you know? It’s almost as great as mine back in D.C.” He grinned, thinking about the days, so far gone now. Mama and Sarah dancing around the kitchen.

“It really faded off during the 80’s.” Bucky pushed up to level himself next to Sam. “And not that I’ve had much time, mind you--” he laughed. “But from there, I just follow what I’m fond of like family trees and consider the few recommendations I’ve collected.” He trailed off, starting to do the Otis whistle again.

Sam let him follow through to the end, anticipating the tender connotations of the song to come after this day ended. “Out of all these decades...who are your favorite artists? Just curious.” Sam grinned. The answer to this question spoke loudly about a person, in his opinion.

Bucky looked thoughtfully content with the question, grin cocking a bit to the right as he held out his fist above him. “I’d have to say...Ella-” He flicked out a thumb, no last name necessary. Sam knew that woman like the back of his hand.

“Nat King Cole-” Bucky softened his eyes, searching again for that unforgettable memory in Sam, and smiling when the expression was reciprocated in his eyes which shimmered like sunlight through the trees. “Roy Orbison.” Two more metal fingers curled down. “John Denver and Billy Joel.” He let his hand fall back to his chest, satisfied for only a few seconds. “But I really love Judy Garland too.”

“So you like the mellow ballads--” He hummed. “Slow and kinda sad, huh?” Sam bumped his arm lightly. It made good sense to him. Bucky enjoyed the peace which came effortlessly from lone singer-songwriters. His five--or rather six--showed a natural progression.

“What about you?” Bucky asked, in a calm tone of voice though his eyes read eager.

“Marvin Gaye, Sam Cooke, The Drifters…” Sam paused, really thinking over his picks. “Earth Wind and Fire, Linda Ronstadt and since you got a bonus...Billie Holiday.” Sam rested his palm flat on his chest, content to feel the steady beating that let him know he was still alive. A rich sense of comfort rushed over him as if a fresh load of laundry had just been dropped on his still body. There’d been too many days in his life where that buried thumping was only a reminder of non-stop existence, like a neverending rollercoaster. Installing him with dread, guilt and panic. He was glad to find those days fewer and farther between.

“You make me feel like I’m livin’ in a Drifters song, Doll.” Bucky was only half teasing, for he was speaking a genuine thought but wasn’t sure how welcome it’d be.

“I like that one.” Sam hummed, turning his cheek once more toward the man beside him. “Tell me how you really feel.” He hiked himself up fully to return to his seated position, legs dangling over the side and casting faint shadows of foot-steps on the water.

Bucky paused with concern, not sure he understood the reply before he processed it fully. He wanted to smirk but the sentiment out-weighed the amusement. He sat up too, pulling one knee up to rest an arm over while the other dangled next to Sam’s. “I got it bad, Sam.” He made their wandering eyes meet.

“Me too.” Sam nodded with that dazzling grin. “You’re under my skin, what can I say?” He shook his head and tried to let his smile fade, finding he couldn’t.

“If they weren’t gone...I’d be buggin’ you to meet my family.” Bucky ignored the twist in his gut because Sam’s reactions were his comfort. “Though who’s to say how they’d feel about the….” He trailed off and Sam nodded. “You being a fella part of it--”

“A fella of color, too.” Sam added with a bit of a smirk.

“Fuck.” Bucky cursed quietly and playfully tugged Sam’s hand. They curled their fingers together in an exquisitely natural way. “They loved me…” His face stilled with longing. “I’d like to think--But maybe it’s best not to go down that road. I don’t believe I turned out how they’d wanted anyway.” He chuckled, pitfully.

Sam tightened their grip on each other for a minute. “I know what you mean.” He bumped their folded hands onto Bucky’s thigh. “I’m always wondering what my parents would think of all this…” He flicked his free hand. “My career?” He almost wanted to laugh with astonished pride. Never had he expected to grow up to be a superhero. “Riley too.” He felt there was more to say but his mouth fell shut.

“Just a way to hurt ourselves, I guess.” Bucky shrugged. “And we sure as Hell love to do that.”

They laughed, sort of sadly. The full night sky enriched them with gentle peace, strengthened by the soft light of the stars. The temperature dropped considerably since Sam had initially come out. But he didn’t mind the nice chill, it braced his skin and left him with tingling goosebumps. It reminded Sam how real the moment actually was. Paying less attention to the hearty sloshes of water, Sam picked up his radio.

‘Come a little bit closer

Hear what I have to say

Just like children sleepin'

We could dream this night away…’

He might have heard the song before, couldn’t be sure, and if he was alone he might have continued flipping stations just in case an older favorite was slipping through his fingers. But Bucky began to hum with the tune.

‘But there's a full moon risin'

Let's go dancin' in the light

We know where the music's playin'

Let's go out and feel the night…’

Sam gathered himself up from the creaky dock, stretching his body little by little and watching Bucky’s wandering eyes. He gently held out his hands which was enough of a sign for Bucky to happily grab them and pull himself up.

Sam shoved the radio in his pocket with a smile and though Bucky was more than just pleased to see him so jovial, he also felt a flicker of nervousness. “Man...for the first time in a while, I feel lucky as Hell.”

‘Because I'm still in love with you

I want to see you dance again

Because I'm still in love with you

On this harvest moon…’

Sam raised his brow and initiated the first few dance steps with his partner hardly noticing the movement at all. “How’s that?”

“I’m lucky to be in love with someone I like so much.” Bucky puffed out a relaxed sigh with his words and finally leaned into the dancing with real vigor. “Sam, I’ve never wanted to spend my life with someone as badly as I do with you.”

Wind whistled past their shoulders but Sam felt perfectly warm. He let Bucky take the lead and allowed himself to be spun. The cool light of the moon acted as a highlighter, beams of translucent white caressed the shape of Sam’s body. Following the curve of his hips and sliding down the length of his legs. “Growing old with you...becoming a cranky old man couple, that sounds like fun.” He spoke as if he hadn’t had true fun in years which was probably true.

A bush fondly bloomed under Bucky’s skin. Behind his fluttering eyelashes, Bucky indulged for once in his life. To drink in all that was this man in front of him.

However Sam’s eyes were now focused on a cupped hand, which had somehow slipped from Bucky’s, where a yellow toned light would flicker every few seconds. Whenever the yellow light skimmed his face, he would grin with pure joy.

“You never caught a firefly before, Sam?” Bucky asked in jest, with a huff of amused laughter.

Sam gently guided the bug into Bucky’s face.

“Oh, fuck! You asshole” Bucky scrunched up his nose and swatted dramatically at his nose. “I change my mind, cancel my idea. Gonna crawl back into the absolute hole that is my apartment--” He playfully backed away from his friend.

Before Bucky could slip the last inch of his skin from Sam’s hand, the man used the full strength of his extended arm to fiercely pull him back and into his chest. Like a damn professional dancer. “I’ve been seeing myself from grief’s eyes for too damn long. Think I’m ready to take control of my own life. I want to be with you.” He playfully grinned. “What about you?”

Bucky glowed in Sam’s arms. “For a long time, I lost my sense of self…” He scratched behind his ear. “But never my fuckin’ point of view.” His voice broke just a little. “I had to see and feel every horrendous thing the Winter Soldier did. “I’ll bear the consequences for the rest of my life and I accept that.” He shook his head. “But I’m ready to accept happiness too. I really want to be with you, Sam.”

Sam nodded, content as he’d ever been. “I think we should get our dinner before Sarah comes to drag us by our ears.”

Bucky pressed a sweet kiss, full of longing and fulfillment. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.” He laughed, taking Sam’s arm and pulling him down the dock with a spring in both their steps.

‘But now it's gettin' late

And the moon is climbin' high

I want to celebrate

See it shinin' in your eye’

‘Because I'm still in love with you

I want to see you dance again

Because I'm still in love with you

On this harvest moon’

#sambucky #is this good?#idk #i feel too awful to focus #sam wilson #Bucky Barnes #winterfalcon #the falcon and the winter soldier #sarah wilson #my fanfiction #tell me what you think #Marvel Comics #marvel #MCU #marvel fanfiction

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years ago

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Psycho Analysis: Spider-Man Movie Villains

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Spider-Man, Spider-Man, he does whatever a spider can. And what do spiders seem really good at? Amassing huge quantities of hatred and animosity! True to the wily arachnids that inspired him, Spider-Man has quite the impressive gallery of foes, one that I might say rivals Batman as the greatest in comic book history with how colorful, crazy, and creative they are. Even villains derivative of one another, like Hobgoblin and Green Goblin or Carnage and Venom, manage to carve out unique niches that help make them fun and memorable.

And thankfully, these qualities usually translated pretty well to film! I’ve talked about how good Mysterio, Vulture, Kingpin, and Prowler are before, so now it’s time to cover the others all in one fell swoop! From the Raimi trilogy, we have Green Goblin, Doctor Octopus, Harry Osborn, Sandman, and Eddie Brock/Venom; from the Andrew Garfield duology, we have Lizard, Electro, Rhino, and Harry Osborn again; and leftover from Into the Spider-Verse we have Olivia Octavius, Tombstone, Scorpion, and that film’s brief take on Green Goblin! Oh, and why not throw in Riot from Venom while we’re at it, because he sucks way too much to get his own Psycho Analysis.

Motivation/Goals: A lot of villains are motivated by the classic motivation: revenge. All of the Green Goblins manage to have this as a main part of their actions, making them remarkably consistent and very easy to discuss. The Norman of the Raimi films wants to take out his anger at being frozen out of his own company, and his son wants revenge for his death, while the Harry of the Garfield films wants his vengeance because Spider-Man wouldn’t help cure him of his otherwise incurable disaease that would kill him (a fact made worse because Spider-Man is his actual best friend, Peter Parker, who is coldly condemning his pal to death). The only one who doesn’t really fit is the Spider-Verse take on Green Goblin, and that’s more because he has extremely limited screentime and spends all of it fighting Peter and being scary as hell.

Eddie Brock/Venom is a very interesting case as both halves of the character are motivated by different reasons. The symbiote half is, of course, motivated by the fact that Peter has tried to rid himself of it via using a church bell to kill it. Eddie, on the other hand, has the most absolutely hilarious motivation ever: He wants Peter Parker to die because Peter exposed him for submitting fraudulent pictures to J. Jonah Jameson. Eddie literally breached journalistic ethics but apparently Peter’s to blame for exposing his literal, actual crime! And he prays to God for Peter to die! This version of Eddie is cartoonishly hilarious.Finally, we have Max Dillon, AKA Electro, who is lashing out at a world that did nothing but belittle and demean him, giving him a far more sympathetic motive for revenge.

Kurt Connors is an interesting halfway point between the Doc Ocks and the villains above, because he is not really evil and his whole transformation came about for altruistic scientific reasons, as he tested his serum on himself because they were going to test it out on the public without consent. While the serum drives him mad, he initially only goes after those who were going to use his formula with people as guinea pigs.

Interestingly, the two Doc Ocks contrast each other. While both of them are doing evil deeds for scientific reasons, Otto Octavius is being forced by his tentacles and genuinely wishes to make the world a better place otherwise. Olivia, on the other hand, is a gleeful sadist who doesn’t care who she hurts as long as she can get some sort of scientific knowledge from it.

Sandman is interesting case because his motivations are entirely sympathetic and despite being the man who killed Uncle Ben, it was entirely accidental and he always regretted it. He only ever wanted to get money to save his daughter. It’s really hard not to sympathize with a guy who turned to desperate measures because the American health care system sucks even in a universe where a dude dressed in a bright red suit swings around New York.

Then there are all the rest. Aleksei Systevich, AKA Rhino, is just a criminal, and has barely any screentime to establish a motivation beyond that. This is especially hilarious because the ads really hyped this guy up, only for him to get maybe five minutes of screentime, with most of it at the very end of the movie before the credits (we don’t even get to see his final battle). Tombstone and Scorpion are basically just lackeys for Kingpin, with little established beyond that. Scorpion almost shows up entirely out of nowhere, just popping in for the fight at Aunt May’s house and then the final battle. And then there’s Riot, who just wants to start a symbiote apocalypse on Earth.

Performance: Willem Dafoe, Alfred Molina, and Thomas Haden Church as Green Goblin, Doctor Octopus, and Sandman in the Raimi trilogy are, in a word, iconic. Dafoe brings a gleeful, cackling hamminess to the Goblin that perfectly suits him and manages to steal every single with how delightfully, cartoonishly evil he is combined with some hilariously chummy moments with Spider-Man. Molina as Ock goes in the opposite direction of hamminess, where instead of making Octavius cartoonishly evil, he gives him this air of gravitas to the point where he somehow manages to make this villain with giant metal tentacles that are controlling his mind come off as sophisticated and serious as Hannibal Lecter. Church meanwhile just looks eerily perfect as Sandman, as if he were ripped straight from the comics and put onscreen, and then of course there’s how well he manages to sell the emotional moments of the character.

The Harrys are a rather mixed bag, sad to say. James Franco and Dennis DeHaan aren’t really bad actors, but they unfortunately have the problem of living in the shadow of the actor who played their dad (Franco) or being in a really awful movie with a terrible script (DeHaan). Franco at least makes up for this by being hilariously, cartoonishly evil to the extent of his dad in the third Raimi film, but DeHaan unfortunately falls rather flat. Topher Grace as Venom is a choice that seems baffling until you realize Raimi cast an actor like this on purpose because he hates Venom so much he didn’t want to give him any dignity.

Jamie Foxx as Electro seems odd at first, but I feel it’s actually a great casting choice, and despite how unbelievably stupid the script is, he’s actually able to do a fairly good job. If his character was in a better movie, he’d probably get a lot less flak (and he’ll be getting his chance soon enough, apparently). Overall, he’s the best part of the Garfield films. Rhys Ifans and Paul Giamatti as Lizard and Rhino are serviceable, but neither film they’re in really gives them much to work with. Giamatti at least gets to steal the show with his brief scenes by being an absolute ham, but Ifans is sadly a bit forgettable in his role (though not for lack of trying on his part).

Now onto the Spider-Verse ensemble! Considering how I gushed over her delightful performance as the Wicked Witch of Westview in WandaVision as well as the fact she is solely responsible for me resurrecting this series from its long hiatus, it should come as no shock at all that Kathryn Hahn as Olivia Octavius is just perfect. Controversial opinion, I know, might get some flak for this hot take. Jorma Taccone as Green Goblin, Joaquin Cosio as Scorpion, and Marvin Jones III as Tombstone all do well for what they’re given, but it’s clear most of the love among Kingpin’s henchmen was given to her (and Prowler, but he got his own review where I talked about how great he is).

Oh, right, Riot. I forgot about him. Riz Ahmed, who plays the human villain Carlton Drake I forgot to mention because he’s incredibly boring, is a really good (and sexy) actor. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to be quite as good and sexy as an actor like him should be in his dual role. In an interesting subversion of how things usually go, he ends up being rather bland compared to the hammy, bonkers hero. This was Tom Hardy’s show, and no one was stealing it from him.

Final Fate: The Raimi films were all made during a time when, if your name wasn’t Magneto and you were a superhero movie villain, you were dying, a trend I’m certainly glad is finally starting to die off. Thankfully, Green Goblin manages to stick around and posthumously influence Harry, so in his case it’s not so bad. Harry and Doc Ock both manage to overcome the darkness in their hearts at the end and sacrifice their lives to help save the day, while Eddie dies after becoming such a simp for the symbiote he leaps into it while Peter is blowing it up. With Sandman, Peter actually has a touching reconciliation with Sandman at the end, forgiving him for the death of Uncle Ben before Sandman dissolves into dust and floats away on the breeze. And no, this is his power, not Thanos’ snap reaching across time, space, and dimensions; Sandman actually gets out of these films alive.

The other villains actually get off easier, as most of them go to jail. From the Amazing Spider-Man films, DeHaan’s Goblin and Rhys Ifan’s Lizard both end up in prison, and it’s safe to assume that the villains of Spider-Verse are going to jail alongside Kingpin. Octavius was hit by a bus, sure, but considering how popular she ended up being it would be really dumb to have that actually kill her. With Electro and Rhino though, it’s really ambiguous, the former because he’s made of electricity and the way he was defeated means it is possible he survived, and the latter because we never actually see the outcome of his battle with Spider-Man. If the film they were in was actually good and warranted sequels, we may have found out what their true fates were, but at the very least Electro is moving over to the MCU alongside Molina’s Doc Ock.

Oh, right, forgot Riot again. He dies.

Best Scene/Best Quote: I’m combining these this time just to make it easier on me, because in at least in a couple cases the two are the same.

Green Goblin has a lot to choose from, to the point where it’s easy to cop out and just say every scene he’s in is amazing. I’ve always been fond of his chummy chat with Spider-Man on the rooftop, or the scene where he terrifies Aunt May, or the scene where he attacks the parade and vaporizes the board of directors with pumpkin bombs.

Dock Ock is easy: the train battle. This might be one of the best action scenes in any superhero movie ever, and since he’s the villain in it, it almost goes without saying..There’s a reason this scene is singled out so often.

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Eddie Brock and DeHaan Goblin actually have their best scenes also be their best lines. Eddie praying for God to kill Peter Parker and DeHaan!Harry screaming “YOU’RE A FRAUD, SPIDER-MAN!” after Spidey refuses to give him a life-saving blood transfusion are just so absolutely hilarious and memorable that you can’t hate them.

Aside from the powerful forgiveness moment at the film’s end, I think it’s really indisputable that the best scene from Sandman, and perhaps the Raimi trilogy as a whole, is the scene of Sandman’s creation. Words really can’t do it justice, so just watch:

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Electro’s best moment isn’t even actually part of the movie, unless you want to count his rendition of “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider.” No, his is from a Tumblr post, proving definitively that Electro’s power can not be contained.

For Olivia, I’d say either of the reveals for her are great. You can go with the twist that she’s the Doc Ock of Miles’ universe, or the twist that she might have fucked Aunt May. Either way, you can’t really go wrong.

The rest of the villains… yeah, I’ve got nothing. At least with Rhino you can say his entire time on screen was fun, but the rest? Nope. They’re kind of just there.

Final Thoughts & Score:

Green Goblin

Where to begin with this guy? He is everything I look for in a great villain: he’s hammy and cartoonish, he can be terrifying and threatening when he wants to be, he has a ridiculous yet memorable costume, every word out of his mouth is hilarious and memorable, and he’s played by an amazing actor. It’s hard to dispute that Doc Ock is the best villain in Raimi’s trilogy, but Goblin is definitely the most fun. If you thought he’d get less than a 10/10, you thought wrong.

Doctor Octopus

Aside from Green Goblin, Doc Ock is Spidey’s most iconic and memorable foe, nd this adaptation of him does not disappoint. By making him a more tragic and somewhat anti-villainous figure and putting him in the hands of someone as awesome and talented as Alfred Molina, they managed to make such a cartoonish villain retain that comic book silliness while still being a legitimately imposing antagonist. I suppose it helps that a director who knows how to balance silly and serous like Raimi helps. It’s absolutely not a shock that the MCU wants to bring Molina back, because really, I can’t see anyone making the dubious doctor nearly as cool as the 10/10 performance Molina gave.

Harry Osborn

Franco’s Harry has an interesting arc, but one that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense under scrutiny. Frankly, his descent into villain is handled well but when he actually gets to be a villain in the third film, things fall apart.. But at any rate, he gets to be cartoonishly hilarious while he pettily ruins Peter’s life, so I think a 3/10 is warranted just for how goofy he is.

Eddie Brock/Venom

For the longest time, I hated Eddie Brock, but loved the Venom symbiote for its fantastic design… A design hampered by the fact Topher Grace keeps sticking his face through the symbiote and talking in his normal voice. But then one day I remembered Eddie literally prays to God for Peter Parker to die, and I realize that as crappy as this version of Venom is, he’s undoubtedly hilarious. A 3/10 mainly because of how hilariously bad he is, though the design of the symbiote is unironically great. Shame Grace kept sticking his face through and that Raimi hates the character.

Sandman

Sandman is a villain who deserved a better movie. Sure, Spider-Man 3 is fun and funny, but a character with this much depth and emotional weight deserved a film of the caliber of Spider-Man 2. At any rate, he adds a bit of class and dignity to the proceedings, and Thomas Haden Church really nails it. He’s a 9/10 for sure.

Lizard

Lizard is just a very boring villain, which is a shame because Lizard is not a boring villain in the comics and other media like the cartoons. I don’t really know if he was the best choice for Spider-Man’s first outing; I’ll at least give him that he’s a more inspired choice than doing the Green Goblin again, but that doesn’t score him higher than a 4/10. As boring as he ends up being, that library fight was pretty cool and had a great Stan Lee cameo, so I can’t say he’s the bottom of the barrel.

Electro

Electro is a villain who desperately deserved a better movie. While his backstory as a nerdy fanboy who got kicked around by the world is nothing new, or fresh, or original, Jamie Foxx manages to make the character work fairly well even though almost everything around him is unbelievably stupid. The fact he managed to make “Don’t you know? I’m Electro” sound cool and badass is a testament to his skill, and thankfully he’s coming back in the MCU in some way, so I guess Electro’s power can not be contained to a single movie. Still, this iteration only manages to get to a 6/10, because while all the elements of greatness are there, he’s hampered by the abysmal writing.

Rhino

Paul Giamatti certainly looks like he’s having a blast here. His attitude is almost infectious, but alas, his time is too brief to bring any great joy, and his jarring appearance out of nowhere at the end of the film certainly do him no favors. Still, Giamatti keeps Rhino from sinking any lower than a 5/10.

Harry Osborn

This Harry is just a joke. His arc makes no sense, his actions are unbelievable, and he ends up looking like a really poor Warwick Davis Leprechaun cosplayer. The only thing of note about him is that he’s a Harry who becomes the Green Goblin before his father, something that doesn’t happen very often, and that’s not enough to score this loser higher than a 2/10. Not even killing Gwen Stacy makes him any more impressive, and that’s a real shame.

Olivia Octavius

Olivia Octavius is widely beloved by just about everyone who sees the film.. myself included. This is just a really fun, clever twist on Doctor Octopus, and it’s the sort of character you really hope gets a Harley Quinn-level break into becoming an iconic character across multiple forms of media. Kathryn Hahn’s fun performance and the wonderful design and fight sequences really make Olivia a 9/10.

Tombstone

Tombstone is a villain you might actually forget is in the movie, which is a damn shame. He’s an albino black man, a badass bodyguard, and has a striking design, but he gets a single line of dialogue and is tasked with bodyguarding a man who not only has cyborgs under his employ, but who murdered Spider-Man with his bare hands. Tombstone ultimately feels really superfluous, which is a shame because around the same time Into the Spider-Verse came out he had a very memorable and well-liked appearance in the Spider-Man video game. It’s a real shame but I gotta give this version of Tombstone a 2/10.

Scorpion

Scorpion has a lot of problems of Tombstone above, but he makes up for a lot of his flaws by having a really cool and striking design. Does it really make him a great villain? No. He’s not particularly well-characterized and he’s really just there to look cool and give Olivia backup. He’s a 4/10 at best, saved from being lower only by his awesome look. Looking cool really can get you far in some cases.

Green Goblin

Out of all the really minor villains in Spider-Verse, this version of Norman might be the best. His role is tiny, only appearing during the scene where the Peter Parker of Miles’ universe gets killed, but his battle with Spider-Man is what sets the entire plot in motion. His cool and terrifying design definitely help make him stand out enough to earn at least a 6/10.

Riot & Carlton Drake

Look, there’s a reason I kept forgetting these guys. They’re not memorable in the slightest. Venom may be a fantastic work of art, but that’s because Tom Hardy kills it in his dual role as Eddie Brock and the Venom symbiote. Drake is just a boring corporate villain, the kind I hate talking about and the kind I’d only ever even bother mentioning in a review like this. And Riot is just a generic Big Gray CGI Monster for the hero to have a final battle with. Neither of these two are particularly interesting, and neither deserves more than a 2/10.

That’s it, right? There can’t be any more villains, I must have covered them all. Well, not quite. There’s one more character who is most certainly an antagonist and who I really, really want to talk about. And you’re absolutely not going to believe who it is.

You ready?

Psycho Analysis: Emo Peter

“Now wait,” you may be asking, “Emo Peter? Really? How does he count as a villain?” Well, as Schafrillas pointed out in his video on Spider-Man 3, Emo Peter is actually the antagonist for much of the second act. Peter, influenced by the symbiote, becomes a raging jackass and hurts and alienates everyone around him by being a colossal douchebag, not to mention how violent he gets as Spider-Man. This is very much an extreme case of the hero’s greatest enemy being themselves, because literally, Peter’s enemy in the chunk of the movie with Emo Peter is his own overinflated ego

Motivation/Goals: I mean, at the end of the day, it’s still Peter. He still wants to do the typical Peter Parker stuff, he’s just a jackass while he does it.

Performance: It’s Tobey Maguire busting loose and getting to act like an absolute doofus. There is literally nothing about this that isn’t amazing and I’m sorry if you can’t see it.

Final Fate: Peter eventually comes to realize that maybe the symbiote making him act like an egomaniacal tool is not a good thing, and so rebels against it, ultimately leading him to the roof of a church where Eddie Brock is praying for him to die and, well, the rest is history.

Best Scene:

Best Dance Move:

Final Thoughts & Score: Emo Peter has gotten a bad reputation over the years, but Schafrillas’ video really made me rethink why. As he puts it, Emo Peter comes off not as someone cool, but as what a loser thinks a cool person would be (which makes him still a loser). It seems fairly likely that the audience isn’t supposed to be rooting for Emo Peter or finding him cool, but instead finding him insufferable, ridiculous, and funny. We’re supposed to be laughing at Peter’s egomania, at his absurd and hammy showboating, not cheering him on and desiring to emulate him.

And that ultimately makes it more satisfying when Peter overcomes his ego and decides to rid himself of the symbiote. It might seem like I’m giving Spider-Man 3 a lot of credit here, but even Sam Raimi half-assing a movie wouldn’t leave things completely devoid of underlying brilliance. Emo Peter isn’t a villain in the sense that he’s some superpowered antagonist, he’s a physical representation of the negative impacts of fame and ego on Peter. This is Peter letting go of what makes him a hero and just reveling in being an absolute jerkwad to everyone around him.

I love the memes as much as everyone else of course, but Emo Peter is also a pretty clever symbolic foe. But even though I’m giving him an 8/10, we all know the real reason why he’s scoring so high:

Ok, but that’s it now, right? No more Spider-Man villains? Well, maybe for now. But don’t forget:

There’s gonna be Carnage.

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multiverseofimagines · 5 years ago

Note

Could you maybe do a request with Phillip Altman??? Maybe the reader is one of his best friends and the whole family isn’t surprised that they get together and they’re just waiting for it?? Thank you!!!!

Sorry that this is so shit, I wrote it so fast just because it sat in my inbox forever. It lacks detail but I loved the premise.

“Phil if we don’t leave now we will be late!” You yelled from the front door of Phillip and yours apartment. He had been taking his sweet ass time getting ready, as per usual.

He steps out of the bathroom, the smell of his cologne intoxicating your lungs, causing a smile to spread upon your lips. It’s the annual family barbeque, all the Altmans and their respectable partners in one roof for the whole weekend, a tradition that had gone on for years. Only this time would be quite different.

You and Phillip had been Best Friends since you could remember. Since presumably middle school. You grew up only a few houses down, and you had been inseparable ever since. You had been there for every family gathering, every barbeque and birthday, every small event within his life, even if he had brought another girl with him that he had been sleeping with, he made sure to still invite you.

As time went on though, things had begun to change, especially after the death of his father. He had moved closer to home to keep up with his family's company, and to spend more time with them, as they all had grown closer since the death. He became more mature with this change, and though he was the same in many ways, he took from his brother Judd, yearning for a genuine connection with someone.

You remember it so fondly, the night things had shifted.

You sat within a restaurant, waiting for the guy you had been seeing to show, but it had been two hours past, and he had failed to pick his phone up. Tears welled up within your eyes, as you stared impatiently at the entrance, a sinking feeling inside of you. You thought you were staring to fall in love with the guy, you could see somewhat of a future with him, which made the pain of letting go even worse.

Eventually, a waitress came to your table, a sympathetic look upon her face as she explained you would need to leave soon due to closing time. You couldn’t possibly drive, too emotional to even get up and follow the orders of the waitress. There had been only one person who could come and help you now, and that was Phillip. You dialed his number, attempting to clear your throat as the ringing tone echoed upon your ear, trying not to sound as if you had been crying. Phillip picked up, his voice sounded as if he’d been awakened by the call, “y/n?’ he asked.

“Oh god I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” He could hear you were upset, your voice filled with emotion still.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” He was now fully awake, the sound of you being upset sending him into a worried state, “Yeah- I just-” You took a sigh, trying not to start crying again, but to no avail the tears still fell.

“Jonathan stood me up. I’m at Grummans, you know, the Jewish place on 4th street? I’m too emotional to drive and-” You were cut off by the sound of Phillips' voice, “I’ll be there in 15.”

He was there so fast; you were surprised he hadn’t gotten a speeding ticket that time around.

The two of you drove to your apartment in silence, not being able to find the right words, too emotionally exhausted to explain or vent. He pulled into the lot, parking within your usual spot. You basked in the awkward silence for a moment still tearful and heartbroken. You turned to Phillip, who’s eyes never left you, always so concerned for you, always there to make things better.

“ Thank you Phillip.” Your lips quivering into a forced smile, though the utmost greatful for him. You leaned over to the driver's side, kissing his cheek softly, lovingly. You never realized until now how easy it was with him, how you melted like honey in his presence. It was something you had felt before throughout the years, and though his family had teased you about it for years, insisting the two of you would be married later on within life, you never truly realized why you couldn’t love anybody fully. Even Jonathan, the man you had been crying over, he had been the only one you could maybe see moving in, but you didn’t want it deep down. Deep down you had found that love within another, Phillip.

You pulled away from his cheek slowly, taking in his hazel eyes, gleaming upon the moonlight that shone slightly into the front window of the car. He was so effortlessly beautiful, how could you only just realize? But now wasn’t the time, you knew it was too good to be true, he couldn’t feel the same. You turned back to the door, going to open the handle, when his hand stopped you, softly resting upon your shoulder, causing your head to turn.

“Move in with me.”

He had felt it too within the car, the years of repressed feelings rushing to his thought process. The countless nights he had spent in other women's beds, wishing if only it were yours instead. It’s why none of his flings had lasted, he had looked for you within the eyes of others, when he could have just turned around to see yours staring back at him.

The two of you had moved in together, but it had all remained a secret to his family. You two acted as if everything was still the same way it used to be, not wanting to be pressured by anyone to explain yourselves. But this barbeque was important, for Phillip had plans to propose. He didn’t know when would be the perfect time; he was much more of a spontaneous soul, and he knew you would hate some huge declaration.

He wouldn’t do it in front of his family though, that would be too much. He would do it whilst you two were alone, perhaps in the evening within the back garden, as everyone was sleeping. That’s what he had dreamt about, all those silly nights, pining over his soon to be fiance, a perfect and subtle way of asking for eternity.

The two of you rolled your suitcases up the front walkway, Wendy and Tracy meeting you halfway to help with the bags. “Oh y/n! You’re absolutely glowing!” Tracy engulfed you in a tight hug. Beside you, Wendy did the same to her brother, saying how good it was to see him.

When walking into the house, the smell of food wafted upon your noses. “Mom! Their here!” Wendy called out, Hillary soon coming from the kitchen, dawning an apron. “ Oh! Phillip! Y/n!” Her arms lifted, engulfing each of you in a hug. “I’m just making dinner now,” She smiled, her eyes then settling upon the suitcases you had brought with you in order to stay for the weekend.

“This time around, Judd is sleeping at Penny’s, so y/n- how about you take Phillip's room? I’m sure my son would be a dear and sleep in the basement.” Your eyes widened, and “um” escaped your lips, as you almost instinctively went to correct her, but Phillip had caught on, interrupting you, “ Of course Ma.” He smiled at her, as she furrowed her eyebrows in your direction, utterly confused. “ That was close.” You whispered to him once she left.

It was a perfect night as usual within the house, laughing and bickering, talking about what everyone had been up to, if anyone had any exciting news. The food was amazing, though Phillip always complained upon the Kugel. When you two ended up alone he couldn’t stop talking about how disgusting it was. And though he had wanted to do it that night, he walked out the backyard with you to find Paul and Tracy sharing a kiss with one another. The two of you sneaking around the side of the house trying not to get caught, despite your fit of giggling. You both collapsed onto the ground, your back against the side fence.

“ I wish I could at least sleep in the same bed with you this weekend.” You laughed, your pinky holding onto his in a discreet fashion, “ When are we going to tell them?” You asked, staring upon the stars.

“ Soon enough, I promise.” He snuck a quick kiss to your cheek, before getting up to go to bed. You soon followed, going in the other direction.

Phillip had sat upon the fold out bed, something was keeping him awake, perhaps the lack of you beside him, or maybe the thought of how he was going to purpose. He wished his father had been alive to guide him, tell him what to do. He couldn’t tell anyone either, the secret had gone on for too long for him to tell anyone now, he would just have to do it on his own.

As Phillip continued to ponder, he could hear footsteps coming down, “y/n?” He question. There was no response for a silent moment before his sister's voice softly called out her name, “No, It’s Wendy. Can I come down?” He sighed softly to himself, “Yeah sure” He watched his sister with a curious smile. “You left your leather jacket upstairs, figured I’d bring it down for ya, before a child gets to it.” She smiled, her hand extending out to toss it at him, as she did so her smiled faded as something hard had flown out of the jacket, hitting the floor. Phillip immediately pounced to the floor to find what he had realized was the ring.

“Fucking shit.” Phillip swore under his breath, the tiny box, in between the two of them.

“What the hell is that?” Wendy questioned, walking over to Phillip.

“Nothing, it’s really nothing Wendy.” She laughed, holding her hand out, expecting him to pass it over, “You can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me, kid. Give it up.” He passed it over, a sigh coming from his lips as she opened the box, revealing the most gorgeous diamond ring she had ever seen. Her eyes widened, staring at it for a moment before looking up at her younger brother.

“Um- who’s this for?” She asked. He couldn’t tell her, not now, it would ruin the entire plan, but Phillip was a terrible liar. “No one-” he responded, grabbing the box from her hand.

“Are you seeing someone Phil?” He couldn’t help but smile, causing Wendy to furrow her eyebrows, “Oh my god Phillip- don’t tell me you bought this for some-” Phillip looked up at her, “Somewhat Wendy? Whore?” Wendy bit her lip in embarrassment, “ Why wouldn’t you tell us.” She now sat down beside him on bed.

“ I didn’t want to explain myself. You all would have hounded us.” He slightly chuckled to himself, imagining the family’s reactions. Wendy smiled, grabbing his hands, “We’re your family Phillip. You can’t hide this stuff, because whether you like it, whoever you choose will be a part of this family too.” He smiled back at her, their eyes both forming tears.

She let go of his hands, grabbing the box from his free hand, staring at it, “Why didn’t you bring her this weekend?” She questioned, still looking at the box. Phillip failed to answer, a blush swept upon his cheeks as he tried to hide a mischevious smile. It took Wendy a moment, before looking back at him, a look of confusion plastered upon her face.

“ Wait- Why did you bring the ring with you?” He still didn’t answer, attempting to look away from her gaze, “Phillip why are you smiling like that!”

It took her a moment, Phil looking at her face changing out of the corner of his eye, with every passing second he could see the realization settling in.

“ OH MY GOD” She was off the bed and up the stairs in a matter of moments, “MOM!!” Phillip following close behind her, “ Wendy! Please don’t!” It was too late, her yelling had wakened everybody in the house up by now, all coming down in their respectable nightgowns and robes.

“What is going on?!” Hilary questioned, coming down the stairs to meet Wendy and Phillip, it was as if it had been scene out of their childhood, whenever Wendy had caught him sneaking out.

Tracy and Paul followed behind, with you behind them, all of you now standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the two.

“Why don’t you tell her Phillip?” Wendy turned to him, passing the box back to him.

“What are you talking about?” Hilary questioned again, staring at the black box with confusion. Your eyes widened, also plagued with confusion.

“ I can’t-” He choked out before looking at you, “y/n? can you come over here?” You awkwardly stepped past them, walking over to Phillip. He looked you in the eyes, nervousness fell upon him.

“I didn’t want to do it like this- believe me. But it seems as though I have no other choice now.” He laughed, lowering himself onto one knee in front of you.

“ It seems as though we’ve already spent half of our lives together. You are my best friend, my rock, the only person I’ve ever truly felt this way for. Will you do me the honour of spending the rest of your life with me?” You cried, tears rolling upon your cheeks as you nodded frantically, staring at the now open box, the diamond shimmering among the chandelier above you.

“You’re crying?” Tracy whispered to Paul,

“ Yeah-” He wiped his cheek with his hand, “Only cause I owe Judd a 50$”

#phillip altman #phillip altman imagine #adam driver #adam driver imagine #adam driver x reader #adam driver headcanons #adam driver smut

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 5/10 - Juno

Chapter summary: Dessert week will see bakers having to keep their cool as temperatures rise in and out of the tent, with a caramel signature, a coffee technical, and a white chocolate showstopper. Meanwhile, Asttina’s astrology app proves oddly prophetic, Tayce and Aurora get closer, but Lawrence’s nerves intensify after an accident with one of her bakes.

A/N: We’re at the halfway point! I really appreciate all the support from all of you so far! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

WEEK 5: DESSERT WEEK

I’m here to win a cake stand. I’m here to win a cake stand.

Tayce thought that if she kept repeating this in her head, maybe it would stick. Because she had a Star Baker badge now, so she’d proven she was a competitor, here to win; and that meant she had to keep being one of the top bakers, to stay in the spotlight. That way, she’d avoid slipping down the pack.

The problem was, all through the practise runs she’d baked for this week back at home, all that had been on her mind was Aurora.

She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t, so stop torturing yourself, Tayce.

When Tayce had suggested fake-flirting in the tent, she’d wondered if maybe she’d been reading the signs correctly. She’d noticed Aurora becoming a little flustered, a little tongue-tied, in her presence, and dared to hope for a second that maybe … just maybe …

She thought that mentioning faking it might give Aurora a chance to tell Tayce if she wanted it to be real, if she felt the same way. But Aurora’s nonchalant tone, the polite, business-like manner they’d discussed their boundaries, confirmed to Tayce that she didn’t.

So, here they were. Tayce was faced with the prospect of having to pretend that her very real feelings were just for the camera. Even if they went so deeply down that she ached at every touch, every smile …

I’m here to win a bloody cake stand!

Aurora had turned up to Norton Hall this week a little late this morning - trains delayed, groundbreaking - and sprinted past the rest of them, dragging her weekend case, as they waited to go into the tent for the Signature.

Around the common room, the other six bakers waited along with Tayce. Asttina was on her phone, her free hand in Bimini’s; Tia and Veronica had kicked off their shoes and put their legs onto the sofa, curling up together and watching something on Tia’s phone; while Lawrence had a paperback copy of Cujo in one hand, chuckling at intervals, and Ellie twirled a lock of hair between her fingers and watched the brilliant sunshine through the window, ignoring everyone else.

“Moon in Cancer, waxing,” Asttina said suddenly, nodding at her phone. “Co-star is reading me this week.”

“What does that even mean?” Bimini asked her.

“The moon is your emotional self, right? And Cancer is its home sign. And Cancer is all about emotions and being emotional. I think,” she added with a shrug. “I’m only a beginner. So anyone with Cancer in their big three will be feeling all the emotions right now.“

Tayce didn’t know where her moon was, but emotional was right.

Seeing Aurora again after the week back home restarted the ache in her chest at the knowledge her feelings were in vain. Aurora did not feel the same way about Tayce as Tayce did about Aurora.

If she did, she’d have told me that she didn’t want to fake anything.

Still, even though it was unrequited, part of her still looked forward to seeing Aurora again.There was nothing about her that hadn’t piqued her fascination. That dimple when she smiled made Tayce’s chest tingle. The nervous way she tucked locks of hair behind her ears and the way she would look away modestly when the judges came near her made Tayce want to just hold her …

But I’m here to win a cake stand!

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Tayce said to Asttina, “but I’m sure it’s riveting.”

“What’s your big three?”

Tayce huffed. “Not a clue. Not a Scooby Doo. I just know I’m a Gemini, baby. We get a lot of stick, but that’s because not many other signs can handle us!”

“Okay, well what is your birthdate? I can put your details into the -“

“Sorry!” Aurora careered into the room, pausing for breath, and as soon as she did, the producer opened the door to call them to the tent for the Signature.

Tayce’s big three, whatever that meant, would have to wait.

——

Signature: 6 Creme Brûlées with set caramel discs

This week had been hot, and this weekend was forecast to be just as hot. All they’d been subjected to on telly and the news had been this week would have record-breaking temperatures, warmest May since last year probably, and pictures of people crowding at Brighton beach on the front pages as if sunshine was news.

We only get one nice weekend a year, and now we’re in a tent.

Tayce always hated the way the most intricate, delicate challenges always seemed to happen when the temperature was high, making all the bakes melt in the tent. It was always that one week where there was a heatwave especially prepared for the Bake Off, and this seemed like it would be that week.

Oh yeah. And the Signature is creme brûlée. Great idea.

It was still quite early in the morning, but the tent was already starting to feel like a greenhouse. Eight bodies in the room, not including the judges, was already starting to drive the temperature up, along with the beaming sunlight, not to mention the ovens and hobs when they would all start to light up for baking -

“On your marks -“

“Get set -“

“BAKE!”

Tayce grabbed for her ingredients. She’d made this creme brûlée recipe two or three times, and it hadn’t normally gone quite right, so she was not expecting to have a repeat of last week, when she’d won Star Baker.

Now that Cherry had left, she was right behind Veronica, and could see the exact regimental order that Veronica had everything. Her ingredients were split around the workbench in order that she would use them, with the caramel ingredients for the caramel disc right at the far end. Each timer she had - and she still used all five - was set up differently, with the one on the far left being the time for the whole round, but the rest timed for individual parts of each challenge.

Everyone was struggling with the heat. Even Asttina, right at the front, normally cool as a cucumber, was letting out frustrated noises, becoming more irritated the longer the bake went on. The cameras seemed to all be on her this week, as she clutched at her hair and stomped around the tent to the tea machine at intervals.

Lawrence too, to everyone’s surprise, was having an off-week. Whenever pans fell to the ground, everyone always just expected it to be Ellie, who didn’t seem to realise that she was about 70% limbs; but this week it was Lawrence who dropped the pan - and once she’d dropped one, every other kitchen implement seemed to slip through her fingers.

Then Tayce looked at Aurora, and her jaw fell to the floor.

That smile, that dazzling smile, the dimple visible from this distance; her hair tied off her face and neck, calmly mixing her custard ingredients, merrily humming as she heated up the sugar for her caramel discs, not really saying a word to anyone.

Aurora was calm, poised and accurate, like a Stepford Wife.

Tayce’s whole body tingled for a few moments as she realised that the happy aura she was exuding was contagious.

“How are you getting on?” Tayce said, walking over and leaning into Aurora’s side.

Aurora let out a contented hum. “Pretty good. Crème brûlées look good and so does my competition!” She glanced at Tayce through her eyelashes, as Tayce’s insides turned to jelly.

She’s a good actress, I’ll give her that. She’ll definitely convince the audience.

And Aurora’s calm mood continued all the way through, despite everyone else in here seeming to be falling apart. Tayce’s first caramel refused to thicken, and the second crystallised, but the third batch worked - finally, she said to herself - and she was able to harden it just in time for the discs for her creme brûlées.

It was a close shave.

At the front, Asttina slumped against the back of Lawrence’s workbench, dropping from view so fast that the medics hovered, thinking she’d fainted; but as Tayce approached her, after Bimini and Tia had already rushed in, it was plain to see she was fine, physically at least. She sat against the cupboards, sighing, as the others crouched around her.

“Bloody caramel,” Asttina pointed to the pan, still on the hob, “it’s my Achilles heel.”

Tayce peered into the pan, where the sugar had completely crystallised, just as her own had earlier; and all of Asttina’s creme brûlées were just setting custard, without the caramel disc on the top.

——

“Alright, Tayce,” Paul said, as they came to her for the judging, “you’re up. Tell us again the flavour of your creme brûlées.”

Tayce waited for the camera to point in her direction as they had all been instructed to do, before she opened her mouth to speak. “They’re blackberry-flavoured, and the caramel is salted and also flavoured with coffee.”

She watched, holding her breath, releasing it when the caramel disc cracked at Paul’s spoon hitting it - one of the main judging points for this dessert - and waiting as patiently as she could while the judges were tasting.

“Good flavours this week - custard hasn’t quite set, but the caramel gave a great crack, and the sweetness of the blackberries is nicely off-set by the salt in the caramel and the bitterness of the coffee.”

“Great job this week, Tayce.” Prue added. “Just needed a little longer for the custard and it would have been fantastic. Thank you.”

“Thank you!” Tayce grinned, as the judges moved away from her.

Noel hovered for a second, the cameras still on him. “I’m taking this one to go, alright Tayce?” He said, picking up the nearest dessert and walking off.

They all had to continue waiting for the judges and cameras to set up for Aurora, who was last to be judged. Tayce relaxed on the stool, as Veronica looked over at her.

“Well done on the feedback,” she whispered, giving Tayce a rare smile.

Veronica had started to talk to her a little more since Cherry had gone, no more people between them; and although Aurora didn’t seem to like her too much yet, Tayce thought she didn’t seem that bad.

“And you, too,” Tayce grinned back at her. “You and Tia got some good comments this week!”

“Everyone seems to be this week, apart from … well.” Veronica glanced to the other side, and Tayce hummed in agreement. Everyone on the other side had had poorer feedback this week, although still kind as always; but Asttina, Lawrence and Ellie all looked dejected at their comments.

Only Aurora was left to be judged, and Tayce watched the judges crack into the caramel disc and take their first tastes of her creme brûlées.

“The cinnamon’s there.”

“Yes, and the apple flavouring is too. The caramel is not too sickly, and the texture is really nice and smooth.”

“It’s … pretty much spot on.” Paul nodded, his face the vague surprise that he normally wore when he tasted good bakes. “You nailed it. Good job.”

The whole room erupted into applause as Paul held out his hand to Aurora for the handshake, Aurora’s jaw dropping in delight, Tayce finding herself making the most noise of anyone in whoops and applause.

Wow. I’m keen.

——

“Congratulations on the handshake!” Tayce smiled at her in the common room. “I said I wasn’t going to eat loads more cakes and things while the competition was on, but I’ll make an exception for yours.”

“Tayce,” Aurora murmured, smiling and letting Tayce draw her to her side, looping her arm around her waist. “It’s - it’s nothing - dessert week! It was the last thing I expected, I didn’t know they’d like it that much!”

“A win’s a win, bitch! Don’t knock it!” Tayce smiled at her, picking up one of her creme brûlées in the ramekin. Aurora’s was good, although the caramel melting with the heat meant there wasn’t really a crack to the top any more.

As she turned to go back to sit down, Tayce almost walked into Lawrence, who was standing staring blankly at her own tray.

“Oh - sorry Lozza.”

Lawrence sighed. “It’s alright. I’m just -“

But she didn’t finish her sentence, putting a hand to her mouth and chewing her finger, still staring. Tayce took a moment to really look at Lawrence, the vibrant purple of her hair slowly fading as the weeks went on, the rings around her eyes deepening.

“You were all nerves today, girl! What’s with that? You’re always so bleeding confident! Where’s that Lawrence gone?” Tayce followed her as she walked away, out into the sunshine again, away from everyone else.

“Just - I’ve just been really dreading this week,” Lawrence muttered, her voice starting to creep higher. “Desserts, caramel, all that shit - it just really makes me annoyed that I can’t do it -“

Her voice broke as she put her hand to her forehead to cover her eyes, but there was no hiding the way her shoulders shook. Tayce shuffled for a second, chewing her tongue, wondering what she could do, before resting a hand on Lawrence’s shoulder and squeezing it gently when she didn’t have it thrown off.

“Sorry - I don’t know why I’m this upset -“ Lawrence took a couple of breaths, turning her eyes to the sky to stop herself crying any more. “I just want to be good at things and when I’m not …”

“You just … panicked a bit I think,” Tayce said, “and then you panicked more because you were already panicking. You need to relax a bit! It’s just a baking show! You’re here to win a cake stand!”

Lawrence let out an exasperated snort. “We can’t all be like you. You’re practically fucking horizontal.”

Tayce laughed, although she wasn’t sure how funny Lawrence was trying to be.

——

Technical: Tiramisu cake

The Technical challenge didn’t see Lawrence looking any more sure of herself.

Tayce found herself keeping an eye on Lawrence more than she’d expected to, a small pang of sympathy for her growing in her gut. Her movements were cautious, tentative at first, but once Lawrence had knocked another pan over, she was off again. Her hands were shaking even from this distance, her moans of frustration turning into growls.

The problem was, the bake was so hard that no one really wanted to leave their workbenches and go to help her. Asttina turned around once or twice to watch her and ask if she was alright, which was batted away by Lawrence with a dismissive wave; but when the third one was met with a harsher tone than any of them had heard from Lawrence, Asttina promptly turned back to her own bake, and didn’t disturb her again.

With ten minutes to go, Tayce watched Lawrence slump against the back of Ellie’s workbench and slide to the ground. Ellie batted away the cameramen to run round her own to sit with her, and as Tayce peered over she could see that Lawrence was fine - physically - just sat against the cupboards with a look of utter despair on her face.

By contrast, Tayce glanced at Aurora, in her own world, taking her perfectly-risen cake from the oven and wafting it with a cool baking tray, looking completely composed and unruffled.

What the actual shit is going on?

Ellie was muttering into Lawrence’s ear, waving her hands emphatically; and Tia, her own bake already on the tray, cautiously approached them both too, crouching to Lawrence’s level to offer some comfort too.

In a few moments, Lawrence was nodding, rising back to her feet, and grabbing her glass of water.

Once the bakes were done, all loaded onto the trays to take to their photographs, Tayce stole a glance at Aurora’s. It looked incredible, immaculate and neat. Tayce’s own was sinking a little, but Aurora’s could have come from M&S. Maybe it had. Maybe she’d taken a leaf from Joe’s book.

She followed Aurora to the table, placing hers behind her photo, before turning to Aurora and mouthing well done in her direction, to watch her tuck her hair behind her ear and smile in response.

But before they had made it back to their benches, there was a gasp, a clatter - and Tayce turned to see half of Lawrence’s tiramisu cake on the ground, the other half intact but dripping from the side of the plate, having slid partially off it.

On her right, Ellie had blanched, a hand at her chest - a hand with a smear of cake over the back of it.

——

“I saw a fly. I saw a fly. I saw a fly.”

“We know, Ellie.” But Aurora’s exasperated words didn’t stop Ellie’s stream of thought.

“It was a fly. I saw a fly. Just a wee fly.”

Lawrence hadn’t been marked down on the fact that Ellie had knocked half of her cake off the tray; she’d been marked on quality of the rest of it - but she’d still come seventh, the first real bomb she’d had in the Technical challenge. Ellie, ironically, had had a really good week, coming first, just beating Tayce in second and Aurora at third.

But it didn’t look like Ellie would be celebrating any time soon, as she stared into space and repeated the same words over and over.

As soon as they’d all gone into the hall after they’d left the tent, everyone had tried to comfort Lawrence, although she’d maintained her stoic indifference, nodding and saying “it’s fine” to everyone. But the moment Ellie had come in her line of sight, her eyes had clouded over and she’d turned, sweeping from the room back outside.

Since then, Ellie had just sat glassy-eyed, looking at the picture on the wall opposite them and mumbling to herself about the fly she’d tried to swat away from the cakes, resulting in her knocking Lawrence’s.

“I’m gonna go look for a …” Ellie said flatly, standing up, but she didn’t finish her sentence, seeming to float away from them in a dream.

“Rory!” Tayce said. “What’s going on today! This is the first time I seen you when you haven’t been a bundle of nerves! Has someone spiked your cup of tea?”

“No!” Aurora giggled, waving a hand at Tayce. “Just … you know, remembering to enjoy my time here.”

Aurora was looking at Tayce through her eyelashes, a coy smile starting, and Tayce would never have admitted just how much her insides turned to liquid at her gaze.

“It seems to be working in your favour,” Tayce purred. “You came third in Technical, you got a Hollywood handshake for your Showstopper - next you’ll be getting a Star Baker badge just like me! And then we’ll be even!”

“Yeah, well,” Aurora grinned, “that’s the plan! Draw even with you, and then overtake you!”

Tayce threw back her head in sudden laughter. “Not gonna happen, babe.”

“Oh, no?” Aurora giggled, nudging Tayce’s foot with hers. “Game on, babe!”

——

Tayce woke far too early the next morning. She opened one eye a sliver, and saw the time was quarter to five. Much too early to get up. Sunlight was starting to edge at the curtains, not enough light to indicate the start of the day.

But the room looked a little unfamiliar, as if the furniture had been altered slightly. And as her brain cleared from sleepy fog, she realised why.

Shit. I’m in Aurora’s room!

The others had been drinking last night. After Ellie had come back in, tugging Lawrence with her, she’d fished in her bag for a bottle of something and they’d started some drinking game, but Tayce wasn’t in the mood to drink loads, and had leapt at the chance to join Aurora in her room again, for more Netflix.

She didn’t remember what time she and Aurora had fallen asleep together, nestled in the duvet, an episode of something playing in the background - but she vaguely remembered waking up briefly to Aurora’s face before her, her brown eyes soft as they silently searched Tayce’s for something.

It had felt like a dream, but now it was definitely a nightmare.

Once she saw her outline in the bed beside her, a silhouette draped in a halo of dawn light, Tayce sighed.

I can’t be getting in this deep with her. She doesn’t feel the same way. And I’m here to win a bloody cake stand!

She slipped out of the bed as gently as she could, pulled her jeans on from where she’d discarded them at the side of the bed at some point in the night, and pattered to the doorway, hoping the slow creak of her door would not wake Aurora, followed by a thud as it closed again.

Once she was back in her own room, she leaned against the door, the gravity of this situation starting to creep over her skin.

Tayce sighed.

This is going to be an interesting day.

Saying that, Tayce knew as soon as the rest of them had traipsed downstairs for their breakfast, that she and Aurora were probably the least hungover of the group. Tayce was alone at first, tucking into her beans on toast - god-tier breakfast, with a squidge of ketchup on the side - but as soon as Lawrence made an appearance, her face slightly grey, she’d swallowed hard and turned away to the tea machine.

Asttina and Bimini, coming back from their hangover run, looked more tired than anyone had seen either of them.

“No personal bests today, folks,” Bimini muttered, shaking their head as they and Asttina passed Tayce, who shrugged and continued scooping beans into her mouth.

“How long did you all stay up for, Lozza?” Tayce called across the room, but Lawrence uttered a groan and shook her head in response.

“Too fucking long.” Lawrence came over to Tayce, dragging her feet, pulling the chair out and dropping into it. “Asttina and Bimini went to bed, and then Veronica - of all people - challenged me to Truth or Drink.”

“Oh, right.” Tayce picked up her cup of tea.

Lawrence took a deep breath, staring at the tablecloth. “She asked me about Ellie.”

Tayce almost choked on the sip of tea. She hadn’t expected Lawrence to acknowledge the fact that Tayce had walked into Norton Hall last week after Technical, to find Lawrence and Ellie leaping apart from each other across to opposite ends of the sofa.

“What about Ellie?” Tayce said finally.

“You know already.” Lawrence sighed. “Yeah, we’ve gotten a little close.”

“But how did Veronica know that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s just say I took drink. Instead of truth.” Lawrence shook her head again.

"Do you want to talk about Ellie now?” Tayce asked.

Lawrence rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I mean she’s - yeah. I kind of … ah, I don’t know. I mean, she’s great. But …” Lawrence sighed. “She’s probably got someone at home.”

“You don’t know unless you try,” Tayce said.

Pot, meet kettle. But Tayce pushed that thought away.

“And I know she didn’t mean to knock my cake over, I just got upset because of how close we’d gotten.” Lawrence’s gaze was downcast. “This contest starts to fuck with your head after a while.”

“You did look like you’d forgiven Ellie before I’d gone to bed, let me tell you,” Tayce said, raising an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about,” Lawrence said weakly.

In the last couple of weekends, Tayce had noticed they would steal glances at each other when they were not within a six foot radius, somehow always at the same time, meeting each other’s eyes and then looking away again. As if just to make sure the other was alright. And they’d been doing plenty of that last night, lots of surreptitious glances at each other, when they thought no one was looking, giving each other secret smiles that lit up their eyes.

“Oh,” Tayce shrugged, “nothing much.”

——

Showstopper: White chocolate cake with at least two layers and one additional flavour.

Tayce still didn’t know why the British weather always waited until a complicated challenge to turn up the heat, but it did, and the Showstopper challenge - making white chocolate cakes - was taking place on an apparently record-breaking day for the weather.

No one was having a good day. Asttina was doing more growling and stomping to the tea tent, where a water cooler had also been provided. Veronica and Tia were fanning each other with baking trays. Bimini, who had turned up in some high fashion suit, was peeling layers off the longer the day went on. Ellie was wiping sweat from her brow with her forearm and plaiting her thick blonde hair to tie it off her neck.

Only Aurora seemed to be unruffled. She was quieter than the previous day, no longer humming, but the dreamy smile was still on her face, that single dimple maddeningly smug. Even though her eyes narrowed a little every time Tayce caught a glance from her, so she couldn’t have been entirely happy herself.

By the mid-point of the Showstopper, Lawrence was in tears, shaking over the workbench, a camera lens approaching her slowly. Ellie, who had been alarmingly quiet all day, almost leapt over her own bench, swearing aloud a few times to make the cameramen’s footage unusable, before seizing Lawrence’s shoulder and marching her out the tent.

It was hard to make out what they were saying to each other. Ellie was gesticulating wildly while Lawrence ran a hand over her hair, coming out of her usual tight bun at the crown of her head. Tayce wasn’t the only one watching them - all the cameras and the contestants were too, peering through the clear plastic of the tent. Eventually, Lawrence nodded, wiped her eyes, and seemed to grow in height by three inches, while Ellie grinned at her, following her back into the tent.

Not entirely convinced, Tayce followed Lawrence to the tea tent as she left to make herself a fresh cup of tea.

“Lozza, you’re starting to worry me a bit now, and you know what you said, I’m horizontal. Tell me what’s going on, girl.”

Lawrence huffed, shaking her head in exasperation, but at herself.

“Ellie’s just … I’m just remembering what I can do, you know? I need to remember that just because my mind’s telling me that I can’t do something, it doesn’t mean that I actually can’t.”

“Yeah!” Tayce clapped her on the back. “That’s right! You’re Lawrence Chaney! You can do anything!”

Lawrence resumed the exasperated shake of her head, but now, she was grinning, and not her normal wry, comedic grin, but one that softened her eyes, some aura of serenity returning to her.

“I can’t put mental boundaries on myself,” she said, “because that’s what’s holding me back. It’s the fucking fences up here.” She turned to Tayce, tapping her forehead. “And I’m not gonna be told by someone I can’t do something, and let it rule my life, because I can.”

“What’s going on here? Pep talk, is it?” Bimini entered the tea tent, holding their own mug and Asttina’s, looking between them both curiously.

“Bimini, I have to ask,” Tayce said, unable to hold it in any longer, “what is this fashion today? I like it - I’m just wondering what the inspiration is.”

Bimini’s apron hid some of the outfit, but it consisted of a black suit and white shirt with braces, along with a monocle, for some reason.

“What, this old thing?” Bimini teased. “It’s a cross between Vivienne Westwood and Noel Fielding as The Hitcher in The Mighty Boosh. You remember that show, right? I was watching it on Netflix last week.”

“And you chose the day when it’s hotter than Satan’s sauna to wear that?” Lawrence blinked.

“Well I didn’t know it was gonna be this hot!” Bimini laughed. “Just my luck, innit?”

——

There were several disasters in the tent today. Not only was white chocolate notoriously hard to bake well into a cake anyway, but the heat melted a lot of them into mush, and meant that so many decorations were melting away into nothing.

Everyone had mediocre critiques from the judges, mainly because the heat had turned their creations into gloopy messes. Bimini’s dark chocolate sculpture and scroll decorations were dissolving into the cake, while Asttina’s caramel had crystallised yet again, her frustration evident from her folded arms and huffs. Ellie whose Showstoppers were always incredible, had her spun sugar disappear, leaving a stain on top of her cake.

When Tayce looked at Aurora, she’d barely noticed any of the critiques, gazing at her own bake, which got the best feedback by far. She might have put a protective bubble around hers, with how perfect it still looked at tasting.

This is so weird. She’s in her own little world.

“What’s the deal, Rory?” Tayce asked her as they filed out the tent, letting the judges deliberate as they waited outside. “You’re not melting in this heat!”

“Don’t know!” She shrugged, still smiling. “Just feel good about my bakes!”

Anyone leaving this week would be a loss, Tayce realised, watching everyone else separating into their pairs on this humid day, looking for shelter among the trees around the grounds. But she knew it wouldn’t be Aurora. In fact, she’d be surprised if she wasn’t getting a badge this week.

None of them wanted to go back into the tent. After the early evening shade and breeze started to cool them down outside, the balmy heat inside the tent felt too much. Everyone fanned themselves with their hands and baking trays until the judges came back in.

“We’ll make this as quick as possible for you to get out again,” Paul said, nodding to them, as they all started linking hands again. One long chain of bakers in a row, any link breaking now a loss to them all.

“I’ve got the great job this week of announcing who will be Star Baker.” Matt smiled sweetly at them all. “And this person was calm under the pressure cooker of the Signature, produced a perfect tiramisu cake, and didn’t bat an eyelid at white chocolate.”

Tayce felt Aurora’s nerves, radiating through her skin, on her right; while Asttina’s hand on her left was an iron grip, her feet jiggling against the stool.

“The Star Baker this week is Aurora! Congratulations!”

Aurora gave a squeak of joy, and Tayce grinned at her.

Well, she deserves it.

But when Aurora responded to her grin by looping an arm around her waist and giving her a peck on the lips - in front of the cameras, and the judges - Tayce kissed her back, their arrangement coming back to her in a rush along with every feeling she’d tried to contain.

The person to go home was still to be announced. Aurora turned to Lawrence, on her right, who was blanched and clenching her right hand so tightly her knuckles were white. Tayce reached behind Aurora to rub her back, and Lawrence held her breath.

They were all getting closer now. In fact, no one in this eight hadn’t grown very attached to someone else, Tayce realised with a jolt. Bimini, on Asttina’s left, looked grim, their lips pinched, letting Asttina lean into their arm. Veronica had let go of Tia to hold Lawrence’s right hand in both of hers.

“… Asttina. I’m so sorry.”

Tayce looked up to Asttina, but Asttina wasted no time in getting up and walking to Lawrence, pulling her into the tightest hug, her smile serene and no tears in her eyes.

“Well done,” she was saying, over and over, as Lawrence’s shoulders shook against her. “Well done. You’re doing amazing.”

One by one they all joined the hug, Bimini wiping their eyes with their thumb, the eight of them far too warm but far too close by now to let that matter. Asttina hugged them all briefly individually, leaving Bimini until last, before she left the tent for the exit interview.

Still no tears, peaceful and serene, blowing a kiss to them all.

——

“I thought she was gonna go to the end,” Bimini muttered, nursing their beer.

“I thought so too,” Aurora nodded.

“Says you, Miss Star Baker!” Bimini gave her an elbow in the ribs. “How the hell did you stay so calm, babes? I thought I was gonna explode with that heat. My mullet was catching fire.”

“Don’t know!” Aurora shrugged, still smiling. “Maybe I just found my groove!”

The three of them were alone. Tia and Veronica had already gone up to bed; Veronica citing her long trip back to Rochdale in the morning as an excuse for an early night. But no one had seen Lawrence or Ellie since the exit interviews.

“It feels really weird, everyone leaving,” Tayce said, looking around the room. “Remember when there were twelve of us here?”

“Yeah,” Bimini nodded.

“Far too many.”

“I agree,” Bimini chuckled. “Much better when you all leave so I can take the cake stand.”

Bimini didn’t stay up much later, standing and stretching before going up to their room, leaving Aurora with Tayce in the quiet of the evening, the windows open to encourage the slight breeze inside.

“I feel like I’m finally here,” Aurora said, running her hands through her hair. “Oh, god, I’m so glad I finally got a badge!”

“Congratulations, Aurora!” Tayce patted her knee, but Aurora’s stare was intent, searching her eyes. “What?”

“What made you leave this morning?”

The question took Tayce by surprise. Aurora’s smile was still there, but her eyes had narrowed slightly, her head cocked to the side. Why was Aurora asking about that? Surely she wouldn’t want to wake up next to Tayce, as they were only meant to be faking their flirting to the cameras.

“I just … I don’t know. Wanted to get ready for the day!”

Aurora’s stare was still intense, her eyes boring into Tayce’s as if waiting for her to flinch, and Tayce held her stare, even though she felt she should look away.

Eventually, Aurora leaned in to kiss Tayce, and Tayce responded with a chaste peck, but as Aurora pulled away again, she continued the same stare, a curious smile playing at her lips.

What’s she doing?

“We weren’t exactly doing anything that would make either of our mums upset. It was just nice, and I just wondered why you left me so early.”

But Tayce couldn’t deal with that sort of question right now. Not when her own mind wasn’t even sure of the answer.

This isn’t meant to be happening like this. It’s just for the cameras.

“I’m gonna get a bit of air.”

She stood without another word, making her way to the door of Norton Hall, stepping into the cooling evening. The sun still hadn’t completely set, the sky a pale lavender blue in the east, and the earlier clouds were parting, revealing a sprinkling of stars emerging.

Imagine living here permanently. When I’ve won this thing, and got my TV contract, maybe I’ll buy a place like this for the weekends.

She put her hand on the stone fence, imagining herself bringing out a yoga mat to stretch here in the evenings, with these stars and this calm and those two people on the grass before her -

Wait.

As she looked over the grounds, she could see two figures shadowed in the dying light of the day, laid on the grass at each others’ sides, and she knew it could only be Lawrence and Ellie, even without the purple of Lawrence’s hair, striking against Ellie’s blonde, intertwined in the grass.

So maybe she’d exaggerated to Aurora about what she’d seen last week. Maybe she hadn’t seen them actually sharing a kiss, more looking suspiciously close to. But this time she felt as if she was interrupting a moment. Soft laughter floated on the air towards Tayce, mostly Ellie’s, and she held her breath as she saw Lawrence roll to her side to meet her lips.

Oh, God, finally.

She found herself smiling. Deciding to leave them alone, she went back into the building, closing the door as quietly as she could

Asttina was right about this ‘waxing moon in Cancer’ stuff. Maybe I’ll actually download Co-Star.

——

SEVEN BAKERS REMAIN

#rpdr fanfiction #down with the recipe #juno #taywhora #tayce #a'whora #asttina mandella #bimini bon boulash #veronica green #tia kofi #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #fluff #baking au #gbbo au #lesbian au #fake dating #uk2 #rpdr uk

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mostlycompetentwriter · 5 years ago

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Levanter- Mini Series #1

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Lee Minho

Warnings: Language and some very sad angst at the beginning

Genre: Fantasy AU; Alice in Wonderland AU

Word Count: 2K

Summary: When Y/N loses her mother, it was like dangling from the edge of a cliff, wondering if you should just let go....But she soon comes to realize that there might be an opportunity to escape the pain...

A/N: Uh...happy birthday to Stay, I guess?

"One should never underestimate the power of books,” (Paul Auster)

It was raining again, but that had rapidly become commonplace in my small town. Still, it wasn’t enough to deter my current plans, skating around the crowded shops lining the streets and dodging the uncomfortable looks that were being thrown my way as I tried to protect the innocent little rose that I held tightly against my chest. Actually, when I really think about it, I guess that might sound like a strange introduction, but nothing in my life has ever worked out the way that I envisioned.

But life is unfair to most people, especially for the ones who really don’t deserve it. You see, I was often filled with unadulterated rage whenever I thought about the world’s injustices too much, but that kind of emotion seemed misplaced in the empty cemetery. So, I cleared my thoughts, surveying the quiet gravestones and deciding that it wasn’t surprising to see nobody else around considering the rain drenching my coat and jeans. But I had made her a promise that I intended to keep for the sake of my delicate heart and the memories that I recalled every night before I eventually succumbed to my dark slumber.

At this point, the landscape was memorized inside my head, and I found her headstone among the others, isolated somewhere near the back of the lot. And I carefully lowered my head in greeting, kneeling down to read over the letters forming the syllables of her name. “Hello,” I whispered quietly. “I came to give you this.” I hesitated as I studied the rose, glancing up at the dark-gray sky because the idea of seeing blue again was hardly feasible. “I don’t want the rain to ruin it,” I said, placing the flower next to the others. “I hope you’re doing okay, wherever you are.”

Silence greeted my words, and I waited for something to happen before I decided that it was best to return home.

It was late when I finally walked onto my porch, wrenching open the front door with my wet clothes and damp hair. Thankfully, my grandmother wasn’t around to witness my condition because she would lecture me about how I might catch a cold. I shook my head at the thought, wandering upstairs to change into something more comfortable.

Afterwards, I felt more like myself, verging on the precipice of too optimistic, and I joined my grandmother in the kitchen as she cleaned. “There you are,” she said, smiling at me before pointing to the counter. “I found some old books today.”

“Oh?” I questioned, glancing at them briefly. “Are they from the library?”

“They used to be your mother’s,” my grandmother said and I immediately froze. “I guess they belong to you now,” she continued, smiling at me as she held out the books. I shook myself from my stupor as I took them wordlessly, looking at her for a moment longer before retreating into my bedroom for some necessary privacy.

Immediately, I brought the books to my bedside, placing them on my nightstand while I made myself comfortable on top of the faded sheets. Eventually, I reached for the one on top. “Levanter,” I read the cover, sneezing when the coat of dust on the cover tickled my delicate nose.

They must’ve been in the attic for storage, especially since they looked like children’s books. But if they belonged to my mother, I was inherently curious. So, I opened the book that I held on my lap as I perused the first page, reading over the words in a charming cursive font. “Once upon a time,” I said, sighing at the tired cliche. “There was a world where anything could happen...”

But the words became an all-encompassing desire after that, and I greedily read the words as if they were writing themselves across the pages. I lost track of time, failing to notice my alarm clock creeping closer to midnight. I let out a yawn as I started a new story, finding myself enchanted with the interesting world painting a clear picture inside my head.

However, exhaustion was a disrupting force, and I eventually fell asleep with the book open on my lap, seeing the words dance behind my closed eyelids...

When I opened my eyes again, everything felt very strange. Even more so when I realized that I was outside somewhere, and the sun was hot as its rays penetrated the sparse covering of the clouds. “Oh,” I said, struggling to sit up. “Am I dreaming?”

It explained a lot about my surroundings, including the unusual glow blossoming around the landscape. Like a filter had been placed in front of my eyes, distorting everything around me. It made sense, and I didn’t linger on things too much as I stood tall and swiped my hands along my grass-stained jeans.

There was a path up ahead in the distance, shimmering with an intense golden color, and I started towards it without much consideration. It was inherently interesting, and I desperately sought a closer look. Yet, I grew increasingly frustrated when it felt like, no matter how many steps I took, the amount of space between me and the path remained the same.

I huffed as I stood in place, propping my hands on top of my hips as I glared at the unattainable path. Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was I supposed to sit here and do nothing until my brain decided to wake me up again?

“It does that to most people.”

My heart jumped into my throat at the sudden interjection, and I turned around so fast that I almost fell backwards. The unfamiliar voice belonged to a younger man, eyes narrowed in suspicion, and his orange-colored hair heightened the fierce sting of brown in his gaze. “Oh,” I managed, fanning my hand across my chest. “I didn’t see you.”

The man snorted. “You won’t ever make it there. It’s designed to trick people into pursuing something that they can never have.”

“Really?” I asked, gazing at him with wonder. “Have I met you before?”

Surely, my brain wouldn’t conjure someone into my dream unless I had encountered them before? It made sense because our dreams were reflections of our everyday lives. But I couldn’t place this strange man, and I was certain that I would remember him.

“I don’t think so,” he said, crossing his arms. “It looks like you don’t belong here.”

The observation made me laugh. “In my own dream?”

He paused for a moment, looking at me with wide eyes, before a smirk spread across his features. “It makes sense now,” he said, turning around as he started walking in the opposite direction. “You coming?”

I blinked twice before following him without another word.

His name was Minho, and he seemed to know more about me than I would’ve anticipated from a figment of my imagination. “I was reading a book,” I explained, clutching the tea cup that he had given me. “I think this place is my mind’s construction of the book’s setting.”

“Really?” Minho asked, and he seemed amused by my observation.

“It makes sense,” I said, somewhat offended that he seemed to be treating my words like a joke.

“She said the same thing,” Minho said, and there was a trace of sadness disrupting his previous elation.

“She?” I questioned, looking at him with wide, quizzical eyes. “What do you mean?”

Minho shook his head. “Forget it. This wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

“Again?”

Minho sighed, evidently growing frustrated with my questions. “You’ll wake up soon,” he said with a growl. “Do us all a favor and put that book away. You can’t read it ever again, understood?”

I was wary of the desperation in his tone, mixed with an underlying anger that I couldn’t identify. What had I done that was so bad? “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling very confused by my dream.

“Forget it,” Minho said, placing his tea cup onto the table next to him. “You’ll be gone soon enough.”

I didn’t like the way he had so quickly dismissed me, and I was searching for the right words to retaliate, when there was a sudden knock on the door to his cabin. “Shit!” Minho cursed, looking at me with a slight hint of desperation. “You need to get out of here!”

“What?” I asked, but Minho was already grabbing my arm, pulling me up and leading me into one of the other rooms.

“Stay here,” Minho said, and his tone left little room for argument.

But that still didn’t stop my curiosity, and I was perturbed by his insistence on controlling what I did in my own dream. So, I cracked open the door, and it was just enough to see Minho welcoming another person into his living room. Even from a distance, I could tell that he was devastatingly handsome, eyes wide with brown orbs of caramel and a gummy smile that could light up an entire room. I was instantly enraptured, and it took everything I had to resist the urge to confront this unknown stranger...

“You’ve had company,” the newcomer said, pointing to the discarded tea cups.

“Chan came by earlier,” Minho lied, and I noticed that there was a very peculiar jerkiness to his movements, and he seemed nervous about something.

“Oh,” the stranger said. “I actually came by to grab something that I left from last time.”

“Really?” Minho asked, fidgeting with the tea cups as he walked into the kitchen.

“I’m sure it’s in the bedroom...” he said, and I instantly took a step back when I realized that he was walking in my direction.

“No! Wait, Jisung, don’t...!!”

However, it was too late for Minho’s warning and his attempt at interference, and I found myself face to face with this stranger who, quite suddenly, didn’t appear that unfamiliar anymore. In fact, I’m sure the recognition in his eyes reflected my own, and I watched as a single tear fell down the side of his cheek. “Y/N?” he questioned, and I opened my mouth to respond, but there was a sudden pressure against my chest. Like something was pulling me, and I had barely enough time to process the way Jisung seemed to lurch for me before I was jolting awake in my own bed, sweat perspiring against my forehead.

I took a deep breath, watching those vivid images race through my mind, before I glanced at the abandoned book lying on my nightstand. I reached out for it, fingers gliding across the lettering marking the title...But the I froze, eyes catching on an image that I hadn’t noticed before. Maybe it was because I didn’t expect to see a picture of me as child, smiling from between two boys who glared at one another from over the top of my head.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids han #stray kids jisung #stray kids fanfi #skz fanfic #stray kids angst #skz angst #stray kids fantasy #skz fantasy au #han jisung fanfic #han jisung angst

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thesculptedflower · 5 years ago

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Blue Velvet / Chapter 4

Chapter 4

She woke up alone. The night was still fresh in her memory and the sheets smelled of him. But she woke up alone. His scent still lingered in the room quite strongly, so he must have left only few moments ago. Y/N got up from the bed and threw a morning gown around her body. Even if her spirits were a bit down, her body felt amazing. The previous night had been perfect, in every way, and she only wished it would have lasted longer. She was making her way out of the bedroom when she noticed a pair of green gloves and a note, with a green question mark, on top of the dresser.

The card was folded in the middle, and inside was small map. The map had a region of Gotham, and a small question mark drawn in the middle. On the other side of the card read something. ’’I trust you’ll return me these ;) - Ed.’’ She read. A wave of relief washed over her and for a moment, she felt a little bad for thinking that Ed could have just left without a word. But now she had his address, or at least a direction where to look. And with that newfound energy, she got dressed up, did her hair and makeup and called herself a car. She left the club to go back home, to get properly ready, before beginning this game of cat and mouse.

Oswald wasn’t home when she got to the mansion. She was told that he had an important meeting with a partner and they’d be back for dinner. Both of them. Usually, whenever Oswald had guests regarding his work over, Y/N would stay away. Oswald didn’t want her to hear anything, so no one could use her against him. And she agreed. This dinner wouldn’t be any different.

Y/N was in her room, practicing her singing and violin. She knew that Oswald and his guest would hear her, the dining room was nearly straight bellow her room. Her voice was so powerful it floated easily through the old walls and floors of the mansion. Oswald had told her, that the soft singing had a positive effect on his guests, they were more relaxed and easily manipulated into decisions that were most beneficial for Oswald, of course. So she kept doing it.

’’Swinging in the backyard, pull up in your fast car, whistling my name. Open up a beer and you say, ’’get over here’’ and a play a video game. I’m in his favorite sundress, watching me get undressed, take that body downtown. I say ’’you da bestest’’, lean in for a big kiss, put his favorite perfume on. ’’Go play your video game’’.’’

Singing about love always came with a hint of sorrow. She grew up watching her parents love and care for each other so deeply, caring for her, and teaching her how to love. And then suddenly seeing how the illness tore apart everything they had worked for. No more dancing on the grass, no more listening to the violin. Some days they were strong enough to fight for one another, to hold each other close, but most of the time they were too tired, too much in pain. They were falling together, towards their end. And the end came so fast.

Now that Y/N was older, she was desperately looking for that kind of love her parents taught her. Her last memories of them were tainted with the illness, but that didn’t stop her from believing in the love they had shown her. And that made falling in love dangerously easy.

’’It’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you. Everything I do. I tell you all the time, heaven is a place on Earth with you. Tell me all the things you wanna do. I heard that you like the bad girls, honey, is that true? It’s better than I ever even knew. They say that the world was built for two, only worth living if somebody us loving you. And baby, now you do.’’

She wanted to love, to feel loved, to give everything she had and to receive the same. And now that she had met Ed, she finally felt like there was hope for her. Hope for her to find a love similar to what her parents shared. Y/N knew they had only shared a few moments together with Ed, but their eyes held so much emotion towards each other, she was filling to give it all of her, to make it work. No matter what he did, no matter how other people and the police saw him. She was falling for this man, hopelessly, and she wanted to completely surrender to the feeling.

’’Singing in the old bars, swinging with the old stars, living for the fame. Kissing the blue dark, playing pool and wild darts, video games. He holds me in his big arms, drunk and I am seeing stars, this is all I think of. Watching all our friends fall in and out of Old Paul’s, this is my idea of fun. Playing video games.’’

———————————————————————————————————

Usually Oswald or one of his men would tell Y/N when the house was empty of guests, but it had already been hours, and no one had come to get her. She was starting to get agitated and more importantly, hungry. So she decided, against her better judgement, to get downstairs. The hallways were empty, almost too quiet for her liking. Only a few small candles on the walls were illuminating the dark path. She was just about to take a turn to another hallway, when she was suddenly pushed against the wall. Y/N was about to scream for help, but her mouth was quickly covered with a hand. Panic was quickly taking over, she kept trying to fight the grip on her, but when she recognized the brown eyes and the smile of her ’’attacker’’, her fear was replaced with relief. Ed placed a finger to her lips, motioning her to be silent. Y/N nodded quickly, turning her head around to see if they were alone. Ed pulled her softly by her chin to get her to face him. His lips were once again against hers, and she felt like she was dreaming. Being pressed between the wall and his body, kissing him felt like ecstasy, it was giving her a high so easily. But at the moment, it was also giving her a new kind of fear. ’’We’re going to get caught, and I really don’t want to know how Oswald would react to this.’’ Y/N said between kisses.Ed pulled away just a little, so their foreheads were still touching.

’’Oswald told me to stay away from you, on that first night I saw you perform.’’ Ed said quietly, looking deep into her eyes. ’’I tried, for weeks. I told myself that seeing you up there would be enough, but oh was I wrong.’’ He continued. His eyes told a story of a man who had fallen in love with the one thing he could not have. But Ed wasn’t the type to give up so easily. Y/N could only listen, holding her hand against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat quicken. ’’And tonight, hearing you sing, while I was downstairs with Oswald, I couldn’t help but think the song was for me. I wanted it to be for me.’’ He placed his lips on hers again, pulling her closer from her neck a little rougher this time. With his other hand, he slipped another card in her pocket. ’’I hope you find me soon. Very soon.’’ He had that maniacal smile on his lips, and she knew she had fallen too deep. Edward was already taking steps away from her when she grabbed his hand and pulled him in for another kiss. When she pulled apart, she too, had the same smile on her face.

’’You can’t hide from me.’’

#edward nygma #edward nygma x reader #ed nygma #cory michael smith #cms #Gotham #gotham series #the riddler #the riddler x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #Oswald Cobblepot #the penguin

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joaquinfeed · 5 years ago

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Prompt: Theodore navigating a relationship with a reader who has a kid. OR…4 times Theodore feels like a dad, and 1 time he actually becomes one.

For @reynoldswoodcock who requested a fanfic of Theodore with a kid. I know I changed the prompt just a bit, but I hope you still enjoy it. :)

Warnings: None. Fluffy. Not going to lie, this one’s kinda garbage though.

Word Count: 4,111

C/N = Child’s Name (Pick what you wish)

Theodore could feel the beads of sweat sticking to his forehead as he moves through the park. His hands tremble slightly at his sides. This was the first time he was meeting your daughter, and he was nervous beyond belief. He had been dating you for a little over a month before you came to him with the idea of finally meeting the four-year-old. He understood why you wanted to wait; truth be told, he wanted to wait too.

Between his past marriage with Catherine, and his brief, but passionate love affair with Samantha, he knew how important it was to work out all the kinks in the relationship before introducing something as crucial as a child to it.

On his way to the park, all he could feel was excitement. Every time you talk about the little girl, he watches as your eyes fill with adoration and pride. Finally, he was going to be able to encounter the real-life version of the spark in your eyes. However, now that he was ten feet from the spot he agreed to meet you at, he was reconsidering his past excitement.

“Theodore.”

He turns at the mention of his name and sees you walking towards him with a little figure trotting next to you. His eyes flicker down to the little girl, and his brain nearly short-circuits. Standing in front of him was a miniature version of you— all the way from hair color, to eyes, to the small smile on her face. He took a deep breath before bending down to match the girl’s height level.

“Hi, I’m Theodore,” he says, offering her a small smile. “What’s your name?”

“My name’s C/N,” she says. “Do you like lions?”

“I love lions,” he chuckles before looking up at you, only to see you smiling too. “Why do you ask? Are lions your favorite animal?”

“Yes! I think they are big and loud,” she squeals. “They are big cats!”

“I think you’re right,” he tells her. “I bet lions are bigger than the tallest building in the city.”

The little girl giggles, moving away from you and towards Theodore. “No, silly. Lions can’t be that big.”

Theodore taps his finger to his chin in thought. “Hm, they must be small then. I would need a magnifying glass to see them.”

Another squeal erupted from the child as she shook her head. “No! Not that tiny Theo- Theodorf.”

He chuckles. “Actually, it’s Theod—” he pauses. “You know what? How about you just call me, Theo?”

“Okay, Theo!”

The little girl looks up at you before tugging on your jacket.

“Can I go play on the swings?”

“Sure, baby,” you say, but she remains next to you, tugging on your jacket once more. “What’s wrong?”

She glances at Theodore before mumbling to you, “Can Theo push me?”

“Ask him,” you smile encouragingly at her, and you watch as your boyfriend matches the smile.

“Theo?” She asks, looking bashfully at the man towering over her. “Can you push me on the swings, please?

“Sure, sweetheart. I’d be honored,” he says.

The child lets out a ‘yes’ as she pumps her fist high into the air and takes off towards the swing set. Theodore and you both let out a laugh as he takes a few steps forward to greet you.

“Hey,” he says when he’s finally in front of you.

“Hi,” you wrap your arms around his waist. “Thank you.”

His eyebrows furrow together as he tangles his arms around you too. “For what?”

“For being you. For being so great with her. Seriously, I think she loves you already.”

“No need to thank me, Y/N,” he says. “She is…absolutely incredible. I see why you adore her so much. However, I am glad to have you for a moment.”

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because I can do this,” he leans down and captures your lips in a kiss. Before you can really start to return the kiss, you hear a small voice yelling from behind you.

“Hello? Theo, come push!”

You break apart, chuckling, and walk hand-in-hand over to the swig-set to greet your daughter. As Theodore picks up the child and places her on the swing, he listens to her giggles and mindless chatter, not believing he was actually nervous about this moment earlier.

He thinks he’s going to like this new chapter in his life quite a lot.

—

The next milestone comes months later when he asks you both to stay over. The movie you were watching—Nemo, he thinks—came to an end; he could see exhaustion pour through your features—your eyes threatening to close any minute. He wasn’t sure if spending the night was something you’d be comfortable with yet, especially with your daughter around. He surely didn’t want to rush either one of you.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, glancing over at the four-year-old who’s already passed out between you. “She’s already sleeping, and you look like you will be soon. Why don’t you, if you want to, of course, stay over tonight?”

He watches your face closely for any signs of discomfort, but he only sees you smile softly at him while nodding.

“Sure, if it’s not too much trouble,” you say. “Where will C/N sleep?”

“Don’t worry; you can put her in the guest room. If she needs anything, we’ll be right next door.”

Theodore stands up from the couch, stretching out his limbs from the prolonged sitting. He turns off the TV and gathers up the dishes from earlier’s dinner as you pick up your daughter and head towards the guest room.

After putting the plates in the sink, he heads in the same direction. He finds you placing the little girl onto the bed gently, careful not to wake her up. Little eyes flutter open anyways, as she tiredly glances around the unfamiliar room.

"Where are we?“

"We’re still at Theodore’s. We’re going to sleep here tonight, is that okay?”

She nods, eyes already drooping once more. You place a kiss on her forehead before moving to tuck her into the bedding.

“Hey,” Theodore says, quietly stepping into the room. “Do you think I can tuck her in tonight? Is- is that overstepping boundaries?”

“Not at all,” you smile. You make sure it’s okay with your daughter before placing one last kiss on her forehead and stepping aside to let your boyfriend do the honors.

“Are you all ready for bed?” He asks.

“Yes. Theo?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Are we going to live here now?”

“No, you’re going to go back home tomorrow,” he reassures her. “we’re just having a sleepover tonight.”

“But I like being here wif you,” she grins, sleepily. “Can I say a secret?”

He chuckles lightly, his heart filling with warmth. “Sure.”

“My mommy likes you,” she whispers, although not very well. He can hear you laugh from the doorway behind you, and that makes him smile in response.

“Well, you can tell your mommy that I like her too.”

“Really, you do?”

He nods at the little girl, and the corners of her mouth fly up into a smile.

“Can I say ‘nother secret?”

She doesn’t wait for his response; she only grabs him by his white pajama shirt and yanks as hard as her little arms would let her until his face is next to hers.

“I want you to stay wif us,” she says, placing a quick kiss on Theodore’s cheek before turning over in the bed to go to sleep.

Theodore could feel everything in the room stop as those words left the child’s mouth. He wills his eyes to stay dry, not wanting to scare the girl or make her think she’s said something wrong. He only pulls the blanket around her tiny figure, making sure she’s secured in the bed before flipping off the light and leaving the room with you.

As soon as you both enter his bedroom, he turns to you. “Did you hear that? Did you hear what she said?”

“I did,” you tell him, trying to keep your emotions in check too. “She’s getting attached to you. I didn’t expect it to happen this soon.”

“I feel the same way,” he says, adjusting his glasses out of habit. “When I was with Catherine, we talked about having kids. We were both just so busy with our writing, and to her, nothing she ever did was good enough. So, when it came to kids, being a mother was just another thing she struggled with picturing. With C/N, not that she is my kid or anything, but I just feel like I matter to her. She’s only four, so maybe it’s just in my head.”

“It’s not,” you reach your hand up to run your fingers through his short, curly locks. “She adores you. I can see it. I know I say it all the time, but I really, really want to thank you for being here.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he smiles and leans in to connect your lips. He moves his mouth slowly over yours, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. He can still taste the remnants of earlier’s champagne with a hint of what makes you, you. He adores the way your mouth fits perfectly with his, and the way you make him feel just by a simple kiss or touch. He’s absolutely, one hundred percent completely, in love with you. The hard part now was telling you that.

—

Theodore knew as soon as he woke up in the morning that it was going to be an awful day. Since the night you and your daughter had stayed over for the first time, you both had become a frequent fixture in the Twombly house— often sleeping over, spending the day together, or just coming over for a movie.

However, you had called him this morning and told him that work was keeping you busy tonight, and you and the little girl might not be able to make it over that day. Although he understood, his mood was undoubtedly ruined. On his way to Beautiful Handwritten Letters, he receives his second call from you that morning—this time, asking him for a favor.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Theo; I know you’re on your way to work,” you say before explaining to him the situation. “Apparently, there was a fight at her preschool. Can you please go pick her up? I’m so sorry to ask, but I can’t leave work.”

“No, it’s totally okay. I’ll just let Paul know I won’t be in, and go right over. Will they let me pick her up since I’m not her dad?”

“Yeah, I told them you were coming. Thank you so much; I’m sorry again.”

“Stop apologizing, I really don’t mind,” he says over the phone. “I’ll let you know when we’re back at my place.”

When he arrives at the preschool, his eyes travel over the cement walls filled with crayon drawings and messy paintings, to the colored desks, and cluttered play areas. A man with shaggy black hair and brown eyes waves him over to where he’s standing with C/N, who has quite the dejected look on her face.

“You must be Theodore; I’m Mr. Conrad,” the older man says. Before Theodore can move to introduce himself, the little girl flies out of the teachers’ grasp and bolts towards him.

“Theo! You’re here,” her tiny bottom lip pushes out as tears spill down her cheeks like waves. She crashes into his legs, and he slides his hands under her arms to lift her up, bouncing her gently on his hip.

“What’s wrong, lion?” He asks, using the nickname he had given her because of her knowledge of the animal.

“Don’t be mad,” she cries. “I didn’t mean to play wif him.”

“I won’t be mad,” he assures her, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Tell me what happened.”

“I played wif this boy, but- but he didn’t want to play. He said I was stupid. Am I stupid, Theo?”

Theodore’s heart felt like it was breaking into a million pieces as the girls’ tears dripped down her cheeks, and her broken voice uttered those offensive comments.

“No, sweetheart. You aren’t stupid,” he cooed, gently rubbing his finger over her cheeks to catch the tears. “You are super smart. Who knows so much about lions?”

“I do,” she murmurs sniffling.

“And who’s learning how to read really well?”

“Me.”

“And who thinks you’re the smartest little girl he’s ever met?”

“You,” she says, already knowing the answer. Theodore offers her a smile and nods.

“Yep. I think you must be smart. You’re probably the smartest person in the whole world.”

The little girl bursts into a giggle. “No, Theo. You’re fibbing.”

He shakes his head, confidently. “I am not!”

Her giggles continue as he jokes about sending her away to “smart people camp.”

The teacher watches with a fond smile, playfully interjecting with a few jokes of his own at times. This dynamic continues until every last tear has been shed and dried up.

“Are you ready to go?” Theodore questions, resuming his previous action of bouncing the little girl on his hip. “Do you want to go to mommy’s house or my house?”

“Your house!”

Both adults laugh, and Theodore bids the teacher goodbye after the man promises to set up a parent-teacher conference to address the events that transpired.

“I think the smartest person in the whole world deserves a treat after today,” he tells the girl in his arms as they leave the school.

“Ice-cream?”

“Ice-cream,” he says, recoiling as high-pitched squeals fill his ears. “Just don’t tell your mommy I let you have some before dinner.”

You, obviously, found out about the ice-cream. It turns out, your little girl isn’t so keen on keeping her mouth shut. As soon as your feet cross the threshold of Theodore’s apartment, C/N’s mouth starts moving faster than light to try and unravel the day’s events.

“Then, we got ice-cream!”

You raise your eyebrows at Theodore, and he shrugs, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “My bad.”

“And before dinner,” you whine facetiously. “Really, Theodore?”

“She asked! How could I say no to my cute little lion?”

“I didn’t ask, Theo. You said we would get treat,” the child grins up at the green-eyed man next to her, exposing his lie.

You smirk at the pair, watching as your boyfriend glares teasingly at your daughter.

“I can’t believe you told your mommy that,” he says before looking at you, offering you his best puppy dog face. “Sorry.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you warn him, your eyes shining with adoration.

Theodore falters. Surely you didn’t mean to say those three little words; he wouldn’t blame you for accidentally rambling them out as you joked around.

“You love me?”

Even before the words finish leaving his mouth, he knows the answer. Your eyes are sparkling a similar shine held for gazing at your daughter, only now it was directed at him too. He sees a glimpse of panic cross over your features, but it’s gone as quickly as it came once his lips curved upwards into a beaming smile.

“I do. I love you,” you say, eyes wet with unshed tears. Theodore’s eyes gloss over too, as he thinks back to the last person he used those three words on—Samantha. He knew you were better. He knew you wouldn’t hurt him. He knew you were the one. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

“I love you too.”

—

Screams can be heard all around the store as tiny feet rush around to put their hands on whatever they can grab. It was nearing Christmas time, and past Theodore felt it was an acceptable idea to take C/N to Toys-R-Us. Present Theodore did not agree.

The little girl bounces from aisle to aisle, pointing at every toy that piques her interest. Theodore pushes the cart alongside her, while you trudge close by, looking down at your fingers.

“What’s wrong?

You glance up to see Theodore’s eyes no longer on the long stretch in front of him. Instead, they are focused on you.

"Nothing,” you reassure him. “Just looking at the ring.”

Your fingers trace over the diamond ring, smiling as the events of last weekend resurface in your head. It was your daughter’s birthday, nearly six months after your first 'I love you’s’ were uttered, when Theodore brought you aside after the party.

“I know this isn’t your birthday, but you work really hard,” Theodore said. “I love you so much, Y/N. I wasn’t sure if I was going to feel this way ever again before I met you. I was convinced I had felt true love with Catherine and Samantha, and maybe I did in a way. But nothing compares to the pure, and utter happiness I feel with you. I want that to last a lifetime; so, lion and I got you a little gift too.”

The small girl skips over to Theodore; he hoists her up into his arms, and she leans over to you and sets a small box into your waiting fingers.

“Open it, mommy!”

Theodore watches nervously as you carefully prop open the box, a small sob escaping your lips as you see the contents inside.

“Marry me,” Theodore mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Yes. Oh my God, yes,” you choke out, chuckling out of disbelief. Your eyes meet, and Theodore’s smile grows twice it’s size as he slides the ring onto your finger.

That will be a moment you never get over, and never fully recover from. The sheer happiness you feel just by thinking about your future with Theodore is enough to make the tears threaten to appear.

“I know, it’s beautiful,” Theodore jokes, nodding towards the ring. You shove him playfully and resist the urge to kiss him right in the middle of the store.

“Mommy! Theo! Look!"

You both turn towards the voice but are met with a massive stuffed lion in place of the little girl. Theodore chuckles as she attempts to poke her head around the toy to gape up at the pair.

"I found a big lion!”

“He’s as big as you baby,” you smile at your daughter, who’s still attempting to carry the overly-humungous plush.

“Can I take him home?”

“Christmas is coming up,” you remind her. “We’re only looking for gifts you might want.”

“But mommy,” she whines. “What if he’s gone then?”

“They’ll restock,” you say.

“What is restock?”

“It means they’ll bring more lions to the store when they run out,” Theodore explains. The little girl doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer. Her lips start trembling, and her eyes soon filled with tears.

“But, Theo, this is the one I want. What if someone takes him?”

Her small cries become louder, so Theodore takes the lion out of her tight grip, sitting it down on the floor before kneeling in front of her.

“What if we make a deal?”

She sniffles, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “Like what?”

“Mommy and I will get this lion for you since this is the one you want, but you have to wait until Christmas to play with him.”

“No! I need him now, Theo,” she hiccups.

“I hear you, sweetheart. We know that you want it. I bet the lion you picked out was the best one they had here, right?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

“We will take it home with us. You just have to be good, and you can have it for Christmas.”

You kneel next to your fiancé, wiping the tears off the little girls’ cheeks.

“You know what, baby? Christmas is only a few sleeps away,” you tell her. “You’d see him again really soon. You just have to be patient with mommy and Theo. Remember what Theo taught you about patience?”

“Yes.”

You smile, moving to stand up with Theodore. “Okay, so can we take the lion home and put him away until Christmas?”

“Okay, mommy.”

You both smile at each other triumphantly, and Theodore places the plush lion in the cart. You take ahold of the cart this time, as C/N holds her arms up to Theo, asking to be carried. He picks her up and struts after you down the aisle.

You both only get a few steps in when one of the employees nearby stops you both.

“I’m sorry if I overstep, but I have a new son; he was just born,” the young man says. “I’ve been worrying about how to handle certain situations, and toy buying was one of them. I overheard you guys, and I just wanted to say I think you handled it perfectly. You make great parents; she’s lucky to have a mom and dad like you.”

Theodore blushes at the comment, and neither one of you make an effort to correct the employee. Instead, you thank him and continue your journey to the cash register, sending loving glances to each other the rest of the way there.

—

When Theodore’s birthday arrives, the day is hectic for you and your daughter as you attempt to arrange the perfect 'family’ party for you three. Theodore insisted that you not plan anything; he really just wanted to stay home with his girls. And honestly, you wanted the same thing. So, that’s how you ended up on the couch all day, vegging out on cake and watching films until nightfall.

Although it wasn’t much, Theodore couldn’t have pictured a better day. His birthday, which was usually spent alone or with past flames, was now filled with love and laughter from his two favorite people in the world.

A few gifts were exchanged throughout the day. You had purchased him a new watch for him to wear, a blue button-up shirt, and a couple of other miscellaneous items that he loved. C/N had also gotten him a gift, but you were both saving it for the end of the night. When the time came, you led him to a chair and sat him down in it.

“Can I get a hint at least? I’m nervous,” he chuckles, and you lean down and place a lingering kiss on his lips. “If that’s your hint, I think I’m going to like this surprise.”

You roll your eyes at him before calling C/N over. She comes running with a yellow folder in her small hands, as well as a card. She reaches her hands out and gives them to Theodore.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he replies.

She holds her arms up, and he helps her climb onto his lap before tearing open the card.

You may not be my dad now, You were not at my birth. But I love you all the same. The greatest guy on Earth.

You call me little lion. And I don’t want that to stop. You make me feel at home, And I love you a whole lot.

You look at me with pride, Like I hung the stars and moon. You may not be my dad now, But will you be real soon?

Theodore finished reading the card, and he couldn’t stop the tears that cascaded down his pale cheeks.

“Did you and mommy write this together?”

“Yes! We wrote a nice letter, just like you do,” the little girl smiled proudly. “Open the folder!”

With shaky hands, he rips off the seal of the folder, pulling out the papers from inside.

“Adoption,” he breathes out, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, Theo,” you chuckle, your own tears welling up at the sight. “We love you.”

“Don’t cry, daddy.”

Small hands pat his tear-stained face, as he holds back another small sob after hearing her call him dad.

“I’m okay, Lion. Just happy,” he says. “You really want me to be your daddy?”

“Yes! It will be the best ever!”

He keeps her held in his arms as he jumps up from the chair. He drops the papers onto the floor and twirls her around as she squeals.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he kisses her cheek before walking over to you. “And I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Theo.”

You beam at each other, and Theodore captures your lips, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of your mouth on his own.

The little girl groans. “Mommy, daddy, stop kissing!”

He chuckles against your lips, pulling away reluctantly. Parenting may be hard some days; he learned that even before he became one. But, he knows with one hundred percent certainty, he wouldn’t trade any of this for a single thing in the universe.

#joaquin phoenix #theodore twombly #Her #Her movie #Theodore twombly x reader

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bohemian-rhapsody-slash · 5 years ago

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I imagine Paul suffered from PTSD as a result of John’s death. How would it be explained to Paul and later on the kids seeing as mental health was not a major priority during the 70s-80s

Every night he has the same dream.

He’s coming home with John and he hears a gunshot. It makes his heart stop and his blood freeze.

And then John is pushing Paul out the way, pushing him to safety as another shot is fired, and another and another and another-

There’s so much blood. There’s blood everywhere.

Paul is screaming and people are trying to help him but the life is slipping from John’s eyes-

The ambulance takes too long to come. It feels like an eternity. The police take them to the hospital instead.

They bundle John into the back of their car and Paul cradles his Dom’s head, stroking his hair and praying to anyone that will listen.

John tries to say his name but it just comes out as a choked gurgle.

When they get to the hospital, Paul is beyond tears.

He’s got no pulse, he’s not breathing-

And then he wakes up screaming.

*****

The therapist gives him a sympathetic nod. “And you have this same dream every night?”

“Every night,” Paul confirms, his stomach churning just thinking about it. “It’s always the same.”

The therapist gives him a knowing look. “It’s not uncommon, you know. We call it submissive hysteria. It happens quite often when subs lose their Doms. Your mind and your body are yearning for your Dom, and as he’s not around to help you direct your extra emotional charge and see to your submissive needs, you’re trying to find another way to release all these emotions.”

Paul blinks. “Submissive hysteria?”

He can’t quite believe he’s paying a small fortune to have his feelings reduced to submissive hysteria.

“That’s right. My advice to you would be to find another Dom to claim you as soon as possible.”

“But I don’t want to be claimed again,” Paul says quietly. “And I don’t feel ready to find another Dom.”

“Mr Lennon, I can assure you that most problems submissives bring to me can be resolved by them being taken care of by a good Dom. This is no exception.”

Paul finds himself losing interest in anything further the Dom has to say, and he leaves the session feeling even more lost than he did before.

#mclennon #i belong to you forever

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slashertalks · 4 years ago

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Could you review Misery?

Ok so this was an interesting one.

I love Stephen King, and apparently love Rob Reiner films? The Princess Bride, Stand by Me, This is Spinal Tap— what a varied selection of films, and all of them damn good! Kudos.

I think there’s just something about Misery as a story that I don’t enjoy, particularly because of what I do here. There are certainly toxic fans— the spread of RPF (real person (fan)fiction) on the internet is a prime example. I’m certainly not saying I relate to Annie in any way; it’s more that Paul’s almost equally unlikable to me. He’s not an unsympathetic character, and burnout and frustration are real and valid emotions. Something about him just didn’t click with me.

Perhaps it’s because I’m a creator struggling to maintain some small semblance of a platform. What I do, whether its reviews or fanfiction or art gets near zero attention. I’m lucky to get a handful of likes, and all the reblogs on my posts tend to be from myself and my boyfriend. That is to say, I have no fans that I’m not personally associated with through friendship or dating.

Misery is a complicated story to look at for me, because in no way do I believe Paul should be grateful for Annie, but Stephen King was never abducted and tortured by his fans. Though I’m fully sympathetic to the dilemma creators face when a certain type of work becomes all they’re known for, and therefore holds them back, as a small creator this piece just makes me frown. I can appreciate venting through your art, and feel no real anger at King for creating Misery. It’s just not enjoyable. Acting-wise it’s excellent, and as far as stylistic choices go I can say it’s quite good, but it’s not a movie I’d ever consider watching again.

Anon, what I’m about to say is in no way directed to you. I appreciate every single ask in my inbox, and enjoy the act of watching movies to write these posts, whether or not I actually enjoy the film. I want you to know I appreciate you, and each and every one of my small number of followers. Genuinely and with all of my heart, I enjoy any interaction I get on this blog, and look forward to running these little free reviews. I plan to make them a regular thing, as time and energy allow. However, the fact that I have to fight for interaction is draining, and deeply frustrating. I have to reblog that promo post I made over and over and over, and this time I only got two asks. Two asks which I am, again, very grateful for — but two asks which I had to fight for. I can only hope that someday I’ll reach a level of popularity where I get asks as soon as I make a promo post, rather than scraping and clawing over six days to get two to four.

To have even a shadow of the popularity of Paul, or King, would be a miracle. A dream come true, and though I hope I never have to personally face an Annie of my own, there’s nothing that could make me so frustrated with my followers that I’d craft my personal Misery.

You all make me smile. Every note a post gets, every ask, every suggestion— it fuels my passion for this blog and the work I do. And as a creator that struggles for any recognition, Misery just feels ungrateful. Normally I really enjoy these kinds of movies, and I can recognize its qualities, but I just can’t be unbiased here. We’re all separated by screens and state lines and possible even country borders or continental divides, but every post that goes up on this blog comes from a place of genuine enthusiasm and every ask I receive is met with a smile. Please never feel like you’re bothering me, and please continue to send asks. I’m so happy to be able to write for you all.

#misery #this was a very personal thing ig it wasnt rlly a review but that was honestly a really frustrating movie #as a VERY small creator #Anonymous

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wannabealexjenningscoffee · 5 years ago

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Performing Hamlet : actors in the modern age

by Jonathan Croall

In 1997 it was Alex Jennings' turn to play Hamlet for the Royal Shakespeare Company, directed by Matthew Warchus at Stratford and the Barbican in London. The following year the production was staged at the Kennedy Centre in Washington, and at the Opera House of the Brooklyn Academy of Music, New York.

Cast: Claudius: Paul Freeman, Gertrude: Susannah York, Laertes: William Houston, Horatio: Colin Hurley, Polonius: David Ryall, Ophelia: Derbhle Crotty, Player King/Ghost: Edward Petherbridge, Gravedigger: Paul Jesson.

I know that by cutting the play you could diminish it, but by cutting a couple of courses from a banquet you can make the flavours sharper and richer.

This was Matthew Warchus' argument for his decision to cut around a third of Shakespeare's text for his stylised, modern-dress RSC production of Hamlet. Conflating the three existing versions of the play, his aim was to focus on the domestic story, since 'Hamlet is a play absolutely saturated with the words father, mother, sister, brother, son, daughter, uncle'. He further explained: 'I feel that what I am doing is taking the play out of the hands of the academics and intellectuals and bringing it back into the area of relationships', adding that 'more than any other play I have directed, I am doing this with my heart, not my head'.

In this modern Elsinore the two families lived together with their staff in an isolated house. The play began with Alex Jennings' Hamlet holding his father's ashes in an urn at the front of the stage, then scattering them on the ground in front of a screen, on which a black-and-white home movie showed him as a boy, playing in the snow with his father and running joyfully into his arms. Simultaneously the audience heard over the speakers Claudius announcing 'Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green'.

The screen was then flown away, casting Hamlet into a raucous, vulgar party celebrating his mother's wedding to Claudius, with balloons, fireworks and bridesmaids, with champagne corks popping, pop music blaring, coloured lights flashing - 'a gaudy purple disco' as one critic described it - and Claudius groping Susannah York's smiling Gertrude in foll view of the guests. Lurking on the sidelines, Hamlet took polaroid photos of Claudius, which he would later use in the closet scene to show Gertrude the contrasting images of her two husbands. The first scene was cut, the Ghost instead initially appearing at the party in a smoking jacket, speaking to Hamlet about 'murder most foul', then drifting away.

Jennings' disturbed Prince, occasionally drawing on a cigarette, was clearly on the edge of a nervous breakdown. He spoke 'To be or not to be' with a pistol pointed at his head, then carried it around in a paper bag, and considered using it when be came across Claudius at prayer. Soon after he employed it to kill Polonius, and in the final scene, after Claudius had drunk the poison, he fired a bullet into his dying body.

The play-within-a-play provided a striking image: Robert Smallwood described 'the eerie, jerky presentation of The Murder of Gonzaga as a shadow play on a screen, in front of which Hamlet pranced in a brilliant crimson jacket, white face and painted-on smile - circus master, clown, MC - and the shadow of Lucian us, bending to administer the poison, loomed huge and distorted in front of Paul Freeman's suave, expensively suited Claudius, while Hamlet joined in with sing-song recitation of the incriminating lines, until even the hard-headed self-control of the usurper could take no more'. With Fortinbras and the attendant politics excluded, the play ended with 'And flight of angels sing thee to thy rest'; Horatio's voice was then heard over the speakers announcing 'all this can I/ Truly deliver'.

In a diary piece published during the run Jennings admitted: 'I never particularly wanted to play the part. Adrian Noble, the RSC's artistic director, asked me; I was quite surprised, but there was no possibility of saying no - it seemed slightly churlish, and I knew I probably wouldn't get the opportunity again, as I was fast approaching forty.' He also mentioned his recurrent back problem. 'On stage, the adrenalin takes over, but sometimes I notice it. Hamlet is quite physical; you're on stage for four hours and you are knackered by the end of it, physically and mentally.'

After playing the role twice in one day in a matinee and evening performance, he confessed to being 'absolutely exhausted'. We have a lie-down between shows, and I get up feeling a bit punchy before the second one. I don't do any special preparation; I just try to empty my head and see what happens, see what the words do. What's so wonderful about Hamlet is that you are never going to be definitive; you just have to try to tell the story in a clear and fresh way. Luckily the play is pretty good, so it supports you, and there's always something else to be mined from it.

His exhaustion found expression that night: 'Something went wrong with the sound system. I broke a prop in a fit of pique in the wings - Hamlet's father's urn. I threw it at the table. I don't usually do that kind of thing.' There was Smallwood observed, 'no denying the production's absorbing and exciting theatricality'. He also admired Jennings, who spoke with all that intelligent, graceful command of the verse that one has come to expect of him, and made one feel the isolation and pain of Hamlet with unrelenting intensity.' Ann O'Bryan praised him for 'a magnificent tour de force of verse speaking. He's a brilliant master of Shakespeare's verse, and here in a deliberately downbeat conversational tone he makes every thought crystal clear as if newly minted, so that the sense and the beauty of the poetry shine through.' Charles Spencer was less sympathetic: 'Jennings's pistol-toting Hamlet had warmth, charm and a wry self-mo king humour, without ever penetrating the play's depths. This was Hamlet Lite.'

In 1998 the production moved to Brooklyn, as the opening play in a five-play RSC eason. It met a harsher critical reception than it had in England. In the New York Times Ben Brantley criticised Warchu for providing what is less a thoroughgoing interpretation than a series of noisy distraction ... The evening is shot through with adrenalin, and it features a few stunning images but at the sacrifice of any emotional continuity and often clarity of plot. Tremendous effort has obviously been exerted to bring freshness to familiar scenes and speeches, which are sometimes tossed off at such a speed as to be incomprehensible. The overall effect is one of bright sparks of electricity without any flowing current ... As an interpretation of Shakespeare's most introspective play, it sticks exasperatingly close to its showy surface.

Allan Wallach was similarly uneasy:

By now, unfortunately, these kinds of modernising devices have hardened into trendy cliches. Here, they become substitutes for a point of view; the production seems to have little on its mind but costumes and cleverness ... With very little heft to the characters, the tragic elements are curiously remote. Even when the lines are impassioned, you don't feel the emotion driving the characters ... While the RSC may be right to strive for more inventive ways to rage a classic, the result here doesn't give the play overall the dimensions it demands.

#alex jennings #hamlet #rsc #shakespeare

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