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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

Note

I think it would be really interesting for leo and sirius to talk ab how they both didn’t go to college and how they both joined the nhl at 18 but had v different upbringings

Ooo, I like this one! I’m always down for some Cap and Knutty bonding. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for mentioned bad parenting

“Kinda weird, isn’t it?” Leo said, breaking the nighttime silence after many long minutes of just their breathing. Sirius hummed in question. “Starting all this so young.”

Sirius made a noncommittal noise and Leo shifted, never taking his eyes off the sky. There was too much light pollution to see the stars properly in Gryffindor, but the roof of the rink didn’t have a bad view; the planes flying overhead brought pinpricks of brightness to the indigo blur.

“Was it hard for you?”

He heard Sirius’ coat move. “Was what hard?”

“Starting the NHL at eighteen.”

There was a long beat of silence. “Sometimes.”

“I didn’t know if I would make it,” Leo confessed, still barely above a murmur. Nobody else was around, but it didn’t feel right to talk in normal voices. The whole world was muted, save for the noise of the city below them. “There was just so much to do.”

Sirius laughed softly. “I hate to break it to you, rookie, but that doesn’t change.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“Before, or now?”

Leo thought for a moment. “Both.”

“Before, I would go home and shoot pucks until I was too tired to stand up. Sometimes I would read.” It wasn’t a secret, but it still made Leo’s heart hurt to remember. Nobody as kind and hardworking as Sirius deserved that. “Now, I make myself some food, take a shower, and steal Re’s softest hoodie.”

Leo could hear his smile in the dark—it echoed his own. “Nothing better, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Finn’s fit me best,” he mused. “But Lo’s smell better.”

“Ah, he finally discovered deodorant?”

“Shut up,” Leo teased, elbowing his ribs. Sirius laughed a little louder; in the light of the streetlamps and the absence of his granite-hard focus, it was easy to remember that he was only 26. Leo had worshipped him as a kid, but now he just saw Sirius for what he was. His captain, who guided him through the playoffs even when his personal life was crumbling apart. His older brother, though Sirius certainly wouldn’t think of him that way. His friend.

“Really, though, it’s important to have those connections,” Sirius said when they both calmed down. “Being alone is good, but only if you know you have people to talk to when you need them.”

“Was it easier when you weren’t living with someone?”

“No.” The answer was immediate.

“Sometimes I want the apartment to myself.” Leo lowered his voice unconsciously, then sighed. “It’s not because I don’t want them there. I just need to be alone. Wash the dishes. Clean my room. Call my mom.”

“You should tell them.”

He turned his head slightly; Sirius was still scanning the sky. “Is that what you did?”

“It took a couple hiccups, but yeah. If one of us needs some alone time, the other will go to the grocery store or take a walk, maybe hang out with friends. You just have to make sure your boys know that it’s not personal.”

“You’re freakishly good at sage advice.”

Sirius snorted. “Merci, rookie.”

“I’m not a rookie anymore.”

“Yeah, you are.” He raised his hands, as if outlining a marquee. “The Eternal Rookie, starring Leo Knut.”

Leo stuck his tongue out, feeling rather petulant about the whole thing. “Watch it, Cap, I’m gonna sic Dumo on you.”

“My own father?” Sirius gasped dramatically. “How could you?”

“Did you ever get homesick?”

The question was out of the blue—he didn’t blame Sirius for faltering. Honestly, Leo was kicking himself for asking in the first place, though he had been keeping it in for ages. Unspoken rule of the Lions #1: Don’t ask Cap about his childhood.

“I…” Sirius fell silent once more.

“I’m sorry,” Leo apologized, and he meant it. “That came out of nowhere.”

“I missed Regulus,” Sirius continued carefully without acknowledging him. “But no, I didn’t get homesick. I didn’t have time, or a real reason.”

Alone in a new city, finally out of a horrible living situation, but desperately missing the little brother he left behind… Leo couldn’t even begin to imagine going through it when the NHL by itself was already overwhelming to his teenage brain. He scooted an inch closer until their shoulders touched. “I get homesick every couple of months.”

“You have a kind family.”

“Have you even met them?”

“At the party.” Sirius’ smile was practically audible. “Your mother was very excited to see me.”

“Oh, god,” Leo groaned. “What happened?”

“She—“ He broke off with a laugh. “She was very nice, I promise, but I think I surprised her because she squeaked when I said ‘hello’.”

Leo shook his head. “Did you sneak up on her?”

“I’m six two, I can’t sneak up on anyone!”

“You walk like a fucking ghost, dude! It’s creepy!”

“Okay, rude.”

“I swear, you and Loops need to be belled like cats,” Leo huffed.

They lapsed back into comfortable quiet for a few more minutes as a train rattled past on one side and the metro busses rolled down Main Street on the other. It had taken Leo a long time to figure out Gryff’s layout, and even longer to get used to the sounds of the city.

“What does it feel like?”

Leo blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly. “What?”

“Being homesick.” Sirius shifted again and folded his hands over his stomach. “I didn’t notice much of a difference in practices when I started the NHL, and going back to my parents’ house wasn’t my exactly a highlight of my year.”

Curiosity overrode his tact and reasoning skills. “You never asked Logan?”

“Non. It was different, with him. He had already left to go to college before I knew him, and spent four years away from his family.”

“Right.” Leo forgot about that on occasion. That Finn and Logan might be five years older than him, but they had only been rookies a year or two prior. Not everyone went straight from their city select team to an official draft. “It’s hard to describe.”

Sirius made an understanding noise, but he couldn’t entirely mask his disappointment. Leo licked his lips and tried again.

“It’s like a piece of you isn’t where it’s supposed to be. And it keeps tugging on your chest, but you never know when it’s going to start and stop so you just… deal with it. You ignore it some days and you think about it other days.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “The hard days are when you remember you can’t go back to the way things were before. I don’t even call my mom sometimes, ‘cause I know it’ll make me sadder.”

“The way things were before?”

“Yeah, like—like all my classmates are in college, and I’m laying on a roof with one of the most famous hockey players in the history of forever.” That drew a light laugh from them both. “I’m gonna go back to my reunion in a couple years and have literally nothing in common with the people I used to be friends with.”

“Sometimes I wish I went to college,” Sirius said. “But I would have missed so much if I did. I don’t think I would have been happy there.”

“Finn and Logan get weird about college.” Maybe he shouldn’t be talking about it, but Leo had the feeling none of their conversation would leave the rooftop. “It was hard for them, with all their shit.”

“Re does, too.” He recognized the sad edge in Sirius’ voice; it was the same as his own. “For a different reason. It started good, and ended bad.”

“I’m glad I missed out on that,” Leo said, biting down the urge to scream at the universe for putting their significant others through so much hardship at an already-difficult time. None of them deserved the pain they went through. “Besides, it’s not like we need degrees to play hockey, and we’ll have plenty of money afterward.”

“I never thought about my life after hockey until my ankle.”

“My parents always pushed me to make sure I wanted to do the NHL instead of more school.”

“You’re lucky to have them.”

“I wish you did.”

The words hung suspended between them before Leo could swallow them back down, somehow dangerous and calming at the same time. It wasn’t like he had never thought about it before; he just hadn’t said it out loud. The first time he had seen Sirius’ parents across the rink had given him a case of the heebie-jeebies so strong he had to shower twice. All the times after that just made him angry.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Sirius’ voice was quiet, but not upset. “You’re not the first person to say it. I’m glad you feel like you can be honest with me.”

Leo frowned. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

“I try really hard to not be an asshole captain, so it actually does mean a lot.”

“I don’t think you could be an asshole if you tried.”

The barking laugh that split the night startled Leo so bad he nearly jumped out of his skin; Sirius clapped a hand over his mouth, though he was still snickering. “Sorry, sorry, I just—holy shit, I forgot you didn’t know me before. Mon dieu.”

“You weren’t that bad,” Leo protested. “Pots said you used to be grumpier, but that’s it.”

Sirius shook his head, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I was such a dick. There’s not a single picture of the whole team where I’m smiling for about two years and I was such a stickler for the rules.”

Leo gaped at him. “You followed rules?”

“To the fucking letter. It was awful.”

“What happened?”

Sirius shrugged. “I got friends. Idiot friends who did things like showing me the easiest way onto the roof. Pots used to drag me up here every Friday.”

“Really?”

“Ouais.” Mischief flitted over his face. “He skipped date night with Lily once on accident, and she tracked us up here like a bloodhound. It was terrifying.”

“What did you do?” Lily was one of the nicest people Leo knew, but he knew better than to get on her bad side.

“Lied to her face while James hid behind that strobe light.”

“Did it work?”

“Are you kidding?” he snorted. “She called me a liar and suggested getting a better best friend. That was after she told James he’s better have something nice planned for their next date if he ever wanted to get in her pants again.”

“And yet you didn’t listen to her.” Leo tsked. “Of all the people on the team, you chose the hot mess.”

“Trust me, rookie, James had his whole life figured out compared to me.”

“Did you…” Leo trailed off and but his lip. He had pushed his luck a lot already; who knew if one more question would be the tipping point? “Did you ever think about coming out? Even just to Pots.”

Sirius didn’t hesitate. “After every single game.”

“For seven years?”

“Up until the day those pictures were leaked. Even more after Re and I were together.”

“How old were you when you knew?”

“13. You?”

Leo exhaled slowly. “I’m not sure. I think I had an idea of it as a kid, but didn’t really get it until I was in high school. My parents were even more worried about the NHL after I told them.”

“They worry a lot about you.”

“Only child, and I was going for a wildly unstable career path with no guarantee that I would ever see the ice.”

“They’re proud of you. More than you know.” Sirius’ watch beeped. “It’s ten o’clock. Are you supposed to be home?”

“I should probably make sure my boys haven’t burned down the apartment.” Neither of them made an attempt to move. “Can we do this again sometime?”

“Of course.”

You’re like a brother to me, he wanted to say. I don’t know who else I can talk to like this. “Thank you.”

“Any time. We don’t have to do extra practice beforehand, either.”

Leo nudged him gently. “You’re the best captain ever.”

“You’re the best rookie, rookie.”

“I’m not a rookie.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Yeah, I am, he thought as they laid side-by-side in silence once more with the past behind them and the future ahead. And if I end up like you, it means I did something right.

#leo knut #sirius black #coops #oknutzy #finn ohara #logan tremblay #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #friendship #cap and rookie

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Productivity

Prompt: if you’re still open to prompts could you write some Roman-centric hurt/comfort? Maybe with him overworking himself and Logan finding him?

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: Logince, can be platonic or romantic you decide, implied mociet, implied parental anxciet and moxiety

Warnings: Roman’s pretty hard on himself, so self-doubt, self-destructive tendencies, can be interpreted as self-harm if you squint but nothing graphic/explicit, self-esteem issues, sympathetic dark sides

Word Count: 5850

Roman is loud. Roman is extra. Roman is brimming with all the trimmings and trappings of an extravagant parade and it is impossible to ignore him when he walks into a room.

After all, when you’ve only got 0.5% of a day to make yourself count, you learn not to let a single second of it slip by.

Roman has to be perfect for that 0.5%. He can’t slip up even once or he risks that 0.5% slipping away entirely. He has his ideas, he has his witty barbs prepared, he has his improv skills ready, and he never stops moving. Which means the other 99.5% has to be used very wisely.

He has to get the ideas thought up, drafted, edited, and ready to be passed off. He has to be primped and coiffed and never look for a second that he’s been caught off guard. He has to work.

Logan’s the one with the schedule, anyone will tell you that. It’s up on his wall, perfectly ordered and color-coded with half a dozen dry erase markers and post-its next to it, all ready to go the instant it needs to be adjusted. Logan’s discipline is evident in the way he speaks, dresses, acts, it’s right there for the world to see.

Roman’s discipline is in the hours and hours he spends in front of his computer, or with a pen in his hand, or with the sword at his side. It’s in the way his fingers beat out anxious rhythms against the keys or forget what letters are supposed to look like halfway through writing a word. It’s in the way he can sit down for six hours and write and write and write until his eyes are strained but the words are here.

Patton worries when that happens, knocking on Roman’s door with his voice full of concern, food, water, even just a hug. Roman always hollers at him to come in only to bounce from one corner of the room to the next as he tries to figure out what to write next, how to hit the next plot point, or barely looks up from his frantic typing as he assures Patton that yes, he’s fine, thank you for asking, yes, he’s taken breaks, he’s just so close to a stopping point then he’ll give him a hug, okay? Patton leaves reassured and Roman’s fingers fly. He doesn’t come by that often so it’s okay.

He can’t start tasks and not finish them. He has so much to do that it’s not worth starting one thing and leaving it off because he’ll forget it. Better to sit there and see something all the way to the end than get interrupted and start something else and risk forgetting what he was going to do. So he has to work through it, get into that zone where all he has to think about is the rhythmic click-click-click of the keyboard and making sure his words machine is going going going. And if that means sometimes he looks up and it’s only been ten minutes or he looks up and it’s been a whole hour, well. Push through. Once he’s in the zone he can just go. It’s just a matter of getting there.

Roman’s quite proud of the way he’s built his schedule, if he does say so himself. Once he gets into the zone and works he can get all the projects he needs to get done in a day dusted and dried, set aside for review or further brainstorming. After all that, it’s normally near his 0.5% time, so he dusts himself off and wears that big smile and rides the high of a job well done to fuel his princely persona until the 0.5% is over. If it’s just dinner, it’s done by the time the meal is over. If he’s spending a little time with the others, they normally tire of him before it runs out. If it’s movie night, well…it’s dark. And he can sit away from everyone else.

It’s a very efficient system. Logan would be proud.

Except, well…

Okay. Here’s the thing.

Roman’s Creativity, yes, but he’s also Passion, Desire, Romance, a lot of things.

He’s also the Ego.

That makes him…squishy.

It’s not that he can’t take criticism, far from it—criticism and feedback is one of the things that makes everyone better. It’s just that he…okay, this is going to sound really stupid, but he’s just…he’s just very bad at receiving any sort of feedback, okay?

Compliments are wonderful and make his chest all warm and fuzzy but they also make his face flush redder than his sash and make him want to be very, very small. Positive feedback makes him want to skip to the end to find out what else he needs to do or shrink away from the bright spotlight he’s suddenly found himself in.

No feedback is awful. He wants to make a difference, to do something, talk about something with someone. He wants to be here, to be present, to talk and listen and create. He can’t create in an empty room.

Constructive criticism is…hard.

It’s so fucking stupid. He knows everything isn’t perfect. Nothing’s ever really finished, it just gets to a point where you’ve used it to say what you need it to say at that moment and you let it go. And he needs help to get it there before he gives it up, he knows this, he knows this.

And it’s not even that it comes as only things he needs to work on. It’s always both strengths and weaknesses—sorry, things that could be better—it’s not like it's just a pile of ‘stuff you did wrong.’

And most of the time it’s good feedback. It makes him a better creator, helps him understand his audience more. And it’s genuinely really insightful, like they obviously took time to understand the work and think about it and want it to be more like what he wants it to do. They care and it’s obvious and it shows and Roman really should understand this because he makes fun of the things that he loves.

So why, please, Roman would like to know, why is he hunched over his desk with his head on a book as his throat tears itself raw?

His lungs are screaming at him to get air and he’s gasping at nothing, his nose way too stuffed up to do anything other than dribble horrifically all over his work. His gaze is focused on nothing. The letters in front of him blur into meaningless black squiggles. Spit drips out the side of his lips. His hands clutch at nothing. And his chest aches so so bad.

One of his hands comes up to clutch at the front of his costume. The sash groans in protest. He can hardly feel the indents of his knuckles. He pushes harder. It still just hurts. Why does it hurt?

He spent six hours writing this idea from scratch. He poured over and over this thing until his eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his head and he worked so hard. And he—he thought he did good.

It’s did ‘well,’ Roman.

Roman winces, another wave of—oh hey, he’s crying. When did that happen?—another wave of tears spilling behind his eyes, making them ache too.

It was the only idea of the last batch that everyone wanted and—and Thomas asked for it to be done and he wanted to have time to work on the other things that Thomas wasn’t sure about and make it so Virgil didn’t have to stress about everything and he worked so hard on it and it was—he thought it was good and he’s being so fucking ridiculous right now.

Logan has said parts of it were good. He’d complimented Roman on how much he’d been able to write in such a short amount of time. He’d asked if Roman would want to talk about some of this stuff in greater detail at a later time because he’d been interested and obviously Roman had opinions and things to say about it.

And that counts for something, or at least it should.

But…but Logan had also said that the framework was wrong.

The framework was wrong. That—that was the whole point of the story. The framework was supposed to convey the message and the message was supposed to come across and it doesn’t matter that Logan thought some of the stuff was good because it was made to suit the framework that Roman thought they wanted but it’s not which means he has to rework the whole thing entirely because it’s not what they wanted and—

And Logan said it should be reorganized which is not how a story works because he can’t just cut and paste things to fit where he wants them because he has to make sure it works and it makes sense and if he has to rewrite the structure and the message then he—he—

He has to start over.

A wracked sob tears its way out of Roman’s throat, right into the pages of the book. Six hours. Six hours. Down the fucking drain. He could’ve—he could’ve spent that time doing other things or fixing other things or—

Or, he thinks bitterly, one hand still clutched to his aching chest, you could’ve just done it right the first fucking time.

God, he’s going to have to do so much work to catch up. He’s—he’s going to have to put off writing that short story, making sure that idea was polished, making sure that—

He has so much work to do.

By the time he raises his head from the book, his head is tingling. His fingers lose sensation as he moves and his entire chest feels like it's held together by the weakest threads. He has to let his head drop back to the gross wet spot he’s left in the book just to avoid a horrible head rush. A few slow, shuddering breaths later, and he sits back in his chair.

He’s actually quite proud of himself, he thinks absentmindedly as he looks for his tissue box. He does remember when he started crying. It was during the feedback with Logan.

Logan said that entire sections needed to be cut. Something in Roman’s chest had snapped when he heard that. They were…this story was his darling.

They’re all his darlings, but this one, so new, so…so fresh was still living in his chest, right next to his heart.

His voice hadn’t slipped once. Even as tears ran down his face he hadn’t slipped. Then Logan had realized it was later than expected and apologetically left Roman in the common space. Had to get to another meeting. That was fine. Roman could get away with a much terser goodbye and Logan didn’t look too hard at his face.

He has so much work to do.

If he puts it off he’s never going to want to pick it up again and the dread of it will poison him. Poison Thomas. He can’t have that. They’re already behind schedule. He’s already behind schedule.

If he starts doing this now he won’t be able to stop. He’s not in the right space and he doesn’t know if he can force himself into the one he needs to be in. Just the thought of looking at his notes, with the handwriting getting worse and worse is enough to make his fingers tremble. The thought of looking at Logan’s precise comments in bright, bold, unmistakably incorrect red pinches right under his throat.

It’s alright, Roman. You’ve done good work. Especially for a rough draft.

This wasn’t supposed to be a rough draft.

He glances at the clock. It’s been too long. He has to do something.

He doesn’t wash his face off or drink water. He doesn’t eat. He has somewhere to be in half an hour and he has to do something.

Roman’s fingers are clumsy on the keyboard. The words aren’t words. He opens the draft and shakily creates a copy. He can’t hurt his sweetheart. He can’t.

He can maim the fuck out of a copy, though.

Each section that disappears in a merciless click of the delete button makes the ache in his chest worse. So much work. So much time. So much of Roman. Gone. Not right. Worthless.

He has so much work to do.

Roman pointedly covers the clock on his computer with a folded up post-it note and sets an alarm for when he needs to get ready to go meet with Remus. He puts his head down and works, blinking when he can’t see the screen through his tears. He…he can’t make this work, not with the corrections that Logan wants, not with the time he needs to make up. He has to start over, almost completely, which means back to the drawing board. New outline, new readings, new interpretations, new everything. Because it’s not what they wanted and Roman has to be what they want.

Two minutes until he has to go meet with Remus he gets up and blows his nose. Quick glance in the mirror, it doesn’t look like he’s been crying. Grab what he needs to. Make sure this is in fact what he’s supposed to do.

Roman’s one act of true cowardice is making sure Janus isn’t around.

Remus doesn’t notice anything wrong, and if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

Good.

—————————————————————

Logan sighs, adjusts his glasses, and closes his laptop. It’s been a productive day and he has precisely thirteen minutes before he’s required downstairs to bake with Patton. They’re making blueberry muffins tonight, as requested, and Logan has secured permission to be absent from the movie marathon.

He gets up and makes his way to his schedule wall, picking up his pack of markers as he goes. Light blue for Patton, dark blue for himself, purple for Virgil, yellow for Janus, green for Remus, and red for Roman. He frowns, noticing that he has to press a little harder than anticipated to get Virgil’s marker to show up.

Logan sinks out to Remus’s room, ducking a chunk of flying viscera and quickly conjuring an umbrella for himself.

“Remus?”

“That is me,” Remus cackles, hanging upside down from…what looks to be a chandelier constructed entirely out of viscera and a partially decomposed sperm whale skeleton. His face appears under the brim of Logan’s umbrella. “What brings you here?”

“Do you still have the pack of markers I lent you?”

“No! I used those up ages ago.”

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dare I ask why?”

“You remember how we talked about how if you do the simple science experiment of emptying a highlighter into water then putting flowers in it to make them glow in the dark?”

“...yes?”

“Did you know you can do the same with octopuses?”

…now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that…

“Enjoy your chandelier, Remus,” Logan sighs, sinking out and promptly disposing of the umbrella. He adjusts his tie and makes sure nothing splattered his glasses and starts toward Roman’s room. He would ask Patton but that might lead to starting the baking earlier than expected and, if he’s being honest, Logan does not currently have the wherewithal to do that quite so soon. He just needs to pick up a new purple marker and go back to his room.

He doesn’t actually know what he expected to find.

Maybe it was a Roman sprawled across his bed, idly toying with something, or across the floor with several pens strewn about him. Or at the computer, laughing at the screen with his feet up or fiddling with something.

Maybe it was an empty room, Roman in the Imagination, or even Roman upset about some of the comments he’d made earlier.

He knocks on the door and frowns when it creaks open.

“Roman?”

Logan pushes the door open and looks around. Roman’s not here. There’s water running in the bathroom. He knocks on the door louder.

“One moment!”

The bathroom door opens and Roman appears. “Logan. Is there something wrong?”

“One of my pens has dried up and I’m seeking a replacement.”

Something flashes across Roman’s face too quick to accurately pinpoint and in a flash, a new pack of markers sits in Roman’s hand.

“Thank you.”

Roman nods and turns, sitting at his desk and shuffling through a few papers. When Logan doesn’t move for a few moments, Roman looks back up.

“…is there something else?”

“No, I just…” Logan tilts his head. “Are you alright, Roman?”

“I’m performing within acceptable limits,” Roman jokes, even as his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “just…trying to get this done before the z—um. Before we have to go downstairs. Thanks for baking for tonight, I, uh, I know you won’t be staying for the movies so I should probably say thank-you now, right?”

“Roman,” Logan interrupts softly, “Roman, what were you going to say?”

“Hmm?”

“You cut yourself off. You were going to say ‘before’ something that wasn’t going downstairs.”

“Was I?”

“Roman.”

Roman’s fingers falter on the keyboard for barely a second. “Don’t you want to get in some more rest before baking,” he tries, “I know you’ve expressed that helps you before.”

“I would, but I would also like to know what you were going to say.”

Roman worries his bottom lip. “…can’t I just finish working, please?”

Logan looks around. Something is wrong.

The door barely squeaks as Logan shuts it, glancing around to make sure no one else is sneaking by or within earshot. He turns back just in time to see Roman recovering from a horrible flinch. Without meaning to, a soft comforting noise escapes his throat.

“Roman, what’s—“

“I’m fine, Specs.”

“Yes, I can tell from that tone of voice that you are completely and utterly fine.”

“You know I’m pretty sure sass is an emotional response.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up and he walks closer, setting the pack of markers down on the corner of Roman’s desk and folding his hands in front of him.

“Roman,” he tries again, “what’s wrong?”

Roman’s hands tighten into fists on his keyboard. He barely glances up at Logan. “It’s nothing, Specs.”

“If it’s upsetting you it’s not nothing.”

“It’s nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“It’s upsetting you, Roman, that means it’s something for me to be concerned about.”

Roman huffs. “Give me a little credit, Logan, I promise I can operate under distress without compromising Thomas or the rest of you, I’ve had enough practice.”

“…I must admit I’m not sure if you expect me to be reassured by that.”

Silence.

The clock in the hallway ticks.

Roman takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders back. “The 0.5%.”

“Excuse me?”

“The 0.5%, Logan,” Roman repeats, “that’s what I was going to say.”

Logan frowns. What—why would Roman say—0.5% of what?

Roman gives him a disbelieving smile when Logan cautiously broaches that question. “You should know, Specs. Your chart, remember?”

Logan’s eyes widen. “Roman, what—what does that have to do with this?”

“What does the fact that you’ve only given me 0.5% of each day to run things have to do with me being upset?”

“Roman you—you’re allowed to do things, I didn’t mean it like that, I just—“

“Stop, Logan,” Roman says with a soft fury, reaching out to lay his hand on Logan’s arm only to stop. His hand closes into a fist and returns to his side. Goosebumps raise on Logan’s arm and he suddenly feels very, very cold.

“Stop,” he says again, “it doesn’t matter how you meant it. I understand.”

“But clearly you don’t,” Logan protests, “if you believe that you are only allowed to exist for 0.5% of each day—“

“That’s not it, Logan.” Roman turns in his chair. “I get 0.5% to exist around you each day.”

“I don’t see the difference!”

“It means I have to perform for 0.5% a day.”

Perform.

Logan’s mind stutters to a halt. No. No, no, Roman…

“Roman,” he starts, “Roman, why are you doing so much work?”

“Well, when you only have 0.5% of a day to present, you’d better have some damn good stuff, shouldn’t you? After all, it’s not like you’ll get much time to talk it through before you have to—“

“Not…not just that,” Logan interrupts, “why did you call it ‘performing?’”

Roman stares up at him, his head tilted to the side. “…do you actually believe that I’m…like that?”

The fact that the ‘yes’ came so readily to the tip of his tongue makes Logan sick.

“When you only have so little time,” Roman mumbles, “if I don’t…if I don’t take up all the space I can for that amount of time, I’m afraid it will just…slip away.”

Before Logan can even begin to talk about how awful that is, Roman blusters on.

“That’s why I have to get back to work. I have to get this done before the 0.5% starts so I can make the most of it. Thought you’d be happy, Specs,” Roman says, flashing the fakest smile Logan’s ever seen, “about how efficient I’m being.”

Logan is many things right now, and ‘happy’ is not any of them. His mouth opens and closes, trying to look for words, for something, anything to try and override this, make Roman see sense, make Roman see—

He stops.

Roman wasn’t expecting him. He’s been surprised.

His hands are shaking as they type. He keeps having to hit the backspace key. There are twitches in his arms that aren’t normally there and he keeps trying to scoot away from Logan.

Logan reaches out to cover one of Roman’s hands.

Roman flinches so hard he almost knocks his laptop off of the desk.

“You’re panicking,” Logan murmurs, “take a deep breath.”

He holds Roman still until some of the mania goes out of his eyes. He lifts his hand away.

“That’s enough work for today.”

“What? No, no, I’m so behind, I have so much work to do, I have to—“

“What have you done today, Roman?”

“Not nearly enough, I have to—“

Then Logan catches sight of a stack of paper with red annotations. He frowns, moving around Roman to take a look, ignoring the soft noise of protest. This is the feedback he gave Roman earlier, these are his annotations, that’s his red pen he uses for Roman, that’s…

…oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no…

“Roman,” he murmurs, turning to look at him, “why is this wet?”

Roman takes a breath and Logan blinks.

Roman looks so small.

“…I have so much work to do.”

Something in Logan hurts. Think. Think. Think.

He glances around frantically, spotting a stack of looseleaf paper. Aha.

“Roman,” he manages around the lump in his throat, “if we make a list of things that you have to or have already done today, will that help?”

Roman nods, watching as Logan hurries to grab a sheet of paper and fetch the red pen out of the marker box. “…do we have to use red?”

Logan pauses, yet to uncap it. “Is there something wrong with red?”

The costume makes a few rustling noises as Roman shifts in the chair. Logan holds out the pen until the cap lies next to the bright red sash on Roman’s chest. “Red’s your color, isn’t it?”

“…wait, that’s why you always use red?”

“That’s why I use red for you.”

“…oh.”

As he makes the list, he keeps an eye on Roman. Has he…have they never truly looked at Roman? Logan’s sure Janus knows at least some of this, if not all of it, and Remus has absolutely no filter any of the time but especially not when it comes to Roman.

They’ll have to be better about that.

Roman’s face perks up a little when Logan finally passes him the list, only to fall almost as quickly when he sees the number of things on it. “L-Logan, I—“

“Have a look at each of them,” Logan interrupts softly, passing him the pen, “and mark off the ones that you’ve done already.”

“…am I supposed to do all of these today?”

“Ideally, yes.”

The grim look of resignation and determination on Roman’s face is enough to make Logan want to take it away, but he can’t. Not before Roman sees.

Sure enough, as Roman starts to scan down the list, his brow furrows. He glances up at Logan who simply nods toward it.

“Um…”

“Read out the ones you’re having trouble with,” Logan offers, “if you like.”

“…'get out of bed?’”

“Did you do that?”

“Yes?”

“Then cross it off.”

Bemused, Roman does. He consults the list again. “Are all of these—am I supposed to—“

Logan nods when Roman can’t finish his sentence. “Check off the ones you’ve done and then we’ll see how productive you’ve been today.”

It’s strange, Logan thinks as he watches Roman go down the list, he’s never been so…gentle like this before, especially not with Roman.

Maybe it’s time to be better about that too.

“All finished?”

“I think so…”

“How many do you have left?”

“Um, just…drink water, save current works, eat dinner, and, um…” Roman squints at the page, then up at Logan, “…receive emotional support.”

“Well, those don’t seem to be too difficult.” Logan folds his arms and smiles. “I’d say you’ve been very productive today.”

“But I need to rework the entire idea for tomorrow,” Roman argues, “I haven’t even made a dent in it, I—“

“Wait, why do you think you need to rework it completely?”

“…you said the framework was wrong and you need it reorganized. Which is fine,” Roman hastily defends, “you’re not wrong, but that basically means I have to start over.”

“You don’t have to start over, Roman,” Logan reassures, “and that’s not what I meant. Why don’t we check off the rest of the list now and then we can have a…redo of the feedback session tomorrow?”

“Logan, I’m really confused right now,” Roman blurts out, clutching the list like a lifeboat.

“What’s confusing?”

Logan takes a step closer, resisting the urge to smile when Roman doesn’t back away.

“…not that this isn’t appreciated,” Roman manages finally, “but I—you—you’ve never done this before.”

“Perhaps I didn’t realize that it was necessary.”

Wrong thing to say.

“Wait, you don’t have to—I can—I’ll be fine on my own—“

“Not what I meant, Roman, I am perfectly aware that you are capable of taking care of yourself,” Logan soothes, “but…it seems that my actions—or lack of actions, perhaps—has been hurting you. And I apologize for that.”

Roman swallows heavily, the list still wrinkled up in his hands.

“I want to have this conversation properly,” Logan murmurs, taking another step closer, “and when you feel comfortable enough to tell me what’s really going on. That’s not now, and that’s okay. Will you take my word if I tell you that you don’t need to do as much work on your story as you think you do?”

“…sure.”

“I’m pleased to hear that.” Logan gestures toward the door. “Why don’t you save your work and we’ll go downstairs?”

“Aren’t you baking with Patton in like—now?”

“I was, but Janus has also expressed interest in baking tonight, and…” Logan smiles. “I do not think he would be upset to learn that I wished to postpone for this reason.”

The smallest smile comes to Roman’s face. “…since when have those two been…”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you noticed that they— with Virgil—“

“Oh, don’t even get me started.”

“It’s like watching a sitcom sometimes, isn’t it?”

“Quite.”

It makes Roman chuckle and Logan feels his shoulders relax. Then something passes over his face again.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just the um, the last thing on the list of receiving emotional support…” Roman absentmindedly smoothes out the paper. “…don’t know how I’m going to get that if, um…well, movie night’s still a thing.”

…that is not the kind of emotional support Logan was referring to and they both know it.

“Well,” Logan says, adjusting his tie and valiantly ignoring the heat rushing to his face, “there is another option.”

Roman’s eyes widen. “…you’re serious?”

“Of course.”

“But you…when you ask off movie night, that’s—“

“Roman.”

Roman stops. Something flickers over his face. Logan frowns.

“What?”

“…you’ve said my name a lot today, Specs,” Roman mumbles, looking away.

“Is that a problem?”

Roman shrugs. “…kind of reminds me of when I, um, mess up.”

“…what?”

“You, um…” Roman fiddles with the list. “You don’t normally use my name unless you’re talking about me. And you don’t, uh, you don’t normally do that unless I’ve done something wrong. But that’s not your fault.”

“…thank you for telling me.” Logan tilts his head. “Is there something you would rather I call you instead?”

“Not particularly.”

“Princey?”

“No thanks.”

“Kiddo?”

“You’re not Patton.”

“No, it sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“…I’m guessing Creativity would be…”

“…yeah.”

“I’ll think of something,” Logan murmurs, “but yes, I would be happy to spend the evening with you.” Roman still looks unsure. “Why the hesitation?”

“You don’t like being touched,” Roman blurts out, the list in his hands about to rip.

Ah.

Logan reaches forward and carefully extricates the list from Roman’s grasp. He sets it on the desk. Roman watches him, eyes wide, as Logan rests his hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t like being touched when I don’t expect it,” Logan says quietly, “or when it’s not on my terms. When it is…and especially when it’s helping someone, I don’t mind at all.”

Roman’s staring at his hand like he’s never seen it before. His shoulder feels so…small?

Is Roman shaking?

“Hey,” Logan calls softly, “hey, can you look at me?”

Roman doesn’t move.

“Come on, just…just look at me.”

Roman turns his head and oh—

“Oh, dear,” Logan breathes, his hand moving up on instinct to wipe away Roman’s tear, “oh, dear, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Roman’s eyes fall shut as more tears brim on his lashes. He squeezes them tightly and turns his head, almost nuzzling into Logan’s palm, as if he doesn’t believe it’s really there.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“You’re touch-starved,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, stepping closer and cupping Roman’s face firmly.

“Haven’t exactly had time to—“ a breath rips itself out of Roman’s lungs as Logan pulls him closer— “to—to—I—you’re really warm, Logan…”

“You’ve been overworking yourself,” Logan says firmly, “and you don’t have to. Not ever again.”

Roman’s eyes flutter open cautiously, staring at Logan with such unabashed hope that it makes his throat clench.

“Hey,” he murmurs instead, “there you are.”

“…sorry.”

“No need to be.” Logan brushes away another tear. “Why don’t we go downstairs, get something to eat, something to drink, and then come back?”

Roman nods, but his eyes glaze over a little as Logan keeps stroking his cheek. Logan shakes his head, smiling fondly at him. Oh, Roman…

“Hey,” he calls again, giving Roman’s face a little shake, “hug me.”

“W-what?”

“Hug me,” Logan repeats, opening his arms, “come on…”

The time it takes for Roman to step forward and carefully, carefully place his arms around Logan’s shoulders like he’s afraid of ruining him feels like an eternity. As soon as it’s clear Roman’s not going to do any more than lightly rest the weight of his arms on Logan for just a moment, Logan moves.

He wraps his arms firmly around Roman’s waist and pulls him until they’re flush. He smiles a little at the gasp of surprise, only to soften instantly when Roman lets out a keen.

“I said hug me, dear heart,” Logan whispers, the pet name rolling off his tongue before he can stop it, “come on, now, you can do better than that.”

Poor Roman is shaking so badly Logan feels himself almost thrown off balance. He spreads his feet a little wider and holds him, rubbing his back and lifting his chin a little higher. Roman feels so small and cold in his arms that he doesn’t try and playfully coax him into hugging tighter. Instead, he hooks his chin over Roman’s shoulder and tightens his grip, softly encouraging him to breathe, to relax, it’s alright.

“That’s it,” he murmurs when Roman finally sags into his arms, “that’s it, dear heart, good, I have you, I have you.”

Roman turns his head into Logan’s neck and Logan makes a soft sound at the slight dampness. His arms still tremble slightly, but he’s leaning most of his weight onto Logan now, almost hanging off of him with the grip he has on his wrists.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, “I’ve got you.”

When his arms start to ache pleasantly from the strain of keeping his grip, Logan eases back, making sure to keep one hand on Roman’s face.

“If we stand here any longer we may fall asleep,” he whispers, “let’s go downstairs, and then we can come back, hmm?”

Roman, the poor thing, is so exhausted that all he can do is fall forward a little, just so their foreheads rest together. Logan chuckles.

“Just for dinner, then we’ll come back and I’ll cuddle you some more, okay?”

“…yeah, okay.”

“You can have a chance to hug me properly too, hmm?”

Roman huffs a laugh. “I’ll show you.”

“I’m sure you will, dear heart.” When the face against his suddenly grows much warmer, Logan tilts his head. “Is that alright? Dear heart?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s alright. More than alright.”

“Then come on, dear heart, let’s get those last few things checked off the list, hmm?”

Patton, of course, has absolutely no objections. Virgil tips them a lazy two-fingered salute. Remus doesn’t quite tackle his brother into the wall but it’s close. Janus makes eye contact with Logan and gives him a nod. Right. They should talk too. But not tonight.

When Roman’s door closes again and Roman crosses the last item off the list, Logan takes it from him and sets it aside, holding out his arms.

“Come here, dear heart.”

This time, Roman wraps his arms around Logan without hesitation. Logan hides a smile in Roman’s shoulder as he sits them on the bed, lies them down, tucks Roman in close.

Roman is quiet. Roman is soft. Roman is an excellent cuddler. He fits perfectly into Logan’s arms. He’s perfect.

It’s been a very productive day.

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thelastbraincellofthehive · 4 years ago

Text

"Okay, Amity... You can do this". She took a deep breath, staring at the blank sheet of pink paper in front of her, and picked up her pen.

Dear Luz the Human

"Wait, you don't even know her real lastname?"

Startled, the teal haired witch hurried to cover the paper with her arms, successfully covering the text from the mischievous amber eyes that were looking over her shoulder. Not that it did any good when they had obviously already seen what she'd been writing of course, but still...

"What do you want Emira?" Amity asked annoyed, ignoring as best as she could the bright blush she knew was showing up on her cheeks. "I'm... busy."

Emira's grin grew, as did Amity's embarrasing blush.

"Yeah, I can see. Working on your grom-posal must be hard." Amity hated the annoying, singing way her sister talked. "Do you need any tips about that, little sis? You only need to ask."

Amity rolled her eyes, hard. "What do you even know about writting a Gromposal?" She asked, her tone just midly bitter.

People surely tripped over themselves to be Ed&Em's Grom dates! She knew it, they were cool and popular, people liked them. And Amity... She had spent the last half of her life making sure to keep at bay anyone who might actually like her.

Aside from Luz. She had tried for sure, but the human girl was stubborn, maybe even more stubborn than Amity herself, she hadn't stopped pushing until she managed to break a little hole in Amity's walls and fill it with sunshine and...happiness, for the first time in years, she had made Amity happy.

So she decided: what if she really had a crush on Luz? That couldn't be bad! What if Boscha's gang thought she was stupid for hanging out with a human? What if her parents find out and tell her it was way below a Blight to have... feelings, for a human? ...well, yeah, that was pretty scary... But Luz was worth it! And Amity would be cursed before letting go the chance to be with her without trying!

Because it was just that, a chance. There was a chance just as good that Luz wouldn't like her back, even that she might think Amity was weird and crazy... After all, shd had been horrible to Luz when they first met! What if she laughed on face?! God, that was even scarier than ver parents finding out and...

"You know? I think the whole Dear Luz Lastname thing it's a little too formal." Emira's voice brought her out of the pool of thoughts she was about to drown in. Amity shook ver head and looked up at her sister, finding she had taken the paper sheet while she was distracted and was looking at it with a critical eye. "Like...she strikes me more like the casual type."

"Give that back!" Amity snatched her 'letter', blush creeping up to her ears in anger. "B-Besides! It's just a first draft, it's not like I'm gonna give this one to her!"

"Oh, cool! Then you have time to figure out her actual lastname too!"

"I will! Just leave me alone-!"

"It's Noceda."

"What?" She turned towards the open door of her room (probably Emira had left it open when she entered, Amity hated her door being open), where Edric was casually leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets in a nonchalant fashion he didn't have any right to hold when Amity was just about to explode in annoyance.

"Luz's lastname. It's Noceda."

Amity eyed him suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

"The girl has been in our school for weeks now Mittens. Have you really not being paying attention?" Edric shook his head with over-dramatic disapointment. "And here we tought you liked her!"

"Or maybe it's because she likes her so much!" Joined his twin, pinching one of Amity's bright red cheeks, totally unaffected by the way the younger Blight was basically shaking in her anger. "She just sees Luz and her brain stops responding!"

Edric awww'ed, coming inside just so he could hold Amity in a crushing embrace, holding her face in a vicegrip-like hug against his, masterfully ignoring her struggles free herself. "That's so cute Mittens! Your big Top student brain just go all mushy when you see Luz?"

"That sounds about right, it just disolves into abomination goo all over her head!"

"Maybe it's even ...when she hears her voice!"

"Se should try calling her to see!"

"Wait, do you have her number?"

Finally, taking advantage of the small distraction to get Edric's arms from around her head, Amity pushed both twins towards the door, hair charmingly tussled and an angry face on ver featueres that would've scared probably any other witch.

"GET OUT OF MY ROOM!"

The door slammed behind the Blight twins with enough force to make a couple windows around shake. Amity might be tiny, but her strenght was well known between the siblings. Still, things wouldn't stop being funny.

So they laughed loudly, and even a little louder –, doubling over and holding their aching bellies –, when they were barely able to hear their sister crumppling the paper of ver first note in a ball and throwing it against the door. She was so adorable.

"You totally asked Luz about it, right?" Emira checked, arms crossed and trademark grin still on her lips as they walked away from Amity's room "Everyone at Hexcide keeps calling her 'Luz the Human', just like Mittens."

"I mean, somebody had to give her a hand with that!" Laughed Ed. "You know Mittens, she was gonna spend the next whole week trying to gather courage to ask her her lastname."

"Yeah... Now at least she can spend that much time working the courage to actually deliver the letter."

A loud, frustrated groan comming from behind them made the twins stop on their tracks, directing an amused look towards the room they had just left behind. They looked at eachother for a moment, and without a word smiled and turned to go back.

Their Mittens was gonna need all the help they could give.

#lumity #the owl house #enchanting grom fright #amity blight #edric blight #emira blight #blight siblings #my writing #yes i made a stupid drabble because Dana's sketches are way too cute #yes i'm plannung this to be a series following amity writing her nine word note to luz #you can follow it with the tag #amity's gromposal journey

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stverogersdiary · 3 years ago

Text

5th May 2014

I visited the headquarters today, Nick said he did some shuffling around and found something that belonged to me now.

He handed me this small box, barely bigger then a shoebox, it was falling apart so i guessed it was old stuff from Peggy. When i got home my fingers ached to open this small box, my thoughts clawed to know what was being held inside. I turned on “it’s been a long, long time’ ok my record player and sat down, ready to discover what was being kept away from me for so long.

As i opened it, dust came flying off it, this hadn’t been touched in decades. It was full of little bits, a compass that i guess was mine so i didn’t bother opening it, a few photos and a radio that was near enough as old as me, i recognised it immediately, it was Buck’s, the one he stole from his parents. I looked through the photos, it was me and him, him and Rebecca, him and his parents and then shoved right into the bottom a collection of my drawings. I can’t believe he kept them, i always drew for Bucky, he was my muse so it felt right gifting them to him. I kept the best ones for myself though.

I found a letter. It was in an envelope, addressed to me, i had only received one letter from Bucky during the war, just him telling me about his new friends and how horrible it smelt. But this one was different i could tell by the envelope. It had an inscription in the back that read “i should have said this when i was still there”

My dearest Stevie.

It’s been 5 months. I am starting to think i don’t want to survive this so if i give up and let the war claim my soul i want you to know these things. I want you to know every drop of my soul.

When i left, i was drafted. i couldn’t cope telling you because i know how badly you needed to be out here and how much you’d want to hold onto me knowing i didn’t want to be out here. I wanted to stay with you, i wanted to marry you, i wanted to be taken out by you not the enemy’s rifle.

When i got home from our last night together, the Stark expo i sat with my parents and Rebecca, my mum had made lasagna, my favorite. I told them Steve. I told them i planned on winning the war and taking you to be mine. I told them i planned on stealing your last name or giving you mine. I told them i have been in love with you before i even knew what love was. I told them that i have written poem after poem just about the green spec in your blue hues. They looked straight through me. My dad said i deserved to die in this war, that i don’t deserve to come back and if i did he’d make sure i married the prettiest dame he could pay for. Rebecca hugged me, whispered that she was so proud of me. Mum stayed silent, her eyes looked empty, like she wasn’t looking at the son she raised. It broke my heart not being able to run to you but i knew i had to get through that on my own.

maybe this is selfish, but i don’t want you to forget me. I want to linger in your memory. I want you to think of me when you’re driving down the street with some dame in your passenger seat. i want you to wish i was there because she’s not singing and she’s not taking pictures of you. i want you to think of me when you finally sit down and have a home cooked meal instead of leftovers. i want you to think of me every time it rains, every time you choose water over hot chocolate or milk, every time you make love. Maybe that’s asking for too much, but i hope it drives you crazy. How you can’t get me out of your head because i was the best goddamned thing that ever happened to you.

I leave everything, all my worldly possessions to you Steve. This is my will. I James Buchanan Barnes leave everything to my husband Steven Grant Rogers. One request for my funeral Steve, make sure you save the space next to me for you because i was born to be next to you so it’s only fair we die in that fashion too. Oh and tell my parents, i got what i deserved and that i’m sorry i wasn’t the son they wanted but i tried. Look after Rebecca please Steve. Make her soup, your soup is heavenly.

I miss your hands on my skin, they feel so much better then blood and mud.

till the end of the line my love.

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intergalactic-zoo · 4 years ago

Link

If you've been in comic circles for some time, chances are pretty good that you're familiar with "Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex," the essay Larry Niven wrote in 1969 on the subject of Superman's potentially lethal sex life. If you haven't read it, then you might have gotten the jist of it from that scene in "Mallrats."

It makes sense to me that such an essay, crass and silly though it is, would be written in 1969. That's the tail-end of the Silver Age, where Superman's power-creep had reached such levels that his hair was indestructible, he could break the time barrier under his own power, and he could juggle planets like helium balloons.

So it was a little surprising to learn this week that Vladimir Nabokov wrote a poem with a similar sentiment way back in 1942. Nineteen forty-two! Six years before Kirk Alyn would bring the character to life, submitted in between the release of the seventh and eighth Fleischer cartoons, back when Superman wasn't consistently flying in the comics, the guy who would go on to write Lolita was speculating about the impossibility of relations between humans and Kryptonians.

The letter he wrote when he submitted the poem to The New Yorker has big "uwu pwease pay me if it's not too much twouble" energy.

I am sending you a poem on the troubles of Superman of the Funnies (with, if necessary, apologies to his, or rather its, makers). I should like to repeat that I experience most horrible difficulties and distress in wielding a language new to me – after 25 years of good old Russian. If, however, the poem is acceptable – not too ungrammatical as a whole and not too risqué about the middle of its favours – might I perhaps humble [sic] request a honorarium as adequate as possible to my Russian past and my present agonies?

The story of how Nabokov's poem, "The Man of To-Morrow's Lament," came to be rediscovered after all these years, and how it ties into his son's love of the character at the time, is a pretty interesting one, which you can read about at the link (if you have a subscription). But the poem itself, well...read on.

The Man of To-morrow’s Lament

I have to wear these glasses – otherwise, when I caress her with my super-eyes, her lungs and liver are too plainly seen throbbing, like deep-sea creatures, in between dim bones. Oh, I am sick of loitering here, a banished trunk (like my namesake in “Lear”), but when I switch to tights, still less I prize my splendid torso, my tremendous thighs, the dark-blue forelock on my narrow brow, the heavy jaw; for I shall tell you now my fatal limitation … not the pact between the worlds of Fantasy and Fact which makes me shun such an attractive spot as Berchtesgaden, say; and also not that little business of my draft; but worse: a tragic misadjustment and a curse.

I’m young and bursting with prodigious sap, and I’m in love like any healthy chap – and I must throttle my dynamic heart for marriage would be murder on my part, an earthquake, wrecking on the night of nights a woman’s life, some palmtrees, all the lights, the big hotel, a smaller one next door and half a dozen army trucks – or more.

But even if that blast of love should spare her fragile frame – what children would she bear? What monstrous babe, knocking the surgeon down, would waddle out into the awestruck town? When two years old he’d break the strongest chairs, fall through the floor and terrorize the stairs; at four, he’d dive into a well; at five, explore a roaring furnace – and survive; at eight, he’d ruin the longest railway line by playing trains with real ones; and at nine, release all my old enemies from jail, and then I’d try to break his head – and fail.

So this is why, no matter where I fly, red-cloaked, blue-hosed, across the yellow sky, I feel no thrill in chasing thugs and thieves – and gloomily broad-shouldered Kent retrieves his coat and trousers from the garbage can and tucks away the cloak of Superman; and when she sighs – somewhere in Central Park where my immense bronze statue looms – “Oh, Clark … Isn’t he wonderful!?!”, I stare ahead and long to be a normal guy instead.

Vladimir Nabokov June 1942

It's kind of wild just how much Superman discourse is presaged here, how many story and character beats we'd see play out over the next eighty years.

It's been an increasingly long time since I did any kind of regular poetry analysis, as evidenced by the fact that I needed to Google "thing where a poet ends a line in the middle of a sentence" in order to talk about how much enjambment there is here. Honestly, I do like a good rhyming couplet, and I appreciate Nabokov's commitment to using them throughout here, even if it means overusing that technique.

The references to the war in the first stanza are interesting; Andrei Babikov's commentary in The TLS suggests that this is an attempt to compare the character with Hitler, emphasizing the comment about the forelock (and drawing comparisons to Chaplin's "Great Dictator"), but Hitler's forelock—if you can really call it that—has very little in common with Superman's trademark s-curl, which doesn't merit mention in Babikov's discussion. To me, this reads more like an acknowledgement that Superman may be selling war bonds and punching Nazi ships and even hoisting Hitler up by the scruff of the neck, but he's a character from the realm of Fantasy, not Fact, and he's powerless to do anything about the real issue. Even in the comics, they might show Superman knocking around tanks on the front lines, but Superman's only encounter with Hitler himself notably came in the pages of Look Magazine two years . Superman's service in the war was limited to four-color fictional Nazis.

But as much as I like the imagery of the dark-blue forelock, calling to mind the coloring of classic comics, I'm more than a little disquieted by "young and bursting with prodigious sap." The earth-shaking imagery in the rest of that second stanza got a laugh from me. I appreciate that it's less graphic than the Niven essay, "blast of love" aside.

Stanza three predicts so many Superbaby stories, particularly from the Silver Age, but even "Letitia Lerner, Superman's Babysitter" has these same elements of an indestructible toddler causing mischief and mayhem. But also it speaks to Nabokov's own anxieties as a parent.

The closing stanza, though, is where things get a little eerie. "No matter where I fly, / red-cloaked, blue-hosed, across the yellow sky, / I feel no thrill" might as well be "I can't stand to fly / I'm not that naïve." The desire to be normal, in part to have normal relationships, is a major character trait in "Superman II" and "Smallville." Honestly, almost every instance we've seen of Clark Kent being morose and brooding over the last eight decades is predicted right here in this unpublished poem.

Overall, it's an interesting artifact. It shows that some ideas, some sorts of discourse around this character, are older than we might realize.

And, I suppose, so is erotic fanfiction.

#IFTTT #Blogger #TheFortressOfSoliloquy

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introvertguide · 4 years ago

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Saving Private Ryan (1998); AFI #71

The next film on the list is one of the best films of any genre, Saving Private Ryan (1998). This is what I consider the best war film of all time despite how overwhelming it is to watch. Maybe it is because it is so difficult to watch, since the movie was nominated for 11 Academy Awards and received five trophies. Because of the ensemble cast and almost complete lack of women, the film was never going to garner much in the way of acting awards. Like the soldiers who they hoped to portray, these actors shouldn’t have expected much individual recognition. This movie affected me greatly, and I would like to delve into that after going through the story line.

MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!!! BECAUSE OF THE NATURE OF THE FILM, EVERYTHING THAT COULD POSSIBLY BE REVEALED AS FAR AS PLOT IS GIVEN AWAY BELOW!!!

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In the present day, an elderly man visits the Normandy Cemetery with his family. At a tombstone, he falls to his knees in anguish. The establishing shots showing the mass of grave stones is overwhelming from the get-go. The movie transitions from the graveyard to a landing boat at the battle of Normandy. Be prepared because it is about to get rough.

On the morning of June 6, 1944, American soldiers land at Omaha Beach as part of the Normandy invasion. Everything goes bad immediately as machine guns and mortars literally tear the landing soldiers to shreds. Soldiers are screaming for their mothers as they die on the beach. There is no going back into the ocean so the soldiers have run into the machine gun fire. Captain John H. Miller (Tom Hanks) of the 2nd Ranger Battalion leads a breakout from the beach that makes it through to the German encampment. It is about 15 minutes of carnage and nobody will blame you if you want to forward through this until the action cools down. Elsewhere on the beach, a dead soldier lies face-down in the bloody surf; his pack is stenciled Ryan, S. It is at this point I would recommend taking a breather if you need one.

Continuing on, we are shifted to Washington, D.C., at the War Department (keep an eye out for Bryan Cranston with one arm), where General George C. Marshall learns that three of the four sons of the Ryan family were killed in action within a short time of one another. Daniel Ryan in New Guinea shortly before D-Day, Sean Ryan at Omaha Beach, and Peter Ryan at Utah Beach: all dead with letters arriving the same day for their mother. The fourth son, James Francis Ryan, is with the 101st Airborne Division somewhere in Normandy. After reading Abraham Lincoln's Bixby letter, which is meant to comfort grieving parents, aloud, Marshall orders Ryan found and brought home.

Three days after D-Day, Miller receives orders to find Ryan and bring him back. He chooses seven men from his company for the job—T/Sgt. Mike Horvath (Tom Sizemore), Privates First Class Richard Reiben (Edward Burns) and Adrian Caparzo (Vin Diesel), Privates Stanley Mellish (Adam Goldberg) and Daniel Jackson (Barry Pepper), T/4 medic Irwin Wade (Giovanni Ribisi) and T/5 Timothy Upham (Jeremy Davies), an interpreter from the 29th Infantry Division. The group moves out to Neuville where they meet a squad of the 101st engaged against the enemy and both Ted Danson and Paul Giamatti show up. THe group searching for Ryan bump into a stranded French family who try to give over their children but a German sniper breaks up the party. Caparzo is killed by a German sniper, who is then killed by Jackson (who makes the most amazing shot that legends are made of). They locate a Private James Ryan (Nathan Fillion), only to learn that he is James Frederick Ryan. On the point of giving up, the Captain starts asking random passing soldiers and learns that Ryan is defending an important bridge in Ramelle.

Near Ramelle, Miller decides to neutralize a German machine gun position at a derelict radar station, despite his men's misgivings. It does not go well and the medic, Wade, is killed in the process. They take a German soldier that they name Steamboat Willie (Joerg Stadler) who gives up willingly and pleads for his life. The men are angry and want to kill the soldier since they can’t take any extras, so, at Upham's urging, Miller frees the surviving German soldier. Losing confidence in Miller's leadership, Reiben declares his intention to desert, prompting a confrontation with Horvath, who threatens to shoot him. Miller defuses the standoff by disclosing his civilian career as a high school English teacher in a small Pennsylvania town.

At Ramelle, they find Ryan (Matt Damon) among a small group of paratroopers preparing to defend the key bridge against an imminent German attack. Miller tells Ryan that his brothers are dead, and that he was ordered to bring him home. Ryan is distressed about his brothers, but is unwilling to leave his post. Miller combines his unit with the paratroopers in defense of the bridge. He devises a plan to ambush the enemy with two .30-caliber machine guns, Molotov cocktails, anti-tank mines, and improvised satchel charges made from socks. It is basically suicide so the bridge is wired to explode in case it can’t be held.

Now is a time to take a breather if you need one because it is about to get bad again. Elements of the 2nd SS Panzer Division arrive with two Tiger tanks and two Marder tank destroyers, all protected by infantry. The small American group holds off the force the best they can, Although they inflict heavy damage on the Germans, nearly all of the paratroopers, along with Jackson, Mellish and Horvath, are killed. It turns out that Steamboat Willie joined the group and he personally kills Mellish with a Nazi youth knife (it is horrible) and shoots Miller Captain Miller as he attempts to blow up the bridge. Miller crawls to retrieve the bridge detonator, and fires ineffectually but defiantly with his pistol at an oncoming tank. As the tank reaches the bridge, an American P-51 Mustang flies overhead and destroys the tank, after which American armored units arrive to rout the remaining Germans. With the Germans in full retreat, Upham emerges from hiding and shoots Steamboat Willie dead, having witnessed him shooting Miller, but allows his fellow soldiers to flee.

Miller tells Ryan to “earn this” before dying from his injuries. As the scene transitions to the present, Ryan is revealed to be the veteran from the beginning of the film, and is standing in front of Miller's grave expressing his gratitude for the sacrifices Miller and his unit made in the past. Ryan asks his wife if he was worthy of such sacrifice, to which she replies that he is. The final scene shows Ryan saluting Miller's grave and fades to the American flag gently waving in the breeze.

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I really have a hard time getting through this film without pausing and taking a breather. I saw the film in the theater when I was 18, so my friends and I were all around the age that these soldiers would have been that rushed that beach and retook France. It was truly terrifying. Now I am old and have back issues, so I wouldn’t be put on a front line, but the kids that I work with and care for would be the exact age to be caught in a draft and that scares me even more. The creative ways in which man finds to kill one another is the greatest threat to humanity.

The first two times I saw the film, I did not realize that it was the same German soldier that the group had captured who eventually killed many of the group we were following. It really changes the message in the end. I had thought that Captain Miller had showed his humanity showing mercy, but it turns out that this mercy is misplaced. Now it seems like Spielberg is saying that neither humanity, nor religion, nor innocence, nor skill, nor even intelligence can save a man in the heat of battle. The only way to live is to watch the back of your group and protect each other like family.

There was a little bit of a travesty that occurred at the Academy in early 1999, because this film lost out in the Best Picture category to Shakespeare in Love. This is the same year that also saw Saving Private Ryan, The Truman Show, Life is Beautiful, Elizabeth, and The Thin Red Line. There had to be something behind that because I wouldn’t consider the winner even in the top 5. Shakespeare in Love is considered one of the worst Best Picture winners along with Crash and The Artist. Oscars are not everything and this movie is one of the best examples of this.

When I say that some of the scenes from this movie are difficult, I really do mean it. There was a hotline set up for people who have PTSD that was triggered by the film. One of the actual members of the 101st Airborne, Major Richard Winters, was consulted about the occurrences surrounding the attack. He said that it brought up many memories that he had worked hard to suppress because he had been taught that war veterans couldn’t express the psychological pain of battle. He also said that it was an important film that revealed what war was really like.

On Veteran’s Day in 2001 and 2004, ABC aired the film uncut with limited commercial interruptions. Living in California, I was able to watch the film on both of those occasions and remember getting my girlfriend at the time to watch in 2004. The film has become like a memorial to Americans lost in the European Campaign during WW2, so I treat viewing as a badge of honor and understanding, no matter how difficult it is to watch.

This film is a pretty easy answer when it comes to the standard questions for the most part. Does this film belong on the AFI top 100? Of course. It is the new benchmark for which all American war films will be judged. It is historically accurate, it is beautifully shot and directed, and it leaves a lasting impression far longer than just about any movie I have seen. Would I recommend it? This one has an age warning. It is not appropriate for young children because the first and last battle scenes are nightmare fuel. Even worse, they are apparently very realistic. It is hard to recommend something that is so scarring, but it will keep people for glorifying battle. It is horrific and should be avoided as much as possible. And that is a lesson that I believe this movie teaches better than any other. So please give this movie a watch and feel free to take a break if you need it.

#tom hanks #saving private ryan #d-day #veterans #best director #1998 #war films #steven spielberg #normandy #introvert #introverts #matt damon #vin diesel #bryan cranston

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couchpotatoaniki · 4 years ago

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Gentleman (A Valentine’s Special)

A mysterious stranger ends up at your door, looking for a place to stay. But is he who he says he is? More importantly, what is he doing to you?

Pairing: Special Agent!Jungkook x Famer! Fem!Reader Genre: Greek God AU, 1950s AU, fluff, minor angst, suggestive, suspense Warnings: Creepy behaviour, slight yandere behaviour, coercion (?), implied smoking Word count: 5k+

NOT EDITED

14th February 1955 Britain Ten Years After World War II

“Hey! Come back here!”

Your yelling could be heard throughout the massive coop as you chased one of your rebellious chickens. The hen clucked back at you, running away--talons ready to fight--as her wings beat the air with such vigour, some feathers came off her body.

Clutching your knees and holding the side of your waist tightly, you paused where you stood to catch your breath. Intense pain began to subside slowly, but you thought it would be better if you do not push yourself, seeing as though toady’s activities were more taxing than usual.

Making eye contact with the devilish chicken, you glared hard at her. “You may... have won the battle, Leslie... but you will not... win the war.” Stretching your back, you began to walk out of the coop--but you turned around to give one last warning. “I’ll get you one day.”

She clucked in response, as if the bird was taunting you. You decided not to go further and left, making sure to lock the coop well so she didn’t escape.

Looked up at the setting sun to see that it was almost six-ish, meaning that your own dinner was about to start... right after you feed the rest off the animals.

Thankfully, you saved the best for last. You own pet--a Scotch Collie with kind eyes and fuzzy fur. She was actually your parents’ parting gift before they had to leave for the war. Called her Pepper because she always made Papa sneeze badly, from his terrible allergy.

She barked, running in a circle in anticipation for her meal. You never really understood why dogs were o excited to eat the same food for the rest of their lives--especially now that you had begun to appreciate different foods after rationing for years.

That’s why you were thoughtful enough to try and at least mix things up, feeding Pepper diverse foods with flavour since your farm definitely had the facilities to do so.

Leaving your dog outside in her doghouse so she could play for a bot after her food, you went inside to start making your own dinner with almost every ingredient grown at the farm.

Chicken tetrazzini, Mama’s recipe.

Best part about it, was that it had made enough for a midnight snack too, as well as covering for tomorrow’s lunch and dinner. After all, it was made for four people.

Everything was set--the food on the table, plate and cutlery set out, even went one step further and put some fresh flowers in the clear glass vase. Huff escaped past your lips as you sat down, finally feeling the stresses of the day melting away.

Apparently someone else had a different plan, since when you were just about to take a bite of the meal you had spend almost two hours cooking, a knock on the door had interrupted.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! What can a woman do to get some peace?!”

Another knock beckoned her, hast in its rhythm, begging for attention.

“Alright, alright,” you signed, chair screeching against the hard wood of the floor and you pushed away and stood up.

Was a short walk from the table to the door, but it felt long now that your body had gotten a taste of relaxation before it had to move again. Obviously, you would be grumpy. Who comes this late in the evening anyway?

Opening the oak door, it revealed a dashing young man, around your age, in an expensive-looking black suit with a matching hat and beige trench coat, small leather suitcase in his hand.

Almost blended in with inky night sky, a full moon already high in the sky.

His expression was blank as he held up a badge--an officer’s badge. Golden surface sparkled under the soft lightbulb, displaying letters that spelt ‘National Crime Agency’.

‘Straightforward,’ was the first impression you got.

The ring on his left hand, which he used to hold the badge up, did not go unnoticed either. Gold with diamonds sewn into the thick metallic band.

‘Filthy rich,’ was the second impression.

His hair was ebony, silky and smooth--as was his skin, by the look of it. To say he was handsome was an understatement, not like you paid much attention to such trivial matters.

“I am Special Agent Jeon Jungkook,” he introduced, voice deep and soothing. Took you off-guard, for a reason you did not know, but your tiredness took over.

“Usually, you'd greet a person with ‘hello’.” Jungkook grunted under his breath--now just as annoyed as you were, from your brazenness, but was about to comply until you sucked in the air through your teeth, making your chest rise and fall. “What can I help you with today, Agent?”

Glancing inside your abode without seeing too rude, he glided his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I need to stay here for the night.”

The sudden request frim the stranger took you by surprise. “Pardon?”

He clicked the muscle in his mouth and sighed, “you heard me, Ma’am.”

“Why can’t you just stay somewhere else?”

“Because, when you’re out here in the countryside, you don’t find many places to stay nearby. The only only inn around here told me to stay here since they were full.”

You suppose it made sense--the nearest inn was usually swamped with tourists passing by, not to mention the owner was your brother’s brother-in-law. Seeing someone as important as a special agent, well it would be common sense for him to send the important an to you.

A notice would’ve been nice, however.

“Okay then.”

Sliding to the side, you let your home become subjected to a stranger who had an air about him you couldn’t shake off. Each step of his as he glided behind you gave you a heavy feeling.

Like every single time his polished obsidian shoes collided with the wooden floor, her heart pounded along side it.

Something was wrong about him; it was a feeling you couldn’t shake off. Even your soul was sending off warnings that this man was not who he claimed to be--not entirely.

He was perfect... too perfect.

Though his personality was horrible and manners, close to non-existent, he held himself with confidence and elegance. Even spoke in a way that had her knees quaking ever so slightly--

You scolded yourself mentally. No. This was not okay. Jungkook is a married man so having such scandalous thoughts were wrong.

But you had never felt anything close to this for a man you had just met. Naturally, you suspected him.

Luckily, your brother worked in the same place--the National Crime Agency. Could check if he is who he says he is.

“Would you like something to eat? You look famished.”

He paused in the middle of the living room, dropping his suitcase in the corner after taking his hat off. Nodded slightly, his onyx hair bouncing ever so gently. “Where’s the master of the house?” he inquired as you made your way to the dining table in the kitchen.

Jungkook sat patiently at the foot rather than the head, kind enough to assume that it was a taken spot that was not for him. Despite the fact that you had faced inequality all your life, you were still irked by this question. “I’m the master of the house.”

You opened one of your cabinets and took out another ceramic plate that matched your own. As you put in some food for him, he continued his questioning. “So you own this whole farm?” Curtly, you nodded. “But what about your parents?”

“Mama and Papa died in the war,” you causally dropped as you set his place like a good host. Despite your delivery, the event was in no means trivial.

You could still remember the day Hoseok came knocking on your door with a grey, ashen face. The day your older brother had to tell his little sister that their parents were never going to come back home like they promised.

The only reason he could even deliver the news himself was because he worked at the NCA HQ in London for his ‘excellent skills’ and ‘brilliant mind’. That was the reason he was not drafted. That was the reason you were left in charge of the farm.

Not that you hated it, no; you loved these animals you grew up with, the sense of home and of childhood. Familiarity.

Mama and Papa were part of that warmth that made it bearable to run the place and when they had turned cold, you cried up a storm. Damaged your health to the point Hoseok and his wife had to nurse you back to health for a month and help around.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Jungkook mumbled, snapping you out of the trance you were in. “If I may be so bold as to ask...how? I understand your father would have been conscripted, but your mother...?”

“Mama was a nurse out in the battlefield.” Thinking about it made you chuckled a little, a small scoff laced within it. “Stayed together throughout the war and died together. Always said they loved each other too much to live without the other. Looks like God made that wish come true...or the Germans. Whatever one you believe has more power.”

He too laughed at your little venomous comment, very much amused by the way his smile grew and eyes crinkled at the corners. “Germans are still somewhat powerful, and so is God... or Gods and Goddesses, depending on beliefs.” Elbows on the table with one hand enveloping the other, Jungkook rested his chin on his knuckles and cocked a brow. “So which one applies to you?”

You let out a long exhale, you returned to you seat to take that much needed bite while you thought on it. “I... The Germans aren’t all bad. A lot of them were brainwashed or threatened.” You toyed with the food on your plate, finding that you were not feeling all that hungry anymore.

“As for ‘God’... Well, I gave up that belief a long time ago,” you whispered, painfully taking in another morsel. anything to full you mouth with anything other than bitter words that burned your throat.

“And ‘Gods and Goddesses’?”

“I’d be open to the idea, though I’m not very fond of it either from my studies of them,” you mused. “Religion just isn’t my thing. Hasn’t been for a long time.”

Humming, Jungkook took a sip of his water. Failed to notice that he was already halfway done with his dinner. “And your husband?”

“Never had one,” you answered nonchalantly, like it was normal for a 25 year-old woman to be single and living in a household all by herself, working too.

This would have been a shocker to the agent had he not known about your status. You were a woman with much potential, who could have anyone in the world if you wished. Even him.

Especially him.

Only him.

“So, why are you here?” You figured it was a good idea actually ask the man why he was staying in your house in the first place.

But Jungkook was not biting. “Classified.”

He bit his lower, plump lip softly, the simple action having your mind run around. Exploring the idea of a touch from the pair against your skin, having your own lip to be between your teeth instead.

You shook the thought the moment you realised it had entered in your mind. He’s married, he’s married, he’s married.

Breaking the intense eye contact you had, you quickly excused yourself, needing to check who this person was. Never had you felt an attraction to someone you never met and that itself had set off alarms in your head.

You trudged up the creaky stairs to your bedroom, where the rotary dial telephone was out of Jungkook’s earshot. Once you put in the number, you had the earphone pressed against your skin, fingers tightening around the red handle.

“Come on... pick up,” you muttered. Your payers heard by the click that was followed by the high-pitched voice of your sister-in-law.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Elise? It’s Y/N.” Your volume was still kept relatively low, despite no one being around you.

The voice at the other end sounded very pleased to hear from you. “Y/N! It’s been so long! How are you?”

“Good, good. What about you and the little baby bump?”

“Both of us are as fine as dandelions in spring!”

“That’s wonderful!” Your eyes sifted momentarily to the door. “Listen, I’d love to continue chatting, but I need to speak to Hoseok. Urgently.”

“Oh! Okay, let me catch him!”

“Thank you, you angel.”

As Elise went to retrieve her husband, you couldn’t help but think about your wonderful friendship with her. How perfect she was for Hoseok and vice versa. Unfortunately a forbidden thought--’forbidden’ by your standards--creeped in.

What if you yourself had found such perfect love?

What if it was with Jungkook?

The weird sound in your head was not familiar or normal. Beyond odd. The mere idea of being with a married stranger sent shivers down your spine. Ones you did not like.

Something was awry.

“Y/N?” your brother’s joyous voice spoke from the other end. “I miss you!”

“I miss you too, Hobi,” you giggle a little, forgetting your worries momentarily. Between your tiring day and his busy one, time for themselves was rare, nevermind calls.

This felt like a wonderful opportunity to talk to him, one you had to sadly decline due to a more pressing matter that you believed was sat at your dining table downstairs.

“So, Hoseok, I need to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you know anyone called ‘Jeon Jungkook’ where you work?”

Silence overtook the line for a few seconds. “Yeah... Cold but kind. Massive flirt, though. Wears a ring but isn’t officially married to anyone. In fact, no one’s ever heard him talk about a significant other... weird.”

For some odd reason, happiness began to swell in you chest upon hearing that. No matter how hard you tried to push it down, it was still there.

“N-Nothing. Just... he showed up at the house. Wanted to check in to see if he was telling the truth.”

“Did he not show you his badge?”

“He did, but I wanted to double check.”

A soft hum could be heard, then the tone of your brother’s voice became much more serious. “Quick question. Why is he at the house?”

“Wouldn’t you and I both like to know... but a part of it is that apparently John’s inn is full.”

“...Alrighty, then. Was there anything else?”

“N-No...” you trailed off, eyes shifting to the door. She could feel a presence on the other side, listening in. Must have been Jungkook, though you certainly would have heard him coming up the creaky staircase. “Call you later.”

“O-Okay, b--”

You immediately ended the call, focus narrowed on the strong wood as you crept towards it, careful not to make any noise. Fingers wrapped around the doorknob, blood rushing from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, heart pounding. Swinging it open, the hinges squeaked from the sudden movement.

Empty stretch of corridor.

When you returned back downstairs to the dining room--stairs creaks as they normally did--you found Jungkook sat in the same position you felt him in, plate empty.

“You should really fix those stairs,” he smiled, having your heart somersaulting in your chest. “Don’t sound very safe.” Running his tongue over his lips, which was of no help to your current condition, he stood to place his plate in the sink. “May you show me to my room?”

You moved to grab his suitcase, ready to bring it upstairs, until his hand reached out quicker, grabbing it. How did he move so quickly? More importantly, why was he so close?

And that scent of his, strong, like bourbon, but a citrusy hint to it. Faint scent of cigarettes on his breath that brushed against the nape of your neck.

It feels warm.

Tumbling away, you sucked in a sharp breath, too aware of the dangerous proximity. Jungkook simply chuckled at your reaction as he lifted the suitcase, muscles popping beneath the fine material of his blazer.

You could not help but notice it, nor could you help but imagine seeing it without the cloth in the way. Even toyed with the image of that very arm holding you up as the pair of you did unspeakable things. Things that--if others found out--would have your respectable position within society lie in tatters.

“What’s happening?” you whispered to yourself, trying to get a grip, yet Jungkook managed to catch it.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” you waved off, subtly narrowing your eyes onto him with suspicion. You kept silent after that, walking up the stairs with him following shortly behind you. Under the weight of both of you, the stairs did, in fact, groan loudly, showing that there really was no way he could have come upstairs without you hearing.

What if you were hearing things? What if you were going mad?

The two of you stopped at the end of the corridor, the window behind you letting the moonlight in. Jungkook did not mention it, but the soft glow illuminating your figure made you appear like an angel.

You were his angel.

You opened the door to your right, letting him see inside. Quaint, nice décor, homely. “This is your room. Sorry if it’s a little dusty, I haven’t had a guest in a long, long time. This door opposite is the powder room.” You pointed down the hallway, to the door at the end. “My bedroom’s over there. Don’t be afraid to knock if you need anything.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Corners of your lips quirking for no reason, you remarked, “name’s Y/N.”

“Okay then, Miss Y/N. I’ll see you in the morning...”

Nodding, you watched as he took his suitcase inside. Eyes locked onto each other, only breaking when the door finally separated the two of you.

You looked out the window, shoving both hands in your back pockets as you looked out the window. Harsh winds and dark clouds rolling in fast.

Rain looked likely... and heavy.

“I should probably get Pepper inside.”

What you did not know, was that Jungkook heard you, was looking out into the same scenery as you, then down to the dog house, fenced up with a fuzzy dog inside.

You turned around and walked downstairs, old boards still whining under every step you took with your brown boots. Opening the back door, you were met with a surprise; Pepper was already waiting in front of it.

You never forgot to lock the fence around the dog house, not when a person had tried to steal her shortly during the war.

Regardless, you moved back to let the dog in. “Sorry, girl.”

You pet her fur, a little cold from the vast wisps of air travelling at a faster rate than usual. Shut the door, then beckoned Pepper to follow upstairs, not like she needed to be told twice, since the eager animal sprinted tot he second floor, all the way to Jungkook’s room and started barking aggressively.

“Pepper, you can’t...” you trailed off mid-sentence when seeing your dog’s behaviour. Crouched--ready to pounce, ears bent and pointed down, two perfect rows of sharp teeth in a snarl. This was beyond the norm; she was usually very friendly.

The brass doorknob twisted slowly and retreated.

An unpleased Jungkook stood in front of her with dishevelled hair and in a plain black shirt paired with plaid pocketed pants, scowling.

You had to admit, he was exceptionally... good-looking in his night-wear. All you wanted to do in that moment was to run your finger through his dark locks, wanting to feel him beneath the tips of your fingers. Finally, you got to see his veiny arms in the short-sleeved top and faintly see this well-built torso under the tight fabric.

Snapped out of it when you saw how Pepper heeled in submission as she whimpered once she saw his annoyed face. Made Jungkook grin and stroke the fur atop her head, going down on one knee. “Good dog...”

Never had you seen such a drastic change in the behaviour of Pepper, and you actually began to worry.

As if hearing your thoughts, Jungkook looked back to you once he stood up. “I’m good at making things like me.”

With a final smile, he shut the door and you took that as the que to retire for the night yourself. Tail wagging, your Scotch Collie happily trailed behind you and settled at the foot of your bed.

You locked the door, double checking that it was secure since, at the end of the day, there was still a stranger staying under the same roof as you. No matter how attracted you were, you could not ignore that fact.

Nothing sat well with you, your mind running wild as you tied your hair into a braid and changed into your nightgown. Was a little showy, but it was fine since no one would come in, not to mention that it was comfortable too.

All of a sudden, a headache formed. Felt like your brain was being torn into two, but the pain spread to your heart as well.

Why is it so warm?

Stumbling, you sat down on your bed and gulped down the glass of water that was on your bedside table. A bit of water dribbled down the corner of your mouth from how hastily you drank it, but it did not help the extreme discomfort you were in.

Heart almost jumped out of your chest from the phone’s loud ‘ttttrrring’ out of nowhere. “Hello?” you said, trying not to make the panting audible.

“It’s me, Y/N,” Hoseok said. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“N-No. I was just about to hit the hay,” you whispered into the earphone, not wanting Jungkook to hear through the walls, no matter how thick they were. “What happened?”

Eyes darted around the room, suddenly more paranoid than called for.

“I thought it was a little weird that Jungkook went to the farm instead of finding another place to stay.”

“He said he couldn’t.”

“I know, but something felt... off.”

You could feel it again, that presence behind the door returned. Pepper got up, couching as she had done earlier and growling at the door. There was someone there. It was not just your imagination. “So? What did you do?”

“I called John and asked him if he met someone from the NCA. He said he didn’t.” You gulped, now feeling the presence behind you, in front of you, all around you. “Then I asked him if he had any rooms available.”

“And?”

“Apparently he did. A few, actually. Been vacant for weeks now. not peak travelling time because of the storm that’s hitting tonight, and front he look of outside, it’s here. So what I want you to do, is I want you to be very damn careful around him.”

“I thought he was your friend.” You still had difficulty trying to process it, especially from how you were feeling, but you tried your best to pay heed to your brother’s words.

“He's a colleague and besides, he lied. I can’t get there for two days since the storm’s really bad. Be wary of him and everything he does until then. He tries anything, you leave immediately and go to the inn.”

“Is he really that dangerous?”

“Yes.”

So you had to spend two days with a man you barely knew, a man whose intentions you did not know. “Okay,” you breathed, starting to get a little light-headed. “Than y--”

In an instant, you stopped talking. You could not hear any growls anymore. You shifted your line of sight to the door, only to find your furry companion gone.

You felt a pressure on your shoulder.

A hand.

No one was in front of her, so they must have been behind her.

“I’ll... I’ll have to call you later.”

“Be safe, okay?”

“Okay. Bye--”

Another hand pried the earphone away for your frozen body and ended the call within a second. Warm, cigarette-scented breath fanned over your exposed neck, triggering goosebumps to erupt all over.

One large hand rubbed up your arm, while the other squeezed the side of your waist. The touch felt familiar despite the fact you had never been touched like this before.

A name came rolling off your tongue so naturally, as you tried to supress an unholy sound. “J-Jungkook...”

“Call me Eros, my love. That’s my real name.”

Confusion and pleasure twisted your face, his lips hovering over the crook of your neck, over the one spot that gave you the most... feeling. He knew it just like that, like he knew your body better than you did.

“Wh-What?” Took all the strength you could muster not to slur your words.

Clearly, it failed.

Your body had detached itself from your hazy mind with nothing commanding it but Jungkook, your neck stretching to the side to grant him better access.

“It’s true.” His head lowered further in, the soft skin of his lips doing wonders. “I’m Eros.”

You tried so hard not to make a noise, your breathing heavy heavy to try an stabilise your palpitating heart. Thighs pressed together for some friction to ease the burning need in your lower body.

“My Psyche... my beautiful Psyche...”

You snapped up, trying to gain control over yourself once more. Turned to face him while he sat on your bed, licking his lips as his eyes racked over your figure, once again basking in the glowing moonlight that entered through your window.

“Did you wear that for me, my love?”

Your face turned as red as a tomato as you tried to cover yourself from his preying stare.

But why did you like the attention?

“No, I didn’t,” you cleared your throat, relaxing your muscles as you recalled Eros and Psyche’s story from your personal studies of mythology.

Seeing as how strange the entire evening was, how nothing was as it was meant to be, you certainly had believed it. Especially when the pain had began to subside only when Jungkook was touching you.

“Wait, I though you had a child; that you were married to Psyche.”

“First of all,” he got of the bed, “that never stopped a God or Goddess. Secondly, what the humans teach is wrong. I never had a child.”

He began taking slow steps towards you, like you were his prey.

“Thirdly, what the humans didn’t tell you, is that when Mother--Aphrodite--granted immortality to Psyche, she only gave it to her soul. The ability to be reborn.” Jungkook looked saddened by it, though the feeling momentarily flickered through his eyes, it was gone just as quick. “Now that I have finally found you, my love, I will grant your body immortality too. So you can stay with me. Forever.”

By now, there was no such thing as personal space, your bodies so close that there was no room left to breathe. Not like this man--or God, technically--had granted you ‘breath’ from the moment you laid eyes on him.

His hand slithered with no shame up the side of your hips, your waist, your chest, and around the back of your neck.

“I know you want to, my love.”

Your mind went blank, numb to everything but his words and his warmth.

“I know you can’t think when you’re with me like this.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, bringing down your defences with Hoseok’s words long discarded.

“I’ve always had this affect on you, you know? From centuries ago to even now.” Jungkook’s lips hovered over the lobe of your ear, soft air very gently stroking the skin as his tongue lightly caressed the skin to make you shiver.

Chuckled to himself as he saw how responsive your body was.

His face moved to the front, to see your heavy-lidded expression, eyes clouded with lust.

Hair dropping over his forehead, bundled-up stands casting a shadow over one eye with the over glimmering under the moonlight that peeked through the raining clouds which pattered against the window.

“Do you love me?”

What little bit was left of your conscious tried to say ‘no’. Tried to protest, that you were your own person and not his long-lost love. But something inside you kept silent.

Jaw tightening, flexing ever so slightly under the soft beam, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. Movement against each other was so familiar, like you had done it before. But you had not, not with him or anyone else, for that matter. His tongue against you own was like a dance you knew from your heart.

Jungkook broke away--too quickly, in her opinion.

“Tell me. Do you love me?”

The only thing that came out of your mouth that second was, “yes.”

Your eyes were glazed over, like you were now an empty shell, yet not empty in any way whatsoever. Brainwashed, yet full of free will.

“I love you.”

Jungkook grinned at you, holding tightly onto your waist to make sure you were not dream. “I love you too.”

He stepped backwards, taking you with him. Just before he reached the bed, he sup you around so that you were the one walking backwards. The mattress hit against the back of your knees, making you fall; your arms tangled around him brought him down with you.

Faces an inch apart, Jungkook dug something out of his pyjama pocket.

A gold ring with small diamonds encrusted onto the thin band in a beautiful and intricate way. The matching pair to the one wrapped around his ring finger.

Jungkook slipped it on you, and it fit so well, like it was mean to be there.

“There. Now you’re almost complete. We just need to do one last thing, my love.”

With that, he kissed you much more roughly, hungrily, than before as he slipped of the straps of your nightgown.

Pepper, still quiet and hidden in the other room, watched the rain hammer hard and fast against the glass of the windows for the rest of the night.

#jungkook fanfic #bts #bts fanfction #jungkook #jeon jungkook #oneshot #bts oneshot #jungkook oneshot #jeon jungkook oneshot #valentines #valentines oneshot #jungkook valentines oneshot

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amusedyan · 5 years ago

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Mamma Mia

“Are you going to invite your dad?” You look up from the drafted seating chart and the list that’s being compiled. The table is littered with post-it’s and address books, sheets of paper and pencils, even the odd photograph.

Aya, your soon-to-be sister-in-law, examines a photo- one of you and your mother on the front porch. You know that photo, your mother had just bought the house that you would grow up in, and she looks so happy, holding you on her hip.

“I don’t know.” You admit, wanting to drop the subject.

“It’s not every day your daughter gets married,” Aya grins, “you can’t tell me you don’t want to get walked down the aisle by your father.”

And it’s ridiculous, you’re a grown woman now, not a little girl hunched over her desk on Father’s Day, burning with envy as your classmates complain or chat about their other parent.

“I would if I had one.” You finally say, and thankfully that shuts Aya up.

-x-

Once the thought is planted, though, it doesn’t go away.

What would it be like to have a father to walk you down the aisle and give you away?

You turn over in your bed and close your eyes.

You’ve wanted a father before, of course. What little girl doesn’t?

Family is your mother- only your mother.

When you were a little girl, and you came home from school and asked “where is my Daddy?” your mother had faltered and said, ashamed, “you don’t have one”.

When you got older, your mother had said she’d been young and in over her head.

Your mom has never not been enough of a parent- and you feel guilty even now for wanting this one thing.

But you burn with that want.

-x-

You feel ashamed, going through your mother’s things in the attic. You have a spare key of course, and you know your mother’s schedule- she likes routine, and Tuesdays are her grocery days. There’s boxes of things up here- old clothes, photo albums, holiday decorations, furniture. In the back, under a sheet, next to the box of old china, though, is what you’re looking for.

Your mother is a journaler. She always has been- “I need to keep my thoughts straight,” she’d explained once. If there’s any clue to your father, it’ll be in her old journals. So you do the math and take the small stack of dusty volumes and leave, locking the door behind you.

Your heart pounds like you’re guilty, because you are, you’re a thief, you broke your mother’s trust and you did something horrible. You feel so guilty, in fact, that you can’t actually bring yourself to read the thing for a week. It just burns a hole in your vision wherever you put it, drawing your gaze to it like a magnet no matter where you put it. So you stow it away in a drawer for that week. When you finally get the nerve to read it, it takes time.

Your mother’s thoughts are personal and warm- she has doodles on the pages, and smudges of ink, or places where the pencil wore away and you have to take your time sussing out the words. You’re terrified that maybe this was all for nothing. Maybe there isn’t a name here, even, and you’ll just have to deal with that.

X/X/XX

I met the sweetest guy today! His name is Oboro, and he has such a nice smile, you wouldn’t believe it. I saw him walk into the store and my heart just jumped! I was trying not to be creepy about it, he’s so pretty, I just wanted to look at him, you know?

But then he came up to me and asked me on a date!

I can’t believe it- it was so easy to talk to him, this is going to be amazing!

Oboro? You jot down the name. It’s still a few months from when you could have reasonably been conceived, but it’s still a name.

X/Y/XX

Oboro took me out for dinner on the water. He’s such a nice guy, he let me talk and didn’t interrupt, didn’t act obnoxious at all! I had such a good time with him, and he wants to go out again!

Mom kept up with that, along with some doodles- unfortunately your Mom isn’t a very good artist, so it’s not very helpful.

After a few pages though, you frown.

X/YY/XX

Oboro introduced me to a couple of his friends today- Hizashi and Shouta. They’re an odd pair. I really wish he’d warned me that I’d be meeting them instead of just springing it on me on date night.

It was a little weird. Apparently they just got back into town, so I offered to leave so they could catch up, but they all wanted to hang out. So they joined us on the date. I mean, they’re nice, but yeah. Awkward. Hizashi is a bit like Oboro, cheerful, I mean. He doesn’t light me up the way Oboro does. Aizawa’s the odd one out, very quiet.

Hm.

You take a break after that, getting up to stretch and rest your eyes. You text your fiancée, eye the journal and your laptop. First names aren’t enough to conduct a search, you reason.

Then you sit back down.

More dates between the four of them.

Eventually Mom had warmed up to Shouta and Hizashi. They started hanging out casually, after assuring Oboro that it ‘wasn’t like that’. Apparently her boyfriend had laughed and kissed her silly, and told her ‘I know’.

But as the light faded and night encroached, the diary entries started changing. Instead of laughing accounts about her friends and boyfriend, they became jotted notes using, you assumed, surnames.

Aizawa picked me up from work.

Shirakumo was waiting for me at home.

Yamada offered to grocery shop for me.

Car stopped working. Shirakumo picked me up.

Date was crashed. Shirakumo was overjoyed.

Then there were missing entries. Nothing. For weeks.

One more, then the journal was over.

I’m leaving. I can’t take it anymore.

So…

It…it had to be one of them, didn’t it?

You closed the journal and turned to your laptop, your heart pounding.

Things were weird. So weird. What the hell had happened between the four of them? Had the relationship turned toxic? Had Mom fallen out of love? You wanted to ask her, but you were afraid of the fight.

First off, you googled Oboro Shirakumo. Mom referenced Shirakumo as the one she actually dated, so logically speaking, that had to be it, right?

Your first link was an article about an accident.

Young CEO critically injured in mugging, left in coma.

Oboro Shirakumo, founder of company Cloudbreakers was attacked last Friday evening on his way home from work. The attackers hit Shirakumo over the back of the head with what authorities believe is a pipe. The attack has left Shirakumo in the hospital with extensive brain damage, though doctors are noncommittal if the patient will wake up from his coma.

“In a time of grief such as this,” co founder of Cloudbreakers Shouta Aizawa commented on Sunday morning, “we, as a company, can only come together and hope for the best. Our hopes and prayers are with Shirakumo.”

Shirakumo still hadn’t woken up yet, and it had been years, and while that was tragic, that really answered a big question.

Shouta Aizawa.

So that just left Hizashi Yamada.

Their actual residence was harder to find- but you found articles about the historic houses that they’d bought, and from there you were able to just google that address.

But what do you say?

“Hi, I’m getting married and I think one of you might be my dad? Did you sleep with my mom? Or is Oboro Shirakumo just my dad?”

Worth a shot, right?

-X-

The letters were identical, except for who they were addressed to.

They were fairly formal, introducing yourself, explaining the circumstances, and, obviously your mother’s name- along with formal apologies for Shirakumo’s current state, and apologies about the circumstances and possible misunderstanding.

You sent them off two days later.

-x-

Your phone was ringing.

“Hold on babe, I have to take this,” you apologized, kissing your fiancée on the cheek. The sweetheart that he was, he just grinned and told you to take your time.

You excused yourself from the dining room and answered.

“Hey mom-”

“What did you do???”

You jumped at the volume, in the background there was something banging.

“Is someone at the door-”

“Did you write them?” Your mother demanded, still screaming. It was so loud, was she in danger?

“Mom what’s going on? What is that?”

“You called them- they found me, why? Why would you- AAAAAGUH!” You flinched as she started screaming. “GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE- JUST-”

“MOM?” People were staring, but you felt cold all over. Was she getting murdered? Do you stay on the line or call 911?

“You bitch! You think you can just do what you did? Hide like this?”

“GO! YOU NEED TO HIDE- DON’T LET THEM FIND YOU-”

The phone went dead.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #shouta aizawa #eraserhead #yamada hizashi #present mic #shirakumo oboro #yandere #yandere bnha #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere eraserhead #yandere yamada hizashi #yandere present mic #yandere shirakumo oboro

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liladiurne · 4 years ago

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Brighter Than Bright - extract from chapter 13

So, as promised, here is a little bit from chapter 13. The writing is slower than anticipated, as I haven’t been feeling very well these past few days, but hopefully I’ll pick up the pace soon. This is the opening of the chapter, and probably the less spoiler-y bit I’ll be able to isolate to share here. Some things might change, as I tend to add stuff here and there in my final draft. But hopefully, it will satisfy your curiosity for now, and give you a general idea what will happen this chapter.

EXTRACT FROM CHAPTER 13

For the last year or so, ever since Ron’s departure for London after the others, most of Harry’s life has been spent trapped in endless monotony. Time in Hogsmeade has the tendency to drag by sluggishly, the days succeeding each other with little differences between them, and apart from the occasional letter or book, Harry generally does not have much to look forward to. All the commotion caused by Mr Longbottom’s arrival was quite an unusual occurrence, a truly peculiar distraction from the peaceful, mundane life of the town. Following the young man’s departure and that of his unfortunate company, Harry fully expected that the monotony he knows so well would simply recommence, perhaps worsened this time by Ginny’s absence. Of late, however, he has had very little occasion to feel lonesome. Charlie’s presence, it seems, has the ability to hasten the passage of time.

October soon rushes by, colouring the trees bright red and golden before divesting them of their leaves altogether, and settling on the air a chill that grows more permanent each day. Charlie takes Harry riding as often as possible, to their mother’s absolute dismay and utmost displeasure at the constant, unpredictable borrowing of the horses. They take to regularly visiting the surrounding towns or wandering the countryside with no true destination in mind, often settling near the lake for hours when the weather is kind. Harry sometimes takes a book and reads it aloud to Charlie while his brother, who often carries his drawing supplies, drafts pictures of the scenery, of the swans, of the horses, or of Harry himself. Whenever presented with the finished portrait, Harry always frowns and insists that the handsome young man on the page looks nothing like him, accusing Charlie of taking artistic liberties, but his brother only smiles softly and shakes his head.

Yet another blessing brought about by Charlie’s presence is that Mrs Weasley is so often engrossed in nagging him that she rarely bothers with Harry anymore. The war is over now, she will insist nearly every day, and is it not well past time for Charlie to find himself a spouse? Whenever confronted with this sort of statement, Charlie simply tells her that he is in no hurry to marry and that she should not worry about him at all. Such assurances, however, are not enough to convince her, and she often persists for the whole duration of breakfast or supper. Would he not prefer spending the day in the company of a beautiful young lady rather than gallivanting through the wilderness with his little brother? Absolutely not, Charlie will respond resolutely with a grin in Harry’s direction. But then again, Mrs Weasley will often reiterate moodily, stabbing at any piece of food that happens to be on her plate at the time, what young lady would have him in this state? If he had only shaved that horrible beard when she first told him to, he would surely be engaged by now!

Indeed, since Charlie’s return, Harry’s life has been so filled with distractions that by the time October ends, he has nearly managed to forget the unforgettable, to forget what November will bring. And then one evening, he finds himself unexplainably queasy and exhausted as they settle for supper. There is no possible reason for this sudden fit of tiredness, as he has been forced to spend the whole day lazing about the house, his usual wanderings with his brother having been hindered by the heavy downpour outside, which threatened to turn into snow. And yet he struggles to keep his eyes open and to find any interest in the conversation or even the food. When he finally informs his parents that he is not feeling well and would retire to bed if they will allow it, he is taken aback by the gentle way his mother agrees and urges him to get some rest, and even more so by the way Charlie avoids his eyes as he leaves the dining room.

The notion is there in the back of his mind, waiting to be acknowledged, the simple explanation for both his sorry state and his family’s behaviour. But as he slips into bed with a satisfied sigh, Harry refuses to pay it any mind. He is so tired, and the blankets are warm and inviting. He wraps them around his body like a cocoon and his last thought before falling asleep is that this very place, his bed, his home, is truly the most wonderful place there is.

It is only in the morning, when he is awakened by a throbbing pain in his thighs and lower back, that Harry finally acknowledges what is happening. This pain is familiar and recognisable. Unique. And the time is right. Every ninety days or so, Dr Granger assured him. And indeed, it has been nearly three months to the day he found himself taken ill at Longbottom Manor. It is happening again.

Heat, a little voice drawls somewhat mockingly from the depths of his mind, and a sob manages to escape Harry’s throat, but he stifles it into his pillow.

From the daylight and the noises, he knows that it is considerably late already, but he has no desire to leave his bed. He grabs the blankets and pulls them over his head, engulfing himself in safe, comforting darkness. Perhaps it will not be so horrible this time, he tries to reassure himself. Dr Granger did say that the first heat is always worst, and it does seem like the pain is milder. But it has only just begun. No, it has not even truly begun. It started this way last time, with discomfort and soreness. But then it grew and grew until Harry felt he could not endure it any longer. The foul-tasting medicine helped somehow, but it never managed to make the whole of his suffering disappear. There was a pain that was bone-deep, originating from his very core, from a depth that he did not know he possessed before it began hurting. It was not only pain, it was longing. It was a vacant space, a chasm, raw and ripped open, begging to be filled, to be soothed. Remembering this pain now, curled up on himself under the blankets, Harry begins sobbing openly, begging it not to return.

#snarry #snarryfanfic #myfics #brighterthanbright

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baegarrick · 4 years ago

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ZUKKA ADVICE COLUMNIST AU! EITHER sokka as the columnist with a large readership/listenership bc of his elaborate plans to address typical relationship/work problems & zuko asking questions about social situations/making new friends when you've had a troubled childhood & your best friend is your uncle. OR: zuko as the thoroughly unqualified advice columnist (THAT'S ROUGH BUDDY)

yes 👏🏻

idk if it was inspired by this post or not, but if you haven’t seen it you should

finally got this done I'm the slowest actually

as much as I love “thoroughly unqualified zuko” (he’s my favorite dummy), I’m kinda so here for a “sokka’s elaborate plans” au

I’m thinking a little “you’ve got mail” and that post mixed in

so: Sokka is an advice columnist in the college paper. (this is a college au now sorry)

Zuko is one of his roommates (with like, Aang and Haru or something)

Sokka’s column is one of those “ask auntie” anonymous columns, and the name he’s forced to pen under is.... Aunt Wu. Katara and Aang both know he writes for the paper in the column, bc Katara’s his sister and Aang is their oldest friend and he figured it out (the kid is smart), but most of their friends don’t know, mostly bc the paper wants to keep it as anonymous as possible, and also he really didn't plan on staying this long. it was supposed to be one of those easy jobs for a semester until he got an internship in the robotics department, but it’s three semesters and one robotics internship later and he still!! has a job!! (partially because they told him if he quit they would do something unspeakably horrible to him, and also bc he’s..... popular??)

it started out as just a job, but Sokka’s an overthinker. he’s bright as hell, and maybe it’s his engineering brain, but he sometimes misses the obvious sometimes. Half his plans for “how do I deal with this guy who I’m dating who says either the fish goes or he does?” start out “dump him!!!” and then end with “.... actually wait, first of all it’s really shitty he wants you to get rid of a fish??? its a FISH???? it doesn’t even do anything????” and then three paragraphs of both a personal experience (sokka surprisingly has a lot of personal stories that Relate) and an elaborate plan for dumping this guy and then signing him up for like 12 free fish magazines.

He gets really popular, and while some of the questions he gets are weird and kinda over the top (”aunt wu, I’m blind but want to join the wrestling team, how do i tell my parents I’m both gay and stronger than them?”) some are just kinda sad (”aunt wu, my uncle is my best friend, how do I make friends?”). They’re all asked anonymously, sometimes with funny names attached. The latter is from a guy calling himself, “Blue Spirit.”

Anyway. Three semesters into writing this column, he lives with Aang, Zuko, and Haru. He picked Aang, the other two just came with the place (Suki, Katara, Yue, and Toph said “under absolutely no circumstances will we be splitting up so good LUCK boys we’re out.”)

He starts getting questions like, “How do I break the ice with my roommates?”, from the “Blue Spirit” guy, which prompts Sokka to get his roommates involved. He’s not against crowdsourcing. (only aang knows about the job, he tells the others its for school.) Sokka doesn’t really know Haru and Zuko, but like, this is a great way to get to know them, right?

Haru’s chill off the bat, but Zuko’s awkward and fumbling, and a little shy (though Sokka has heard him getting in a shouting match with the TV on more than one occasion), but after they get into it, throwing out ideas, Sokka thinks, you know, this was a good way to make friends with roommates. (he doesn’t write that, exactly, he’s got a reputation to uphold, but he includes “tricking them into hanging out with you by asking about a homework assignment” in the article) Zuko’s in the living room a lot more often after that, and even asked for Sokka’s help on a physics assignment once (ya know, bc Sokka’s super smart), so he thinks the method is tried and true.

A couple weeks of other mundane questions, he gets one that makes him pause. “What do I do if I have a crush on my roommate?” (Blue Spirit). and he thinks, “oh no, the ice breaker worked TOO WELL.” (but, of course, he doesn’t know what to do about this. He’s never had a crush on a roommate before. Aang’s like his little brother, Jet was a creep, and Hahn was the WORST. So he outsources again.)

[”Hey Aang,” Sokka says, hanging half upside down off the couch, “would you date your roommate?”

“Sorry Sokka, I’m flattered, but you know that Katara has captured my heart-- hey!” Sokka throws the remote at him.

“Not me! Just like, in general. Would you date someone you’re living with?”

“Oh, is this advice for your...... thing?” His eyes twinkle, “Or.... do you have a crush on someone I should know about????” (Aang is wildly unhelpful. He says he would date his roommate, no questions asked, but Sokka thinks he’s just thinking about Katara.)

He asks Zuko, next, the first person to come through the door.

“Would you date your roommate, Zuko?” Sokka asks. Zuko looks like he’s a deer caught in the headlights. “I’m asking for a friend,” Sokka says, whenever they ask. This was what had gotten him in trouble with Aang, but so far no one else had noticed Aunt Wu answering the same questions in the paper a week later.

Zuko relaxes, but he doesn’t look much better. “Uhhhh.”

“I mean, not like, us,” Sokka said, “I don’t know if you’re into dudes--”

“Definitely into dudes,” Zuko rushes to say, his cheeks pink all over again, and it’s cute. Sokka can see why dating him might be appealing. Oh no. That’s a thought for later. “Definitely gay.” And then, “I mean.... would you?”

“I don’t know,” Sokka says thoughtfully, looking Zuko over. Before he can think over it, Haru comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered.

Haru just shrugs. “I mean, isn’t your spouse just like your permanent roommate? It’s just like making a commitment really really early.”]

He publishes this in the paper: “What do you want to do about it?”

When he’s typing it up, he thinks about it. There are really two options for having a crush on your roommate. One, you can tell them you like them, or two, suffer in silence. He thinks about it. If he had a crush on someone-- his thoughts wandering to Zuko far more often than he likes-- he would probably do something about it. That’s what he did with Yue, that’s what Suki did with him. He details an elaborate plan with anecdotes about what he did with Yue, leaving out the part that they broke up. Giving her gifts, making her laugh, showing up at her workplace just to hang out for a little while. He details a 12-step plan that involves defeating your rival in hand-to-hand combat.

Of course, none of that would work with Zuko. They once got into an argument over how loud the TV was when neither of them were watching it, so he definitely wouldn’t want Sokka fighting his battles for him.

And then, oh no.

(He publishes the article. He tries not to feel like a hypocrite when he doesn’t immediately ask Zuko out, thinking about what Haru says. It’s a lot of commitment for an early relationship. He’s always the responsible one. For once in his life, he doesn’t go after what he wants.)

A couple months of this, living with these dudes, one of whim he now has a crush on!! thanks ANONYMOUS BLUE SPIRIT, the girl running the horoscopes segment of the paper quits and leaves that segment without an author. cue Sokka, reluctant horoscope writer. (He doesn’t even believe in this stuff!! but does he really believe half the stuff he writes in Aunt Wu?)

He half-asses it the first week. He looks up some bullshit guide to what everything means, listens to Toph describe what she thinks they mean over drinks at the tea place, and then sends it off to be published. He finds Zuko sulking in the living room two days later.

[”My horoscope said I’m going to make everyone around me miserable this week!” Zuko falls back on the couch, dramatically, like it’s a fainting sofa. “With my physics exam next week, I know it’s because I’m going to fail and drag you all down with me!”

“Oh,” Sokka says, stopping in the doorway. “You read those? ...and believe them?”

“Yes?” Zuko says, face a flushed red.

“Oh,” Sokka says, mind going a million miles per hour. “I have to, uh, go do my homework now.”]

The next week, Scorpio gets a nice horoscope about how everything is going to go right in the world and all that other sappy bullshit. Zuko looks better before his exam, and he’s happier. Sokka keeps that in mind whenever he seems Zuko looking a little down.

It’s not until the week before Winter Break that Sokka is forced to confront his feelings, in the dumbest of ways. His laptop breaks, and he asks Zuko to borrow his so he can finish the second-to-final Aunt Wu column. Zuko tosses his laptop over without thinking, from the other side of the couch, and he goes to open a document when he sees one already open.

It’s an early draft of a letter addressed to Aunt Wu, and it’s signed off with, “Blue Spirit.” He looks over at Zuko, who seems to realize what he left open at the same time, and suddenly--

[Zuko pounces, practically leaping into Sokka’s lap to slam the laptop shut. Sokka looks down at him, surprised. The only thing he can think of saying is, “You’re the Blue Spirit?”

Zuko looks more like he’s ready to die than ever, cheeks a furious red, “You read Aunt Wu?”

“Of course not,” Sokka says without thinking. “I write it.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, “that’s so much worse.”

Finally the implication catches up to Sokka, and this time, he feels his face heat, Zuko still sprawled across his lap. “You.... have a crush on your roommate?” Zuko doesn’t say anything. For once, Sokka’s mouth works properly. “Dude, I really hope your crush is on me because otherwise this is gonna be really awkward.”

“Wha--” Zuko tries to say, but Sokka’s leaning down to kiss him. When he pulls back, Zuko looks a little starstruck. “Oh. Yeah. It was definitely on you.”]

(Sokka doesn’t tell him about the horoscopes. He’ll tell him when he graduates, but for now, he likes making Zuko smile.)

#zukka #zukka au

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thechosenferret · 4 years ago

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Of Course It’s Precious Potter - Chapter 3

This chapter is dedicated to @scarheaded-ferret for his birthday! You are such an incredible person, and I hope you enjoy your next year of life! <3

Summary: Draco has been tasked to steal a possession from precious Prince Potter. Little does he know, that's only a small test for what they need done next. Well, that is if Draco can carry it out to the end.

You can also read it on ao3 under the username TheChosenFerret (there’s a link in my bio, I don’t trust tumblr with links in original posts), or through my tag #Of Course it’s Precious Potter

一一一一一一一一

As the day progressed, Harry couldn’t get the nagging thought out of his head that perhaps his mind hadn’t entirely made up the blond stranger. With would be a lovely thought if it meant that he could see him again, but there was still the tiny problem that their first meeting was… technically due to trespassing.

Harry didn’t give a thought to why exactly he was trespassing until he made his way to his dresser. Every year, Harry sees the same items on that dresser. Every week, Harry cleans those same items on that dresser. Every day, Harry picks up one specific item on that dresser. Today, however, it was gone. Gone except the letter he carefully kept secret underneath it, which could only mean three things. One, someone knew about the letter. Two, someone purposely left the letter. Three, the blond man must of stolen his dad’s trophy.

Fuck.

Of course the trespassing man had to commit another crime at the same time.

Of course the trespassing, stealing man had to purposely not steal what was now the last remaining artifact of his parents. Harry didn’t know whether to count this man as a complete fool, report him immediately to the watchmen, or send him a thank you card. Of course, reporting him to the watchmen would mean giving up the letter for investigation and to “protect the past King and Queen’s treasures,” aka lock them up until they rot away, so that was clearly not an option. All that’s left is that the man is a fool who should be thanked, which could only be done if he made the foolish decision to strike again.

He could strike again, actually. Seeing as he left behind the letter, someone may of been just as pissed off as Harry was happy.

In that case, Harry went to collect his parent’s letter like always, but instead of reading it before immediately hiding it again, he brought it over to his desk, where he placed it next to him so he can protect it better, then began to write letter to the blond man. After a few drafts, he finally felt okay enough with it, and went to leave it in the middle of the room upside down with the words “To The Blond” written as big as possible on the back.

Feeling the day catch up to him at last, Harry collected his parent’s letter and made his way to the bed, where he read through the it from the light of the one candle left still lit in his room. He then carefully placed it on a pillow next to him that he is certain will not be harmed if he were to roll over in the middle of the night before blowing out the flame and finally going to sleep.

一一一一一一一一

Following the same path that he took last night, Draco scaled up the castle, steadied a rope to a mini cross lined up across the roof, and made his way down the chimney into the now unfortunately too familiar, dusty fireplace. The only thing that was different now was the one piece of trash among the nearly spotless room. Draco ignored the item and surveyed the room, trying to get into the mind of such a Posh Prince to see where he might hide his oh so important diary.

On the bookcase? Although the room is pristine, the bookcase feels like it hasn’t been touched in ages. In the drawer under his bedside table? Draco carefully made his way closer to the table, and therefore the stupid prince. He looked so… not idiotic while asleep, even slightly peaceful. Draco snapped himself out of his thoughts as he turned his attention back to the table and, subsequently, the drawer that was lacking a diary.

Draco continued his search by checking the other drawers in the room, where the most interesting thing he saw was a hairbrush, but yet no journal. Not wanting to be out in the open for too long, Draco made his way back to the fireplace, but not before stopping in the middle of the room with that stupid piece of trash. The stupid piece of trash that was addressed to a blond. Merlin, of course Potter had seen him. And to make it worse, he wrote him a letter. Curiously, Draco picked it up and started to read it as he very slowly walked back to the fireplace. Potter wanted to meet up with him. And doesn’t despise him? That idiot. He’d guess the prince was all self-righteous and forgiving, but he never expected to be on the receiving side of it.

He paced the room without care as he read the letter again and again, only stopping when his brain started to think about how he must of written this tonight, which means that he probably used his desk tonight seeing as the paper didn’t show signs of being written without a solid surface behind it, therefore maybe he regularly uses his desk, so perhaps he has actually used the books stacked on his desk. During all this time of snooping, Draco thought the pile of books was just for decoration to act like he studies.

Draco put his letter in his pocket and began to sort through the books. Introduction to Finances? Nope. Full History of 1660 to 1666… Aha! An unmarked book with handwritten entries dating back to 10 years ago. And to further prove his point, the handwriting is very close to the one shown on his letter. Bingo! Not wanting to risk Harry seeing him for what now would be the third time, Draco slipped back out with the diary, totally not glancing at Harry one last time before leaving.

一一一一一一一一

Draco continued his route to the meeting spot by rooftop, not wanting to deal with scaling back down quite yet. As he walked and jumped, all his thoughts kept tracing back to that damn letter. That letter and the diary that featured what he can only guess is all the minor inconveniences for such a rich and loved guy such as Potter. Which means that it really wouldn’t be horrible to read some of it. Plus, he should double check that this contains the prince’s thoughts, and not some rando’s diary the prince somehow has saved. So, Draco was legally obligated to read it.

Draco made his way over to the meeting spot and found a nice spot on the roof where he can lean against a half wall, but could still perfectly see the sun when it rises. The client can wait a few more hours for me to double check this purchase. Can’t give away faulty merchandize after all. So he read. And read. And read.

The journal wasn’t contains of minor inconveniences at all. Actually, they were very major problems. Why hadn’t this idiot told someone about this before? That cupboard. His family. Merlin. Draco couldn’t let this get out to some second hand thief, not that it was any better that he’d done it. There must be some reason he’s been keeping it out of the public’s eye for so long… which means that Draco’s going to have to make sure that this book stays a secret. One stupid letter and all the sudden he’s helping people, all thanks to that idiot Potter.

Draco hid the journal in his jacket and made his way down the building and to the market. He had to look into a lot of stores to find one that has someone in it, let alone is selling empty journals, but at long last he found it. He got the smallest one (both to help out on cash but also so he can fill it up faster), then bought a quill and ink and made his way back to the roof to start his work.

He wrote until the sun finally did rise, but he managed to create a diary full of minor inconveniences that seemed close enough to reality to be believable. To finish it off, Draco scrawled the words “Harry James Potter’s Personal Journal” on the front. It pained him to have to try to recreate the messy handwriting of Potters, but he feels like he’d pulled it off with flying colors—maybe his cousin was right about how he should go into forgery.

Worried about stalling any more, Draco hide the real diary and letter on the roof, and made his way down the building. He threw on his “I just pulled off a successful heist” face just as the same man from the previous night appeared from behind a wall. Silently, he handed over the replicated diary, choosing to not speak even when he guy walked away and said “Well contact your family again soon” for fear of having his voice betray his thoughts, all of which were along the lines of fuck.

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Taglist: @devilrising @sweetlialia @ladyseidenlocke

#drarry fanfic #Drarry fanfiction #drarry #drarry squad #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #drarry fic #my writing #draco x harry #harry x draco #Prince!Harry Potter #Royal!Harry Potter #Criminal!Draco Malfoy #Of Course it's Precious Potter

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sssshhhthefilmsabouttostart · 4 years ago

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The best and worst films of 2020

Let’s be honest - 2020 was an extremely shitty year for moviegoers everywhere, as the Queen would say an annus horribilis.

Due to the Covid pandemic’s dramatic impact on nearly every facet of human life, cinemas closed, film festivals went virtual and film productions became an intricate mess of insurance and safety challenges.

Yet despite these dire challenges and an unpredictable future, cinema remained very much alive throughout the year, with a wide range of ambitious undertakings snaking their way into whatever form of release seemed viable. Blockbusters receded to the background, allowing a wide range of movies to trickle through an uncertain marketplace that would have been hostile to them even in pre-pandemic times.

So what cinematic gems and unmitigated disasters were dropped upon audiences during the year?

Ladies and gentlemen, may we please offer for your consideration...

HONOURABLE MENTIONS

THE CURRENT WAR - THE LIGHTHOUSE - IN FABRIC - BEING FRANK: THE CHRIS SIEVEY STORY (D) - BOMBSHELL - THE PEANUT BUTTER FALCON - THE SOCIAL DILEMMA (D) - LIGHT OF MY LIFE - THE ASSISTANT - THE LODGE - THE GENTLEMEN - THE WAY BACK - DARK WATERS - 1917 - THE BURNT ORANGE HERESY - THE HUNT

2020′S TOP TEN BEST FILMS

10. THE WOLF OF SNOW HOLLOW

Hot off the critical success of his debut feature ‘Thunder Road,’ writer-director Jim Cummings’ refreshing yet effective take on the werewolf genre amped up the dark comedy whilst delivering quite a few chills. Tinged with realistically flawed characters and clever scares, ‘The Wolf of Snow Hollow’ might not have been your typical werewolf flick but it successfully managed to bring that classic legend to life once again.

9. LET HIM GO

Previously last seen together as Clark Kent’s adoptive parents in ‘Man of Steel,’ Diane Lane and Kevin Costner were reunited onscreen as husband and wife again in writer-director Thomas Bezucha’s neo-Western drama ‘Let Him Go.’ Adapted from author Larry Watson’s 2013 novel, the film featured stunning landscapes, full-blooded moments of sudden violence and compelling performances from Diane Lane, Kevin Costner and, most memorably, Lesley Manville’s turn as a gritty and cunning matriarch.

8. COLOUR OUT OF SPACE

Based on the classic short story by HP Lovecraft and featuring another scene-stealing performance from Nicolas Cage, this clever adaptation was an effective horror film with an unrelentingly grim sci-fi bent. In addition to the truly disturbing and inspired images of queasy body horror, ‘Colour Out of Space’ also marked the eagerly-anticipated re-emergence of filmmaker Richard Stanley (his first time back in the director’s chair since being fired from his 1996 remake ‘The Island of Dr Moreau’).

7. THE INVISIBLE MAN

Who knew a remake could be so refreshing? With this updated take on the H.G. Wells tale, writer-director Leigh Whannell did just about everything right, delivering a tense, clever thriller with touches of both horror and sci-fi. As the fascinatingly flawed yet appealing tough protagonist, Elisabeth Moss gave a captivating performance in a film that was chilling in all the right ways, packed with plenty of twists and a deliciously nasty resolution.

6. THE TRIAL OF THE CHICAGO 7 (NETFLIX)

Whilst the subject matter of ‘The Trial of the Chicago 7′ shared an uncanny relevance to today’s politically charged times, as a gripping courtroom drama with a stellar cast, the film ticked all the boxes. ‘West Wing’ creator Aaron Sorkin put his trademark traits - razor-sharp wit, rhetorical flair and political insight - to very good use in this masterful retelling of the trial following the 1968 anti-war protests outside the Democratic National Convention.

5. HEARTS AND BONES

In his debut feature film, Australian director Ben Lawrence created a spiritually rich and immersive drama about the relationship between a grizzled, broken war photographer and a Sudanese refugee. Whilst Hugo Weaving was note-perfect in his portrayal as a crumbling man wrestling with his past, equally impressive was first time actor Andrew Luri who delivered a quiet yet memorable performance in what was an affecting piece of cinema.

4. TOTALLY UNDER CONTROL (DOCUMENTARY)

Watching a documentary about the COVID-19 crisis in the middle of a global pandemic might not sound appealing but prolific filmmaker Alex Gibney’s latest work was easily the most essential non-fiction film of 2020. Shot safely in secret for five months, ‘Totally Under Control’ played out like a tightly-wound thriller as it placed the Trump Administration’s inept response to the coronavirus pandemic under the microscope.

3. BAD EDUCATION (HBO)

As far as crime stories go, embezzlement isn’t always the most thrilling subject. However, ‘Bad Education’ turned a relatively simple white collar crime story about a New Jersey school administrator caught stealing money into a compelling drama, thanks to an incisive and nimble script and spot on performances from Allison Janney, Geraldine Viswanathan, Ray Romano and especially Hugh Jackman.

2. MANK (NETFLIX)

Director David Finch’s dazzling portrait of Herman J. ‘Mank’ Mankiewicz, the screenwriter who collaborated with wunderkind filmmaker Orson Welles to write the first draft of ‘Citizen Kane,’ was a cinematic jewel from start to finish. Similar to last year’s ‘Once Upon A Time in...Hollywood,’ ‘Mank’ delivered a layered depiction of the filmmaking process, whilst Gary Oldman continued to excel at immersing himself in playing real-life characters, this time as the hard-drinking, intellectual screenwriter.

1. NOMADLAND

Writer-director Chloe Zhao’s intimate drama about an unemployed widow living as a van-dwelling modern-day nomad was a thoughtful, contemplative and reflective piece of storytelling. It may have touched upon mature themes about loneliness, financial instability and restlessness, but ‘Nomadland’ remained an uplifting and hopeful piece of cinema that captured the various bittersweet reasons people choose to live a life on the road.

With an outstanding performance from Frances McDormand, brought to life through the charm of the ‘real life’ supporting cast, great direction and Joshua James Richard’s mesmerising cinematography, ‘Nomadland’ was the perfect film for 2020.

...AND NOW THE WORST!

DISHONOURABLE MENTIONS

VAMPIRES VS THE BRONX - BAD BOYS FOR LIFE - THE OLD GUARD - PROJECT POWER - ISN’T IT ROMANTIC - THE RHYTHM SECTION - WHERE’D YOU GO, BERNADETTE - I’M THINKING OF ENDING THINGS - MIDWAY - YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT - BABY DONE - FORCE OF NATURE - CAPONE - THE NEW MUTANTS - DOOLITTLE

10. WONDER WOMAN 1984

To quote Red Letter Media’s resident film critic Mike Stoklasa, “this movie was the cinematic equivalent of the Bluesmobile.” Directed by Patty Jenkins, this 80′s-set sequel to the 2017 DC superhero hit was lethargically paced and featured a completely bonkers narrative that made absolutely no sense. Horribly scripted, disjointed and overstuffed (a runtime of 2.5 hours), ‘Wonder Woman 1984′ sadly jettisoned everything that made Jenkins’ original film so compelling. The result? An appalling misfire.

9. THE GRUDGE

A curiously talented and interesting cast were somehow lured into - and subsequently wasted in - this pointless, tired, reboot/revival of the long-running ‘Ju-On’ Japanese-based horror series. Despite director NIcholas Pesce’s attempt to disguise the rudimentary nature of the plot via back-and-forth timeline jumping, ‘The Grudge’ was just a formulaic paint-by-the-numbers meander through a poorly developed story that existed only to prop up a bunch of uninspired jump scares.

8. BIRDS OF PREY (AND THE FANTABULOUS EMANCIPATION OF ONE HARLEY QUINN)

There are many movies that have no reason to exist - and this latest misfire from DC Comics was one of them. Directed by Cathy Yan, ‘Birds of Prey’ was a mire of uninspired ideas and recycled genre conventions that got old real quick. Penned by Christina Hodson (’Bumblebee’ being the ‘highlight’ on her resume), the script was as simplistic as it was thin, with needless subplots merely introduced to inflate the film to a decent running time. Even Margot Robbie’s manic performance as the ‘Mistress of Mayhem’ couldn’t save this mess.

7. JAY AND SILENT BOB REBOOT

What could’ve been a dream film for fans of these two classic stoner characters instead was nothing but a string of cameos and callbacks in a plot-less bore. Director Kevin Smith sucked all the life and fun out of this watered-down story, that suffered from a constant series of awkward and forced jokes that were painfully unfunny. An unfortunate stinker.

6. AVA

This latest foray into the ‘female assassin for hire’ genre was about as cliched as you could get. An emotionally troubled female killer whose male mentor assumes the role of the surrogate father? Check. Pounding dance music score? Check. Obligatory nightclub fight sequence? Check. Confused love interest? You betcha! Humourless, dry and uninspired, ‘Ava’ played out like a poor man’s ‘La Femme Nikita.’

5. FANTASY ISLAND

Hollywood’s obsession with repackaging Gen-X childhoods continued with this absurd attempt to reboot the classic 1970′s TV series as a low-budget horror joint under the Blumhouse label. At a dangerously close two hour runtime, there was simply nothing interesting about the film’s characters or its inane plot about a mystical island that grants wishes (a’la ‘The Monkey’s Paw’). Our advice? Turn ‘de plane’ around if you ever plan to visit this ‘Fantasy Island.’

4. ARTEMIS FOWL

For every ‘Harry Potter’ that explodes into the public consciousness, there always seems to be a dozen or more failed franchises. Sadly, Disney’s ‘Artemis Fowl’ found itself in the latter category. Director Kenneth Branagh’s dull and superficial attempt to transfer this popular children’s book series from page to screen suffered from a lack of character development, an over-reliance in CG effects and featured a lifeless performance from newcomer Ferdia Shaw as the titular character.

3. HUBIE HALLOWEEN (NETFLIX)

A month before last year’s Oscar nominations were released, Adam Sandler joked on ‘The Howard Stern Show’ that if the Academy snubbed him for his role in the film ‘Uncut Gems,’ he would make a movie “that [was] so bad on purpose.” And that’s exactly what happened. Supposedly a comedy, ‘Hubie Halloween’ was unfunny, disposable and completely devoid of any originality. Sadly for audiences, Sandler signed a four-movie deal with Netflix last year, worth up to $275 million - so we can expect to see more of this shit soon!

2. ALIEN ADDICTION

Aliens visit New Zealand and get high smoking human faeces? Someone should have advised Kiwi director Shae Sterling that audiences have moved on from such puerile comedies as this abomination. Suffice to say, if anybody ever admitted to finding this film remotely funny, they’d probably be outcast from society. An embarrassment to all those involved.

1. THE BEACH BUM

Director Harmony Korine’s generic stoner comedy about a prolific poet who drifts through life in a drug-induced haze had all the natural high of an unfiltered, soggy joint and was easily, hands down, 2020′s worst film.

‘The Beach Bum’ was a pretentious and uninteresting movie whose lead character, considered to be an ‘artistic genius,’ was nothing more than a relentless shithead to everyone around him. As Moondog, the semi-naked, bongo-playing, pot-fuelled beat poet, Matthew McConaughey was insufferable and grating in his portrayal of a character you would quite easily want to punch in the face - repeatedly. Blazed and confused, ‘The Beach Bum’ had no plot, no class and no entertainment value whatsoever.

MOVIE POSTERS

From the classic to the abstract, here is just a sample of some of the best poster designs from a highly unusual year of movies.

...AND FINALLY, WHEN WHEN IT COMES TO DIRE-LOG, THEY SAID WHAT!?

“I've never wanted anything more. But he's gone, and that's the truth. And everything has a price. One I'm not willing to pay. Not any more. This world was a beautiful place, just as it was, and you cannot have it all. You can only have the truth. And the truth is enough. The truth is beautiful” (’Wonder Woman 1984′).

And who could forget this little chestnut of advice...

“That is the only truth and truth is all there is. You cannot be the winner because you are not ready to win. And there is no shame in that. Only in knowing the truth in your heart and not accepting it. No true hero is born from lies” (’Wonder Woman 1984′).

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myfeetkeepdancing · 5 years ago

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Regret | Tom Holland x Male!Reader

A/N: Turns out, writing angst is extremely challenging! And no matter how many times you rewrite something. Some things never live up to how you imagine it in the first place.

This has been in the works since forever. And by forever, I mean early 2018. (Early draft was in Dec ‘17) It incorporates around four separate requests for angst. And never lived up to my expectations. It’s just so difficult to write Tom this way. Enough rambling. I present to you, my first and final angst.

----------------------------------------------

“I wasn’t expecting you yet.” You remark, making your way to the kitchen.

“Hmmm…” He hums. “Have you seen (YOUR BEST FRIEND’S NAME) lately?”

“Last week, I think. Why?”

“You don’t remember, or you don’t want to tell me?”

Surprised by his sneer, you turn to him. A grim and dark expression painted on his face. Clenched jaws. Staring at you with a stern expression. Your heart stopped for a second. A lump forming in your throat. You haven’t seen him like this before. “Tom…” Slowly approaching him. “What’s this about?”

Tom didn’t react, he just sat there. Running his hands through his hair. Averting eye contact. You thought you could see a shimmer in his eye.

“We p-promised…” A balled fist strikes the marble. Making you jump. “We wouldn’t keep secrets from each other!” Blood-red eyes connect with yours.

“I don’t, Tom! I don’t! What’s going on…?!”

"You're lying, (Y/N)... I know you are."

“I… I don’t get it, Tom!”

“They found out! The world knows! And you’ve been cheating behind my back like it’s nothing.”

“Wh-... W-What?" You frantically look around for a hint to this sudden outburst of rage. "I don't want to play this game, Tom. Tell me!"

"Well then, have a look!" Tom's finger pushed onto the tablet in front of him. His nostrils flaring. Breathing heavily.

You pick up the tablet from the kitchen counter and quickly swipe through some apps. But honestly, you had no clue what to look for. “What’s there to see? Some news about the Brexit. Nothing more.”

When you look up from your tablet, you notice Tom isn't happy about the remark. "It's everywhere!" He shouts. Pulling the tablet from your hands. Smashing the screen with such ferocity, you're afraid he might just push right through.

“See!” Throwing the tablet back down. "They found out about us (Y/N)!" His voice booms through the apartment. "'They followed us everywhere!" You feel frightened at the sudden outburst of anger Tom displayed. "And now they come up with these pictures?!"

In a calm fashion, you try to get hold of the tablet. Your eyes catch sight of the article on the screen. A humongous picture underneath the title makes your heart skip a beat. "Convince me otherwise, (Y/N)!" Tom keeps yelling. "But for me, it all adds up!"

That was last week. You had picked Tom up. In high definition, the picture showed you and Tom sharing a passionate kiss. No denying it was you and Tom. The smaller inset pictures followed what happened next. Kisses along your neck. Hands slipping under shirts. Teasing each other as you walked inside. It had been days since you had last seen each other. You longed for each other. What a night that was. Your thoughts drifted off for a moment.

But the second later, the pieces of the puzzle fell in place. At the beginning of your relationship with Tom. You promised to keep the affection and such on a low for the outside world. No kissing. No holding hands. Going on tours was a rarity. And if you did, you’d sleep in a different hotel. Just to avoid suspicion. All in all, the façade, the lie, held up for months. Tom wasn't ready to out himself yet. And for a good reason so. You weren't either. As long as you could keep doing your work, and lay low for the press. You were perfectly fine with it. Tom was good at handling the press and media too. But keeping up the lie was tiresome for him as well. But it worked out. Your name barely came up in social media. Admittedly you searched your name once in a while. But no connections to Tom in any way. Until today. The title's fat letters didn't twist any of its meaning.

They had seen you with your best friend. Multiple times. For several days. In various places. It's all true. It happened. But they didn't find the purpose of those meetups. No mention of it anywhere.

Your name was all over the article. What started as a simple article with suspicions and rumors turned into filthy lies. Mentions of betrayal. Suspicions of double play with your old friend. Tom wasn’t spared. Horrible stories and rumors were thrown into the world without a second thought. Adding upon Tom's angst for this career. His possible failed relationship with you. Tom was afraid his outing would affect his career. And on that fear, the article builds up on about countless possible doom scenarios. Now aware of what you should search, your fear became a reality. Every website had your name, and Tom spilled out. With a feeling of guilt, you gaze up from your tablet. You could see the corners of Tom's eyes turning watery.

“Tom...” You walk towards him. Grabbing him by his shoulders. “This is not what it looks like. Please listen to me.”

“Back the fuck off!" Breaking your hold on his shoulder. Raising to his feet. Taking a stand very near to you. "This is exactly what it looks like!”

"It’s not! And I know what you're going to say, Tom!" Pointing your finger at him. “But there’s nothing true about a relationship with him.”

“Then tell me! Were you ever going to tell me about him?”

“I’ve have told you before! But… it’s not what it looks like! I told you we grab a bite! Do some shopping. That’s all!”

“If that’s all… Then those pictures probably tell half the truth…”

“They don’t! Don’t you get it!? A hug means nothing…”

"Then explain to me the hidden checkbook…" That comment burnt a hole into your soul. "What is it for?"

“I-… “ Your breath stocks in your throat.

“WHAT IS IT FOR (Y/N)?” He yelled, screaming from the top of his lungs.

“I-… I… can’t say. I’m sorry. But…”

“I was hoping you’d say something else.”

“I would… But I… I can’t…”

“Then… W-We’re done here…” He snickers. “We’re done…” Collapsing onto the bar stool. You see the first tear rolling down his cheek. Just before he wipes it away with the palm of his hand. “Y-You need to go.”

“What’s that going to solve?” Trying to push back the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m not going, Tom. Give me some time.”

“You lied to me…” His voice trembles. “And if I had stayed at the hotel. Nothing of this would have happened!” In a fell sweep, the tablet crashes against the wall opposite of you. Splinters shatter across the floor. “YOU LIED TO ME!”

“No, Tom… It’s not ending like this. We can work this out.”

“I just don’t get it! You put everything on the line for what exactly…?”

“What…? No, I-…”

"Do you have any idea what Marvel will do to my contract?! You ever thought about that? It's all gone to shit. Gone! ALL OF IT! ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!

“D-Don’t you act this out on me. Because if you-“

“Then what (Y/N)?!” The tears were streaming down his face. Screaming right into your face. “You made everything more difficult than it already was. You are the reason it’s all gone to shit! You lied to me. And you were the one to keep secrets from me.”

“Cut the crap, Tom!” You couldn’t hold the tears back. “One thing led to the other. But we fucked up! We made love! In the open. Like fucking human beings! Just give me time to explain!"

“The time is NOW!” Slamming his fist down onto the kitchen counter. “Tell me for fuck sake!”

“NO! Your wrong, Tom! I did my fair share of holding up our lie up as much as you did. I always booked different hotels. Never showed up at the same event as you. Never went to the beach with you. Never went to movies with you. Never went on a dinner with you. Never went on a holiday with you. Never shared the same plane. All to keep suspicions and rumors low. You see… Our love was caged inside this apartment. I didn’t mind. I came to terms with it. Because I love you...”

“Stop trying to fix this, (Y/N)…”

“Zendaya… Who made that lie up? All the sleepovers? Just as a cover-up." From the living room, you hear your ringtone. The news must be spreading like wildfire.

“And in the end… it doesn’t matter. Does it?” He sneers.

“If we knew that from the start-“ Throwing your arms up in a defeated manner.

“-I wouldn’t have gone through with this.” He quips. You could feel your heart shatter in a thousand little pieces. Leaving a gaping hole behind. A vast emptiness. Numbed by the few simple words spat right into your face. Your legs turn to stone. Tom had never hurt you like this before. “From the start, we talked everything through and through. Yet, you lie and hide things from me.”

As if you dazzled by his words, you take steps backward. Shaking your head in denial. You still hear your ringtone buzzing. With heavy legs, you start stumbling towards the sound. "(Y/N)…" He grips your arm firm as you try to move away, holding you in place, making you even angrier than you already were. “I want you to leave…” You slap his arm away and move onward.

Through the tears welling in your eyes, you see a call from your parents. Already having missed tens of others from friends and colleagues. You put the phone on silent. Not wanting to speak to anyone for the next couple of hours.

You just want to get your thoughts in order. Be alone. Process what all had happened. Think long and hard about the future. How everything was going to change. But most of all. Tom. Those words. You keep telling yourself it were mere words in the heat of the moment. But deep down. Your feelings tell you otherwise. Where there’s smoke, there is a fire.

You pace through the hallway towards the front door. But turn into the bedroom instead. Crawling onto the sheets. Tears streaming down your cheek. Tom's words echo through your head. You didn't want to leave. You needed time alone.

“You can pack up later.” He stands in the doorway. Heaving heavily, nostrils flaring. His attention gets shifted to Tess running through his legs. As she jumps onto the bed, crawling into your lap.

“Tess!” Tom calls out. “C’mere! Bad girl.” But Tess doesn’t flinch.

“At least she made the right choice, Tom. I hope you think about yours as well.” Your voice trembling. “You’re wrong… Y-You need time… Think this through...”

“No! I don't! I-...I swear… If you take Tess from me-…“ Rubbing the tears from his eyes. “You…Y-”

“I didn’t take her, T-Tom. It’s her choice…”

“No-no… no…” He mutters with his hands in his hair. Slamming the door shut. You hear loud screams echoing from the living room. Things being shattered and broken. Tess shudders and shakes on your lap at each noise. Silence soon follows after. You can't help it. The tears come back again. As quiet as possible, you sob on the sheets of the bed. Tess licking your fingers. Crawling closer and closer to you.

Everything around you reminded you of Tom. His shorts on the floor. The smelly socks in the corner. The Spider-Man figurine on the shelf. Even the sheets of the bed smelled of his earthy cologne. But there’s always that one thing that made you smile. The frames hanging opposite the bed. In the year you’ve been together, you had started with just one. You framed your favorite picture you shot from Tom. You remember that moment clearly. That was your first weekend together. With the morning sun peeking through the curtains, you woke up with Tom, arms around you, legs intertwined, and cuddled close to you. Through your sleepy eyes, you saw him smiling. At first, you thought he was awake. Kissing him, good morning. Whispering in his ear. But surprisingly, he was deep asleep. Tom just didn't stop smiling. Not even when he slept. It was the damn cutest thing you ever saw. That was your first picture. And he adored it. True love, he admitted in full confidence. Not soon after, you found a new picture on the wall. Tom had framed one from you. And so the wall of pictures grew over time. It was perfect…

You open your eyes to a quiet apartment. You must have cried yourself to sleep. As you gaze on your watch. You hear nothing from the apartment. Tom might as well have left the place. Tess still lies close to you. Sleeping as well, you guess. But as soon as you take your phone. She shoots up. You didn't know your phone could display so many notifications. One after the other came in. Hundreds of missed calls.

Zendaya popped up on your screen. You ponder for a second whether you should take the call. On the one hand, she knew the two of you the best. She played you two on the back of her hand. Always ready with the best advice. On the other, she could be explosive. What if you showed up?

“H-Hey...” Your voice comes out shakenly.

"Finally, (Y/N). God, I was worried. You sound like shit."

“I-…It’s Tom.”

“Little fucker… I figured something was wrong. Tom’s phone is never off.”

“It’s over Z… He-”

“Nope! You’re wrong. If you-“

“Zendaya! It’s over! You hear me!”

“Ooh Noooo, check the internet. You guys are the-” You cut Zendaya off by pressing the call away. You stare at the screen as you feel the tears welling up again. Seconds later, Zendaya was pilling on pictures. One after the other. After the fifteenth picture, curiosity got the best of you. Wiping the tears from your eyes again. You open them up and scroll through. A sense of joy, relief, and happiness started growing. Every tweet and Instagram post was full of praise for your relationship. Pictures surfaced of you and Tom you never knew existed. The posts went on and on. Zendaya called again.

“I-I… I can’t believe this.” You stutter. “This is-…”

"Amazing, isn't it? The original article was deleted half an hour later. Not only the internet loves you. The world adores you as a couple.”

“Yeah… So…Tom! Get your little arse in here!” Zendaya calls out through the phone. You quickly press the call away. You had to tell him. You had to convince him. Trembling legs barely hold your weight and in that terrifying moment. Doubts flood your mind. The realization hits home. And it hits hard. Your legs turn to jelly. With balled fists, you rest against the door. Snickering turns in long sorrowful sobs. The tears stream freely down your face. You can trace them as they fall to the floor. You could not hold it back. Tom left you broken. Shattered. This moment would change everything. You realize it just now. From this moment on, your life could change forever. You had to weigh every word against his. You had hope. You hoped Tom would make this right. Dream, it would turn out alright. Hope that Tom had just spoken his thoughts in an act of madness. That it wasn't the truth. That emotion took the best of him. But fear got the upper hand. Fear of what comes next.

And behind that door was the truth. The truth that could end it all. A reality you rather not face. Because that would rip the one person, you loved most away from you. A truth where you had to say goodbye and go separate ways. You weren't ready for Tom to go. You couldn't let him go. You didn't want him to go. But deep down. You knew it was his call. No matter how many tears you would shed. There was another side to this story, and you wanted to show him.

You shift your weight with one hand against the doorframe. With the other, you grab the handle. The moment was there. You could barely stand on your feet. The hairs on the back of your neck rise as the smell of his cologne teased your nostrils. Again. He had to be close by. A cold sensation pulled on your spine. At the same a knot formed in your stomach. A sickening feeling. You pull open the door with a heavy heart.

Nothing.

You stumble dazed and wary down the hallway. Following the source of the destruction. Spread out in a cone, a spray of shards littered the floor. Sparkling in the wet puddle of water. The bouquet of flowers lying down amidst, almost like it marked a grave. Your gaze gets drawn to the chair, tumbled aside. And the further you tread along the path of destruction, you end up near the source. On the couch, Tom was lying down, wrapped in a blanket. His head down, face covered, and body hunched together. You feel the tears starting to well up in your eyes again. Fighting desperately to hold them back. To steady your breathing and clear your throat. Your trembling fingers struggle to unlock your phone. “T-T-Tom…" You manage to get out. And avert your gaze to the side. Feeling the tears burning in your socket. Wanting to flow so desperately. With the back of your hand, you quickly wipe your eyes clean.

“T-There is another side to this story. And… I want you to see it." You stutter. He doesn't respond as you put your phone near him. No reaction. No movement. "It's the truth, T-Tom." You give your phone a small push. Letting it glide along the cushion, falling against him. “If you don’t…” You hesitate for a moment, whether you should throw an arm around him. Comfort him. Brush his cheek. Kiss his forehead, make him feel loved. “-I’m leaving…”

But you can't… You just stand there. Your mind conflicted. Where you so hurt, you doubt you love him? It's there where you suddenly realize a crossroad in your relationship. You always loved Tom. With all of your heart. But doubt flood your mind. Doubt got the better of you. "I… I'm going to pack if you don't say anything.” You manage to get out. Giving him the benefit of the doubt. You allow him some time. He needs to see it. Somehow you cling to a sparkle of hope. A sign.

Say something…

But he doesn't. Your fate is sealed. The end of the line. You turn around, step by step, walking back towards the bedroom. The feet on your legs weigh you down like bricks. Making every step more and more difficult. Your head spins. Feeling light-headed. With one final look onto Tom's hunched figure, you turn the corner and retreat into the bedroom.

From the bottom drawer, you gather your shirts. Vests. Trousers. All of it. Stuffing it into the case. Your arms shake for a moment. Feeling the tears well up again. In the silence, you hear your phone buzzing in the distance. Minutes go by. Your heart beating against your ribcage. Still clinging to hope. Hoping for something to happen.

But it didn’t.

The silence returns.

You just can't help it. The corner of your eyes water. The tears burning in your socket. With all your rage and anger, you tear the drawer from its railing. Clothes and underwear fly about the floor. You fall to the ground, breaking down in long sobs of endless sorrow. Burrowing your face into a hoodie, in an effort to muffle your cries. It was all so unbelievable.

You don't care about clothes or sheets. The money or the furniture. You don't want any of it. You want him to know the truth. One way or another, you were going to tell him. The rest of it doesn't matter. You try to gather yourself. Hoist yourself onto your trembling legs. You pace towards the door. Wiping your face clean with one of the shirts laying around.

As you pull open the door, you feel the shift of pressure and weight against it, coming your way. But before you take notice of what's happening. Tom's arms close around your neck, pushing you back into the room. Burying his face deep into your neck. You lose your footing, taking a few steps back. And eventually, tumble back onto the bed. He pushes the case of the bed. Throwing everything in a mess. Tom atop you. His sweating shaking body resting on top of you. You try to wrestle yourself free for a couple seconds. Trying to push him off you. Not sure of his intentions. But you hear him snickering in your ear. Turning into sobs. And his sobbing turns into long wails, feeling his heaving chest push against you. The tears seeping into your shirt.

The tension was tangible between the two of you. You didn’t know what to do. For moments you had Tom laying on top of you. Crying out heavily. Your shirt soaking wet from his tears. Not a word came from his lips. Just tears rolling. Right there. And you tried to hold it together. Gather your tears. But seeing Tom like this. You can’t help but cry as well. Feeling broken and hurt.

Minutes go by. Maybe more, before you feel Tom shifting. He positions his hands on your shoulders, slowly hoisting himself upwards. Tom's eyes were blood red. Bright red lines circled the once lively brown pupils. His eye sockets looked dark and gloomy. His hair a mess. Shirt wet and wrinkled. “T-Tom… Please…” You stammer. “I-I… want you t-...”

Tom fiercely connects his lips with yours. Kissing you passionately. “Please, don’t go…” He whispers, breaking the kiss. “P-Please…" Tom’s face hovers close to yours. Resting his forehead against yours. You can see the tears welling in his eyes. “I’m so sorry…”

You feel both his warm wet hands caress your cheeks. Lifting your head slightly from the cushion. Pressing his lips against yours. “I can't go on without you…” He says. "I don't want you to go..." He breaks loose. "I need you…"

You put your hands on his sides, pushing him off you. Putting Tom beside you on the mattress. "Please… (Y/N)!" Tom pleads. You shift to the side of the bed. You lose your gaze in the contents of your case spilled across the floor.

"Tom…" Glancing back over your shoulder. "They say… Where smoke is, there is fire."

"No! I didn't mean a single word I said to you earlier. I swear (Y/N)."

"But, there has to be a splinter of truth in there. Something… Somewhere…" You see him shifting across the bed towards you. “It was never my intention to-" Through the tears welling in your eyes, you reach out for the floor before being pulled back by Tom's arms wrapping around your neck. The knuckles on your hand turn white as you clench as hard as possible on the object. "h-hurt you.” You begin crying again.

Tom's face is buried deep into your neck again. Whispering in your ear.

"I know… I’m sorry (Y/N)…" Repeated kisses are pressed along your neck. "I’ve seen the response.” He smiles. “It’s overwhelming… It’s everything, I didn’t expect. I thought everything was lost. Because we’ve been living like this for a long time, and… I was afraid of so many things… And I panicked. "

He moves from the bed, taking place in front of you. "Please… Give me a chance (Y/N). I'll make it right." Cupping your cheek with one hand. With the pads of his thumb, he wipes away the tears trailing down your cheek.

“Tom…” You snicker. “I want you to know the truth. Because, for a l-…”

You close your eyes. The tears start welling again. They never seem to dry up. Again, your emotions get the better of you.

"Look at me, (Y/N)..." Pressing his lips on yours. "It’s alright. You don’t deserv- “

"I-I’ve been planning things, Tom." You interrupt him, wiping your runny nose clean with the back of your hand. Steadying your breathing. “For us…” Your hands tremble as you bring the small box upwards. "I've been thinking about it for a long... long… time." Tom’s pitiful eyes stare at you. “It was going to be perfect. Orchestrated to the minute. You and me. A memorable moment.” With your thumb, you open the small container. "But I won’t keep it a secret anymore." Holding it in-between you. "This is what I've been hiding from you." The diamond embed in the golden ring twinkled brightly in the light. "This is my secret."

The rest is up to your imagination. 😉

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x male reader #tom holland x male!reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland reader #tom holland angst #angst #my first and final

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ironhusband · 5 years ago

Text

The Golden Rule

I’m a new writer to this ship, so if you have suggestions or comments I would gladly accept them.

~~~

Tony had been in love with Rhodey since he was 15.

It wasn’t love at first sight. He graduated from boarding school at 14, and his dad wasted no time in sending him to college the second he got him. When he walked into the room, his roommate wasn’t there yet. ‘Good,’ he thought. His last roommate from boarding school was a nightmare. When Rhodey appeared at the dorms, he didn’t expect anything different. When Rhodey hung up his military posters, one of Captain America, Tony sneered and didn’t expect anything different. When Rhodey found out he was Howard Stark’s son, he didn’t expect anything different. But Rhodey was different.

It was also love at first sight. It was love at the moment Tony woke up, his head aching, his memories of the past night wiped and his eyes begging to be closed again. It was love with his eyes landing on the beautiful brown, slightly mad but mostly concerned eyes belonging to Rhodey. He asked Tony who gave him alcohol. Tony told him he didn’t know. Rhodey said nothing and asked him if he had a hangover food or if this was his first time. Tony didn’t say anything, so Rhodey got him eggs and bacon.

Tony was chowing down his eggs when he whispered, “why are you nice to me? I haven’t been nice to you.”

“You’re just a kid,” Rhodey said, “you need protection.”

That was when he really met Rhodey. When he first got to know Rhodey. The first he wasn’t just a face he would rather avoid. The first time the sound of his voice sent butterflies to his stomach. In that way, it was love at first sight.

As Tony and Rhodey grew up, they became closer. They became friends. Rhodey was a little of a Captain America fanboy, just like Tony once was. It was annoying, but after Tony tired him out with all the stories his father used to tell him, Rhodey took down the poster and Tony felt a little victory. They stayed up late and talked about everything and nothing. They helped each other with homework, and Tony felt it was nice to have someone equal to him in robotics. Rhodey is the one that taught Tony that getting into trouble could sometimes be fun if it was meaningless pranks they did on people they hated or hacking into servers that he shouldn’t be hacking into (which was how Tony learned he could never get in trouble and his family had its perks). Tony didn’t want to come home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, and that was how Tony met Rhodey’s family that sort of adopted Tony.

Sometimes, when he thought Rhodey wasn’t looking, he would stare. Because he felt lucky to have Rhodey. Even if he was just a friend that didn’t see Tony as anything more.

Tony graduated two years before Rhodey did, but he didn’t leave. He asked Rhodey if he wanted to keep living together. Rhodey looked at him like he knew why he really wanted to stay (with pity. Tony doesn’t know if it was because Rhodey knew or thought Tony wanted to stay away from his family). Rhodey was gone half the time, and Tony busied himself with work, but it was about the same as it always was. Late-night talks, seeing Rhodey’s family, loving him but never doing anything about it.

Rhodey was drafted two years later.

“It’s just basic training,” Rhodey promised, but Tony could hear the “for now”. Rhodey was about done with the training when Tony turned 21. He promised Tony he would come home and celebrate Tony’s birthday the proper way; with getting drunk.

He kept his promise. Tony doesn’t know how gone they were, but he would forever treasure the fact that he wasn’t blackout drunk. He wouldn’t remember the way Rhodey looked at him when he told him he was beautiful and gently pressed his lips against Tony’s otherwise.

(Tony remembers a girl at a bar hitting on him the year Rhodey was in basic training. She was smart and pretty, but Tony just couldn’t. She didn’t judge. She just asked, “what’s the matter?” and then teased, “saving yourself?” And Tony almost slipped up and said yes.)

The next day Tony had to go back to the military.

“Stay just a minute more,” he begged.

Rhodey looked at him sadly, “Tony, they only let me go back to... well, they let me go back to say goodbye. I’m being drafted. For real. I’m leaving in two hours. I have to go now.”

Tony was shocked, “how would you not tell me this?” He crossed his arms, and his mood was crossed as well.

“I didn’t want you to worry.

Tony’s heart was breaking. Rhodey always wanted to protect him. He wanted to protect him so badly, it backfired. He wanted to protect him so badly when Rhodey was the one that needed protection. Tony scoffed, “stop. That’s no excuse. We both knew you just didn’t want me to stop you.”

Rhodey laughed, “Tony, you aren’t god. You can’t stop this.”

“I can!” Tony insisted, “I can. I can tell my dad to put you in a different position. He has ties in the military. He could have threatened not to send them weapons anymore. Hell, I could have hacked into the servers. But you told me at the last minute when I could do nothing because you know how I would feel about this.”

Rhodey didn’t say anything. Tony wanted to cry. He didn’t want this to be his last memory of Rhodey. He wanted him to stay. To have a life with him. Far away from his family and the military and everything else that can be thrown in their faces. His heart didn’t thump in heartbeats, just the phrase “I love you”. It was telling him what words he should tell Rhodey. But he couldn’t.

Rhodey didn't say anything. He just kissed Tony. A long kiss. Let Tony melt in his arms, let him break down in his arms, let him babble whatever he wanted in his arms. Neither of them said it. But they both knew it.

~~~

Rhodey didn’t die. A year passed, and they sent letters to one another. Rhodey told him about everywhere he flew to, Tony told him about all the traveling abroad to study he was doing. They weren’t any decelerations of love, although Tony longed for them. They didn’t talk about the night they spent together, although it was all that Tony thought about writing to Rhodey.

But Rhodey promised he would come back to him. Rhodey told him that he missed him. Rhodey told him about all his plans for them. Rhodey told him about his friends teasing him about the letters. Tony hoped all the things he wrote, his quips about missing Rhodey too, about how much he could fit in where Tony was, about how the guys were just jealous of what they had, Tony hoped he did the same to Rhodey, as Rhodey did for him.

But then his parents died. Rhodey was there for him at the funeral. He could bury his head in Rhidey’s shoulder and just breathe in his scent, not think about all his confusing emotions, his guilt and regret, his hate and missing closure, his grief and sadness. He could not think about how he wasn’t missing his parents, but also missed them too much.

After the funeral, Rhodey bought Tony a cheeseburger. He held Rhodey’s hand hesitatingly as he drove them home. Rhodey swiped his thumb over his hand reassuringly.

“I’m getting a promotion,” Rhodey told him, “I’m moving back here.”

“Oh,” Tony said. He wanted to be happy for Rhodey, and he was happy, but those days, he was too empty to feel anything. “That’s great. I’m happy for you. It would be great to have you again.”

“I think we shouldn’t be together,” Rhodey blurted out.

That caught Tony’s attention. “What?”

Rhodey sighed, “Tony, I...” he trailed off, “you know how I feel about you. And if you don’t, just know that I... I do feel for you. But I know my career can be compromised by all this, and yours too. I mean, you’ll be taking over SI now...”

It was the first time since he heard the news of his parents dying that tears rose in his eyes. He didn’t cry in the funeral, but he did over Rhodey messing with his heart. “no, Rhodey, don’t do this to me. I waited so long for you. You can’t throw this away.”

Rhodey cupped Tony’s face in his hands, “please don’t cry because of me.”

Tony didn’t stop crying.

Rhodey didn’t want to see that so he closed his eyes and put his forehead against Tony’s.

“I’m sorry...” he sounded choked up, “at least we had that night.”

Yeah. At least they had that night.

~~~

Tony had many more lovers after that. They were all just for one night too, but not because Tony didn’t want to stay.

There was Maria, who reminded him of his mother, and not just because she had her name. It was because her kind nature could warm Tony’s cold loveless heart and her cooking was pretty good. She seemed to care more than his mother, though, and Tony knew he would just disappoint her.

There was Trey. He was shy for a bartender but could hold a conversation good enough (better than most). His drink mixing skills weren’t that good, but the guy was new at the job, so Tony thought he would give him a lesson. He gave him a look when the lesson was simply the phrase “no matter what anyone asks give them a scotch.” At least it was a lesson to remember.

There was Eve, who he met at eve. Her tongue was sharp and honest, and she liked betting against Tony. It was a good decision since Tony was a horrible gambler and he had lots of cash. By the end of the night, Eve was 600 dollars richer. Although Tony would never have expected his pick up lines to work on her, they did, but her attraction didn’t mean she still took from Tony what she wanted (his watch was also stolen the next morning. He kept her note and never pressed charges).

There was Vic. Tony didn’t know if it was his full name, but that’s what it said on his identification card. They couldn’t communicate with each other since Vic spoke Japanese and Tony didn’t, but his words and sometimes his silence ran deep in Tony. He left the next morning but learned Japanese for him.

And of course, there was Maya. Maya who was smart, probably more than him at the subject she studied. Maya who listened when people talked to her, but was also one hell of a talker. Maya who didn’t take his bullshit but also laughed at his jokes and made her own.

All of them, he thought about staying for them. For some, he almost stayed. But he never actually stayed. He never broke his golden rule: “we had that night.”

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