#of course I knew of this plane crash because it's often mentioned as a positive example of group managment in a survival situation

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Max 2.0

post-Max. Because the car is the best place to deal with crises of being and pseudo-bad grammar ...

Our Moment Chapter 1: Five Words (post-Leonard Betts) Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense (post-Memento Mori) Chapter 3: Interim (floating somewhere around Unrequited) Chapter 4: Max 2.0 (post-Tempus Fugit/Max)

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

Out of her bed and halfway down the hall before she opened her eyes, she stopped by the couch, realizing she had no idea why she was out of bed. Vague notions of her gun crossed her mind but then she heard a knock. Wavering for another moment or two in full-on sleep mode, she shook her head lightly, tried to pry her eyes open, then regretted it, eyelids stuck together, burning, dry; another knock.

She wondering in passing how long he’d been out there but finally summoning the brain power to move her legs again, she made it to the door. Peering out at him through the peephole, she yawned, then unlocked the door, pulling it open, squinting at the glaring hall light, “you okay?”

Now, he’d known she would probably be asleep, had to be asleep given it was nearly 1am, but that didn’t stop him from being surprised by her pillow-creased face and unfocused eyes, “yeah, um, I’m now realizing this was stupid. You’re asleep. I should be asleep. I’m sorry.” Not turning away, however, hoping if he stood there long enough, she’d invite him in, “I’m sorry.”

Scully knew him like no other and stepping aside, “come on in.”

He did, leaving shoes and coat on, standing, filling, overwhelming the area he stood in, doorframe small behind him, “thanks.” Folding arms, not in that annoyed way of hers but in the ‘I’m trying to hold in a yawn so I will stupidly think that crossing them will keep it from rising to the surface’. It did not work and Mulder sighed, apologizing again, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“I just … I can’t stop thinking about Max and the plane and just … he was me, Scully, and that’s bothering me more than I thought it would.”

“Would you like some tea?”

Reaching out, he touched her hand, the one not tucked under her elbow, proceeding to play with her knuckles, the hem of her sleeve, twisting the thermal fabric between his fingers, “I was actually wondering if maybe you’d like to go for a drive with me?”

It had been over a month since their Tennessee drive but the memories were clear and nodding, she gave him a small smile before extracting herself from his fingers, “just let me go grab a coat.” Disappearing, then reappearing quickly, she had one of his zipped sweatshirts over her shoulders, thick socks firmly in place and feet shoved in soled slippers, “ready.”

“Do you steal all my clothes?”

“Only the good ones.”

Soon in the car, they were off, quiet between them broken a minute later, “your car’s clean.”

“It happens.”

“Not often.”

Shrugging, he turned right, then left, the left again, the city night passing by them in an unnoticed blur. He seemed to have a destination in mind and asking if he did, Mulder told her, “no. I just want to get out of the city and I know this is the fastest way.”

“Understood.”

Because it was late and dark and she was tired and loose-limbed, she folded her legs under, folded hands in her lap.

She baited the hook to see if he’d bite.

He did, his hand sliding across the center irritation of a console, fingers wedging once again in the fold between bended knee and adjacent thigh. He knew she’d done it on purpose.

Neither cared.

The connection made them both feel better and Mulder, squeezing her leg lightly, “sorry I don’t have a moonroof for you.”

“It’s cloudy anyways and there’s no moon, so I’ll forgive you this time.”

“Thanks.”

She gave it awhile, the pair of them well out of the city lights, darkness prevailing before, “you’re not like Max. I mean, you are, but not in the ways you’re dwelling on.”

“But I am like him.”

“We’re all Max in our own ways. I mean, we have passions and hopes and problems and dreams but some of us fixate on them to the point where it’s their only hope, their only passion and it becomes their biggest problem.”

He moved to pull his hand away but she grabbed it, holding tight, as he spoke, “I am the poster boy now that he’s gone, Scully. I am Max 2.0.”

Twisting, she refolded her legs so they both vee’d in his direction, able to look at him better that way, turn to see him easier. Putting his hand back between her knees, she moved to hold his lower arm, firmly, trying to get her point across with words as well as tactile pressure, “if you were anything like Max, obsession-wise, I’d be long gone. You have passion, Mulder, he had fixation. There’s a vast difference.”

“Not that vast.”

“There is in my mind. Max wouldn’t be here right now, taking a midnight drive with his … partner,” that was an odd hesitation she wasn’t expecting, “he’d be in his trailer, trying to decode the conspiracies of the universe.”

“The Gunmen are probably doing that as we speak.”

“But Langley also cooks a mean prime rib, Byers plays Majhong on Friday nights with a group of semi-normal people, Frohike crochets blankets for the Veterans Hospital and has a 22-year old penpal in Denmark. These people have other interests. From what we saw and heard about Max, while he was a very nice man, he didn’t do any of that.”

“You know about the crocheting?”

“Have you seen the granny-square afghan on my couch? The one you like to snuggle with when you’re tired and don’t want to drive home? That’s Frohike’s handiwork from last Christmas.”

Suddenly, the world didn’t seem quite so down on him after all but he still felt something he couldn’t shake. Ignoring that, however, for the moment, he scoffed, “he’s never made me a blanket, that yarn-wielding bastard.”

“I’ll drop a hint next time I see him.” Feeling the tension leaving him slowly, Scully began moving her left hand up his arm, around the back, to lightly rub the underside of his bicep, other hand splayed around his wrist. It was an unconscious thing at first, then, noticing it, she decided she liked it and stayed. “Do you think there’s any hot chocolate out here in the sticks?”

Looking at the houses still visible from the road they were on, more spaced apart than a few minutes ago but still numerous, “you’ve been living in the city too long if you think this is the sticks.”

“You call it the city; I call it a severe lack of 24-hour dining possibilities with hot chocolate necessities.”

“You’re wordy today. Did you snack on a dictionary before going to bed?”

“Is that your polite way of telling me to quit mouthing off?”

And now her mouth was foremost on his mind.

Dammit.

“I have M&Ms in the glove compartment. Is that a good enough compromise?”

Retrieving the candy post-haste, she popped one in her mouth, then offered him one, “sugar?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Both chewing, Scully returned to her previous position, “peanut. I approve.”

Continuing on, they covered all kinds of light subjects, music, family, things they visited often but both always enjoyed, especially hearing about the antics of Scully’s extended family, brothers, cousin, bevy of nieces and nephews. After one exuberant story about Sam, second oldest of the bunch, Mulder wiped his eyes, tears of laughter blurring his vision, “how did you land all these people? I mean, you have the cast of some off-beat comedy show and I’ve got my mother.”

He hadn’t meant to bring the atmosphere down and Scully didn’t want to keep it there but she had to tell him, in words he apparently didn’t hear the first seven times she told him, “you realize my mother has adopted you right? I mean, there may not be paperwork but there’s pie. Also, just to let you know, do you remember when you were asking me about my mom’s dentist appointment, about her infected tooth last week?”

“Yeah?”

“I had no idea she was having any issues but I pretended to know because, good Lord, Mulder, you knew about it and I didn’t.” Giving him that look that made his smile return, “does that tell you anything about the level of your acceptance into my family?”

“I mean,” looking almost sheepish, “she called to talk to you and I answered and we just …”

Patting his shoulder, “it’s okay, Mulder. My mother can love you more than me occasionally. I don’t mind.”

His eyebrow went up, about to bring down the grammar hammer on her, hard, “you love me? I had no idea. When did this happen? Was it after I introduced you to the Conundrum or, ooh, I bet is was around the time you were trapped with me in Alaska. That tiny room? Checking for murderous prehistoric alien worms?”

Total confusion all over her face, “What?”

“You said occasionally, your mother loved me more than you. So, I deduce that you love me most of the time and now I’m trying to figure out when that all started.”

Fuck.

Oh, hell, why not just play along?

“I’m pretty sure it was when you were about to head into the hospital with Modell: looking up at me with that camera on your head, Kevlar all tight, panicked look in your eye.”

Wait … was she humoring him? He was treading into the unknown now, not sure if he should keep going, “um … what?”

Her laughter bounced around the interior of the car, a happy sound, a light sound he hadn’t heard in awhile, “nervous, Mr. Mulder?”

Smiling himself finally, “just … left-field line drive came in a little faster than I expected.”

“Are we back to baseball again?”

He was going to crash the car in the next two minutes if this kept up, “I think we should just drive in silence for a minute. My brain did something and just … give me a minute.”

Fuck again.

She was pretty sure with one joke, two follow-ups and a mention of baseball, she’d quite possibly changed the course of their relationship in ways she had no understanding of. Silence nerve-wracking, she fumbled for words, “I’m just glad the two of you get along so well. It’ll make things easier.”

She’d never felt atmosphere shift like it did in that moment, the air hardening between them. Mulder looked at her, any trace of humor gone from his face, “make what easier?”

“If … if something happens to me. I’ll feel better knowing … you’d … have each other, I guess.”

Mulder steered roughly to the left, blew through a stop sign, then pulled them into a large, dark parking lot, a high school if Scully read the sign correctly as Mulder raced past. Hitting the breaks, he threw the car into park, got out and slammed the door, leaving Scully stunned. She hadn’t meant to make it sound as harsh as it did and sighing, she opened her own door, zipping up her sweatshirt as she did so. He’d turned the headlights off so the only light was from a parking lot fluorescents fifteen feet away. Coming around the front of the car, she tugged on his arm, “hey, look at me, please?”

“Have you given up already?”

With a genuine scoff in his direction, “I don’t give up on anything. What the hell kind of question is that?”

“You said when something happens to you.”

“No, I said if.” Taking him by the arms, she turned him around until his back was to the car, “will you sit down?”

“Why?”

“So I can look at you, and not up your nose, when I talk.”

He conceded, sitting down on the bumper, “nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“Yes, I know.” Coming in closer, she forced her way between his knees, “but I learned from you to plan for all eventualities. I have a prepacked suitcase for when you ring my doorbell at 5am telling me we leave in 20 minutes. I have $500 cash in my purse and another $500 in my carry-on for emergencies …”

“Bail money for me?”

“Some of it, yes.” Continuing, “I now prepare for all things, even if there isn’t a chance in hell they’re going to happen. You forced me to learn that and I have and that’s all my comment was. I will be fine,” moving her palms to his face, thinning fingers, delicate steel hands against his cheeks, covering his ears as she tilted his head up to look at her, “but I feel better knowing mom has you and you have mom. You became friends with her while I was missing. I haven’t been forcing you together to create some superficial bond to make my never going to happen, non-impending doom easier to accept. She invites you for pie. You arrive and eat pie. You go home with leftover pie. I have nothing to do with that but I’m glad it happens.”

By now, his hands were on her wrists, eyes glued to her, closing as she leaned in, mirroring that accursed hospital hallway not that long ago. Once her forehead touched his, she whispered, “you are not Max. You have so many people here who love you and need you and you have so much to offer them back and you do. That’s the difference between you and Max. He searched for himself. You search for me, Mulder. You search,” kissing his forehead, then quickly his mouth, “for me.”

Then she wrapped her arms around him and felt his go around her waist. Hugging him tightly, she let the world disappear, sinking against him, warm, solid, against her.

“Who knew this much angst could come from a misplaced modifier?”

“We know now. Never let it happen again.”

With a chuckle, he shifted his head, talking into her shoulder, “Modell? Really?”

She just hugged him tighter, staying quiet against him as he held her close.

&&&&&&&&&&

They may have stayed like that for two minutes. It may have been ten. Regardless, eventually, Scully had to whisper into Mulder’s neck, where her mouth had landed earlier when she turned her head, “Mulder?”

Just as quietly, “yeah?”

“Can you take me home to bed, please?”

“Should I comment on the structure of that sentence as well or just be quiet?”

Giving another kiss to his neck, she pushed back off of him, sly grin, “just take me home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

&&&&&&&&

After a quiet goodnight/good morning at her bedroom door, he wandered to the living room, taking up residence on her couch, 3am sleepy as his head hit the spare pillow and his mind was finally calm.

[kittinsrkillers]

So I'm a die-hard wonder woman fan, and I'll be honest, I'm super not into all these internet edge lords hating on WW84.

It came out yesterday my dudes, you can not feasibly have a fully fleshed out opinion on it yet.

Give it a few more days, talk to a few people about what they thought about it, I guarantee that you will view it much more positively.

That is, of course, if the conversation had isn't actively trying to tear it down.

This is made mostly in response to all the reviews that didn't understand either or both of the film's villains and about the magical McGuffin involved.

Actual spoilers below (it's where I start really complaining)

Now what I said above also applies to me, but I did spend several hours analyzing the movie with friends and family so there is that.

I'm going to be talking about things I've seen and how I think those opinions are one dimensional

1) Barbara did need to be in the movie and/or her storyline dragged

I think this is mostly clouded by the iffy cgi when Barbra becomes Cheetah, because her storyline actively parallels Diana's. Max Lord is not the antagonist to Diana but to Wonder Woman, Barbra is Diana's “antagonist”. She gives up her kindness to gain power and Diana gives up her power, her ability to help other, to gain Steve. Diana relinquishes her wish but we never have any confirmation Barbra does the same despite knowing it will only hurt her. One is willing to see the truth of their world, while the other let their desires consume them.

2) Max Lord doesn't have any clear motivations

Most of the complaints I’ve seen of this don’t understand how he could let things get so bad, as if people don’t dig their heels in and refuse to change plans when things go wrong every day. He is already shown to fall into that with his cooperation, he falls into sunk cost fallacy so easily, his greed blinds him to the cost of his actions, he just needs a little more power and then his son will be proud of him, he will be respected, just a little more, and then things go wrong so he needs just a little more power to fix them and the cycle repeats.

3) The villains' didn’t do anything that bad, they shouldn't of been vilified

They didn’t and they weren’t. I have seen posts addressing this but I’ll do so too, to be inclusive. The villains’ were just regular people blinded by the injustices of the world till they too became part of the problem

Max Lord wanted to be respected and successful so he “cheating” others like he felt life had cheated him.

Barbra was trampled on by people her whole life, so when she got power she trampled on others too. Though hers is harder to talk about because the dream stone stole her warmth and empathy, she no longer cared for other people the way she once used to.

Then they were “forgiven”, able to grow past their mistakes to try and be better.

4) Steve was forced into the movie and he didn’t add anything

This is where my personal opinions really start to show up because I personally don’t think that that was really Steve. I think he was Diana’s memory of Steve, the Steve she wished for.

But before I get into that, if you pay attention to Steve's timeline then he’s just come off major character development and is now more idealistic, he trusts in Diana's judgement and his already strong moral code, he doesn't even consider that Diana could lose because he’s already seen her fight a literal god of war. He has already made sacrifices for the good of mankind, he can and will do so again.

The next bit is connected to my “Steve is a memory come to life” theory so I’ll include it here.

Diana only knew Steve for like a week why is he the one thing she wished for

How could Steve fly a 1980′s jet

Diana left Themyscira for mankind, she attached to Steve so hard because he is one of if not her first love. He was the catalyst for her leaving her home, possibly forever, he was her connection to mankind, so she fixated on him. She is also much older than a human and has a much longer lifespan, theoretically, it could mean she views time as much less important, she can grieve over her dead boyfriend for decades because she will be alive for millennia's.

We do not hear the specifics of Diana’s wish. We do not know the wording used, thus we could hand wave away a lot of the weird bits about Steve. Diana first meets Steve when his plane crashes and she last sees him when he detonates the aircraft full of poison gas. He introduces himself as a pilot, but the lasso of truth compels his to divulge that he is a spy, the rest of the movie focuses more on his ability to spy than his ability to pilot, and with seventy years of nostalgia, Diana , who knew Steve for a week, likely only came to know Steve truly through the rose-tinted stories of his old friends and family. Thus, when he is returned to her, he is her perfect, idealized Steve. The one who she admired for his ability to fly.

Of course, I’m sure there is just as much, if not more evidence to indicate something else entirely, but it’s only been a single day since I saw the movie.

5) It is campy, cartoonish, and less impactful than the first movie

Being campy and cartoonish does not make it less valuable. What does cartoonish mean in this context? Does it mean childish? Does it mean silly or simplistic? Does it mean better actualized through animated film? Because this is a comic book movie. A Wonder Woman comic book movie to boot. It will be hopeful and inspiring, about an incredibly powerful, mythical woman who helps humans by inspiring them to be better. Though a crude comparison, she can be likened to a “Girl Superman” though the tone of the two heroes is drastically different.

I genuinely don’t know why people are criticizing the themes and message this movie is trying to make. People keep throwing around words like heavy and deep about the first movie because it talks about mankind's willingness to hurt others to achieve their own petty goals, as if this movie isn’t exploring how mankind will hurt themselves in their own misguided desire for what they don’t have, how their greedy desires will only hurt themselves and others.

Is it because this one doesn't have a war in it?

I’m getting petty now so I’ll only cover one more thing.

6) A lot of the plot is just handwaved away and we’re just supposed to believe things

This is particularly used regarded the dream stone, it wasn’t explicitly explained and the god that made it is only vaguely mentioned. This applies to all the magic and mythical elements of the movie. Magic and gods are often portrayed as based in belief. Wonder Woman has unwavering belief, belief in people, gods, truth, justice, forgiveness, honor. In return people believe in her. This belief is the main force behind the magic involved in the movie.

We the audience believe in this universe created -> this universe has gods in it capable of incredible feats of magic -> these gods do not always approve of or care for humans -> these gods do not necessarily force humans to participate in what they hold domain over -> A god of lies and deceit made a wish granting stone -> the stone shows the lies of human greed -> the lasso of truth is the embodiment of truth -> one is unable to lie in its hold -> one can “see the truth” in its hold -> the particle satellite thing was wished into working perfectly -> Now the particles “touch” all of mankind (though they can only understand Max Lord through their screens) -> The lasso of truth becomes part of the broadcast thus “holding” all of mankind -> all of mankind can mow see the truth (though the screens only show the magical golden light because they are machines without thoughts)

And though it does not matter if this fits into the DCEU timeline, by all of the other movies, 30 to 35 years have passed, it was a week of unexplained, but certainly not known to be magical, chaos when all of the rest of the justice league was either a child or simply not born yet.

I’m sorry for the crazy rant, but I feel like the internet is full of people who seek out reactions so I made this for people to read when they feel like WW84 is being clogged with negativity. You don’t need to give them the reaction, I already have.

(P.S. The Trump thing isn’t real, Max Lord is the 80′s archetype of the cooperate raider, I didn’t even make that possible connection till the bigots online with their ever present victim-complex started acting all offended)

[dontcare77ghj]

Sandwiched

 Steve x reader x Peggy

Note: in this fic Peggy was given the same serum as Steve, the two were involved before they were both frozen in the same plane crash. Also, mentions of homophobia and racism (Fuck those people), just a few mentions of some assholes.

Masterlist     Sleep Series Masterlist     Halloween/Supernatural Masterlist

Dating two people from the 1940’s wasn’t something everyone in 2019 could say. Steve and Peggy were everything you could want in a relationship though. They had gorgeous souls, they loved humanity and they cared far too much. They were your match in every way.

When they woke up in this decade Fury had asked you to help them adjust into their new lives. It was almost inevitable when you fell for the two of them. The shock of the century was when they admitted they fell for you.

You easily fit into the relationship, Steve and Peggy often said it was because they were subconsciously waiting for you, and you couldn’t be happier. The three of you shared many traits but the one the everyone noticed was how you wanted to help. Now of course you couldn’t save everyone and there were people in this world who made it their goal to hurt those around them, but you all still tried. Though sometimes when all else failed the three of you comforted each other.

Out of the three of you Steve took things the most to heart. He liked saving people, he like defending the little guy and stopping the bully, you and Peggy knew he always gave his all but sometimes it just wasn’t enough. It doesn’t matter if you put your heart, soul and body into something, sometimes things just happen, and you can’t control it.

Steve had been out of the country for a few months now. After finding Bucky and finding out what they did to him all these years, Steve snapped. He wanted revenge for his friend, he wanted to make sure that HYDRA never hurt anyone else ever again.

In his quest to stop HYDRA, HYDRA began to retaliate. They began more experiments, attempted decimate towns and tried to ruin the lives of anyone they could. For the first time in months, Steve was coming home for a while.

A recent mission had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. Innocent lives had been lost and he had been fruitless in his attempts to save them. Fury seeing Steve’s rapidly deteriorating mental state, especially after the last mission, had sent him home.

The fact he reportedly put up no argument, really alerted you and Peggy as to what kind of condition your boyfriend was in.

Currently, you and Peggy were waiting, anxiously, in the hanger for Steve’s jet to land.

“Stop pacing.” Peggy said in her strong accent. “You’re making me feel anxious.” She complained, crossing her arms.

“I can’t help it.” You told her, turning sharply to face the brunette. “You heard him on the phone last night.”

“Yes, he sounded absolutely dreadful.” She pointed out, reaching her hand towards you to pull you into her. “But we are going to fix that.”

“We don’t even the extent of the state he’s in. What if we can’t help him?” You asked, biting your lower lip in worry. Peggy leaned down and gently pressed her lips to your making you stop biting your own to kiss the woman back.

“We will work it out. Together. Like we always do.” Peggy assured as you pulled away. Before either of you could say another word, the hanger creaked open and the loud sound of a quinjet arriving reached the pair of your ears.

The two of you watched as Steve’s team left the jet first, all of them appearing tired and a few maybe even injured, until Steve finally appeared. He was clearly exhausted, both mentally and physically, his face looked gaunt, his entire body was hunched over and he appeared ready to drop at any minute.

You and Peggy rushed over to the man and each wrapped an arm around his waist, attempting to support him. Though Peggy was probably doing more of the work with her super soldier strength, you still attempted to help the exhausted blonde.

Steve didn’t say anything as you helped him into the bedroom. The three of you sat on the bed with Steve in between you and Peggy. It was after a few minutes of silences, that Steve finally spoke.

“I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t help anyone.” He muttered, not looking away from the ceiling. He’d been staring blankly at it since you brought him up. “All I wanted to do was to help.”

“We know, Stevie.” Peggy murmured, placing a kiss onto his shoulder. “But there wasn’t anything you could do.”

“You can’t control these things, Stevie.” You told him, shifting to look up at him. “You went out there with honorable intentions, but these people aren’t honorable people.”

“They are pure evil.” Peggy added. Steve looked down between the two of you and nodded his head minorly.

“I just wanted to help.” He repeated, shifting so he was laying down rather than sitting. Steve did not release his grip on the two of you, so you were forced to follow his actions. He held you tightly to his chest as you both laid with him.

You and Peggy would switch off on saying soothing things to the brooding man and drawing soothing shapes on his chest, until he fell asleep with the two of you crushed to his chest.

“He’s still going to be blaming himself in the morning.” You whispered long after Steve had fallen asleep.

“I know.” Peggy said, reaching across his large chest to grab your hand. “But we will ensure he does not feel like this for long.” She added, giving your hand a comforting squeeze.

“I love you, Peg.” You said, kissing her hand before settling down on Steve’s chest. She leaned over and kissed your forehead gently and then Steve’s chest.

“I love you too, Y/N.” The two of you fell asleep with Steve’s arms tightly wrapped around your waists and yours around his shoulders. A comforting position.

Peggy took a lot to heart. She was passionate, she made changes and she did things. She liked to change things, make people see where they could fix things and make their own life changes.

Back in the 40’s there were a lot of bigoted people. People who expected her to act like other ladies of the decade. Didn’t appreciate how she took charge. Didn’t think she could fight or should for that matter. The fact she was bisexual was not something to brag about in her day either.

When she woke up 70 years later with Steve by her side, she thought things would’ve changed. Women were involved in the military and S.H.E.I.L.D, they took charge and sexuality was often an open thing. She and Steve were told they’d won the war, but no-one told them they were still fighting a war.

Bigotry had not died with the turn of the century. There were still plenty of people who thought women were weak, the LGBT+ community was wrong, and that people of different ethnicities were bad people.

Peggy actively spoke out against those people and would give long opinionated lectures to them and the moronic masses surrounding them. Unfortunately for Peggy, these people were so locked in their one-track thoughts they couldn’t see how they were wrong, and they wouldn’t believe that they could be wrong for once in their miserable lives.

Peggy had volunteered to speak at an LGBT+ event. She had a whole speech planed about being who you are, that it shouldn’t matter to anyone what your sexual preference or gender was and that you should always feel safe in whatever type of relationship you were in.

One narrow minded, foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach who had to interrupt her before she’d even really started. Of course, Peggy had told him where to go and where he was wrong, but she was still fuming at his attempt to belittle her and the people she was speaking to.

She had come home practically breathing fire, vile words about the heinous man falling out of her mouth as easily as she breathed.

“And then he had the nerve to say I was greedy and selfish for being bisexual and for being polyamorous.” She ranted, pacing the length of the room. You and Steve sat on the bed watching the woman pace furiously. “Who the bloody hell does he think he is?”

“He’s no-one.” You assured, standing up and grabbing her by the shoulders to stop her. “He’s just another nameless, faceless, asshole who thinks things no-one cares about.”

“But that’s the thing, N/N, he’s not faceless. Not this time. I saw him, I had to look at him as he shouted these vile things to not just me but those kids there.” She sighed, placing her hands on yours.

“And they were all able to see what a coward that man was.” Steve said, moving over to stand behind her. The two of you wrapped your arms around Peggy who went limp at the comforting touch the two of you gave her.

“The man is scum, Peg.” You murmured into her ear as you played with the ends of her hair. “People will come to realize how wrong he is one day.”

“But you were so strong today.” Steve added, kissing the top of her head. “You showed him what was what and all those kids saw how strong you are.”

Peggy didn’t say anything. She just relaxed further into the tight grip you held her in. Steve maneuvered the two of you over to the bed and laid the three of you onto the soft sheets.

Peggy lay sandwiched in yours and Steve’s arms and let out a few shuddering breathes as she attempted to quell her anger. You and Steve ran your fingers through her hair, played with her fingers and just let her know you where there for the woman.

“I love you.” Peggy murmured after several minutes. “Thank you.” She whispered, closing her eyes and letting out a deep breath.

“Love you too, Peg.” You said, kissing her cheek. “Love you, Stevie.” You added, taking his hand in yours.

“I love both my best girls.” Steve told you, squeezing your hand and throwing his arm across the two of your waists. Within seconds Peggy was fast asleep, held in Steve’s and your warm embrace.

Out of the three of you, you opened your heart the most. Steve and Peggy could see this as a positive thing at times, after all, you’d opened your heart to the two of them and easily accepted them into your life. Though, there was a downside to wearing your heart on your sleeve.

Your parents hadn’t said anything when you came out as bisexual. They did stir a little when you declared S.H.E.I.L.D. had hired you. Their reaction to you joining The Avengers initiative was mostly the same. They had caused a bit of a fuss when you’d announced you were in a polyamorous relationship, but when they found out you were in a poly relationship with Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter.

“They are dangerous, Y/N. We kept quiet when you said you were joining The Avengers, but this is ridiculous.” Your mother sighed, narrowing her eyes at you.

“I recall you saying I was going to get killed but sure, let’s say you kept your mouths shut.” You said, rolling your eyes at the two in front of you.

“Y/N L/N, this is not a joking matter.” Your father scolded. “You are getting yourself involved with some dangerous people. People who are older than us for God’s sake.”

“Physically they are my age. I know you can’t see past the numbers but they are the right people for me. Is it the age that makes you bulk or the fact involved with a man and a woman?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Maybe it’s both.” You mother said, standing from the table you were all sat at. “Y/N you are going down a dangerous path. You are constantly risking your life and your ‘love life’, if you can even call it that, is perverted.” 

“We would have been fine if you had just stuck to being bisexual, but this is too much. You are in a polyamorous relationship with Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter, with your lifestyle you are going to die an early death and when you do, we believe you will be going to hell.” Your father added, standing next your mother and taking her hand.

“We can help you darling.” Your mother said, giving you a sickly sweet smile. “Leave that team and end your perverted relationship and we can help you.”

“No.” You exclaimed, jumping from the table. “Fuck that. I will not be given an ultimatum, and not by the two of you. I love my job, I save the world for Thor’ s sake, I love my friendships and most of all I love Steve and Peggy. I will not leave any of them.” You snapped, slamming your hands on the table and glaring at them.

“Then neither of us want to see or contact you again.” Your father said, pulling your mother into his side. “Get out of our house and never darken our doorstep again. You are not our daughter.”

“Good.” You snarled and stormed out of the house. You jumped into your car and drove furiously back to the base. Your anger prevented you from bursting into tears, but it hurt that they had treated you like that.

Once you got back to the compound you moved as quickly as you could back to your room without drawing attention to yourself. Making it to the floor you shared with Steve and Peggy, the dam finally broke.

You sat on the couch and began to sob. You couldn’t breath. You couldn’t think. All you could hear was the sob of your own sobs and your parents echoing words.

Arms wrapping around your shoulders made you jump in surprise and you snapped your eyes to see your brunette girlfriend looking at you worriedly.

“Shh darling, it’s alright. You’re okay.” She said, pulling you in closer. 

“They don’t want me.” You cried, burying your face in her shoulder. “They told me I was disgusting and they never want to see me again.”

“Your parents?” She asked, running her fingers through your hair. You nodded tried to stop the tears streaming down your face. “They don’t deserve you, darling.”

“No, they don’t.” Steve said, sitting behind you and pulling you and Peggy onto his lap. “It’s their loss, doll.”

Steve and Peggy held you tightly, reassuring you of their own love for you. After several minutes of sobbing, your tears dried up and your breathing began to become rhythmic. 

“I love you. I love the two of you.” You said, sleepily leaning up to kiss Steve’s jaw and Peggy’s cheek. Laying your head on Peggy’s shoulder you began to fall asleep. A loving position.

With the three of you, comfort involved soothing words, gentle touches and laying sandwiched between the other two. You showed your comfort in physical ways and it was what worked for the three of you.

Taglist;

@piper-koko-barnes-rogers     @skeletoresinthebasement      @hopingforbarnes  

Show your support. Give it a like. Leave a comment. Share with your friends and reblog. Inbox/Message me comments, ideas, pairings or if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Coming soon;

Natasha x reader x Bucky

Steve x reader x Bucky

Bucky x reader x Sam

Steve x reader x Natasha

Natasha x reader x Sam

Steve x reader x Sam x Bucky

Steve x reader x Sam

Natasha x reader x Bucky x Clint

[cottagecorewhore420]

One Broken Headphone

A fluffy, WLW, protective girlfriend short <3 ~ 2500 words <3

I hope you enjoy reading it! Please lmk what you think :)

tw: brief mention of physical assault

Corrine had gone downstairs to get the delivery- which thank gods, she was starving. If Marcie didn’t get crab ragoon in her stomach within the next five minutes, she couldn’t and wouldn’t be held liable for any damages incurred.

Right as she was starting to fantasize about the fried piece of heaven her girlfriend was currently tasked with obtaining, a huge clap of thunder shook the apartment.

Philly, the large and skittish cat who Corrine had adopted off the street a year ago, mewled pitifully before a dart of white crossed the room. Apparently, it seemed as if Philly was scared of thunderstorms, if her current location of under-the-loveseat was any indication.

Way too often in Marcie’s past had people called her a bleeding-heart, but even now, when obviously the cat was beyond safe from the storm, she felt a jolt in her chest at the poor, scared, little baby.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I promise-,” she dropped down to her knees, and slowly began crawling over to the couch, moving slowly and purposefully as to avoid scaring the cat any further. She had only just started being trusted by the animal, and she didn’t want to backtrack any progress, especially since she knew how scared Philly was right now.

She received a meow as she continued closer- which, really, was better than nothing.

As another clap of thunder resounded outside, she idly worried about Corrine, but considering Corrine was a fully functioning human adult, and Philly was an anti-social terrified cat, her loyalties at the moment were a little more inclined to making sure the latter was okay. She started moving towards her again, and in doing so heard a crunch underneath her left knee- looking down, disheartened, she saw the broken right earbud of Corrine’s headphones she used on her laptop.

Before she had time to wallow in the fact that she had just broken her girlfriend’s headphones, Philly yowled and jumped from her position under the couch into Marcie’s lap, covering up the now-useless wires with her copious fur.

The cat was obviously really scared of the onslaught of rain outside, and Marcie’s bleeding heart beat again in sympathy for the poor cat, who assuredly had endured these kinds of storms by herself on the streets before Corrine found her.

With that sad thought, she mournfully began petting the fat feline in her lap, talking softly to her, trying to steel herself to telling Corrine that she had broken her earbuds.

~

“Corrine, I’m so sorry! I just, I- the thunder started, and I watched Philly dart under the couch, and she was so scared of the storm, and I knelt down to talk to her, and I heard a crack- it- I’m- I’ll buy you a new pair, I promise, I’m really sorry!”

All of this was said through a rush of words and teary eyes, the avalanche of apology hitting her as soon as Corrine walked back into the living room with their food.

Marcie looked near tears, sitting on the floor looking dejectedly up at Corrine’s standing-form, and yet, despite her obvious upset, she wouldn’t stop petting and comforting the cat that had been the cause of- well, what was Marcie upset about?

“Wait- I’m confused. What happened?”

Marcie thrusted the pair of earbuds at her, the right one’s speaker pitfully haning out of the in-ear part, obviously broken.

Looking down at the misty-eyed woman, who felt obviously horrible about breaking some old pair of headphones, because she had been trying to comfort a cat- who was even NOW, while upset, more obviously invested in the wellbeing of a cat who wasn’t even hers, Corrine was struck with the thought of “oh, fuck- I love her.”

“Hey, hey, Marcie, it’s okay, I promise.” She set the bags of food on the coffee table, and leaned down to sit next to Philly and her girlfriend.

“First and foremost, I’m glad you were up here to comfort Philly- she’s always reacted really badly to storms. I actually found her right after one, when she was meowing behind the dumpster out back.”

She could see the anguish that caused Marcie, to think of the sweet if not slightly-anti-social cat as sad and lonely.

“Secondly, I have had to headphones for I-don’t-even-know how long, baby. Seriously. I have like three others like that anyways somewhere in my room.”

Marcie looked up from where she had been resolutely staring at Philly’s back, seemingly studying the calico coloration in an attempt to not look up to Corrine.

“Also, honestly, that’s my fault, I’m the one who has a habit of sitting on the floor and then leaving stuff- I promise that’s not the first thing of mine that’s been broken because of me being forgetful.”

“Thirdly, I’m not mad, or upset, or secretly resentful- okay? I promise. I do not care about those headphones. They’re just an object, sweet pea.”

They lapsed into a terse silence, both petting Philly who was purring loudly at the attention, before Marcie spoke up.

“I- ahem. Um.” She swallowed past a lump in her throat, tearing her hand and eyes away from Philly and looking out to the balcony, looking through the window at the storm.

She focused on the sheets of rain as she steadied herself. “My last girlfriend- I accidently broke her- I broke her laptop charger one day. Like, the cable insulator part. I didn’t mean to! She had asked me to plug in her computer, but it wouldn’t attach, so I had taken it out and went to put it back in, and I guess the insulation maybe was unraveling or something, which wasn’t good, cuz it just snapped…”

Corrine was only idly stroking her cats’ fur now, staring at Marcie’s turned-away face, studying the obvious tension.

“She freaked out. She started yelling at me, and saying that I…” Marcie seemed to steal herself, looking out to the balcony intently, as if she was staring down the rain in a battle of wills. “She was saying how I was a complete fuck up, and she didn’t know why she even bothers with me. And that I owed her a new charger, and then she- ahem.”

There was a growing pit of dread in Corrine’s stomach, but she could see that this was something important to discuss if they wanted to build a long lasting, strong relationship. She needed to show Marcie she was safe, now, and protected. And it seemed Marcie needed to heal from this, too.

“She got really pissed, and she had gotten laid off earlier that week. That’s why her computer needed to be plugged in, she had been looking at jobs online for so long. She was just really, really stressed, and then I think I just was the thing that- “

“Baby,” Anne stopped stroking Philly, who seemed wholly unbothered now that the thunder had turned to just heavy rain. The calico got up and walked off elsewhere, apparently content with the amount of attention she had been bestowed. “Why are you excusing her?”

Anne reached out to grab Marcie’s hand, and when she did, Marcie’s head whipped around from her watch point, out to the balcony- there was tears welling up in her eyes, and her nose was bright red. “She hit me. Not just once, but like. A couple of times. She was really stressed, and she just- she started screaming and hitting me and she was so mad, and I- “she started sobbing, and lunged into Anne’s waiting arms, where Anne started comforting her, whispering similar platitudes to the ones Marcie had coaxed Philly with earlier.

“Baby, shh, it’s ok. I am so sorry that ever happened to you- that’s not right. I don’t care if her whole family died in a plane crash and then she got fired and stubbed all her toes. That is no excuse to ever hit you, Marsha Braun.” The serious tone coming from her usually-jovial girlfriend, along with her given name, made Marcie pull back and look into Anne’s eyes, seeming to search for something.

Anne sat there, idly reminded of when her uncle and she would wait patiently in the woods for the baby deer to approach.

Whatever Marcie was searching for, she apparently needed to find. When it seems she was satisfied, Marcie lunged forward again, but to hug Anne, locking her arms around her neck and pressing a kiss into the woman’s juncture between shoulder and neck.

“I was so scared when it happened, Annie.”

Anne’s heart cracked at hearing that, the words reverberated within her, sounding hollow. Marcie was such an abundantly kind, generous, loving person. The idea that anyone could do something such as strike her, multiple times, for doing nothing more than trying to do a favor- it made a fire boil in her veins.

“I’m so so sorry, kitten. I will never, ever, let you feel like that again.” And she meant it. Anne may not look intimidating, but her 12 years of Judo and ample weapons training said otherwise. She had a protective streak a mile wide when it came to those she cared about, and Marcie quickly was entering that realm, despite the two of them only having dated for going-on five months.

“I like that.” The words were soft, breathed into her neck.

“What?” Circles and nonsensical patterns were drawn on Marcie’s back, in comforting sweeps.

“Kitten. I like that- “Here, she yawned widely, also into Anne’s neck. “I like that a lot.”

“Tired?”

“I’m sorry- we haven’t even eaten yet and I know you’re hungry and we haven’t seen each other in days-“

“Baby, kitten, shh- I am hungry, so I’ll go ahead and eat my half while you take a short nap next to me on the couch, hmm? That way you get some beauty sleep, not that you need it-“

Marcie gave a shy grin.

“-and I get to eat my General Tso’s and watch whatever show I want, without having to battle somebody over Kitchen Nightmares or Hotel Hell. And, of course, I get to be next to the prettiest woman in the world while doing so.”

“I love you.”

Holyshitholyshitholyshit- They hadn’t said that yet. They were going tragically slow, and then she just says that! Marcie just said that! Anne’s heart constricted slightly, and she could practically hear the concerto playing in her brain, a cacophony of emotions.

“I love you too, Marcie.”

~

“Y’know… sometimes I worry it was my fault. She did it more than just the one time. I didn’t leave right away. I just- she had made me feel really really bad about myself. Like she was right, that nobody would want to put up with me. She only slapped me around a few more times-“

A few more times too many thought Anne darkly, listening as Marcie spoke, her voice projecting upwards into the blackness of their bedroom. She was laying on her back, looking to the ceiling, sidled up next to Anne.

“But… the last time, she had slapped me around and then was really pissed and she threw something at Benji. And I just- I felt so bad for my poor boy. He did nothing to deserve that, and I couldn’t let him stay there any more. It didn’t hurt him, thank god, but I left that night.”

Benji. The huge golden retriever that Macie loved; the one she had to put down a few weeks before she and Anne met.

She had only known about the dog through pictures and stories, but she knew he was Marcie’s childhood dog, and she had had him all the way up through college. She had loved Benji so much.

Anne was filled with aches in her soul- anger, brittle and sharp at Marcie’s ex. Rounded, hollow pain for Benji, who was gone. A resounding ache, pointed, for Marcie’s hurt. She didn’t know what else to say, so she said all she could think.

“I’m happy you left.”

“Yeah… me too.”

As they drifted into silence, Anne said a silent prayer, sent up to a golden retriever named Benji, in thanks for protecting her now-girlfriend from herself, when she hadn’t been there to do so.

She hoped the old dog would have liked her- she certainly liked his owner.

[eliotquillon]

mark walden and politics in h.i.v.e

as you probably all know by now (thanks to the j.k rowling fiasco), art and politics are inherently linked; whether it’s intentional or not, it’s difficult to extricate an author’s beliefs from the way they manifist in literature. and with that in mind, let’s talk about politics in h.i.v.e.

h.i.v.e is a series that has never exactly shied away from criticising the politics of the year each book was published in, and you can probably see this best in the character of matt ronson, who is the most obvious stand in for mitt romney that i’ve ever seen in my entire life. romney was running against obama in the 2012 election, and, coincidentally enough, matt ronson appears in deadlock, which was published in 2013 (and almost certainly written during 2012). in case you’ve repressed the events of deadlock (which i wouldn’t blame you for lmao), ronson’s a senior member of the disciples - he’s actually head of an entire cell - and is running for president in order to secure the disciples’ control over the united states. it’s not exactly subtle imagery. it’s definitely the boldest walden gets in terms of critiquing the state of late 00s-early 2010s politics, and is also the example that i think is easiest to pick up on, because of how similar ronson and romney’s names are, and how in-your-face the whole scene is. i mean, otto leaves ronson to die in a plane pre-programmed to crash in the middle of the ocean because when raven tells him that a bullet would’ve been quicker, his response is, quote, “too quick.” for further proof, if you check walden’s twitter, he’s pretty positive towards obama on the whole, which i imagine is why he decided to kill off obama’s presidential challenger.

but that’s not the first time politics gets infused in h.i.v.e. the first time - the one that actually serves as the catalyst for, well, everything - is otto deposing the prime minister by making him moon the nation on live television. book 1 was published in 2006; this was when tony blair was prime minister in the uk. if you’re unfamiliar with uk politics, blair is pretty harshly criticised on both sides of the political spectrum for his role in the iraq war/the 2008 financial crash (although he resigned and appointed gordon brown as his successor in 2007), and the fact that he created ‘new labour’, a movement which pushed the predominantly working class, leftist labour party further towards the ‘moderate centre’ in an attempt to capture more of the middle class vote as opposed to labour’s traditional post-industrial ‘northern heartlands’. the prime minister that otto deposes is blair, or at least a stand in for him; i’ll give proof below.

the important thing is that otto decides to get rid of the prime minister because st. sebastian’s is closing down, and st. sebastian’s is closing down because of the prime minister’s childcare reforms that result in, quote, “the restructuring of local childcare provision.” whether or not st. sebastian being closed would’ve been an overal net positive or not is debatable (otto mentions that the building was starting to become “genuinely unsafe”), but if you don’t know much about blair, he was BIG on restructuring, especially in london, where st sebastian’s is located, and something in particular that blair was fond of was giving more powers to local councils (essentially, shifting the uk to more of a federal system than a centralised one). you’ve probably already guessed, but yep, the letter that announces st. sebastian’s is closing comes from the local council. it’s also mentioned that the childcare reforms have “the prime minister’s personal backing”, and, yep, childcare budgets and early years spending increased exponentially under blair (he even renamed the department of education to the department of children, schools, and families, which was promptly renamed AGAIN once labour left office, but that’s a rant for another day). there’s also the fact that otto goes to brighton for the prime minister’s party conference - this is where the labour party conference is held, whereas the conservative party conference alternates between birmingham and manchester. finally, in zero hour (published in 2010) it’s mentioned that the prime minister resigned and that his party lost in the next general election - this is exactly what happened to blair and new labour after the financial crash. of course, this evidence is very circumstantial, but i don’t think that this is a coincidence, and, anyway, i struggle to see how walden could’ve been more explicit in implying that this is blair without facing parental backlash.

now onto the political commentary; i’ve already mentioned how everyone hates blair, and walden is no exception. the statement that otto makes the prime minister is absolutely damning. it’s too long for me to copy and paste the entire thing (i say, when this post is going to be ridiculously long anyway), but here are some highlights: “we hold you and your families in nothing but the deepest contempt”, “i don’t think that we get enough credit for having to put up with your constant whining”, “half of you can barely read or write, and the way the education system’s going, that’s not going to change any time soon”, “we don’t care” “all we care about is power and money”, “shut your mouths and cut the moaning, because we don’t give a monkey’s.” i think it’s pretty safe to say that this is not exactly positive. personally, i think that the “moaning” and “whining” walden refers to here is a reference to the anti-war protests about the us/uk invasion of iraq, and there were complaints about the scrapping of grammar schools/“dumbing down” of the GCSE qualifications (regardless of whether or not that was intentional) across the board for years both before and after blair got into power. but whichever way you look at it, this is not a glowing representation of blair. and if you look on walden’s twitter (again), he tends to retweet a lot from michael rosen and owen jones, both prominent labour members who are very staunchly anti blair and anti ‘new labour’.

also, while searching walden’s twitter for blair references, i also came across this 2019 tweet:

where, as you can see, he shares an anecdote about how his old house used to be next to an army range and that his neighbour told him that military helicopters were often “flown by a 21 year old with a hangover”. and, like, i’m not saying that that’s the inspiration for 13 year old laura being able to hack a military base so she could spy on her classmates, but i’m totally saying that.

anyway, there’s one more political figure i want to cover here, and that’s duncan cavendish, aka the prime minister in zero hour. anyway: duncan cavendish is former conservative prime minister david cameron (notice the identical initials). i did actually ask walden about this on twitter, and he said he ‘couldn’t possibly comment’, which imo most likely means that he’s unable to confirm because of contractual reasons. but anyway: zero hour was published in 2010, the year of the election which put the conservatives (for clarity’s sake, i’m going to be referring to them as tories for the rest of this post) back into power for the first time in 13 years (albeit in a coalition with the centrist libdem party), meaning that it was written in 2009 when cameron was party leader, and after the 2008 crash. i don’t think walden knew for sure that cameron would come to power (after all, in zero hour it’s stated that cavendish’s party won by a landslide, whereas the actual 2010 election resulted in ‘hung parliament’), but it wasn’t exactly a hard guess to make that labour would lose after the events of 2007/8 and their record in iraq.

something that particularly sticks out to me is cavendish thanking nero for switching him from the polfi stream to the alpha stream - in real life, cameron has an a level in economics, and studied philosophy, politics, and economics at oxford and his father is also a stockbroker, all aspects which certainly scream polfi to me. personally, i think this was a dig at cameron’s fairly elitist background, and the fact that he’s historically been seen as an opportunist rather than a real leader. also, cameron was once approached in the former soviet union by two men he suspected were KGB agents trying to recruit him, and i’m not saying that walden used this connection when linking cavendish to pietor furan and the disciples, but....yeah. there’s also the fact that nero references cavendish’s academic record of going to an elite boys’ school being fudged, and, yeah, cameron attended eton (he also got suspended for smoking cannabis, which is just. a lot to think about for a man who helped push through legislation that further penalised cannabis users). again, on twitter walden has been extremely outspoken against the tories in general, specifically about brexit, the referendum for which occurred under cameron’s government. also walden kind of predicted the future: in zero hour, cavendish is blackmailed by nero into resigning. in real life, cameron resigned the whip (left both his post and the tory party as an MP) in 2016 after the uk voted to leave the eu. obviously that’s not proof of anything but it just makes me laugh.

those are the specific figures - now let’s talk more about walden’s general ideologies. he’s very anti-gun on twitter, and this obviously links to wing and his refusal to wield guns/shoot people; wing’s arguably the most staunchly moral character in the series, which i don’t think is a coincidence. walden bashed mass surveillance by having otto abhor (and later destroy) echelon; echelon is actually a real international government project that was originally designed for military surveillance but later branched out into greater mass surveillance (also, fun fact! i only live about an hour’s drive from an echelon radome base, so i hope my mi5 agent is enjoying this post). we see walden criticise mass surveillance again with the existence of the artemis project (and also the disciples’ use of facial recognition software), and while i have no idea whether or not that’s real, i think everyone knows that there are multiple international coalitions devoted to gathering and sharing data on world citizens (google the nine eyes partnership if you want to give yourself a bit of a crisis). walden has reposted a picture that says ‘make orwell fiction again’ on twitter, so it’s pretty clear where he stands on that. in general, walden is left wing, and that shows in his books - while i’ve corroborated all of my assumptions here with evidence i found on walden’s twitter, i came to most of these conclusions on my own just from reading the source material.

and this is why i’m only 90% joking when i talk about walden lagging behind on book 9 because there’s so many different things he needs to satirize. the global stage has changed dramatically since deadlock’s publication, and if walden’s passionate about critiquing those in power, he’s got a lot of content to choose from - trump, obviously, but also boris johnson and theresa may over on this side of the pond (and he really, really hates johnson). h.i.v.e as a story is inherently political, and not just because of the more obvious “morally grey villains” trope. walden uses his fictional world to critique the real-life authority figures in control, and does so while keeping it subtle enough so as to not tip off most casual readers. overall, it’s pretty impressive.

[eolian-234]

The Supplejack

Summary of the story:  Peter Parker has been alone his whole freshman year but finds hope when Stark Industries announces a science competition. The prize? An internship with Tony Stark.

Hi all. Thank you for being patient on this one. I haven't been at my best recently and writing has taken the brunt of that. In saying that I hope you all doing well and enjoy this one.

I'm also working on my other story "A Night She won't Soon Forget" and that should be posted sometime next week!

Previous Chapter Fifteen: He Returns

Chapter Sixteen: Civil War

Peter reclined back onto the towel. Sand moved under his body to accommodate the shifting in weight as he changed positions. He closed his eyes and listened to the people talking over the waves lapping at the shore. More sand underneath his head siphoned down creating a gritty pillow for his head.

He exhaled.

Flash and Julia were talking to his side. Their soft tones were loud enough to guess Flash had done something irritating and Julia was, in her way, telling him off. He couldn’t hear their specific words but he smirked at a cry of dismay from his friend over something Julia said. Their laughter washed over him along with the general sounds of a beach. It was good to have them close.

He smiled.

They were upstate for the weekend at one of Frank’s mom’s cottages. The home, bigger than any house let alone cottage had the right to be, was hidden away in the Finger Lake Region. It was beautiful country surrounded by hills and vast trees, all miles from the city. Peter couldn’t tear his gaze away from the farms and forests they passed to get to their little oasis. He didn’t ask for specifics when Frank invited them and sitting on the beach with everyone he was glad he didn’t let himself turn down the offer. It was nice to just be for a moment.

Their whole team came out plus Flash, Estee, and Ned in celebration of their runner-up status for the conference. He hadn’t thought there was anything to celebrate but his team had been overjoyed at the announcement. The group chat overflowing with all sorts of ecstatic messages and memes.

The celebration had to be put on hold because of the fast approaching end of school. Finals took over their thoughts for the time and everything else was waylaid. Frank and Monica were graduating so their schedules were filled along with the addition of making sure they were ready for the fall. He and Julia tried to help as best as they could but school bogged down their own schedules as well.

Peter expected everyone to separate in a natural way with all of these factors and was dismayed, as well as pleased, the group chat never extinguished. There wasn’t a day where someone didn’t text something, whether it was Frank talking about one of his games or Julia making sure they were all doing okay for the week. Those small connections were enough to get him through finals and not thinking about what happened.

Summer arrived with the abruptness of the last ring of school bell and finish of finals. One minute the world was on your shoulders and the next it didn’t matter how long you went without sleep to study for the history final. The average was a 59 percent and Peter scraped by with a 65. At least he’d aced all his other finals. Those acted as a buffer when May asked him about the results.

The hot season had been… different than what he was used to. There wasn’t any other way he could describe it. Instead of the long walks alone, waiting for May to get home from work by reading or working ahead on homework for the upcoming year Peter was familiar with, this year Peter had friends.  And they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The whole group of them stuck together as much as they could even after the presentation. Julia met him at the library more times than he could count. Although she didn’t have homework the two of them, and sometimes Flash accompanying her, would read there. More often than not they would then go no a fieldtrip around the city, finding new spots and ice-cream places they had all never been before. Sometimes Frank and Monica would join them on their escapades.

It was glorious.

And it was exhausting.

He hoped they wouldn’t change when fall was ushered in with the start of school and life began again.

Only two more weeks until the date back.

Logically, he knew it wouldn’t be the same but the thought of starting out his sophomore year the same way his freshman year began was unbearable. It had to be different. He suspected, good or bad, that nothing would quite be the same again. But he was also different.

Peter thought about everything that happened – everything he went through – and realized how much had changed. It was a chilling reflection. The depths of evolution he went through in the past year alone. He’d been lost in the sea of grief as school began and it wasn’t until a white flag, in this case a piece of paper hanging outside of the office, waved that something shifted. Of course, he was resistant to it and avoided the signup sheet simultaneously afraid and yearning for what signing his name could bring.

From there it all tumbled accumulating into even greater changes than Peter ever dreamt possible. Ned was steadfast in his offer of friendship. Cafeteria lunches became commonplace when Peter didn’t feel comfortable before. He’d even begun to enter into the debates Mike held at the table earning approving glances from Midge and Jaimik.

In the midst of all this Peter won the internship. Him. Peter Parker. The freak no one liked. The one who felt best in a safe place instead of in the bustling halls of school was interning at Stark Industries with some of the smartest people he’d ever met.

He remembered wishing he could be like the people who walked into the building like it was any other day; not stopping to stare at the intricate planes and panels leading up to the clouds. While Peter often ran late and didn’t have time to stop and stare, he found the building had become a safe place to him. His seat by the window was always empty and waiting for him and besides it was a cabinet full of snacks Julia would share. Lab five and its occupant were beginning to be as familiar and his talks with Friday never failed to make his day.

Thinking of lab five made his chest tighten. Something he always felt when Mr. Stark was mentioned somehow. He wondered what would have happened if everything had gone differently.

If Peter explained.

If he’d stood up for himself and made Mr. Stark listen.

What would Ben have said about it all? How would he react to his nephew forgetting to his speech about courage and shyness? In actuality, Peter had no doubt Ben would’ve stormed into Stark Tower and gave Mr. Stark a piece of his mind. Ben’s approach would be direct and the results would be swift, he was sure of that much. But that was something Peter couldn’t do.

He respected Mr. Stark too much to try and push himself into the man’s life. There was a list of things left unsaid but maybe it was for the best. At least now the man attributed the faults to something Peter did instead of who Peter was. He wasn’t sure if he could handle another rejection of himself again. Especially not from Mr. Stark.

Peter shook his head on the towel and ignored the sounds around him as long as he could.

All of these incited the changes in himself. He was still Peter but at the same time he was something more. He had friends and family. People he could contemplate opening up to. Topics he was passionate about. A job doing something he excelled at. They all were apart of him now when a year ago he could never have dreamed of any of it. And he felt so lucky to be able to think that; to be laying there on the beach as his friends surrounded him.

And that was that.

Julia squealed and began laughing. She stood up in a hurry, spraying sand onto her towel and Peter’s face. He sat up, covering his face with his hands to block the sun while trying to spit out the offending grit in his mouth.

“What was that?” He found Julia soaking and Flash holding a bottle full of liquid.

“You stand back, Flash” She yelled. He smiled and progressed further toward her. Peter scrambled onto his feet at the deranged grin Flash sent him. Julia’s hands were up to provide a barrier in front of her. Her head moved back and forth between the two of them.

“Oh, no you don’t. Peter, I’m warning you.” He stepped toward her. “Flash, you’ve corrupted him!”

Flash moved forward after a nod from Peter. Julia darted backward but Peter blocked her exit. Flash raised the bottle again and flipped it over but Julia was too fast. The water ended up dripping into his hair and down his face. At least the sand from before was washed away.

His bangs flattened onto his forehead and he coughed to get the liquid out. Flash and Julia’s laughter ignited further at the sour face he was making. Her arm was over Flash’s shoulder and the two huddled together as he wiped the hair from his eyes.

“So funny.” He frowned when they continued to laugh. Their eyes crinkled and he couldn’t help but smile in response. Peter stepped toward them and shook his head. Water sprayed over the two, provoking protests. They followed him as he ran to the dock, dodging their attempts to throw the last of the water on him.

Frank stepped out of the house and onto the porch. His yells of encouragement were followed by the sounds of his steps as he ran toward them.

“Yeah, fight it out!”

The planks of the dock shook under each step forward. They all backed up, not wanting to get in the way until they realized they were stuck between the dock and water with nowhere to go.

“No!” They yelled united under a common enemy fast approaching. Frank continued to yell. His eyes bulged out and Peter could almost imagine his tongue leaving his mouth and dangling over the side of his face. At the last moment he extended his arms out on either side of his body and jumping forward. He dragged the three of them up and over the water until they crashed into the waves.

Peter swam back to the beach. Sand squished through his toes as water pooled in his bathing suit before dripping down his legs. He stood at the precipice of the water watching as the tide moved back and forth, over and away from his feet. In the corner of his vision he could spy Frank pushing Julia into the water again at the edge of the dock. Her raised voice filled with mirth so at odds with her normal quiet tones. It seemed everyone was able to let loose on their weekend trip.

He turned his back on the shore and made his way to his towel. Monica and Estee had arrived while they were swimming. They smiled as he approached.

“Cold?” She asked snickering at the shivers running down his arms. Peter nodded and sat down careful to keep his sand encrusted feet off the towel. He watched the others continue to swim around. Their laughter punctuated the splashes as they jumped off the dock.

Monica moved over and sat next to him. Her head rested on top of her knees tucked against her chest.

“Peter?” She said in a quiet tone. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything or when a good time to talk would be but I wanted you to know I’m really proud of our team. I could tell you thought we blamed you for the place we got but the thought never crossed my mind. You know?”

Peter swallowed and turned to face her. She stared straight at the lake but there was an openness in her face.

“I didn’t…” He cleared his throat. “How did you know?”

This time she did look over at him with a soft smile. There wasn’t an ounce of blame there. Peter shifted on the towel.

“I think I know you by now Peter. Plus, I would’ve felt the same if I was… you know.”



The tightness knotted in his chest in response and he did his best not to remember Mr. Stark’s parting words. Instead he focused on his teammate. It was her senior year and college was around the corner for her. He wondered what she would do now that both of her internships were done and her life was just beginning. She was sure of what she wanted that there was no doubt she would do something great. There was no reason for her to lie because he knew she would have no trouble saying her mind. Peter looked over and was grateful now for that straightforwardness. It let him accept her words and feel the knot loosen.

“Thank you.” He said.

She leaned over and put a hand around his shoulder, drawing them together.

The sun was setting behind a row of trees on the other side of the lake. Clouds lingered in the sky creating specks of purple and black overlaid on the fire palate in the sky. Frank, Flash, and Julia finally crawled out of the water and onto the shore all shivering and prune-skinned from the water. They plopped down on the towels and started digging into their bags to grab the snacks they brought down from the cottage.  

Peter accepted a handful of grapes. Everyone laughed and talked as they dried off. Two more weeks until school and in that moment, Peter would’ve given everything to stay on that lake; somewhere in upstate New York with his friends.

-

“How’s the Yaesu doing?” Barry asked from his spot in the doorway.

Peter looked up from behind a pair of magnifying goggles. Barry’s features were distorted under the pair of goggles but he smiled at the way Peter was almost bouncing off the seat as he nodded.

“I think it’s done.” He said.

Barry entered the room and Peter shoved everything over to the side of the desk so he could move the radio over to where his boss was standing. Barry whistled as he inspected the new parts all secured in their right place.  He tinkered around with a few of the disks but then stepped back.

“This is great, Peter. I’m glad you talked me into those extra hours, though your old manager is missing out on one good barista. She’s a beauty. With your finishing of that I think you deserve the rest of the day off.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest; to say he needed the distraction, but Barry was already waving him off.

“No worries. You’ve been working so much and I know you want some time before school. I’ve got the shop covered here.”


At least he was kicking Peter out in the nicest way possible but he wasn’t sure what he would do now. Frank and Monica had moved into their dorms the weekend before. Frank was out of state on a football scholarship. The pictures they sent of their cramped rooms did not inspire excitement about Peter’s own future prospects. Their small updates while sporadic allowed everyone in their team to stay connected.

Flash and Julia were doing something together which had surprised Peter but everyone else didn’t share his reaction. Monica said he should have seen it coming and on reflection Peter realized they had spent a large amount of time together at the cottage. He thought it was cute they were friends. Julia brought a sort of calm to Flash whose energy otherwise had too many directions to go to. Under the other’s influence Peter noticed the focused energy in Flash and a rise in confidence in Julia.

Ned was Ned. The boy texted Peter if he wanted to hang out today citing movies they could watch but with this unexpected freedom so early in the day Peter just wanted to spend time by himself.

There was nothing wrong with that, he reassured himself and ignore the guilty feeling of not texting his friend back. Spending time with yourself was important. Balance was key and while their upstate vacation was fun he returned home tired. After all he thought of by the lake, all the changes he’d undergone, he wasn’t a completely new person. He was still Peter Parker and sometimes he needed to be with himself.

Peter went into the back to grab his stuff. He spotted Barry on his way to the door in the front. The man was leaning against the counter, arms crossed on the glass case with his eyes trained on the small TV set up by the register. One red Converse rested on the other.

“Barry?” Peter spoke trying to gain the attention of his boss but the man didn’t respond. He said his name again with the same lack of response. The news murmured in the back and Peter walked around the counter, curious to see what was monopolizing his boss’s attention.  

The camera was shaking. Blurry images focused and unfocused on the screen amidst dirt and chaos thrown into the air. The trembling stopped; the camera focused and everything seemed to pause.

Peter’s breath lodged, trapped and turning stagnant, in his chest. The camera was stationary but what it captured was made all the more violent by this unnatural stop in motion. The outside world was silent, trapped in the spell the recorded world wove spinning regardless of its effects in brash action. Metal screamed on impact. Dust and debris streamed across the sky and Peter’s eyes tried to follow every movement in anticipation.

The first thing his eyes zoomed in on was the blue suit. Hadn’t he seen it on the TV only a month ago with that stranger? Captain America stood center screen, facing away and gesturing wide to someone he couldn’t see. His back tensed. Muscles rippled under the taught fabric facing them. His dropped for a moment. The helmet with dipped out of sight before his back straightened again. His shoulders square and spine tall. Then he brought his arm up and lunged forward.

Something hit the ground.

Red and gold caught his eye.

Peter gripped the edge of the counter as blue hit the red suit, sending the cement cracking under the pressure. Why was he? How could Captain America attack… his fellow Avenger? His friend?

His knees threatened to buckle as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

Captain America and Iron Man. In battle.

Beyond those two frontal figures other superheroes were fighting. Using their powers against each other. Not against a villain or some common enemy. No, they were fighting amongst themselves.  

Captain America stood above Iron Man. His feet near the man’s head. Cement cracked in a grotesque halo around his head. The building behind them was on fire.

In the back of his mind Peter wondered how this was being recorded and broadcasted onto the TV. All those thoughts were stripped away when Mr. Stark, no, Iron Man, launched off the ground, toward the other man.

Their fight began in earnest. There were no more pauses, nothing to say there was any hesitancy left in either figure. The colors clashed on screen and a restless itching invaded his muscles and into his blood cells. He needed to do something. To run or distract or… something. But he didn’t know where to go or what to do. Would he be welcomed? The most sickening prospect is he knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything either way. Not in comparison to all of the special people already there.  

Still, despite reaffirming these thoughts there remained the urge to run there and help Mr. Stark in any way he could.

Regardless of not being wanted or needed.

“Look at that there. Who would have thought good old Captain America would engage like that?”



Peter focused on the screen again. Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck at the realization they were at a different location than before. The walls were dark and condensed the vision of the cameras making him feel claustrophobic.  

Iron Man was standing apart from a figure shrouded in the shadows. The famous shield, the one Peter dreamed of holding as a child, was cast to the side. Scratches marred the star on the front. Captain America stepped out from his place by the wall with a frown. He said something as he looked Iron Man up and down. A faint, pleading look replaced his otherwise dour expression.

Punches were thrown and explosives detonated in the cramped quarters so quickly it was difficult to keep track of everything. Peter lost sight of Iron Man for a moment and his heart clenched until the faint glow of the arc reactor appeared from inside the dust cloud.

Peter couldn’t think of him as Mr. Stark in that suit. His name refused to surface in Peter’s mind with all the metal incasing him, protecting him. It created this distance and it would hurt too much to think of that as Mr. Stark fighting.

The shield was in his hands.

Everything was in slow motion. The itching grew and Peter needed to run, to scream, to stop it but he was helpless. Captain America brought the shield over his head. His knees were on either side of Iron Man’s chest. The shield came down and slammed, stopped in time by Iron Man’s hands. The shield came up again, higher than the previous time, and it was flying down.

His heart stopped. Iron Man’s hands weren’t enough to stop the energy behind the assault.  Captain America stared down. Iron Man gazed upward, pain and a sort of grime acceptance in his eyes.

The shield came down faster than he could follow, the stars and stripes blurred by the motion. The results were confirmed with the denting of the red armor. The arc reactor fractured. Glass cracked and allowed the light to slip through the gaps.

The two men stared at each other. Their broken and torn up armor added unspoken meaning to the betrayed faces they wore. Iron Man’s helmet came off and it was the first time he wasn’t realized to see Mr. Stark’s face. Before that moment there was still a doubt and hope it would’ve been someone else or empty. But no, Mr. Stark gasped for air while his hands clawed against his chest.

Those wide eyes and desperate movements were the last to appear before the TV went black.  Peter was frozen. He was stuck in the fraught moment that had ended too soon and not soon enough on screen. The one he knew Mr. Stark was still living.

Barry said something. His eyes searched Peter’s face but he couldn’t look away from the screen now filled with headlines and news anchors. His boss moved around the counter and clapped him on the shoulder with another word Peter missed. He moved to the back of the store leaving Peter alone.

The person on screen was speculating about the possibilities of meaning this could mean for the Avengers and greater world. Their lips hurried through the broadcast but it was obvious they didn’t know what was happening.  

One particular sentence caught his attention.

“…and, of course, Tony Stark also under the alias, Iron Man, was on scene. While we don’t know exactly what caused this rift between the group it is clear his motivations and actions are far from scrutiny given past indiscretions…”

His hands clenched at his sides at the smirk on the reporter. The tighter he squeezed the deeper his nails bit into the flesh of his palms. It was just like those people staring in the hallways of the Tower. Their faces all pressed against the glass to catch a glimpse and speculate about their boss. The news was the same. The amount of times Mr. Stark had joked about what they wrote about him was sickening.

Who were they that they had the right to say that? How was that fair?

Peter squeezed his hands harder, pushing his knuckles into the glass on the counter before storming out of the building. He didn’t call out a goodbye to Barry or clock out of work. It didn’t matter.

The wind swept through his hair and a chill descended onto his skin as he walked out. On pilot he steered through the crowds of people without making eye contact. His thoughts were miles away but his feet began the way to his apartment without prompting.

He couldn’t help the tendril of worry curled in his stomach. It nested there and created a pit stuck like an anchor weighing down his body and thoughts. Mr. Stark had to be okay. He was Iron Man after all and the man had faced much worse. He’d always come out ahead every other time.

That was the defining difference though. Mr. Stark had faced worse enemies before but Captain American wasn’t an enemy to Peter’s knowledge. While Mr. Stark didn’t talk about the Avengers often and Peter didn’t want to pry, it was a kind word he spoke when he did. Peter never dreamed there would be discord in the world-famous group. They were the Avengers and to all outward appearances they were colleagues and friends. Everyone’s aimed weapons. The scowls and grimaces. All the fighting in the back. All of it aimed at a teammate.

He thought of Julia, Frank, and Monica and shivered. Would they turn on each other given the chance? Peter shook his head at the wayward nature his thoughts were taking. He had to focus on what was happening now.  

Mr. Stark’s eyes and his hands holding onto his chest would be burned into his mind. The image of fissured glass and metal replayed over and over. Peter wasn’t sure if he could remember to breath normally.

-

The subway ride passed by without notice as his thoughts whirled around in his head. Somehow Peter made it back to his room ensconced in the familiar warmth of his blanket. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped to obliviate everything. For a selfish instant, all he wanted was to forget about the afternoon and all the baggage that came loaded with it. He should’ve helped. It was like there was this voice in the back of his mind that knew in some other universe he would have been strong enough to help in some way. It wasn’t to be. He was here in his apartment under the covers in his bed. He was hiding from his aunt and her questions. He was hiding from himself and the disappointment he felt about it all.

Peter’s phone rested against the pillow to his side. He ignored all the incoming text messages from his friends and instead scrolled through every social media and news outlet he could think of trying to get a crumb of new information. There were videos breaking down every scene of the footage released like a movie trailer. Everything was conjecture.

There was one option to find the truth.

Shaking hands dialed the contact and with minimal thought to convince himself out of this course of action, Peter pressed call. The lone sound that filled the air was the rings followed by Mr. Stark’s voicemail. The man’s voice, gentle and teasing, took Peter’s breath away. He hadn’t heard it in so long and yet it felt like yesterday. He remembered the story Pepper told him of how she forced him to set up the voicemail on his number.

“You know who it is. You’re trying to call me so I’m supposed to say leave a number but don’t. I’ll find you.” He could hear the phone being put down and Mr. Stark walking away while talking to his partner. “Are you happy now, Pepper?” He said and they both laughed.

She told Peter over dinner one night how stubborn the man was. How even though he was quick to right his wrongs, change came difficult for him, including, apparently, a new voicemail. The man had griped from across the table but winked at Peter when he insisted in defending Mr. Stark’s honor and told Pepper he was the same way. He glanced up under his lashes when he spoke, confident for the first time that night, to see their eyes soften as they gazed at him.  

He scowled at the memory and let the phone fall screen first onto his mattress before turning toward the wall. Peter tucked the blanket higher over his head and wished he had the courage to leave a voicemail, or to call one more time so he could hear their laughter again.

His stomach throbbed as he thought about his internship. He spent so many hours in the Tower over forged metal and takeout boxes with the man. All the time he agonized over if he should be there and listing everyway he wasn’t good enough when it would’ve been, not easy because nothing was that easy, but worth it to forget about all that. How strange and how worth it would his internship have been if Peter had just accepted he was wanted there? At the time he rationalized he was doing everyone a favor. He was saving them from disappointment but maybe he was saving himself the potential hurt. Peter thought of his promise to himself to try and be happy and he realized maybe this was a part of it.

Osborn and his curled smile were the crux of this. The injection of that man into his life had closed off doors he was only beginning to see were available to him. If only he’d never gone to Oscorp.

It was no use thinking like that but his mind kept circling around the two men well into the morning. Nothing fruitful came of it and he was left with shadows darkening his eyes.

May tried to grab his attention. She loaded up his plate with toast and strawberries but Peter pushed it around. His homework beckoned him from his desk but as he sat there, Peter found his eyes wandering to the fire escape and beyond.

His feet pounded against the sidewalk as his walk turned into a run. Despite the screaming in his muscles and the pressure building in his lungs he continued forward, urged by the lack of thought his action was providing. He was so focused on his body he didn’t have to think about Mr. Stark and why he was fighting with Captain America. Self-reflective thoughts were shoved down by the sound of his harsh breaths and for the moment Peter was running.

And it was heaven.

Thank you!

Taglist: @whatisthou @demi-starzak @warmwithafewfrostymoments

Next Chapter Seventeen: Reflections and Realizations

[emotionally-imbruised]

In the world of Accidentally in Love, what would Harry and Y/N’s first time having sex be like?

Oh god. It’s been a TIME since I’ve written smut so bare with me, but here we go

Accidentally In Love: I Just Had Sex.

It’s the middle of a random weekday afternoon. Harry’s dead asleep beside you with his arm draped over your centre, and his head nestled into the crook of your neck as soft puffs of air leave his slightly open mouth with each breath he takes. It’s a sight you still can’t believe you get to see and experience now that the two of you are finally together but is also one you’ve become way too greedy over and hate even the thought of someone else being able to be with him this way.

Moments like this have become a common occurrence between the two of you. However, they’ve seemingly been happening less and less with just how busy Harry’s schedule is. Just after Christmas… when you really just started letting it sink in that you now have a romantic relationship with this man, he jetted off to Japan. For about a month. And that put a little bit of a halt on everything.

It sucked yeah, but you knew it was coming. It was something you’d known about before either of you knew of the feelings the other had because Harry told you just out of friendly conversation. Well that, and Gemma had mentioned it once or twice.

So, when the time came for Harry to leave LA again like he so often does, he stayed with you at your apartment for the first time since becoming a thing — but nothing happened.

The two of you curled up in your bed to watch a few episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine before eventually deciding to call it a night seeing as Harry’s flight was rather early the next morning. He insisted he’d just call a driver to take him to the airport, but you insisted that you driving him to LAX for 6am was really not an inconvenience; even though it was really hard moving from your position of being cuddled up against his bare chest once his alarm started going off.

His time in Japan surprisingly flew by though. The two of you FaceTimed nearly every day, where he’d tell you how his day was going, and you’d explain all the details of how you spent yours. It was tough connecting with the different time zones, but you both somehow made it work.

When his birthday came around, he tried his best to convince you to fly to him and spend it together. His offer was very tempting with just the thought of being able to see him in person again, and although he tried to bribe you with a paid-for flight there and back… you ultimately declined.

It felt awkward to you letting Harry pay for something so expensive and even though you considered just buying the plane ticket yourself to visit a place you’ve never been, you settled on just not taking the week off work and saved yourself from Gemma’s teasing of how whipped you already were just for wanting to go.

However, you regretted your decision after he told you about how much fun he had as well as after seeing the pictures and videos of him drunkenly singing karaoke with Bobby and Karamo from Queer Eye (aka. two of the only five other men you can trust in life other than Harry) at a bar. But, you got over it quickly and indulged yourself back into your work, and before you knew it, Harry was back.

He hasn’t been back for long by any means, and the worst part of it all is that his time in LA is short seeing as he is needed to fly off to London to finish up some things regarding his new album. He spent the entire morning at the studio finalizing some things before coming over to your apartment to spend some time with you, which ended up with the two of you napping together and watching some more Brooklyn Nine-Nine… Not the most exciting thing ever, you know. But it’s not necessarily something you’d want to change either.

You glance over to your right and mindlessly reach up to start massaging your fingertips through his curls, gasping slightly when he moans in contentment at the gesture. His eyes flutter open as soon as you instinctively move your hand away as a small pout starts forming on his lips. “Why’d yeh stop?”

“I didn’t think you were awake,” you respond as you lean yourself up on your elbows to look at him better, just as he lets out a dramatic huff. “Ok drama queen, what’s got you so salty now?”

“I-,” he starts and pauses before sitting up in a position similar to yours so that he is face to face with you. “I just want to stay like this to stay here with you. I know I don’t fly home until tomorrow evening, but damn it feels like I just got back.”

“You’re telling me.” He looks at you curiously as you say this and you move your hand to push some his hair out of his face before letting your eyes fall back to his. “I feel you just got back too, and it sucks not knowing how long you’re going to be away in London for.”

“Yeah, but at least you’ve agreed to actually come to see me this time around. Even though you still didn’t let me pay for the ticket.”

“Why would I let you pay for my flight when I can pay for it myself?” You challenge, and he scoffs. “Besides, I’m really starting to miss your mum and Gem. This trip is really just for me to see them, I hope you know.”

“Hey!”

“And you of course,” you tell him with a smirk before leaning forward to place a quick peck on his lips. “We’re still going to go to the George Michael museum, right?”

“Only if you can fit me into your oh so busy schedule while you’re there,” he replies and grins widely before leaning in to attach his lips to yours once again. The kiss is much deeper and slower this time, leaving you needing to catch your breath once he eventually decides to pull away; taking a moment to gently press his forehead against yours before speaking up again. “S’gonna suck leaving you again when we really haven’t had much time to do anything. Promise you won’t find someone more exciting than me to keep you company while I’m away.”

“Find someone who could out diva you? Impossible.”

“Good,” he says with a smirk before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in for another kiss. You respond by leaning forward and gently nudging him to lay back down. He picks up on what you’re doing instantly, letting his hand slither it’s way down your side and gripping your left thigh so he can swing your leg over his middle, and that you’re left straddling his waist.

You smirk against his lips seeing as this isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself in a similar predicament to this one with him and can’t help the small chuckle that leaves your mouth when you accidentally rub your core against him, and soft breath escapes his mouth. “What is with you and this exact position hmm?”

“Seeing you on top just does something to me I guess,” he states before gripping onto your thighs again, and flipping you over so that your back is against the mattress while he looms over top of you. He leans down to start attacking your collarbone with multiple kisses, sucks, and nibbles before slowly leaving a trail up your neck until he finishes at your jaw, and finally crashing his lips against yours again.

You’re fully aware that the involuntary moan that leaves your mouth as he does this and is aware of how it springs something inside of him with the way you can feel his prick hardening against the inner part of your leg. He shifts slightly, and that’s when you can feel just how big he is — not being able to keep yourself from gasping at an entirely new feeling.

“H.” You breathe out hungrily and let your hands move down to the waistband of his track pants. However, what you think is a gesture that would urge him on actually cause him to halt what he’s doing and pull away from you slightly.

“Uhm… you didn’t want to, did you?” He awkwardly mumbles as he so clearly has a blush burning its way across his cheeks. Your heart swells at how flustered he’s getting because if there’s one thing you know about Harry, it’s that he’d never force you into something you didn’t want to do regardless of how badly he wanted it. But this? Fuck, you needed this.

“Hey,” you speak up as you place your hand under his chin and move it, so he doesn’t have the choice but to look at you again. “I want to more than anything… I don’t think I have any condoms though, it-it’s been a while.”

He can’t help the smirk that plays on his lips as you say this and tries his best not feel so smug at the thought of you not sleeping with anyone for at least a good bit of time before getting involved with him. It gives him a sense of pride and excitement in knowing that he’ll be the one to make you feel good from now on. “I have one in my wallet.”

“Oh, so you planned this?” You ask jokingly as he reaches over to grab his wallet off of your bedside table. “I should’ve known, you’re pretty much prepared for everything.”

“Shut up,” he groans and sends you a wink before opening up the wallet to search for the piece of rubber that resides there. A small shiny glint of a silver wrapping catches your eye, and you quickly reach over to rip it out of the wallet and dangle it in front of his face.

“Looking for this?” You question cheekily but gasp when Harry suddenly snatches it from your fingers and moves to rip open the packing with his teeth.

“Yup.”

You don’t have much time to react before he has the two of you engulfed in another heated makeout session, and can feel yourself getting riled up. He moves his hand down to the hem of your shirt and begins lifting it up over your head. The condom wrapper scratches against your skin as it pokes out from Harry’s grip and leaves a tingling trail all the way up to your side in its wake.

Harry removes his lips from yours for a quick moment to entirely remove your t-shirt, finding himself smirking as he sees your nipples perk once they come in contact with the cold air that fills your bedroom. He then moves down to the waistband of the pajama shorts you wear and wastes no time in pulling them down your legs to remove them altogether.

“No underwear.” He says more as a statement to himself before crawling back above you and kissing you again. You sense yourself becoming lost by the feeling of his bare chest pressed against yours as you continue making out that you don’t notice how he subtly removes the rings that always reside on his left hand before he’s pushing a finger inside of you without warning.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp against his lips as your back arches off the mattress a little bit as he decides to add another finger. His movements remain steady as his digits start moving in and out of you at a steady pace that sends tingles all throughout your body. You weren’t kidding when you told him it’d been a while since you last had sex, and with the way he has his thumb presses hard circles over your clit while his pointer and middle finger hit you in all the right places for a few minutes… you know you might not last much longer; feeling an inevitable bubble forming in the pit of your stomach. “H-Harry, I’m gonna-.”

“Not yet love,” he tells you softly while placing kisses along your jaw, and starts moving his fingers at a much slower, agonizing pace.

“You're cruel.” Your words come out more like a whine, and this causes him to smirk as he places more kisses upon your collarbone, before moving up his right hand to massage at your left breast. He left his rings on that hand, and the coolness of the metal adds to the feeling, oh him squeezing at the fleshy part of your chest.

His movements resume steadily for a moment before he moves onto the other boob with his mouth. His body rubs against you as he leans over to give your left breast some needed attention and has to shift slightly, that’s when you can really feel him. Your eyes struggle to stay open, but even with their fluttering you’re still able to make out this particular feeling to be the large bulge in Harry’s track pants that are pressed against your thigh — and that’s when an idea springs to your mind.

Harry remains occupied, so you decide to remove one hand that is tangled in his curls, down his chest and stomach, and right into the waistband of his pants where you can grip onto him. You’re a little surprised at just how big he is, but don’t let that phase you as your hand slides up and down his length a few times; making sure to spread the pre-cum that’s gathered at his tip.

“Mmm, getting impatient are we?” He mumbles against your skin as his lips trail back towards your mouth.

“Don’t act like you want to put this off any longer either, Styles,” you snap and earn a chuckle from him.

“You’re right, I really don’t.” He gives you an arrogant wink before retracting his hand away from your throbbing core and moving his now soaking wet fingers towards his mouth — never breaking eye contact as he sucks them dry. With another smirk as you let out an impatient sigh, he grabs the condom that has fallen onto the mattress beside you and begins taking it out.

“H?” You speak up while watching him and bite down onto your bottom lip just as he removes the rubber from its package. He stays silent as he looks over to you and lets his eyes roam you a little bit. “I- uh, I’ve been taking the pill…”

You swear there’s a childlike glint of excitement that flashes over his eyes as you tell him this, and a huge grin is soon stretching its way across his lips. He looks down at the condom and chuckles before tossing it back onto the bedside table. “Won’t be needing that then.”

He shifts his position up onto his knees with his legs positioned at the inner parts of your thighs, and you sit up to quickly help with ridding him of his pants. Once all clothing is gone, you can’t help the way your eyes widen as his hardened cock sticks out and you take in his entire length. He watches you smugly before leaning forward to catch your lips in another alluring kiss and starts sliding himself into your burning centre; creating a new sensation that earns gasps from both of you.

“Shit Y/N,” he groans as he slowly continues pushing himself further up into you. “Yer so tight love feels so good.”

All you’re able to do is moan in response at the burning, yet the extremely pleasurable feeling of him so deep inside of you. Once he’s situated, he begins with slow thrusts… but finds himself not being able to maintain that pace with how good you feel around him and the want- no, need to speed this up a bit grows.

The sound of Gina’s and Boyle’s voices sassing each other can quietly be heard from the tv that is still on from the other side of the room, but it’s soon drowned out by yours and Harry’s moans, as well as the sound of his skin coming in contact with yours over and over again. His thrusts are fast, and he continuously hits your g-spot with ease, and it’s making you feel so damn good. Harry can tell how you’re feeling by the way your hands are tangled in his curls again, and he knows that he’s getting you close to your edge, feeling himself not being too far behind.

Each thrust pushes you closer to the orgasm you’re both craving, and just as Harry seemingly thrusts even deeper inside of you while rubbing his thumb in circles over your sensitive clit… you finally get there. You moan his name and arch your back as that bubble you felt in your stomach earlier bursts, sending you right over the edge into orgasmic bliss. His movements begin slowing as you clench around him and trigger that same feeling for him to experience as well.

“Fuck Y/N,” he breathes out, and soon enough you can feel the warm spurts of his cum filling you up. His thrusts become much sloppier as he comes down from his high and sends you a smile once he comes back to his senses, leaning down to capture his lips against yours one last time.

You flinch slightly as he moves away and slowly pulls out before flopping onto the mattress right next to you. No words are exchanged as the two of you lay there trying to catch your breath, and it’ll probably stay that way until one of you know what to say to the other after something so intimate.

It doesn’t take much for you to notice the feeling of his release slowly trickling its way out of you, but try to ignore it as you close your eyes and work on steadying your heart rate. Another moment passes, and soon enough, Harry is shifting from his spot beside you, and you open your eyes again to see him leaning on his elbow while looking at you with a stupid boyish grin.

“What?” You ask and move your hand up to push back some of the matted curls stuck to his forehead.

“You know that song, I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island and Akon?”

You instantly scowl and let your hand fall back down onto the pillow beside your head as your boyfriend is overcome by a severe laughing fit. “Where are you going with this?”

“Nowhere,” he says between laughs and has to take a breath before continue. “Was just thinking about that song and how maybe we should call Gemma to tell her what just happened.”

“Harry!” You gasp loudly, and he falls back onto the mattress cackling. You watch him cry laugh for a second before reaching for the pillow you’re resting on and sitting up so you can use it to gently smack his shoulder with. “That’s not even funny!”

“Maybe not,” he replies and wipes away some of the tears leaving his eyes, before reaching out to grab your wrist so he can prevent you from hitting him with the pillow again. “But your reaction absolutely was.”

“You’re literally the worst,” you state as you let go of the pillow and he sits up as well. “There is no way in hell that we’re telling my best friend- your sister about anything that just happened. We’re not telling anyone for that matter.”

“Yes dear,” he responds as his laughing fades into soft chuckles, and he reaches out to push a stray piece of hair back behind your ear. You try your best to keep a pout planted on your lips as he does this, but there’s no use when he leans over to place a soft peck on your mouth, and you instantly melt at his touch. “Think we could do that at least once more before I leave tomorrow though?”

A small laugh leaves your mouth, and you have to look away as he just sits there grinning at you. “Maybe if you don’t annoy me too much.”

[storiesnobodyreads]

Dreams In The Sky

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female!reader

Story: Your work requires that you fly across the country a lot, but you’re not the only one who travels often. After a long day, you nod off in an airplane seat when the plane hasn’t even taken off yet, and you wake up to meet Steve Rogers, the one and only Captain America.

A/N: so i was sitting on a plane and just sort of imaged how amazing it would be to meet captain america there. so here u go (word count = 3k)

“Alright, I’m getting on the plane now so I’m hanging up,” you informed your co-worker as you treaded up the stairs, people going on holidays in palm tree shirts drumming around you. Your co-worker had been bombarding you with last-minute questions about your recent project, which freaked you out more than anything. You’d have to present your project to a board of wealthy billionaires that might turn your dreams into reality.

“I just have one last detail—” argued your co-worker.

“I’m hanging up,” you repeated loudly, doing so as you strolled past the captain and steward smiling politely at you. “Good morning,” you greeted them, stifling a yawn. You had been working on your project for the past months, non-stop, practically eighteen hours a day. The amount of sleep you’d been getting had been shockingly low, and it was starting to get the better of you. Your friends had convinced you to at least get some hours of sleep during the flight. You knew they were right. There was nothing you could do to improve your project now and you could answer every single potential question. The best preparation that was left was to sleep.

You found your seat, relieved to find that the two seats next to you were still empty so that you could settle in ease. Thudding down by the window, you fasted your belt and plugged in your earphones. Even though you usually weren’t great at sleeping in planes, exhaustion was coming over you in waves of warm blankets. With your calm sleep music in your ears, you desperately tried to keep your eyes open to see the safety instructions, but your eyelids were so heavy.

Faster than you’d like to admit, you surrendered to the almighty power of sleep.

You woke up, feeling like it was only seconds later, with an awful pain in your neck. A little bit of drool dripped from the corner of your mouth that you became painfully aware of; and suddenly you became even more extremely aware of your position.

You were sleeping on the shoulder of the stranger next to you, fucking drooling on them.

Faster than a bee’s sting, your neck snapped up and you jolted fully awake. “I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed. Embarrassment flew through you, your cheeks instantly flushing bright red, thinking you’d rather die than have this happen—

Your eyes fell on the stranger by your side, a tall, handsome man with blonde hair and a healthy beard, with broad shoulders that looked so comfortable to fall asleep on that you temporarily stopped feeling guilt because damn, anyone could fall asleep on those shoulders. His eyes were bright blue and oozed kindly, a warm smile spreading across his face as he studied your horrified reaction.

And then you realised something worse.

Much, much worse.

This was Captain America.

“It’s okay,” said Steve Rogers softly, keeping his voice down for the sake of the other passengers.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated, voice high-pitched. “I’m very tired and I really—shit, I’m sorry, this is super awkward—”

He chuckled and firmly shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, truly,” he said. “I really don’t mind.”

“It’s just that these past couple of months have been very hard and I haven’t slept a lot and this was the first chance I had to shut off my phone and I just fell asleep—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Captain America insisted. “I’m happy that you got an hour of sleep.”

You stared at him. Of course, you’d heard the stories about how gorgeous and breath-taking he was, and of course you’d heard the rumours about what a kind gentleman he was, but never had you thought they would be this true. “But you’re Captain America,” you stammered panicked.

He cocked up one eyebrow. “My name is Steve.” He held out his hand, waiting for you to shake it. “And you are?”

“Y/N.” You shook his hand. His hands were large and surprisingly soft. Warm.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled. His smile was almost warmer than his hands.

“You, too.” Could he sense that you’d had a severe celebrity crush on him ever since you learned about his existence? Did he know that he was your hero and you had dreamed about meeting him one day? Did he realise that this was the worst possible way to meet a superhero?

But his eyes were sparkling brightly and he looked amused, not an ounce of negativity to be detected. He looked so happy that it brought a grin to your face. Because hey, you were sitting next to Steve Rogers.

“So why are you flying to New York?” asked Steve. You didn’t quite understand why’d he want to keep the conversation going, but then it occurred to you that he probably just didn’t want you to fall asleep on him again.

“Um, I have a presentation,” you replied sheepishly. “It’s this—um, project I’ve been working on. I’m an engineer.”

“Really?” Steve appeared interested. “That’s cool. My friend Tony is an engineer.”

You blinked. “You mean Tony Stark?”

Steve nodded with a sigh. “Yes, I mean Iron Man. I’m actually going to see him now. That’s why I’m flying to New York.” Making you feel stupid that you hadn’t countered the question as to what his business in New York was.

“Right.” You told yourself to behave. Be fucking polite, you scolded yourself internally. You have already drooled on this man. “Why are you coming from Miami?”

“I was on a holiday,” Steve told you cheerfully, immediately plucking his phone from his pocket to show you pictures. Now that he mentioned it, he was looking beautifully tanned. Steve showed a photograph with him and another man standing shirtless on the beach, both beaming like idiots, not having a care in the world. “That’s my friend Scott. We’d both never been. He stayed a week longer together with his daughter Cassie, I promised to help out Tony.”

“Looks great,” you laughed, almost taken aback by how carefree Captain America seemed. He’d always appeared as this serious, brooding character with the issues of the world at mind. A holiday to Miami must have been good for him. “Sure must’ve been a temperature difference compared to being frozen in ice.”

Immediately after saying the words, you wanted to drop through the floor of the plane and plummet to your death. “Sorr—”

But Steve was laughing. It was a good sound. “True, true.”

After that, the conversation was suddenly flowing smoothly. You managed to put your awkwardness out of the way, realising that you could impossibly get yourself in a worse situation than you already had. When the stewards came to bring you food and drinks, you sipped coffee together and shared what you and he didn’t like. It was amazing that you found so much to talk about together. When the food was gone, you unanimously decided to start binging Friends. Unfortunately, your small television screen malfunctioned and even though Steve mocked you for being a so-called engineer, you couldn’t get the screen to work again. You called him popsicle as a curse word and he laughed so loudly that he received vicious glares from other passengers.

Steve then offered to share headphones and look at his screen together. It was cute, even you could see that. However, the screen was rather hard to see with the sunlight reflecting in an unlucky way. You had to dangle your neck in an unnatural angle, aching your muscles.

Steve immediately noted your discomfort. “Oh, you can put your head on my shoulder, if you want,” he suggested softly.

“What?” you glared at him, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“You already slept on me for an hour,” Steve elaborated quickly. “I’m sure this won’t be any weirder.”

You felt urged to decline, but then moved your head and felt the pain in your neck, and told yourself that it indeed wasn’t that bad. Therefore, you nodded. “Okay.” You placed your head carefully on his shoulder, hoping to decrease the weight of your heavy skull.

You could feel Steve roll his eyes. “Lie down already,” he insisted with a chuckle, wriggling out his arm to wrap his arm around you, pulling you closer.

Fuck, he was comfortable. Like a warm pillow and blanket embracing you in one, holding you in a protecting shield where no negative emotion could be experienced. You felt one hundred percent at ease in Steve Roger’s arms. And for the first time those months, you didn’t worry endlessly about your project and the presentation.

*****

The only reason you woke up was because the plane had landed. Steve was softly shaking you awake. “Y/N, we’re here,” he whispered in your ear.

Really? Again??

“I’m sorry,” you apologised quickly, shooting upright.

Steve shook his head. “I thought we covered this. I don’t mind you sleeping on me.” His own words made him laugh. “You look cute when you’re asleep.”

His words flustered you. “Well, you look cute when you’re awake,” you countered.

He grinned. “Thanks, doll.”

Suddenly, your eyes widened. “My presentation.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“My presentation is in an hour,” you remembered, since the times had been drilled into your brain. Stress that had abandoned you during the flight now came crashing back in. “I still have to prepare and change my outfit and make sure my presentation can be attached to the big screens and I don’t know if--” you were rambling as you were gathering your stuff.

You were already standing, and Steve immediately jumped up to match your height, or, better said, towering over you. You couldn’t get passed him just yet, even though panic was racing through you and you wanted to get to your presentation as fast as possible.

Steve noticed the flares of panic in your eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” he promised.

“How do you know?” you squeaked.

“Because you are incredibly intelligent,” he answered without hesitation. “Every word you say oozes cleverness. You speak so easily, so confidently. And it doesn’t hurt that your first impression is great. You look like someone who’s loyal, who can be trusted, and who will work hard. The board will love you and everything you say will be listened to.”

You stared at Captain America, who was holding a patriotic speech for your sake, and you could feel your heart swell. “Thank you,” you breathed out. You didn’t know whether he knew that this was exactly what you needed to hear to give yourself a confidence boost.

He stepped out of the aisle to let you pass. “You got this, doll.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you smiled. In a burst of adrenalin, you lunged forward to give him a hug, your bag clumsily banging into the chairs. “I got this.”

“You got this!” Steve called after you as you made your way to the presentation.

*****

Steve was bummed. He’d met the cutest girl. He’d spotted her sleeping against the window, knowing that his seat was by her side, sitting down by the girl that embodied cuteness, and didn’t protest when her unconscious self snuggled up to him. And awake, she was even cuter. Mind-blowing smart. And funny. And beautiful.

But when they’d landed, she’d remembered the reason why she’d been tired in the first place, and had gotten stressed and ran away from him. He hadn’t even asked for your number. No way to get into contact with you again.

Miserable, even though he’d been so cheerful after returning from his week-long holiday with Ant-man in Miami, he shrugged into his leather jacket and called a cab. Tony had offered to send a limo to drive him, but Steve had kindly refused. That’s how he ended up sitting sulking in the back of a cab while being forced to listen to high-volume rap music thinking about a girl he’d sat beside for only a couple of hours.

Of course, Sam and Bucky were there standing out on the porch in front of the Stark Tower, anticipating Steve’s return.

“Look at you, all tanned!” Bucky exclaimed once Steve had paid the driver and fetched his suitcase from the trunk. “Wearing a shirt with goddamn palm trees!”

Sam clapped his friend on the back. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve never been frozen in the ice for seventy years, that’s how fresh you look.”

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Steve laughed. “I take it you guys have missed me.”

Bucky shrugged, waving his metal hand dismissively. “It’s not you, I just don’t want to be left alone with this asshole for a week.”

Sam proceeded to punch Bucky against his flesh shoulder. “Next time we’ll absolutely come with you, man,” said Sam. “Must’ve been lots of pretty girls out there in Miami. Scott probably wasn’t fun to party with, though.”

“We didn’t party much, no,” Steve agreed. As the three men sauntered toward the building, Steve decided to confide in his friends. “There was this one girl I met on the plane, though. Her name’s Y/N.”

“Oh, Y/N, huh?” Bucky whooped. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Nice, man!” Sam smirked. “Get her number?”

Steve dropped his shoulders. “No... She had to hurry for a presentation and left before I could ask.”

“Oh, no,” Bucky and Sam said simultaneously.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed in sharply. “It was so weird, we really had this connection, you know. I hope I see her again someday.”

Bucky and Sam exchanged a look, clearly expressing how Steve was a ridiculous hopeless romantic. By then, the three men had arrived in the hallway of the Stark Tower. Steve dropped his suitcase and opened his mouth to continue talking about you, when Tony came sprinting down the stairs. Tony, in full suit, sweat trickling down his forehead as he jumped the final steps, pointed at the three men.

“You’re not wearing the suits I had prepared for you!” Tony exclaimed.

Bucky spoke up, “Steve just got back, Tony, and we--”

“No time for excuses,” Tony interrupted the Winter Soldier, wiping sweat away with the back of his hand. “I had the time wrong and we have to be at the hotel in ten minutes. So chop chop, mother--”

Steve’s reaction was fast, knowing Tony would only get more stressed by the second, “If we don’t have to change outfits, we’ll come with you right now.”

Tony’s face lit up. “Great! Good to have you back, Rogers. Missed your face this week. Tell me all about Miami after the presentations from the wannabe world-changers.” Tony gestured for Steve to leave his suitcase for was it was and then ushered the three men back out the building. “Let’s go!”

*****

Steve was still sulking about the lost love of his life and Bucky, Sam and Tony continued to make fun of him for it. “If it’s really faith like you claim it is, you will find her back,” Bucky suddenly promised him seriously as Tony parked the car in front of an ancient-looking hotel.

“Absolutely, Steve,” Sam agreed, “You’re our golden boy. Luck is not the biggest part of your life so maybe you’ve always had bad luck so that you could be lucky this one time so that you could get lucky this one time--” he nudged Bucky in the ribs, winking exaggeratedly, “--if you know what I mean?”

The men jumped out of the car and ran through security. Amusing that the security guards didn’t even dare ask for identification when Iron Man, Captain America, the Winter Soldier and the Falcon came jogging past. “Happy!” Tony yelled, spotting the man impatiently waiting for them to arrive. “Where do we go?”

Happy Hogan screamed back: “Upstairs and to the left!”

The four men sprinted up the stairs and soon got pointed to their assigned seats. Tony had a special position at the front row, as he was one of the main investors for these young people presenting their research ideas. Steve, Bucky and Sam sat somewhere in the back, purely present to amuse Tony and give advise when necessary.

“We’re really just here to tell the rich folks what we think is cool,” Sam whispered. “Like, which stupid ideas they should give money to. Turning their little dreams into reality.”

“Pretty sure they have better ideas than you,” Bucky butted in.

Sam scoffed, “Don’t think so, you don’t know my brain.”

Steve had his eyes on the stage, where a young man was adjusting his glasses as his sweaty hands trembled holding his little paper with notes. He looked incredibly nervous, reminding Steve of how nerve-wrecked Y/N had been on the plane before for her presentation. If only he could see her again and tell her everything was going to be okay.

The man’s presentation finished in what seemed like a very long hour. Tony asked a couple of questions that the man didn’t have an answer to, after which the jury dismissed him. Several presenters followed, some more interesting than the others, some more capable of answering questions from the audience than others. It took two hours already and the men were starting to grow tired.

At some point Bucky had determinedly set his metal arm on the armrest of Sam’s chair. “Will you move your arm, Barnes?” Sam had hissed.

“No,” Bucky had chimed, after which the two men had bickered back and forth for quite a while. Steve still had his eyes on the stage. An inexplicable glimmer of hope was burning in his chest and he simply couldn’t look away.

The next woman stepped onto the stage and she took Steve’s breath away. The blinding sparkle in her eyes, the way that stunning dress hugged the curves of her body, how confident she took her position behind the microphone and smiled over the audience. Confident as hell, ready to conquer the world.

Steve’s jaw dropped. It was the girl from the plane.

She took a deep breath. And spoke.

Steve’s jaw, if possible, dropped even further. Because goddamn, she was killing it. Her ideas were absolutely brilliant. At some point during her presentation, Tony turned around and mouthed, while pointing at her, “She’s great!”

Steve was nodding vigorously. “Hell yeah, she is.”

Y/N’s eyes, while slamming the last lines of her speech, convincing basically everyone in the building to throw all their money at her project, darted up to the balcony where Tony Stark was seated. Steve tried to make himself small, noting that she was looking in his direction, because he had no intention to distract her. However, as soon as Y/N glanced up, her gaze fell upon the Captain, and her jaw dropped.

Steve, in an awkward automatic gesture, gave her a thumbs-up.

Tony asked a question. She swallowed with difficulty and replied smoothly, thank the lord. Tony nodded, as if she’d said exactly what he’d wanted to hear. “Alright, folks, that was it. We’ll be discussing amongst ourselves now, and if we’re interested, we’ll find you. Good job, everyone.”

Applause erupted from the audience and Y/N did a quick bow before rushing off stage.

Tony was swirling around to his friends, saying, “Well, what do you guys think? I’d say the last one was the--”

Steve jumped up. “Sorry, Tony. I have to go.”

*****

Jesus fucking christ, you were cursing in your head, was this for real? Had you just spotted Steve Rogers sitting behind Tony Stark, a man you were trying so hard to impress intellectually and a man you had developed a bizarrely huge crush on over the past few hours. You had been afraid you’d never see him again, and here he was, watching the most important presentation of your life, and judging you for it. What would he say to Tony Stark about you? Would he even recognise you from the plane?

Your mind clouded with more worries than you already had, doubts about your presentation blinding you as you stumbled through the crowd trying to find your seat. All the other presenters were chatting amongst themselves, visibly nervous, same as you. Except you had the pressure of knowing Steve Rogers resting upon your shoulders. What if Steve had told Tony about how tired and a little baby you had been?

“Y/N!” you heard your name. A voice you’d know anywhere.

You spun around, and suddenly all the nerves vanished like snow in the sun. “Steve!”

The man came jogging over in all his glory, still in the same palm tree shirt that he’d worn on the plane. A wide smile was plastered on his pretty face, and before you knew what he was doing, he was wrapping you in a large hug. “You did so great! I’m so happy to see you! I didn’t know you were presenting here! You were amazing!”

The compliments flew off his tongue so easily it made you blush, and you slung your arms around his neck. He was so buff and warm and, well, thicc, and it felt amazing to hug him. To seriously hold Captain America in your arms. “Thank you! Wow, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Steve then let you go, making your body scream at the loss of warmth. “Me either,” he confessed, unable to quit smiling. “I’m so happy we found each other again. Must’ve been faith.”

You nodded, “It must’ve been.”

From the corner of his eye, Steve could spot Tony and Happy strolling toward you, as well as several other investors that were eying you with interest, and he knew that he wasn’t going to hold your presence for long. You had business to attend to. A strong, independent woman, and with realising that his heart swelled. “Y/N, I really want to see you again. We can’t keep leaving it up to faith, you know. She might grow tired of us.”

You were nodding so heavily you feared your neck might snap. “Absolutely,” you agreed. “We can’t lose each other again. How big are the odds we’ll run in to each other in this world?”

“So small,” Steve confirmed, holding his fingers a hair apart. “So, would you, um, can I maybe have your number?”

A wild wave of enthusiasm and disbelief overwhelmed you. Who’d known that by dreaming in the sky your actual dreams might come true by falling asleep on Captain America? “Yes! Yes, of course.” You accepted his phone and put in your number. “Maybe we could--” you started.

You were interrupted by Tony Stark tapping on your shoulder. “Miss Y/L/N, I’d like to talk to--Steve?” Tony Stark seemed surprised to find his friend talking to you. Seeing Steve’s expression, he connected the dots. “OH! This is--oh. Wow. Well, Steve, I didn’t know you had such good taste in women. I can leave you guys alone for a minute--”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Steve stopped him quickly. He’d noted the other investors approaching and wanted nothing more than for you to work together with the best of the best, Stark Industries and Tony himself. “You do you. Y/N, I’ll call you.”

Your smile was so wide your cheeks started hurting. This must be the best day of your life. “Please do, popsicle.”

Tony Stark erupted in laughter. “Oh, god, you two are made for each other. Now get out of here, popsicle, we have business to attend to.”

*****

@patzammit​ // @bookgirlunicorn​ // @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ // @followyourbucky​ // @supernatural-strangerthings-1980​ // @gaybroadwayloser​ // @fuckthatfeeling​ // @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​ // @daughterofthenight117​

[ahouseoflies]

The Best Films of 2019, Part VI

Yes, I know that it’s almost March. Thanks for taking the ride. GREAT MOVIES

22. Apollo 11 (Todd Douglas Miller)- To disrespect this movie is to disrespect the moon landing itself so... I do like listening to the Walter Cronkite snippets about "the burdens and dreams of all mankind" and smirking at the idiots who talk about "back when people just read the news without editorializing." 21. Waves (Trey Edward Shults)- I could have done with five fewer shots of people holding each other, and the foreshadowing could be more subtle, but, man, Shults takes some huge swings here, for a more powerful effect than either of his previous films had. It isn't often that a colorist gets a single card in the opening credits, but it makes sense for a film that stands out as much as this loud, woozy piece does. I don't think there's anything as present-tense this year as a character drunk-driving to Kanye West's "I Am a God." 20. Jojo Rabbit (Taika Waititi)- The dissenters of Jojo Rabbit have been pretty uniform in their negativity, and I think their stance has to do with not wanting to be told what to think or feel. (Putting "an anti-hate satire" on the poster has to fire up those haters.) This movie is not subtle or ambiguous, but you know what? Casablanca is a pretty didactic movie too. Let me back up from the C-word. For me, the film's emotional scenes are better than its comedic scenes, but in either form, Waititi directly engages with a ten-year-old in a way that neither romanticizes him nor condescends to him. That's such an imperfect, transformative age in a boy, and not enough movies are willing to wrestle with how ugly it can be. Roman Griffin Davis is pretty good, but he's spotted by sincere, compassionate performances by Thomasin McKenzie and Scarlett Johansson. It's possible that Johansson has never been better. I totally understand why someone with her sex symbol baggage would resist playing mothers; if I've done my homework, this is the first time she has done it, even though she's a parent in real life. But her maternal scenes here are heartbreaking in their patience, particularly in a scene for which her character "plays" herself and her absent husband. Besides uncorking a more vulnerable part of herself, Johansson nails the performative aspect of being a parent, resisting the urge to make everything a lesson but wanting so desperately to be a positive example for a kid who needs one. 19. Honeyland (Ljubomir Stefanov and Tamara Kotevska)- I greatly prefer the term "non-professional actor" or "first-time actor" to "non-actor" because it's only human nature to act differently when being filmed. The second even a camera filming a birthday party captures you, you start to perform. But in handmade stone houses in rural Macedonia, the subjects are true non-actors. They have no affect because, in all likelihood, they have not seen a movie before. So the way that Hatidze lived over the course of the three years of this project--with purpose, focus, and wisdom--seemed new to me. Honeyland is the gift that I always hope for from documentary and (especially) foreign documentary: a slice of life that I never knew I needed. 18. Under the Silver Lake (David Robert Mitchell)- Andrew Garfield's Sam spends a lot of time on his balcony surveying his apartment complex, staring at a topless woman in a way that recalls Marlowe in The Long Goodbye, one reference point among hundreds. Sometimes he watches through binoculars, sometimes he watches through blinds--blind imagery that shows up over and over again in a movie about voyeurism. Anyway, this neighbor keeps parrots, who we're told as kids can "talk." Not that the animals have any conscious intention with their mimicking, but they replicate what they hear or are taught. The words are signified without any signifiers, so it's hard to even classify the noises as speech. Maybe those noises are everything--a tie to our species that reveals impressive intelligence--but maybe they're nothing--a silly hope of a world that seems less alone. And that subjective interpretation of code is the clearest metaphor in an otherwise elliptical, bizarre, sprawling, sui generis film. It's messy alright. Some of the threads lead nowhere, but in a movie about order and chaos, that's obviously the point. The scene with The Songwriter--barely any of the characters have names--is over ten minutes and might not have any narrative consequence. But in the moment it's earth-shattering and urgent. And maybe I'm the obvious audience, but I'm not going to complain about anyone taking a dance break for "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" 17. 1917 (Sam Mendes)- Weirdly enough, a Lauryn Hill line kept bouncing around in my head as I was nervously tapping my foot: "It could all be so simple, / But you had to make it hard." This is a direct story told with impossible technical aptitude. 1917 isn't saying anything new, but have you ever seen a plane crash ten feet away from the camera forty-five minutes into an unbroken take? No offense, but do you remember when we were all impressed that Creed had a five-minute fight in one take? Blimey. 16. American Factory (Steven Bognar and Julia Reichert)- It's a rare documentary that makes its case so gracefully and so forcefully at the same time. The film ends so conclusively that it could be considered labor activism, but it's so fair that the union-busting schmucks are willing to joke around with the filmmakers without obfuscating at all. The obvious forebearer for this sort of boots-on-the-ground snapshot of American labor is Harlan County U.S.A., but American Factory is more staid and less concerned with setting because, you know, this could be anywhere.The Chairman is the best villain since Thanos, and as he looked back on his life while walking around his empty cabana, I had to squint a bit to make sure he wasn't purple.

15. Ad Astra (James Gray)- Ad Astra declares so that it can suggest. The opening crawl says that the near future is a "time of hope and conflict," but all we see is the conflict: the pirates on a borderless moon that we've ruined with Applebee'ses, the neglected wife leaving her ring on a table, the voiceover that declares, "I always wanted to be an astronaut...for all mankind and all." This film will take place in four parts--Earth, Moon, Mars, Neptune--and each part will offer unique obstacles to challenge our phlegmatic but confused hero. But all of that table-setting allows James Gray to explore. There's a scene in which the Roy character uses a belt to pull himself, one tug at a time, deeper into the unknown, and we see the action through the reflection in his helmet as we're watching his face. We're seeing through his eyes but at a remove, and in this moment we're watching him heave himself into emptiness, thinking that the more distant and lonely and absent he gets, the more of a man he becomes. We know that's not true, but we kind of think it is from the movies, and Ad Astra has a happy ending if only because it wants to disprove that notion. Lots of artistes talk about how they could, without compromise, make grand, big-budget entertainments if they only wanted to. James Gray did. 14. Ash Is Purest White (Jia Zhangke)- In a train on the way to her hometown, the protagonist Xiao casually tells a fellow passenger that she has seen a UFO. Although it comes up later in a sort of magic realism flourish, her statement seemed like a character moment for me. People who see UFOs are either guileless rubes or attention-seeking hucksters, and that's the dance of Tao Zhao's performance. Even after seeing the movie, I can't tell which one Xiao is. Often it changes in the course of a scene. The time when she shows the most agency, firing off her boyfriend's illegal gun to ward off his attackers, results in the time when she is the most helpless, being ordered around in jail. She might confess her ex-con status in a moment of vulnerability, then flake out at the next train stop in an attempt to seize her power back. (It's worth mentioning that there are lots of movies about flaky drifters who don't pay the tab, but few of them are about women.) Even the way that she holds her backpack--frontways--is street-smart and child-like at the same time. This is the second film that Jia has made with a triptych setting, (Mountains May Depart is slightly superior.) and he doesn't make the flash forwards obvious. He invites the performance's same sort of healthy confusion upon the viewer with the formal elements. I, for one, am willing to get probed by these foreign objects. 13. Toy Story 4 (Josh Cooley)- I questioned a late moment in the film, one of the plottier ones in which Woody goes back to save another toy one more laborious time. When I sighed, my wife reminded me, "He never leaves a toy behind." Toy Story 4 is a dazzling upgrade in the series from a visual standpoint, (I gasped again at Woody lying in a damp, sunny patch of concrete.) but it's more of a reminder of the consistent character development and weight that have been blanketing us for twenty-three years. Pixar isn't reinventing the wheel because it is the wheel. Sure, the characters are too numerous and separate now. I miss the OG's Rex and Hamm. But for one thing, that rogue's gallery makes it funnier when, say, Buttercup pops up with a joke out of nowhere. And the new characters, particularly Forky the Nihilist, are so lovable that I wouldn't know who to trade. Toy Story 4 is probably the worst of the franchise, but that franchise--especially when its subtext seems to be questioning people who want to stop intellectual property from evolving--might be the best we have. 12. Clemency (Chinonye Chukwu)- In discussing the aftermath of an execution, Alfre Woodard's warden character Bernadine mentions the mother who will claim a prisoner's body, who will follow through with plans for burial. And I realized, to be honest, that I had never thought about how executed bodies are claimed and laid to rest, though obviously those sad practicalities persist. This whole film is a reminder of the numerous costs that arise from a system that is out of time and out of reason. To that end, every character is fully drawn with empathy. For example, the assistant warden, which could have been a nothing part, has ambitions and fears that give him an arc that shades the protagonist. The Richard Schiff and Wendell Pierce characters make the film about the compromised promises of retirement, but the assistant warden is there to tug us back into law enforcement. Neon ended up putting this movie on the awards circuit back burner, but Aldis Hodge deserves the world. Although the film piles on one indignity too many for my taste, drifting into miserableism, Hodge's performance has a rare possessive quality. Catatonic in his most crestfallen moments and antic when he clings to hope, Hodge drags the audience along with him. The character is quiet, but every word counts. 11. The Farewell (Lulu Wang)- I was not been more thoroughly charmed all year, especially by Awkwafina, who is a revelation in a tricky role. There are a few scenes that get comedic effect through repetition, and it's telling that the subtitles stop by the third or fourth run-through of a line. The movie assumes you're smart, which goes even further than its piercing emotion. Shout-out to Mr. Li, who made me crack up every time I saw him. The elderly sort-of-boyfriend is such a common figure in real life, but I'm not sure I've ever seen that character type on screen. I'm not sure I've seen any of this on-screen, and that's the reason the film exists.

10. Avengers: End Game (Joe Russo and Anthony Russo)- For a guy who grew up in the '30s, Captain America is pretty cool with gay people. 9. Gloria (Sebastian Lelio)- I saw Lelio's original Gloria, the one that he's remaking here, and it didn't do much for me, even though it hit some of the same beats as this one. I wonder what the difference could be...do you think the total commitment of one of the greatest actresses in the world matters? Lelio documents who this woman is to her children, to her mother, to her ex-husband, to her lover, to her co-workers, and it's by tracking the tiny compromises of those relationships that the viewer gets to see the fully realized her. The cyclical editing of those pieces--sing a disco song to herself in the car, rinse, repeat--ends up lulling the viewer into his role of seeing the complete Gloria. It ends up being a fun, absorbing process. I yelled out loud at Turturro for disrespecting my girl. Moore, who is in every scene, sells us on these different versions of the character through complete control of her instrument. She lets headphones slump along her body at work. She kneels down toward a street performer in a more maternal way than she ever presents with her actual daughter. She sits cross-legged with her best friend, as if they're little girls. I won't spoil what she does at the end, when she is at her most empowered. 8. Midsommar (Ari Aster)- I love this movie, but, boy, is it a friendship killer if you recommend it to the wrong person. Whether you liked Hereditary or not is a good predictor for your taste, but I think Ari Aster's follow-up is much better: Whereas the unpredictability of Hereditary makes the mysticism of its final fourth seem like a leap that you either accept or don't, Midsommar is driving so hard in one direction that its dread is even more pronounced. (The prologue is so masterfully deliberate and gloomy that it takes a long time for the film to get back to those depths.) For comparison's sake again, Aster was painting in the colors of hysteria and fractured relationships before, but the new film seems much more biting and vital in the way it depicts modern men and women. I'm thinking of the way Dani excuses herself at the risk of compromising her safety or rationalizes her boyfriend's forgetting her birthday with "Well, I didn't remind him." All of the characters become victims of a misinformed, selfish brand of multicultural tolerance that makes them rationalize evil instead of speaking up, and that acceptance serves the plot way better than the average horror movie's running up the stairs instead of out the door. For his part, Christian, who seems sympathetic at first, takes ideas, drugs, and even women for himself with impunity. (It's important that he's an anthropology student, and it's more important that his name is Christian.) When he colonizes his Black friend's thesis topic, it might seem like a tipping point, but he was one step ahead in using rules and approval for his purposes. None of the Americans bother to stop him, but that doesn't mean that no one stops him. 7. A Hidden Life (Terrence Malick)- "The sun shines on good and evil the same." In the baggy second hour of what might be Terrence Malick's most direct and linear film, martyr Franz Jagerstatter tosses off that line with grace and aplomb, at a time when most of us would have neither to spare. His captors are confused when he denies that his conscientious objection will make any difference in the war or when he doubts that he is more morally evolved than his countrymen. His refusal to pledge an oath to Hitler is a state with no outcome in mind, which the results-obsessed Nazis cannot understand. In that way he is the perfect Malickian hero, which means he is the perfect Heideggerian hero: a man who sees all planes of existence as equal--or at least equally unknowable to him. As a farmer, Franz observes and acts upon cycles, but he is smaller than Nature and the communion he finds with God there. So when he's torn from his family and daily life to be stuck in a prison, he is separated from that concord further and further. The key, however, is that he is no more or less powerful than before, and that knowledge is what gives him transcendental perspective. He is indifferent in the way that only a saint can be. Of course, what I'm describing also makes for a passive protagonist, which is why the cross-cutting to his wife Fani is so effective. She is the one who has to shoulder the burden of his ideals, and Valerie Pachner's stolid performance sells that sacrifice. The overall balance comes from the jagged but precise editing, and the production is all the more impressive for retaining the Malick style despite the absence of most of his regular collaborators. (This is the first time since The Thin Red Line that he hasn't worked with Jack Fisk, but there the production design is, crafting a 1940 Austrian town out of nothing and building a network of water symbolism that I don't understand yet.) In fact, the whirling steadicam and the avoidance of artificial light have more of a thematic purpose than ever if "the sun shines on good and evil all the same." Perhaps the greatest achievement of this film about unjust war is that it made me pray for Donald Trump today. Because if I want to be like Franz Jagerstatter, then I have to believe the light of God shines on him too. 6. Knives Out (Rian Johnson)- A third of the way into this imaginative, absorbing whodunit, I started to talk myself into the surface pleasures of cinema. "So what if it doesn't have much to say; look at these stars going for it with this spicy dialogue and these gleeful twists." Then the subtext asserts itself through a radiant Ana de Armas, and the subtext becomes the text in the final shot. Knives Out is the best of all worlds. Rian Johnson might be the first filmmaker for whom a Star Wars movie ends up being a footnote. 5. Everybody Knows (Asghar Farhadi)- There's a photograph hanging in the library (yes, the stately library) of the patrician family of my childhood best friend, and I'm in that picture. There I am, dressed a bit sloppier than everyone else, near the edge of the frame. Because I was there, as usual, and because they are kind. Everybody Knows is about one of those family friend outsiders, perhaps in a way that no other movie has been. When it's at its best, it's about what those marginal figures can and can't say, can and can't do. The film dips into soap opera territory, but only to sell its message of how secrets beget other secrets. For me, it's another Farhadi hit of approachable, modest conflict that bakes itself into an experience. 4. Marriage Story (Noah Baumbach)- The best divorce movie ever made--by the guy who wrote and directed the former belt holder of the best divorce movie ever made. These luminous lead performances aren't just about saying cutting, hurtful things or reacting to their child's preference for the other parent (or at least the other parent's toys). They're about the internal devastation of realizing you can never take back something you've said. Driver and Johansson each get a chance to sink into one of those moments, and they're joined by a head-tilting, blustery Laura Dern, who gets a Virgin Mary speech that won her an Oscar. And there are jokes! Underrated aspect of the movie: The son is kind of a dipshit. I like that he just hates math and wants to eat candy, as opposed to the cute prodigies we've seen before in this type of movie. They're fighting over a kid only a parent could love. INSTANT CLASSICS

3. Uncut Gems (Josh Safdie and Benny Safdie)- Howard the jeweler lives somewhere in upstate New York, but he has an apartment in the city. It's an apartment that is close enough for him to cab over to his mistress who lives there, but it's far enough away that his family wouldn't bother popping in for a visit. That sort of gap is present throughout Uncut Gems: Family members act differently in the Diamond District than they do at seder, and we first see Howard from the literally vulnerable inside of a colonoscopy, not the animated brio of his tightrope-walking exterior. Of course, the gem of the title is the ultimate division: something pure that the characters are searching for, untouched by the process that Howard, by definition, does. And the film is about how little he can abide by purity. Until now, The Gambler (1974) was probably the best film of this type, a snapshot of a cursed man who seems to be gambling with forces way beyond the game in question. But Uncut Gems is more pathological, more authentic, more intense, and more decisively realized. By focusing more on character than the Safdie Brothers' other work, it offers a unique depiction of compulsive behavior and implicates the audience in rooting for Howard's (technically unrealistic) parlay. By doubling down on his bets or re-uniting with his girlfriend, Howard thinks that he can reinvent himself and start anew. But like the legacy of the Chosen People the film depicts, like the lines on all of these great New York faces, some things are permanent.

2. The Irishman (Martin Scorsese)- "It's what it is." You wouldn't blame someone if he saw the logline and lineup of The Irishman and expected GoodFellas. In fact, this one quotes Scorsese's signature film continually. Instead of slicing onions with a razorblade, old convicts pitch bocce balls. Instead of tracking sumptuously through the Copa, Scorsese's camera wanders through a nursing home. Instead of pistol-whipping Karen's neighbor for getting handsy, our protagonist curb-stomps a grocery owner for shoving his daughter. But there's a GoodFellas staple that is missing. The first fourth of that crime saga closes as Young Henry, played by Christopher Serrone, gets rewarded for staying mum in court. All of his partners in crime cheer him, and he is told that he learned a valuable lesson (in protecting the family and subverting the law). Then we cut to Adult Henry, played by Ray Liotta now, because Young Henry has learned everything he has to know. The Irishman has no such moment of elevation or revelation. Frank is, crucially, played by Robert De Niro over the course of decades because his fall from grace--if there ever was grace--is too imperceptible for any before-and-after divide. The lessons that he learns are just as corrupting as what Henry discovers: Power comes from insularity. Having power means you don't have to prove it. Organized crime, organized labor, and the political process are all the same thing. A code is all a man has, but all codes have limits. However, Frank's corruption, the selling of his soul, doesn't even bring an Asian-inspired chiffonier or a Janice Rossi sidepiece. Frank doesn't get rich; he jams his hands into a plastic ice bucket at the bar next to his couch. He doesn't get powerful; he has to kill because Russell is too prominent to be in the same town as a hit. He doesn't get glory; even a celebration held in his honor is just an excuse for more influential men to do business. Frank is a tool, and he is trapped in a fruitless silence, at best an accessory at meetings. (De Niro is doing quoting of his own. There's a lot of Jackie Brown's Louis in his shrugs and smirks.) As boisterous as Scorsese's films can be, he also knows how to use silence. Robbie Robertson's score is weak, but luckily the film goes without for long stretches, including a suspenseful car ride that begins with a treacherous hug and ends with a malignant secret. The best performance comes from Joe Pesci, probably because his stolid stillness matches the overall atmosphere. Of course, the quietest moments correlate to the loneliest moments: Frank touring a cemetery or sitting with a door half-cracked to a complicit viewer. It's the silence of deliberate toil. Like the mobster ripping up carpet in the lake house, Scorsese is on his hands and knees destroying his own myths.

1. Parasite (Bong Joon-ho)- Parasite is Bong Joon-Ho's masterpiece because it distills the worldview and passions that he previously flirted with into a condensed but elaborate statement. In the same way that Mean Streets is perfectly good but feels like a rehearsal for the slow boil of encircling gangster life in GoodFellas. In the same way that Hitchcock played with the impotent everyman voyeur in a confined setting but didn't perfect it until Rear Window. Like the examples above, Parasite, a true ensemble, is a case of the subtext becoming text. Back in his native country and language, working more or less with realism, Bong is free to take aim at class in a more direct but still wacky way. In all of its crowd provocation--there's so much pleasure in just a suspenseful winding down stairs--the film is destined to be a foreign film gateway drug. But really it just makes we want to take a half-star off my Snowpiercer review since I know Bong can do better now.

[ofwizardsandmen]

CHRISTMAS SERIES 

Keyword being ‘supposed’

This is definitely not how Enzo Saint-Pierre was supposed to spend Christmas Eve.

Characters: Enzo Saint-Pierre, Minah Delacroix, Tara Lee, Mark Yang. Mentions of other minor characters.

Word count: 3,6k

“I can’t believe them” Enzo Saint-Pierre huffed as he flopped on the pink velvet sofa, arms falling limp at his sides and his phone slipping from his hand before falling over a cushion.

Across the room, Enzo’s business partner and close friend, Minah Delacroix, stopped wrapping her brother’s Christmas gift for a short moment and took notice of his sour expression and the way his eyes glared at the device with resentment.

It was the day before Christmas and the friends had been chatting about pointless topics for nearly two hours now. Although the company’s premises had been closed for a few days now,  Enzo had forgotten some important documents in his security box and just happened to come across his business partner hiding in her office wrapping gifts and writing cards. For the past weeks, It had been difficult to even see Minah because apparently she was juggling all her duties as a Delacroix, attending parties, planning her own Christmas festivities and buying gifts for her endless list of family members, friends, and business network. Of course, Sienna, her ever-efficient assistant, had been really helpful —Enzo had already received a beautiful set of gold cufflinks with his family crest coat of arms carved by goblins, earlier that day, for example—, but Minah still had some last-minute tasks to fulfill, which explained why they had been chitchatting as she went on with the ever boring task of dictating Christmas messages to her Quick Quotes Quill and wrapping Christmas gifts in an old fashioned way.

Only a few minutes ago laughter filled the room. The friends had been talking about their holiday plans until a call interrupted Enzo from pocking fun at Minah’s choice of words to describe what she would be wearing that night for her one on one Christmas celebrations.

“What happened?” MInah asked. She knew Enzo was never the type to react negatively, choosing to remain blissfully —and even annoyingly— positive even at critical times (a behavior that had almost caused her to attempt murder several times the past year), so his expression made her raise one of her perfect brows. Minah carefully placed Suho’s state of the art quidditch glasses on the table (one of her husband’s most recent tech inventions) and leaned back on the chair.

“Nothing” Enzo deadpanned, but the scowl on his forehead told otherwise.

“Oh, come on, Enzo. The only time I saw you frown like this was when we were invited to the Olivier’s fashion show” Minah walked across the office and took the empty spot beside her friend, sitting cross-legged.  “And even then you looked slightly entertained”

“Would you blame me? Maude poured champagne on her hideous white dress. It was hilarious” Enzo smirked playfully at the memory. It never failed to amuse him.

“Then, what’s wrong? Minah insisted, her voice too sweet for Enzo not to detect concern filtering through her tone.

“Just my ever enchanting family,” The man said with a sigh “Cancelling dinner plans at the very last minute because their businesses are more important… businesses being a euphemism for affairs.”

It had never been a secret for Minah that Enzo’s parents’ only kept their marriage to protect their individual interests. Minah and Enzo had bumped with his dad lounging on yachts in the Mediterranean, with entourages of women younger than herself, during their business trips to the south of France and Italy. His mother, on the other hand, had been having an affair with a magizoology researcher for some years now and she never missed the opportunity to run away with him to some exotic place. Of course, Enzo never told her that, Minah had found out everything about it through her uncle, Jerome, who granted was not one to spread gossip but had accidentally spilled the beans when they crossed paths with Madame Huang at a gala from the International Dragon Foundation.  

“What?” Minah gaped at that. Enzo had been talking about his plans with his parents for nearly a month and he seemed quite excited about it given the fact he didn’t get to spend time with them very often. It had made Minah question how lonely and in need of love Enzo seemed to be, but she hadn’t said anything about it. Instead, she had witnessed him planing every detail for their Christmas dinner with minute attention. He had bought handmade Italian glasses and hired the executive chef of the trendiest restaurant in London for the occasion. Hell, he had even got her aunt Adelaine to design him a suit although she was as busy as a bee. “I’m so sorry about it. I know you were looking forward to spending time with your parents”

“Nah. It’s ok. It was too good to be true” He attempted to laugh it off, but Minah knew that for some odd reason, Enzo still held some type of respect and affection for his parents. She was still unable to understand his fixation on spending time with them, but she figured out that the situation was far from being “ok”.

“No, it is not. They should’ve canceled before so you could make some arrangements and plan something else” She said scowling and slightly raising her voice.

“I will be fine, Minah. I am going to crash any of the parties I was invited to or drop by to visit some friends” He said, putting emphasis on the last word and winking at Minah afterward.

“No, that doesn’t sound right” Minah protested “Why don’t you come and stay with me and Sungjae. We didn’t really plan anything special” Only once she had already made the offer, Minah realized the mistake she had committed by inviting someone to spend Christmas Eve with her and her husband, without even asking Sungjae first.

“I had no idea you were into threesomes, Min” Enzo joked, eyes flickering in pretended surprise.

Minah slapped his arm playfully. “Don’t be ridiculous! Haven’t you told me  he third party is always supposed to be a stranger?”

They both laughed at that, but Enzo became serious once again, moving on the sofa to look at Minah in the eyes.

“I really appreciate your offer, but I am pretty sure Sungjae won’t be exactly thrilled to have me there,” He said seriously.

“Oh no, Sungjae is in his Christmas mood, I’m sure he really wouldn’t mind” That last part was a blatant lie, Minah could only imagine Sungjae’s reaction and it was far from what she had described, but Enzo didn’t need to know that.

“Ha. As if” Enzo rolled eyes. “Minah, you’re newlyweds. I seriously appreciate your concern, but I’m not going to feel any better if I have to spend Christmas Eve at your place, knowing that you would very much rather be fucking with your husband than hosting unwanted guests.”

“Wow, what a charmer” Minah replied with a trace of sarcasm. She couldn’t deny that Enzo was completely right, but she was still convinced that she needed to insist. “But Enzo… Christmas has always been about unannounced guests. From day one, that is the whole purpose of the holiday. I mean, take the Wise Men, they just called in unannounced.”

“They brought gold, Minah, of course, Mary and Joseph didn’t mind” Enzo switched his position on the sofa scoffing.

“But still-“ Minah started, but her speech was interrupted before she could say another word.

“All I’m saying is you don’t have to give up Christmas sex only because of me” Enzo stated with a grin, causing Minah to huff “No, but seriously. I’m going to be perfectly fine, Min. I always have a plan B.” The male moved to pat Minah’s hand brotherly “Thanks for caring so much though.”

“Just wanted to give you a Christmas gift” Minah said, a pout forming slightly.

“You already got me these” Enzo said pointing at his wrists, showing off the cufflinks Sienna had delivered to his apartment that morning “Plus, you know I’m not expecting any Christmas miracle or present, Minnie. I’ve been a bad boy all year long” Enzo shrugged, winking for an added effect. “We all know I’d never make it to Santa’s nice list.

________

When Enzo showed up at Tara’s porch, she could barely hide the disappointed look on her face. Although she knew very well that Mark couldn’t make it home for Christmas this year, for some stupid reason she had been expecting it to be him. But then again, why would Mark even ring the bell of their own home? Tara thought to herself that the unreasonable hope she had been harboring inside was clouding her judgment and she felt like facepalming herself.

“You could at least pretend to be happy to see me” Cladded in the most Christmas cliched outfit Tara had ever seen him wear, Enzo smiled widely at her. He didn’t seem the least bit offended by Tara’s reaction, which made her feel even worse and instinctively step to the side for him to walk in.  

“I’m sorry, dear.” Tara tiptoed to kiss Enzo’s cheek and give him a quick hug “You just caught me off guard. I thought you were supposed to be home with your parents.”

“Keyword being ‘supposed’” Enzo said, handing Tara what seemed to be a present, wrapped in a silly paper with red-nosed female reindeers wearing hot-pink bows. “As per usual they canceled on me, so I supposed my best friend could use some company” He made a pause to take a brief look around “…Not to mention I could bestow some much needed Christmas spirit in this house.” He added once he realized the house was almost empty, which of course was to be expected given the fact Tara had just moved in there a few weeks ago. Yet, there was something truly depressing about it all. There was no tree, no decorations. Not the least sign of the joyful season.

“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t planning anything special, I was expecting tonight to be just me and the Ghost of Christmas Past” Tara joked, noticing the pitiful look on Enzo’s face.

“I thought Mark would be here, that’s why I dressed down” he attempted to mask the question with a ridiculous joke, but Tara’s expression fell anyhow.

“He’s just busy. Apparently, a group is not enough work, so his company planned this whole “supergroup” project and if I haven’t lost track of the date, he must be stuck somewhere between Dallas and Miami right now” Tara forced a smile  “But it’s ok.”  She took a deep breath that suggested she wasn’t particularly ok. She then went on “I know how important his career is and how hard he’s worked for it, so I’m fine”

“I can’t believe you didn’t think of telling me about it, T. I seriously thought Mark was coming home tonight. If I had known-“

“If you had known, you would’ve tried o drag me to some crazy orgy in Las Vegas or Rome and I don’t know about you, but that’s not exactly what my Christmas spirit dictates me to do,” Tara said with an insincere laugh that made her best friend frown. “Ok, no, it’s just that you seemed so excited to spend time with your parents, I didn’t want to ruin it with my whining.”

“I’m almost offended you think that way, T.” Enzo clicked his tongue reprovingly before sneaking an arm around Tara’s shoulders. “You should’ve told me and we could’ve figured out an escapade to wherever Mark is and surprise him.” Enzo’s eyes lit up as though an idea had suddenly crossed his mind. “In fact, I think we’re still on time for that. Let’s go see Mark, we can Apparate and scare him off. Or we could scare the CEO of his company-“

“We are not going to Apparate in another continent just for Mark to spend his night performing for thousand of crazy women who fantasize about him-“ Tara stopped mid-sentence when she realized the bitterness in her words. “I-“ she let out a sigh, letting realization kick in.

“Wow” Enzo let out a deep breath before going on. “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“Neither did I” Tara admitted, looking down at her shoes as though she were looking at them for the very first time. “I just-“

“You’re just a human, T. You would like to have Mark all for yourself sometimes, wouldn’t you?”  Enzo placed both of his hands on each side of Tara’s arms, making her look up.  She hesitated for a second, but then she nodded “And it’s understandable.”

“I would never change the fact Mark is who he is, but sometimes…” Tara trailed off.

“Sometimes you should just let him know the way you feel” Enzo replied simply.

________

Four hours later and after bending several wizarding laws and abusing of their personal connections at the Ministry of Magic, Enzo and Tara dodge a group of overly excited teenagers in Perry Street. As per usual, the street is busy and decorated in a close simulation of a cheerful winter wonderland. There are several muggle tourists taking pictures outside the iconic Carrie Bradshaw’s Apartment, but there’s also a growing crowd of young females in the intersection with the 10th. Tara feels her heart pound violently against his chest and Enzo seems to hear it as well judging by the supportive way he laces his fingers with hers.

“Everybody is gonna be ecstatic to see you” Enzo says vehemently, pulling Tara to give her a one-armed hug

But it seems that Enzo is mistaken when Taeyong, Johnny, and Doyoung open the door of the 79th 10th street, looking nothing less than confused.

“What are you even doing here?” Doyoung scowls in puzzlement and asks, looking at Tara as though her presence as equally unexpected as it was unwelcomed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in London?” Yuta joins the other three, panic evident in his voice.

“Keyword being ‘supposed’,” Tara swallows as she stares at the group with a frown.

“Oh God, what’s wrong with everybody today?” Enzo’s upper lip curls up in disgust “Can’t you at least pretend you’re somewhat happy to see us?”

“Is this about to take an unexpected plot twist that shifts this happy Christmas reunion from romance to horror, because I would appreciate it if you just told me if Mark is cheating on me with someone behind that door instead of giving me all these grievous looks”

“Gosh, no, this is definitely not about that” Johnny steps forward, his tall frame towering over Tara. “We’re very happy to see you, but-” He claims vehemently as he offers her a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite accomplish its purpose.

“It’s just that…” Taeyong manages to interrupt “Mark is not here”

“What?”

“He left at dawn” Yuta explains “He wanted to surprise you, but apparently missed the obvious fact you’d want to do exactly the same.”

Before the news can actually down on them, Enzo turns to Tara with rounded eyes and an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry… this was a terrible-”

“It’s ok. We can still make it back to London on time” Tara says, biting the inside of her cheek.

The suggestion makes Taeyong raise a brow skeptically, but Doyoung doesn’t even bother hiding his exasperation.

“Sorry to break it up to you but the flight to London will take you at least 11 hours” he points out, eyes rolling almost involuntarily.

“Not to mention you won’t possibly be able to book a ticket on Christmas Eve” Someone else objects, peeking through the open door.

“Oh, no, Don’t worry, we have connections” Enzo laughs, brushing the comments off with his signature overconfidence “it’ll take us 3 hours tops”

___________

The 14 hours it took Mark Yang to land in London are probably the most anxiety-inducing hours in his life. Considering he gets to spend most of his time on planes with the bunch of dorks his group mates are, that’s saying a lot. But the flight delay, the terrible weather conditions and the overly sensitive travelers trying to make it home for Christmas are the perfect recipe for disaster.

To complete the already disastrous scenario, Mark’s phone decided Christmas Eve was the perfect time of the year to act up and die on him, so by the time he made it out of the airport, he had to gather all his self-control not to snap at an elderly couple who stole the cab he had hailed. And when he finally managed to get in a taxi and everything seemed like it could finally work, the traffic jam and questionable driving style of the driver —who seemed to be lacking in festive spirit and cussed at everybody who tried to get past them— delayed his arrival two additional hours.

When Mark steps into his 19th-century residence in Kensington, where Tara and he had moved in after their engagement, he’s surprised to recognize he still finds the place oddly unfamiliar. It probably is the little time he has spent in it or the heavy Christmas decorations adorning pretty much every inch of surface, but he can’t help but feel an immense amount of guilt. This was supposed to be his and Tara’s first Christmas together after getting engaged and he truly wanted it to be special, but in between his group and solo promotions, multiple interviews and upcoming projects, he had been less than a stellar fiancé.

It’s snowing outside and it’s so cold his teeth start chattering as he makes his way in, the nostalgic scent of pine and sandalwood mingled with that of gingerbread filling his nostrils.  Tara has never been particularly into Christmas so the fact everything looks so pristine and festive makes Mark wonder how lonely she had been feeling. Feeling guilt shot through his body once again, Mark’s first instinct is to rush to their room upstairs, but when he slams the door open hoping to wake up Tara, he finds out an empty bed. Sure, Tara had made sure new bed linens graced their bed and to place a bottle of champagne on the side table, but there are no traces of Tara.

Mark tours the house simultaneously looking for his fiancée and discovering how big it is, he finds freshly baked gingerbread cookies in the kitchen and watermelon cut in the perfect shape of stars and his heart clenches painfully. He wishes he could’ve prepared something for Tara other than a lame necklace from Tiffany’s.

The man finally walks into their living room and stops in his tracks as he notices two figures curled up on the burgundy couch. It takes Mark a few seconds to recognize the chiseled features of Enzo Saint Pierre, but what he notices right away is the way his arms are firmly wrapped around Tara and her head resting on his shoulder. Mark stands there not knowing what to do next. He could wake them up, but Tara looks like an angel when she’s sleeping, her chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. And even if Enzo can be annoying sometimes, he is pretty sure there’s some reasonable explanation as to why he is sleeping in his home on Christmas Eve.

Mark is about to turn around to find a cover for them when Tara faintly calls his name.

“You’re home” she says groggily, eyes half-open

“T…” Mark mutters, not sure of what to say.

“Am I dreaming?” Tara asks and Mark laughs at that.

“No, I’m home,” he says walking up to her.

“We were waiting for you” Tara whispers. She doesn’t move and her voice is barely audible over the sound of logs blazing the fireplace.

“Doesn’t look like it” Mark jokes, taking the empty spot beside Tara and resting his head against the back of the sofa.

“Don’t be silly Mark Yang,” Enzo speaks, eyes still closed. “We’re just tired after a six-hour round up to New York City, so if you appreciate your life, you better let us sleep.” Enzo moves bit tightening his hold on Tara and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“You did what…?” Mark asks in disbelief. But what sounded like a truly obnoxious lie from Enzo ends up being confirmed by a nod of Tara’s head.

“Enzo thought it’d be a good idea to surprise you, but when we got there the guys told us you were on your way here” Tara chuckles a bit although the actual experience was not as nearly as amusing as the memory is “Poor Taeyong, I’ve never seen him panic so badly, he was pale when he saw us.”

The three of them burst into laughter, but silence follows afterward. Enzo falls back to sleep, Tara drowsily reaches for her fiancé’s hand and Mark looks completely lost in his own wold. And it can’t be otherwise. Even in the simplest of the situations, it appears to Mark that Tara’s existence is the manifestation of every beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed in life and no words would ever be enough for him to describe the wholesome feeling he gets just by staring at her.

“I’m sorry,” He finally breaks the silence, after minutes of looking at her wordlessly. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long” he adds as he pulls her hand to his lips and plants a kiss on her knuckles.

Tara hums something incompressible and then untangles herself from Enzo, moving to straddle Mark and giving him a passionate kiss that takes him completely off guard, but he responds to with the same fervor. He holds her waist, pulling her closer to him and preventing her from moving. It seems like a lifetime since he last kissed her, so he doesn’t let go off her easily.

When they pull away minutes later, gasping for air, they look at each other amused.

Tara holds her boyfriend’s face with both hands and giggles happily. “Merry Christmas, Mark”

“Merry Christmas, my love” Mark is about to dive in for another kiss when Enzo lets out a groan.

“This is not how I was supposed to spend Christmas Eve, you two” he complains throwing a cushion at them.

“Keyword being supposed” Tara repeats once again, before pulling Mark in for yet another kiss.

It is definitely not how Enzo Saint Pierre was supposed to spend Christmas Eve.

***

[hunterdeuling]

Hoping this helps non-Quilters understand the logic of quilter this amazingly well written piece from a judge. I laughed and laughed and hope you will also.

A speech given at a conference on quilting (Quilt Canada 2010) by Allan Fradsham, a criminal court judge in Calgary, Alberta, where the conference was held.

Here's the text. It's long but amusing, and so worth a read:

“When, some years ago, Gloria told me that she was going to build upon her years of sewing experience, and take up "quilting", I thought she was telling me that she was going to take up a new hobby or a new craft. I was completely oblivious to the fact that what she was really announcing was that she was taking up membership in a tightly knit (if you'll pardon the expression) group of individuals whose loyalty to one another makes motorcycle gang members seem uncommitted, and whose passion for quilting activities makes members of cults look positively disinterested. As is the case with many spouses, I was completely unaware that there existed this parallel universe called quilting.

However, to be completely unaware of a world-wide sub-culture operating right under our noses and in our homes is a bit obtuse even for husbands. But there it is, and here you are. And, most oddly, here I am. You might wonder how all this came to pass; I know I certainly do.

I cannot now identify what was the first clue I detected indicating that Gloria had entered the fabric world equivalent of Harry Potter's Hogwarts. It might have been the appearance of the fabric. Bundles of fabric, mounds of fabric, piles of fabric, towering stacks of fabric. Fabric on bolts, and stacks of small squares of fabric tied up in pretty ribbons (I later learned these were "fat quarters" which to this day sounds to me like a term out of Robin Hood). The stuff just kept coming into the house as thought it were endless waves crashing onto a beach. And then, just like the waves, the most amazing thing happened: it would simply disappear. It was as though the walls of the house simply absorbed it. Metres and metres (or as men of my generation would say, yards and yards) of fabric would come into the house. It would arrive in Gloria's arms when she returned from a shopping excursion. It would arrive in the post stuffed in postal packs so full that they were only kept together by packing tape (these overstuffed Priority Packs are the equivalent of me trying to fit into pants I wore in law school). These packages would arrive having been shipped from unheard of towns and villages in far away provinces or states or overseas countries (I am convinced the internet's primary activity is not to be found in pornography; that is just a ruse, the internet's real function is to facilitate the trafficking and distribution of fabric). Wherever we went, be it in Canada, the U.S., Europe, wherever there was a collection of more than three houses, Gloria would find a quilt shop from which she would pluck some prize from some bin with the enthusiasm and unerring eye of an archaeologist finding a new species of dinosaur.

And of course, the reason that there are quilt shops everywhere is because there are quilters everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. A few years ago, Gloria had been visiting her sister-in-law in Kelowna. While there, she found and purchased a Featherweight sewing machine. I understand that making such a find is a matter of such joy that it may eventually attract government taxation. When it came time to fly back to Calgary, Gloria worried about what the people at airport security would have to say when she tried to take the machine onto the plane. She need not have been concerned. Now, airport security takes pride in preventing me from carrying onto a plane a small squirt of toothpaste left in a rolled up toothpaste tube if the tube in which it is lodged did at some point in the distant past, contain a prohibited amount of toothpaste. My spot of toothpaste is a national security threat. However, when it came time for Gloria to go through security with the Featherweight, which is made of metal and has needles in secret compartments, airport security came to a standstill. Why? Were they about to confiscate the machine, and detain the person who dared to try to board with it? Of course not. They gathered around it in awe and admiration, asking Gloria questions about where she had found it, and expressing admiration for her good fortune in finding it. And why did Gloria get such warm treatment when I am shunned for trying to maintain some degree of oral hygiene? Well, the answer is obvious; the assembled airport security staff were all quilters, complete with the secret handshake.

Maybe I should have twigged to what was happening when the washing of all this fabric led to having to replace our washing machine, which was clearly not designed for such industrial use. Now, let me pause here. I understand that there is an intense debate within your world about whether or not fabrics should be washed upon purchase. I do not wish to be caught in any cross-fire between the two camps, for all I know, as an outsider, I may not be authorized to even know of the controversy. I do suspect that if men were making the decision, quilting would involve lot less fabric washing and a lot more beer drinking.

I did eventually discover where all the fabric went. It went into drawers, cupboards, shelves, and, eventually it completely filled up a closet, which took up one full wall in Gloria's newly built "sewing room". What we now call Gloria's "sewing room", we used to call "the basement".

I have discovered that one of the art forms mastered by quilters is the ability to purchase container loads of fabric, conceal it in the house, and camouflage the purchase so that it slips right under the nose of the unsuspecting spouse. As a loving and obedient spouse, I have on many occasions found myself in quilt stores where I serve two useful functions: I can reach bolts of fabric stored on top shelves; and I can carry numerous bolts of fabric to a cutting table. However, I have also started to listen to what is said in quilting stores, and one day, in a little quilting shop in the heart of Alberta farming country, I heard something that made it clear to me that quilters are so clever and, dare I say, devious, that there is really no sport for them in fooling we naive husbands. Gloria had decided to buy some fabric (which is similar to saying that Gloria had decided to breathe), and had gone to the till to pay for it. Upon running through Gloria's charge card, the clerk quietly said, "Now, when you get your credit card statement, don't be alarmed when you see an entry for our local feed store. We run our charges under that name so that if a husband looks at the credit card statements, he will think that the entry is just something he bought at the feed store for the farm". That sort of financial shell game would make Goldman Sachs proud. I knew at that moment that there had been a major and probably irrevocable shift in the world's power structure. I concede it is basically over for the non-quilting husband.

As you have been told, I sit as a criminal law judge, and as such I often find myself sitting on drug trials, or issuing search warrants in relation to drug investigations. I must say that the more I learned about the quilting world, the more I started to see similarities between that world and the drug world. It has caused me some concern.

We all interpret events from our own perspectives using the lessons we have learned through life. When I saw the extent to which Gloria's collection of fabric was growing, I began to worry. In the law relating to drugs, the amount of a drug one has in one's possession is an important factor in determining the purpose for which the person has the drug. For example, if a person is in possession of crack cocaine (to use a drug with an addictive power equivalent to fabric), one look at the amount of crack the person possessed. If the amount exceeds the amount one would realistically possess for personal use, then one may reasonably draw the inference that the purpose of the possession is not personal use, but, rather, it is for the purpose of trafficking the drug. So, you can imagine what I thought when I saw Gloria's collection of fabric grow to a point where she readily admitted that she could never use all that fabric in several lifetimes. I reluctantly concluded that I was married to a very high-level fabric trafficker. Mind you, in order to qualify as a trafficker, one does have to part with fabric, and I see very little evidence of that happening.

In fact, the more I thought about the parallels between the quilting culture and the drug culture, the clearer the similarities became. Consider the jargon. I have learned that this vast collection of fabric, which is stored in our house, is a "stash". Well, drug dealers speak of their "stash" of drugs. Gloria speaks of doing "piece" work. In the drug world there are often people who bring together the crack cocaine dealer and the buyer; think of a real estate agent, but not as well dressed, through perhaps somewhat less annoying. Those people speak of breaking off a "piece" of crack as payment for bringing the parties together. Sounds to me like a type of "piece work". Those who transport drugs are often called "mules"; I have frequently heard Gloria refer to me as her mule when I am in a quilt store carrying stacks of fabric bolts (or did she says I was stubborn as a mule?). Well, it was something about mules. And I should think that this whole conference is a testimony to the addictive qualities of quilting.

In my role as a Sherpa, I have accompanied Gloria on various quilting expeditions, and I have been impressed by many things. One is, as I have mentioned, that no matter where one goes, there will be a quilt store. The proliferation of quilt shops makes Starbucks outlets seem scarce. One day Gloria led me into a hardware store, which seemed odd to me, that is until I discovered that, as I walked towards the back of the store, the store had become a quilt shop. The metamorphosis was extraordinary, and very crafty (if you will pardon the pun). At that moment, I knew how Alice felt as she followed that rabbit down the rabbit hole. Suddenly, one was in a different universe.

Another thing I have learned is that the operators of quilt shops have great business acumen. In one of Gloria's favourite shops, upon entry I am greeted by name and offered a cup of coffee. If the grandson is with us, he is allowed to choose a book to take home. It is all so friendly that I don't even notice that I cannot see over the growing pile of fabric bolts which fill my arms. I wish that my doctor did such a good job of distracting me when it is time to do a prostate exam.

I have learned that quilting is both international in scope and generous in spirit. I have learned that quilters are quick to assist those in need, and that they have always been prepared to stand up for what is right. For example, I think of Civil War quilts, which often conveyed messages about the Underground railway for slaves escaping to Canada. I think of the One Million Pillowcase Challenge, and the Quilts of Valour project. At one point, I thought of suggesting the creation of an organization akin to "Doctors Without Borders", but decided that an organization called "Quilts Without Borders" would indeed be illogical.

And of course, there are the resultant quilts. We have quilts throughout the house. They adorn beds, chesterfields, the backs of chairs. They are stacked on shelves, they are stored in drawers, they are shoved under beds, they are hung on walls. There is even one on the ceiling of the sunroom. They compete for any space not taken up with the fabric, which will eventually result in more quilts. I live in a cornucopia, which disgorges quilts instead of produce. I have decided that quilts are the zucchini of crafts. But who can complain? Quilt seriously, each one is a work of art, and an instant family treasure. While family members and friends are delighted to receive them, I churlishly begrudge seeing them go out the door.

Though I tease Gloria about the all-consuming nature of her obsession, I am constantly amazed at the skill necessary to create those works of art. I stand in awe as I watch her do the mathematics necessary to give effect to (or correct) a pattern. When she quilts, she combines the skill of an engineer, a draughtsman, a seamstress, and an artist. Her sewing machines require her to have, as she does, advanced computer and mechanical skills. She knows her sewing machines as well as any Hell's Angel knows his Harley. She uses measuring and cutting tools and grids, which would challenge the talents of the best land surveyors.

A

Gloria and I very much appreciate your warm hospitality this evening.

In closing, the hotel management has asked me to remind you that those found cutting up the table cloths for quilting fabric will have their rotary cutters confiscated and forfeited to the Crown.”

[funkywerks]

New York Pity

I'll never forget the day they sent me to New York City. It looked gorgeous from the window of the jet. It was the afternoon of June 15th 2016; the sunset hit the Empire State Building in a perfect orange and golden glow. That day was the start of my biggest accomplishment to date. I went to flight attendant training for 7 weeks in Dallas, Texas. I was hoping to get as far away from the east coast as possible; I was going to be Miley and hop of the plane at LAX with my dream and my cardigan. of course we’re talking about Los Angeles. My instructor was so pleased to announce that I was going to New York City that it made me sick. I was no longer miley ? But I still wanted to party ? I wanted my instructor to think I was happy too- so I faked a little celebration and started brainstorming how I was going to work this into my 5 year plan! I am the queen of the bright side and I can run a beer pong table like a pro. I could fit in anywhere ? Right ?

-I was almost excited.

I had no home, no money, and no clue. I was still excited to start my dream life. Optimism has always been my strong suit and I was going to need every bit of it to survive this experience. My family was very supportive and would help me out sometimes by buying my Uber to work ( a huge luxury in New York . I want you to imagine Uber but expensive and then more expensive than you thought ) or sending me care packages when I was homesick. But I never wanted to take money from them. I took out $1000 loan from the bank before my first paycheck and made it work. I had 1000 dollars in my bank account and was 1000 miles from home. I never in a million years wanted to end up in New York City, but I did.

The Crash Pad

I saw the pictures of the rooftops and the parties and the luxury apartments; but I found myself looking at the empty walls of a flight attendant crash pad in Queens, New york. It was just that to me : Empty. A world famous city full of people, and I couldn't find a familiar face, place or feeling. My Gossip Girl dreams died in less than a month. Crash Pads are in between houses for commuter flight attendants, It’s basically a dorm room. I tried to make the best of the rickety old bunk bed and the shared living spaces- but I didn't make a single friend or memory there. It's a great resource that I am very thankful for, but in no way a home. I paid 200 dollars a month to live in an illegal housing operation next to Laguardia Airport for 4 months.

The First Floor

Everything in New York is expensive and time consuming: the people, transportation, housing and even the fun. It requires more effort than I had ever given anything in my whole life. I remember getting on the subway after work one day and publicly bursting into tears after realizing I was going in the wrong direction. At least “New York City is one of the only places you can cry in public without being bothered” (Taken from @jcally’s Brilliant Twitter feed) Let a girl have her mental breakdown in peace every once in awhile! I started to collect a few friends from work and started to build meaningful relationships with my surroundings. I graduated from a 1 bedroom with 6 people I didn't know, to a 1 bedroom with 4 people I barely knew. Astoria, Queens is one of the coolest neighborhoods in New York and one of the most under appreciated. It’s just off to the right of the East river, above Long Island City and green point, Brooklyn. It was the perfect place to start growing as a person. Two people slept in the bed and two people slept on couches in the living room. My couch was cheap and uncomfortable BUT IT WAS BETTER than the crash pad. I needed comradery in my life, I was less miserable sleeping on that cheap couch than alone in my mind on the top bunk. When I was comfortable with my surroundings, I started to drown myself in what I do best = party and work. Two of the four girls left New York City ( for reasons stated above) and the remaining girl and I became very close friends. It was the first close friendship I had since moving to the City, and we traveled and laughed and partied. Progress was slow, but progress was happening. Life was better but far from perfect.

My biggest lesson this year was that living with roommates is just as hard as trying to make it in New York City. It is so easy to blame your roommates for any number of minor inconveniences in your life that most of the time people do. Don’t get it twisted, if you're annoyed and have not asked nicely: That is your problem. If you spread rumors or private information to others, you are just as bad as the minor inconvenience that started a feud in the first place. If you live together make it your personal responsibility to be on the same page with your roommate; or not. Pick your poison. I've been the annoying roommate and the annoyed roommate and it has no reflection of who I am as a person. My living situation is it healthiest when I let things go, understand others, and be a team player. Understanding each other with an open line of casual communication ( no hostility ) is more important than the mess they left in the living room after a drunken night out. Wake them up,ask them to clean up their mess and move on.

The first floor on 34th street was close to work and bars and food. I really loved that home with 1 bedroom and 4 people. It really meant something to me. As I’ve mentioned before I’m just about happy anywhere and material objects mean very little to me. I did my best to feel grateful for a safe place to sleep. Although mostly positive, I was busy in a way I’ve never been before and had pushed aside my mental health for just a little too long. During my year there I was dealing with the aftermath of my “big trauma” .

Everyone has a big trauma ,

it’s the event in a person's life that affects them in the most negative way. All traumas are important and often are never spoken about or never properly heard and processed. I never said I was dealing with it well; but any progress was just comforting enough to see the light at the end. I specifically felt hesitant to have close relationships with anyone. I held people at arms length and set them up to disappoint me. I was sure I was going to keep to myself and not let anyone in. ( if you know me you’re rolling your eyes, because I am the biggest personality you know ) its those people who believed my problems had value, they saved me. I had imposter syndrome for most of my first year, I didn’t think what I went through was bad enough to be important. I had enough people listen to me chatter away about my problems to me help me start healing in my own way. It can be very confusing to have it all and still be sad. I traveled non-stop and used every bit of youth I had to keep the party going. This was my dream life, almost. I paid $400 dollars a month to sleep on a couch in Astoria, Queens.

The Three Bedroom

Next we moved into a three bedroom on 47th street in Astoria, Queens . I was living with my remaining roommate, her new husband, and random roommate who reached out to us through a friend. Not ideal. But I had my own bedroom and I was proud. It was smaller than most suburban bathrooms; not an exaggeration. I had no room for anything more than a bed and a mirror. I had a dresser and place to hang my coats in a walkway across the hall. I thought that by having my own bedroom I could start to work on my mental health. I was going to create a safe space. It would have my film and my records and my shells from the beach back home. Unfortunately I didn’t think about how lonely it was going to be. My mental health was the worst living in the three bedroom with 4 people. I felt alone, I might be the only person on earth who truly loves to be around people all the time. So what did I do? I partied too much , I worked a lot and ignored that I was sad again. Are we noticing a trend? I’m super good at pretending I’m ok. I feel like I can’t remember a lot from that year, I don’t know if it’s because nothing happened or if too much happened. I wanted to be around people so badly that I started spending most of the days in coffee shops. I always wondered what project everyone was working on and what their coffee order was. I wanted to know why they had work off the afternoon of a weekday; what did they do for work? I imagined all the possibilities without speaking to a single soul. I wonder if anyone else was looking for someone to talk to too. This is New York, and people in New York hate small talk or anything that doesn’t make them money. I would even drink multiple lattes in one sitting just to buy time away. I started putting my smarts to use; I became an expert planner. I made budget spreadsheets, planned vacations, and set goals. I am still to this day fascinated with the logistics of travel. With a will there is always a way. I learned to prioritize my wants and needs and how to make everything happen for me. I was incredibly productive until my mac-book crashed and I had no money to replace it. Life happens, I thanked Mac for his 8 years of hard work and said my goodbyes. That's what that lady on Netflix said to do right ? I think it rings true that everything is always worse before it gets better. The following year I was to move back into a huge 2 bedroom with four amazing girls and it would be The best year yet. But then I would go on to live in a little apartment in Lower East Side Manhattan with an amazing view like I had fantasized that first day flying in. The year I lived in a three bedroom apartment with four people for $800 a month. Would be the last time “ New York sucks” would ever drop from my mouth.

I was coming up on almost 2 years living in New York. I was so happy at work and to this day love my job so much. it was my biggest reason to persevere when I had no other reasons. I had so many new friends going through the same struggle and working out their “ big trauma “. it was nice to look back and see progress. I found myself identifying as a New Yorker. I was a fast worker, walker and problem solver. I wanted to cut the bullshit, I didn’t want to make excuses, I wanted to make it happen. I don’t know how to explain how much I deeply hated New York at first and then did a miraculous 180; an Olympic figure skater would be proud. It was a place I felt most like an outsider (at first); and everyone I met there seemed to love it so much. I was jealous that I couldn’t love it the same. Then at that magical 2 year mark , everything began to fall into place. I always wondered what would have happened to me if I had gotten my transfer to Los Angeles in that 2 years. Would I be more socially relevant or have plastic surgery ? Who would my friends be? I finally had great friends, no drama, and plans. Lots of plans. Plans of travel and life goals and plans of mischief. Above all I had a purpose. There I said it. In the end New York City gave me a purpose. I started to form friends that weren’t even flight attendants and we started throwing the best parties and had so many events to attend they overlapped. Loving New York isn’t possible without hating New York. It’s awesome because it took all I had. In the famous words of American song writer “Jay-z” If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere”. After all this emotional turmoil I will have to eventually write about “ New York City” and drop the P. And how I couldn’t live without it. My biggest accomplishment to date was the day I removed my transfer request to Los Angeles.

[theonewhobroughtyou]

@favoredfcrtune

Victor is damn lucky he catches Chloe when he does.

His call comes late in the afternoon, after she’s been passed out for hours after a too-long flight home. The job in Kagoshima was quick, nothing to get too excited over, in and out within four days and hardly even a scrape to her knuckles. Easy. She loves the job, though, regardless of how short it is, of how little danger there is, of minimal risk and moderate reward, but still it feels good to be back in a warm bed, in a temperature controlled apartment, with locks on the door and eight floors of residents below her to act as a buffer between her flat and anyone potentially trying to reach her. The thrill of the adventure can still, at times, be outweighed by the comforts of home. Of familiarity. Of the quiet hum of the air conditioner soothing her ears after days of near perpetual gunfire when things go bad (and so often do they go bad; it’s almost not enjoyable if they don’t, to a degree).

She can’t sleep on flights, though, never could, and when she finally landed back in Key West after three layovers and too many in-flight movies, her eyes too heavy to even read her notes anymore, she managed to wrangle a taxi ride home, barely making it out of her jeans and onto her bed before sleep won and she slipped into a series of meaningless dreams for a solid eleven hours. It isn't unusual for her to crash so hard after a job, but it's the flight that really took it out of her this time. For the amount of trans-oceanic flights she takes, she thinks she should be used to all of this by now, might know how to relax and shut down on a flight - and yet here she is, pushing her mid-thirties, more than half her life spent in the business, and still unable to to do more on a plane than close her eyes and slow her breathing and try to imagine the thrum of the engine is her air conditioner at home, but to no avail. Frustrating, but it's why she plans a few extra hours on either side of her trips for the red-eyes and long flights.

She hadn't planned anything after this job. Maybe a couple weeks off to let her aches recover, to start working on selling some relics from recent jobs, maybe start poking around for her next one. So when she's woken up by her cell phone vibrating near violently beside her pillow, Victor's name illuminated through the spiderweb of cracks in the screen, she knows it's one of two things: an invite to drinks, or something with Nate. Both of which end up being time consuming, and he's lucky he caught her now.

Her mouth is thick with sleep, and she has to clear her throat a few times before she can clear the hoarseness from her voice, but even then she still sounds tired.

“Victor?” She tries to sound alert, or at least more so than she actually is, pushes herself onto her elbows to clear her head, blinking sleep from her eyes. But it isn't anything she does that has her mind snapping to attention and her heart pounding so hard it might break through her ribcage. It's what he tells her. It's Nate, because of course it is. It’s been a long time since this brand of call has come through to her, but she can’t say she hasn’t been expecting something like it eventually.

She can still remember the last time she'd visited the Drake household, the look on his face when she mentioned where she was headed next - Uruguay, at the time, to look into the credibility of La Luz Mala. The way his eyes widened slightly, brightened, and she could damn near see the wheels turning in his head as he already tried to figure it all out, where he'd start, what clues would fit, historical facts and tidbits they had once spent countless days and nights poring over together - and how those wheels slid to a sharp stop when he forced himself to change the subject. He can't follow that train of thought. He has a wife and a house and a relatively normal job. He's left the life of fortune hunting behind in favor of the normalcy he didn't get growing up. It broke her heart to see the light dim when he moved on to other topics and pushed a smile into place. He's happy, but he's also not, and the lure of adventure is a tempting mistress they've both spent their lives giving in to the siren song of.

He resisted, but she knows how goddamn easy it is to go back.

“You mean...even more stupid than usual?” A pause as she listens, and she forces herself into a sitting position, dragging her hand over her eyes, down her face, back through her hair. She tries to play it off like a minor annoyance, but the truth is, she knows the recklessness that can come with spending time away, and she’s terrified for him. Keeping herself under control is easy, even in the vulnerability of the aftermath of sleep, but she feels the rising panic make her chest ache. Her only audible sign of it is the sigh she gives, heavier than she’d intended and carrying more worry than she could put words to.

“Of course, Victor,” she says, pulling a pen and whatever scrap of paper she has towards her to take down the notes. Coordinates, last known location, where he’s headed, the destination itself - Avery’s treasure? She damn near scoffs into the phone. Son of a bitch went looking for it without her. Another sigh. “Yeah, I’ll go drag both Drake asses home.” The phone balances between her cheek and shoulder, tongue pressing against the flats of her teeth as she scribbles notes to herself. She falls silent for long seconds, rereading everything, ensuring she has it all before speaking again.

“I’ll leave as soon as I can catch a flight out.” Another short pause. “Love you, too, Victor.” She pauses, then lets the phone drop to the bed, hearing the audible beep of the call disconnecting.

And then she lets herself feel everything she tried not to on the call.

Fingers tremble only slightly as she books the flight, paying extra to land in a small, out of the way airport that’s closer to the island Nate’s headed to, and good god, what has he gotten himself into? She knows Sam’s at fault here, no one else it could be, but that’s a strange recent history of prison visits and delivering rare books on pirating to him behind the corrupt backs of bribed guards (and learning about him was something else entirely, a series of six-degrees-of-separation connections that led her to him, and fucking hell, Nate, a brother?). She’d thought Sam was just bored, but apparently he’d been serious about the lost treasure. She should’ve been more suspicious of the calls he made to her in the middle of the night, his attempt at casual still sounding panicked, but she’s had a little too much on her own plate to worry much about his.

And now it involves Nate. (And Avery’s lost treasure, christ. She’ll find time to be more annoyed about that later.)

It takes less than hour for her to pack a spare change of clothes and basic toiletries into a travel bag and get to the airport. Waiting for the flight only adds to the stress itching her skin, and it’s sheer willpower that keeps her from pacing in the terminal until it’s time to board. She sits instead in a chair at the end of a row of chairs, fingers pulling at a loose thread in the hem of her shirt while she holds a compilation of what notes she has about Avery in her other hand. Brushing up on her knowledge of the man barely holds her attention, her eyes steadfastly focused on the pages though her mind is far from rapt, focused instead on Nate and what the hell he’s doing. It’s been a good while since she’s seen him, and she’ll be damned if the next time she sees him is dead, not unless it’s both of them dead together. (A stupid promise made five beers deep in the middle of the night when humidity wasn’t the only thing keeping them warm. A stupid promise, but a promise anyway, right?)

At this point, it’s become routine to suppress her feelings, move on and not acknowledge them anymore. Years of pretend and fake smiles until it was too much to bear and avoidance became her best ally, and even that gave way to caving in and seeing the entire crew again. They’re her friends, dammit, and she can’t lay claim to many of those. So she pushes it aside. A semblance of ‘moving on’ she’s never quite reached. And it’s things like this that bring it all back to the surface. Chloe doesn’t get these calls when it’s a simple fix, or when Nate is in just a spot of trouble. She gets these calls when it’s gotten bad, and even if getting bad is fun, there’s a line that even she doesn’t want crossed, and she can’t help but feel that this is one of those lines Nate’s leapt across with both feet.

Her hand abandons the loose thread and instead her thumbnail fits between her teeth, brows pulled in, eyes not even comprehending the words on the page, and fucking hell, is the plane leaving yet?

It takes too long, too long, before the flight starts boarding, and she should’ve taken Victor up on his offer to fly her there, but she’s here now and waiting in line is frustrating, and she has to remind herself not to clench her teeth and to take deep breaths to stay calm. She has a several-hour-long flight ahead of her, and she’s really only thankful that she slept as much as she did beforehand. Not that she’d take any rest after she lands, not with everything that’s waiting at the other end of this all, but at least she won’t be dealing with tired eyes and the irritation that sets in when she’s awake for too long. Small mercies.

She finds some sort of solace in steady breathing and the knowledge that she’s on her way, she’ll be there to help him soon. He’ll be with her, where she can know he’s safe. It’s a small comfort, but it allows her mind to settle as she finally gets to her seat and waits for the plane to take off. 

If nothing else, on landing, she’s learned more about Henry Avery and his connections than she knew going into all of this. Her resources were limited on the plane, but she’d packed her phone with anything she could download on the taxi ride to the airport, and even the unreliable sources had some entertainment value, even if they were incredibly inaccurate. Part of her would eventually find it suitable to be annoyed that he’d figured so much out already, that the connections were made without her, but that can wait. A storm is brewing and the little plane she switched to is barely fighting against the growing winds. He gets her as close as possible, but the landing isn’t as soft as she’d like, and somehow she thinks it’s drier in the ocean she landed in than in the rain insisting these islands join Atlantis.

“Dammit, Nate,” she sputters as she pulls herself ashore, barely, the water pulling at her boots and jackets as if reluctant to let go of her. The travel bag secured around her is waterproof, but she’s sure everything inside will be drenched when she checks. Of all places, of all times, the storm hits now.

“You better be alive.” He has to be. He’s survived a hell of a lot of shit until now, there’s no chance a mountain and a storm could take him from her. (From them, she corrects herself.) It’s a promise she repeats to herself as she starts the trek through wet grass and mud until she has to start climbing. The rocks are slick, and he’s definitely alive. Her hand slips a few times and she has to take it slowly, carefully, and he has to be alive.

The path isn’t easy to see, but she knows his style well enough to feel confident in the path she’s taking. They make sense, even when the ledges are small. Nathan Drake may not always take the easiest routes, but he takes the ones that make sense, and she can see the handholds he would take as if he were pointing them out to her himself. It’s a slow process and the storm refuses to let up. In fact, she’s positive it’s gotten worse, though how to tell through sheets of rain so thick she can barely see her outstretched hand, she isn’t sure. It doesn’t show signs of letting up, though, and it drives her to move just a touch faster. Careful. But faster.

How long has he been here? Has he been wandering through the storm at the same time as she has? How much of a head start has he had? Is Sam impatiently trying to make him go faster, or are they taking it slow together? Concern buries itself in her mind, and she presses on. Mud and rain and battered knuckles and bruised knees, and it’d be like old times if Nate was here with her and they eventually took refuge from the storm in one of these small caves, bandaging up wounds as best they could while resting weary limbs.

He’d better be alive, dammit.

She loses sense of time as she moves determinedly forward, one hand in front of the other, boots securely in place before shifting weight. Her arms and stomach ache, legs are exhausted, and it’s been a while since she’s gone long enough to wear her down like this. Nothing could have prepared her for this, and for long moments, she clings to her handholds, fingers numb and bruised, legs shaking, and she clenches her teeth to keep herself strong. She’s so tired, though. Surely Nate would’ve called things to a halt soon, right? Had she missed him? The wall ahead looks broken, and she’s eyeing for a path across - and she sees him. Below. Unconscious and on his back, and that’s a hell of a ways to fall. The panic she’d manage to suppress earlier rises in her chest again, heart hammering and hands trembling, and she lowers herself as carefully as she can to where he is.

“I swear to god, Nate, if you’re dead…” She leaves the threat open-ended, fights back the stinging in her eyes, and has to drop the last six feet down to get to him, the bend in her knees making the fall easier, but there’s no waste of time in rushing to his side. One hand above his mouth, the other pressing two fingers against his neck and pausing, waiting, feeling for any sign of life-

And there, a slow heartbeat, strong beneath her fingertips. He’s alive, he’s alright, and she lets out a laugh, leaning her forehead against his chest as relief sweeps through her. “Bloody hell, you asshole,” she breathes, taking only a few moments to gather herself. He’s alive, but he’s also freezing and in direct path of the rain. He isn’t a light man, years of muscle compounded on that frame of his, but she hooks her arms beneath his, lifts, and drags him into a dry section of the cave, beneath an overhang. No way to make a fire, but that’s why she wore the bigger jacket over her own. It’s wet, but he’ll warm it up. She drapes it over him and sits close, pulling her arms into her own jacket and tucking the sleeves into the pockets to keep cold air from getting in, and she settles in for however long it takes for him to wake up.

“Remember that time in Colombia?” she asks softly, her voice barely carrying over the rain. Not that he can hear her anyway, but that isn’t the point. Maybe the point is to keep herself calm while he rests, to keep the concern from working its way deeper in case he doesn’t wake up. “It didn’t rain this much, but it sure could give this place a run for its money.” A pause and a sigh, and she tucks her mouth and nose into the neck of the jacket.

They’d taken refuge in a cave there, too. Ground level, entry hidden by plants, rain so thick they probably wouldn’t have needed the plants to keep them out of sight of the small group of mercs hunting them. It’d been dark tucked in the back corner of the little cave, the sky almost as dark outside. They’d sat side by side, legs and arms touching, heads leaned against each other. The sound of her breathing a steady rhythm to the quiet story he told her. The warm press of his lips to her temple, to the the curve of her cheekbone, to the smile that so easily crossed her face when she was with him. It’d been different then, the feel of his hand in the curve of her waist familiar and comfortable, and did it still feel the same now?

Stupid, Chloe, she thinks with a deep sigh. She tucks her face a little deeper into her jacket, but keeps her eyes on him. “Don’t die on me,” she demands of him, determines she’ll be pissed if he does. 

The rain eventually stops its attempt at flooding the entire island, and she puts her arms back through her sleeves and stands, stretching the stiffness from her legs and walking around a bit. The sky is starting to clear up, still not visible, but also not deep grey, either, and she squints slightly as she looks up at the sky through the hole Nate fell into. Where the hell is Sam? In her worry for Nate, she forgot that Sam was supposed to be with hi.? Had he left him behind? Chloe barely knows the man, isn’t sure what kind of person he is. Would be abandon his brother in the middle of a storm in search of Avery’s gold? Chloe could have her moments of abrasiveness, but to be that cruel? If that’s the case, Sam had better hope Chloe doesn’t catch up with him, or there’ll be a different sort of hell to pay.

She’s starting to muse over how serious she is on that threat, when she hears movement behind her. Turning, she watches as Nate slowly pushes himself up, grunting through the aches from the fall, waiting for his eyes to land on her. Gives him a friendly smirk when they finally do. “Morning, love,” she says as she moves the six steps it takes to get to him, and now that she knows he’s alive, that he wasn’t injured so badly he wouldn’t make it out of this cave, she can’t help but to let her mild bit of annoyance at what he was even doing here in the first place seep in.

“You know, if you wanted to get yourself killed while looking for Henry Avery’s lost treasure, you could have at least called me beforehand.”

[shianhygge-imagines]

REQUEST: I Will Be [Ravus/Reader] Part 1

0.o Wow, you guys really love Ravus, huh? :D I don’t blame you! And I’m glad that you like my depiction of Ravus! >///< Just makes me feel all warm and tingly inside that you trust me with writing him! The request details are under the cut. This is the continuation from QED.

~ Quick note: You asked for a headcanon, but I raise you one and give you an entire fic.

|Masterlist Link|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was guaranteed the worst decision that you’ve ever made. And as you glanced down at your broken leg, wincing at the pain that shot up your leg, you reaffirmed that yes, this was indeed the absolute worst decision you’ve ever made. Of all time. Granted you had a decent reason for leaving, but it was no excuse to get yourself injured on an unannounced travel to Lucis. So, there you were, stranded in the middle of Leide with a broken leg.

Indeed, you had been in a rush to leave Tenebrae. To leave anywhere controlled by the Niflheim Empire. Immediately after the exchange of words with Ravus, you had started packing to leave. You couldn’t go back to your parents, with how greedy and selfish they were, they would have you sent back to House Fleuret. And you couldn’t stay anywhere that Ravus could easily find you. So within that very morning, you packed as few pairs of flexible clothes as you could and whatever money you had on hand, and left, somberly leaving your wedding ring on the night stand. If you were a mistake, then Ravus would not mind if you left your ring behind.

Your right hand found its way to your left, where your wedding ring used to be. You missed its presence, the weight around the base of your ring finger was a constant comfort when Ravus was gone. And as much as his words hurt you… you missed him dearly. But no. You couldn’t be with someone that doesn’t want you around.

“Perhaps… perhaps I can start over… in Insomnia.” There was hope for a new beginning for you in the Crown City. But back to the matters at hand, you frowned down at your injured leg, “Serves me right for not heeding the panicked cries of a Chocobo.”

You’d fallen from your Chocobo when it was frightened off by a few Sabertusks. You were trained enough to deal with the pack of Sabertusks, but you were still unable to guard from a few slashes to the left leg. The road was a good half kilometer away, clearly not too far, but it seemed to take forever as you hobbled along, careful not to apply pressure onto your leg. Perhaps you weren’t going to die alone in a desert, but you worried that nobody would be driving along the dusty back roads.

And then, like a blessing from the Astrals, you noticed a black sports car speeding down the road ahead, and like an idiot, attempted to sprint towards the road. You were only able to make it within 200 meters of the road when your leg gave away, sending you sprawling to the sandy floor with a less than dignified yelp. “Aw fuck me!” you cursed, spitting out the sand that entered your mouth. “Help!” You yelled with all your might as the car got closer, pushing yourself to kneel and wave your arms. You thought that the car would drive past, but to your surprise and immense delight the dark car slowed to a halt on the side of the road and you counted four figures exit the car.

You sat back with a relieved sigh, “Ah. I’m saved.” And then you blanched because all four figures were clearly men. “Shit. Now what’s the chance that all four of them are scum…” You fingered the gun by your side until you were able to get a good look at your potential saviours. And then, once they came close enough, you relaxed and laughed, “Holy shit. Saved by the Prince of Lucis and his friends.” You were the wife of Ravus Nox Fleuret, of course you knew what Prince Noctis looked like.

“Are you hurt, ma’am?” A bespectacled man, who you were aware to be Ignis Scientia, knelt down to look you in the eye.

You winced and turned your left leg to show your saviours the several slashes decorating your leg. “Yes. I was attacked by a pack of Sabertusks when I was thrown from my Chocobo. Thanks for stopping to help.” You were really grateful.

“Would stop for anyone in trouble, ma’am.” The tallest of the group answered with a grin, “I’m Gladiolus, nice to meet you.”

You smiled shyly at the Prince’s guardian, trying not to stare at the younger man’s incredibly defined abs, “Y/N. Y/N Nox Fleuret. It’s a pleasure to make the acquaintance of the Prince and his friends.” Honestly, you might as well let them know that you knew exactly who they were.

“Nox Fleuret?” The Prince snapped out of his silence at the mention of your last name, no doubt interested in your relation with Lunafreya. “Do you know Luna?”

It was cute, the boyish look of wonder on Prince Noctis’s face when he asked about Lady Lunafreya. And at the mention of Lunafreya, the blonde haired boy cocked his head to the side, looking away from Ignis. So you decided to be truthful and kindly answered, “Lunafreya is my sister-in-law. She mentions you frequently when we speak, Prince Noctis.”

But while Noctis blushed at your teasing comment, and the blonde haired boy whistled and hollered in support of his friend, Ignis’s attention snapped back towards you, “Sister-in-law? Would it be safe to assume that you are married to Ravus Nox Fleuret?”

From the mention of your husband, you smiled lovingly in thought, looking to the four men as if you were daydreaming for a moment before your face soured. “Hmmm. Yes, Ravus and I are married.” And then you grimaced, deciding not to inform them of your current marital issues.

Having resumed his assessment of your injury, Ignis quickly stands, brushing his pants of the dirt and sand. “The cuts are rather deep and might be in need of stitches. I’ll have to treat them in a cleaner environment if that is well with you?”

Upon assessment, you were better off with the Prince and his companions than bleeding out in the desert. Making your decision, you nodded your head and allowed Gladiolus to pick you up, an arm supporting your legs and one supporting your back as he followed Ignis back towards the Regalia, which looked a lot longer and curvy than the pictures you’ve seen. “Your Regalia looks… different.” You remarked, tilting your head to the side in wonder, “Any reason for the strange design choice?”

The blonde smiled widely, his entire face lighting up. “It turns into a plane.”

Your face dropped just a smidge, “A… plane... “

“What? Scared of heights?” Noctis chimed in with a cool expression. And then you noticed that he was the one getting into the driver’s seat, and paled. You’d heard rumors that the Prince’s driving was much to be desired.

As you were set gently in the middle seat, slightly squished between Ignis and Gladiolus, you couldn’t help but whimper just a little, “No… it’s not like I’m scared of heights… more like… scared of crashing…”

“Then how about you just take a nap?” Prompto suggested, turning around in the passenger’s seat, head tilted to the side like a puppy. “If flying makes you uneasy, just close your eyes and rest. We’ll be in Lestallum within an hour you know?”

You furrowed your brow and carefully thought about your choices, to fall asleep and let the boys fly, or stay awake and risk having a panic attack. In the end, you closed your eyes and let out an exhausted sigh, sinking down in your seat to find a more comfortable position. Attempting to sleep upright, you ended up straining your leg, earning a frustrated and pained intake of breath.

“You should probably lay down, Y/N.” Gladio suggested, “You can use Ignis as your pillow and prop your legs on my lap.”

You instantly turned red, making Gladio laugh as you protested, “N-no! I couldn’t possibly do that!” Not only were you embarrassed at the suggestion, but you honestly didn’t mind it. Still though, proper conduct was drilled into your head from an early age.

“Nonsense.” You started as the bespectacled man to your right spoke up, “Gladio is right. Sleep in such tight quarters with a leg injury can often irritate the wound and cause discomfort.”

Still embarrassed, you tried to protest as the two men gently coaxed you to lie down, but your protests fell on deaf ears and eventually died out when you realized that it was much more comfortable to lay down than to sit up. And though it was much more comfortable for your body, you fidgeted restlessly, unsure if you should close your eyes. Then, a large and warm hand rested on your head and gently stroked. In no time, you eyes fell shut and your mind relaxed, allowing you to rest.

Once you were asleep, Noctis gave a heavy sigh, “Is she asleep yet?”

Gladio smirked from his seat in the back, “Like a baby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The High Commander’s face appeared stoney, always a serious facade despite the turmoil that lay underneath. You’d been missing for more than a week already. Vanished. Leaving everything behind to disappear that very morning. Even your wedding ring had been left behind, to be found by Lunafreya when the servants informed her of your departure. And upon her discovery, Luna had gone to seek out her older brother.

Ravus hadn’t been aware of your departure, having stormed to his office since the confrontation between the two of you in the early hours of the morning. Stubborn as he was, the High Commander hadn’t stopped to think about his hostile words towards you, his own wife. The only thought within his mind was how frustrated and stressed he was of his sister’s fate. About how he was powerless to save someone he loves. And in the void of his endless worries, he’d lost sight of you, lost sight of the love between you.

And it took Lunafreya’s wrath to wake the young commander from his small void. It hadn’t been the tears you silently shed as he walked away with a cruel comment. So when Ravus had endured the firm and disappointed scolding from his little sister, he knew that he’d been in the wrong.

Ravus could never allow himself to abandon his sister to her fate, but it didn’t mean that he had to neglect the woman he loved. It didn’t mean that he should regret marrying Y/N. And it certainly didn’t mean that his wife was a distraction.

“You once told me that Y/N was your sanctuary, brother. That she was the one place that you felt calm, that, when you were in her embrace, the world around you faded away with your worries.” Lunafreya��s gentle eyes narrowed in disappointment, “How could you throw someone like that away? Y/N’s silently supported your actions all this time, and I believed that you were merely overworked to ignore her during our dinners. But now I see that you have always been a fool. What you have done… to take someone of pure heart, and then treat them as if they didn’t matter to you… it can’t be forgiven.” Ravus watched as Luna gently set Y/N’s ring on his desk, causing his heterochromatic eyes to widen. “For all your fear of your family leaving you… you didn’t realize that you drove one away.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

[miragerules]

I just finished Marvel’s Iron Fist and Iron Fist turned out to be a great show

1. Jessica Jones

2. Daredevil

3. Iron Fist

4. Luke Cage (In a distant 4th)

I really do not understand the overall criticism of Iron Fist.  I agree that yes the show starts at a real snail’s pace and throughout the show, the boardroom politics and meetings certainly do not add to the positive experience. The supporting characters in Ward, Joy, and Harold certainly were not very interesting or compelling.  I will do not get into the criticism of whitewashing of Danny Rand as I do not see it as an issue.  Danny Rand is a white character whom was always created to be a fish out of water character and it works great in Iron Fist, as more often than not Danny is lost in his purpose.  Now if the writers wanted to create another character to become Iron Fist that could have worked as well or replace the Danny with another character like Marvel has done with both Captain America and Thor, and create another story to tell that would have worked as well.  I think the criticism of racism and whitewashing has been very overblown when it comes to Iron Fist, but that is just me.  All right enough about this topic.

The two best things about the first three episodes was first Finn Jones as Danny Rand, and the second was the introduction of Colleen Wing (Jessica Henwick). I know absolutely nothing about the character in the comics, as I never read the Iron Fist Comics or remember seeing the character before, so I have no preconceived notions on the character or her relationship with Danny. As for the Iron Fist series Colleen, she is one of my three favorite characters on the show. Jessica Henwick magnificently brings the character to life.

All right, let us get back to the Iron Fist.  Things begin to change towards the end of the third episode and definitely in the fourth as different story elements begin to be revealed, and of course the appearance of Gao who has quickly become one of the best characters in Netflix’s Marvel Universe.  Sadly, though I have not and I am not too impressed with The Hand outside of Gao and Iron Fist certainly has not made me thing otherwise. As the show went on the Meachum family drama got more compelling and Ward began to really grow on me. I also loved guest appearances of both Claire and Jeri.  The action once Iron Fist got into the mid and latter episodes got a lot better outside of the finale.  Finally, perhaps the absolute best thing I loved about Iron Fist was the relationship between Danny and Colleen.  Finn Jones and Jessica Stroup have tremendous chemistry on screen and helps to make their friendship and love much more real, believable and compelling. It feels like the most fleshed out relationship in Netflix list of shows and in the Marvel Cinematic Universe as a whole.  I could care less about what has happened in the comics I just do not want Marvel to screw up to fit whatever has happened in the comics.

Now onto the problems I had with the show.  I will skip over the Rand business stuff because I already mentioned it, so I will start with the death of Danny’s parents. Did anyone believe that The Hand directly killed Danny’s parents? I certainly did not believe it for a second. I knew from the very beginning that Harold was involved in the plane crash and the death of Danny’s parents. As Gao said, why would they kill Danny’s parents by sabotaging the plane, as The Hand had nothing to gain since The Hand was already inside Rand enterprises. The only character on the show that had something to gain was Harold, so the whole mystery and suspense around the plane crash just did not work.

The second problem I had with Iron Fist was The Hand and in particular Bakuto. I do not know how the character in the comics is, but on the show, he sucks. I certainly did not get the evil and dangerous vibe I get from the likes of Gao, Kingpin, Killgrave and the other Hand villains I have seen in the second season of Daredevil. Bakuto comes off as some neutered delusional idiot who believes just because he is taking in kids from the street giving them better lives he is a good person even though he is also training said kids to be killers for The Hand. Bakuto was so bad he was overshadowed by the random Hand assassin with a shout out going to the drunken Hand warrior who I loved.

Overall, I would give the first season of Iron Fist around an 8.5/10. The series certainly could have been better if it had a more dreadful and terrifying villains than Harold and Bakuto. I hope that that will change with The Defenders as I assume The Hand will be the main villains of the series, and I hope I will get more Danny and Colleen in The Defenders and the possible second season of Iron Fist.

[alecthemovieguy]

Demetri Martin: An ‘economic’ comic

Demetri Martin is a stand-up comic known for a unique mix of observational humor, one-liners, jokes about language, drawings and music. His brand of humor earned him a spot as a writer on “Late Night with Conan O’Brien” and as a contributor on “The Daily Show.”

As an actor he’s appeared on such shows as “House of Lies” and “New Girl,” and in film, most notably as the lead in “Taking Woodstock.” “Dean,” his first film as writer, director and star, is set for release this summer.

I interviewed Martin for The Conway Daily Sun and The Portland Phoenix, which published abridged versions of the interview. Here’s the complete transcript of our nearly 30-minute conversation.

A lot of stand-ups make a point of using transitions to have their sets flow, but you do a series of non-sequiturs. Is that an intentional choice?

Yeah. From the get go for me, I wanted to do stand-up, I think, because I really just like jokes. Once I started writing them, I would (have the most fun) coming up with stuff, kind of just brainstorming and daydreaming. Part of the game for me has always been to write the most economical jokes I can in terms of how many words they use. Now, I’ve been doing it awhile and I’ve loosened up a bit and I am a little more conversational, but I still like that game of writing the shortest jokes I can. When I am on stage I can do as many as I can in the time that I have, so I usually wind up with not doing a lot of segways or anything. I just go from joke to joke.

But it does seem to have a lyrical flow even though it is a collection of random jokes, do you carefully choose the order in which they go?

Yeah. By the time I shoot a special or record an album, I have a pretty good sense of an order that I like, just over time. When I am writing jokes, it really is pretty random. Then they start to coagulate or whatever the word is into certain little chunks. Sounded kind of gross, but you know what I am saying. A flow kind of emerges where I say  “You know, I think that joke goes better here for whatever reason.” “I’m not going to do that in the first five minutes.” And then maybe these jokes are structurally similar so I won’t have them near each other. Things like that dictate the order a little bit, but one of the nice things about doing a collection of jokes is that I am not really bound to any order. There is not really a sequence there but things kind of emerge.

You studied law, so how did that influence or shape your comedy?

Well, it definitely drove me into comedy because two years in law school was enough for me it. It showed me that it wasn’t a good fit. Even after the first year, early into the first year I felt like “Ah, this is not that existing to me.” But I really didn’t know what else to do with my future or my career or whatever. Luckily, I was in New York and there were comedy clubs, so I said, “You know what? Maybe I can try that.”

In terms of the study of law, I liked studying the history of jurisprudence, how a law is shaped through court decisions. I still kind of find that interesting. I don’t know if that had any direct impact on my stand-up. But there is that logical element to studying law and making arguments — certainly the LSAT in preparation for law school. There are different kinds of logic problems, logical reasoning problems. I don’t know, maybe there’s some relationship between that and writing jokes and structuring jokes.

Yeah, because you clearly have a love of language. You’ve written in palindromes. So, what is it about language that fascinates you the most?

Well, I realize that at some point, palindromes are pretty arbitrary. I don’t have any specific connection to palindromes. It is not like I come from a family that has them or something or know anyone who is really into palindromes. You know, there are people that do them, but it was not like I was brought up with palindromes. But I think, after thinking about it for some years, one of the things I like about palindromes is that, in a weird way, they are related to simplicity. Because, to make a palindrome, you follow just a very simple rule but things get difficult and complicated really quickly. I think that is one of the things I like about it. It is simple to understand what the rule is but yet it is really difficult. It gets complex pretty quickly when you follow that rule.

Then just practically, traveling so much over the years as a comedian for my work — alone — has led me to different activities that really help me pass the time when I am on these planes, sitting in airports. I am not in a band. I don’t travel with other people. I don’t have a road manager, anything like that, so it is me and a carry-on bag. I read books, I listen to my music and I draw, but sometimes, if I am on a six-hour flight, honestly, trying to write a palindrome is really difficult. It makes time vanish. I get so engrossed in it. It is arguably pointless. There’s not really an application for it, but the process is kind of enjoyable.

How did you develop your style?

Well, Steven Wright I’ve mentioned in interviews before, was my favorite comedian when I was growing up, when I saw comedy on TV in the ’80s. I still love his comedy. I think he’s such a brilliant comedy and joke writer. I liked Gary Larson a lot, too, as a kid. “Far Side” always made me laugh. It might have been one of the first things, if not the first thing, that made me laugh from just looking at it on a piece of paper. Those two influences and certainly my father, who was not a comedian but he was a funny person. Those were three things that probably shaped or became my style.

Then over time, as much as I wanted to be like Steven Wright, I can’t. I’m not him. I can’t be him. I can’t write like him. I think myself emerged out of that. I still tell short jokes because I gravitate towards that. But I like drawing. I am not great at it, but I’ve liked drawing since I was a kid.

Music came later. I listen to music all the time but no one in my family played instruments and I didn’t grow up music or anything. But somewhere along the way, I wanted to see if I could learn how to play music. It is not only fun but useful to material and ideas. What happened was I started headlining and doing longer shows on the road, I found that it was an interesting way to break up my material, for me to put things together, maybe combine some of the material with drawings, maybe combine some of it with music. Even tell stories sometimes because it could be a little more narrative and that helped diversify my presentation, I guess you could say. For shows that are over 75 minutes or if I’m stage for 90 minutes, it is not just a list of jokes, it is something more happening.

Do you remember the first time you ever got a laugh?

You mean not in stand-up, just in life?

Just in life. First memorable time when you are like “Oh, they are laughing at me and it’s a good thing that they are laughing at me.” I don’t really remember the first time. I remember vaguely … well, this certainly wasn’t the first time but when I was a junior in high school I went to this summer program called the Governor’s School on Public Issues in the state of New Jersey where I am from. That program had 100 students from around the state. We were all students that got good grades and we applied for this and we were chosen to be in it. We got to spend a month on a college campus. We took these classes and had discussions.

Anyway, the people that ran it were really cool, and they really wanted to foster a sense of community, so at the end of it, they had a bulletin board and they stapled a paper bag with each student’s name on it and everyone was encouraged to write notes to each other and just leave it in their bag. And then when you left you got to take your paper bag. You could read your notes on your way home or when you got home or whatever. What was interesting was it was the first time in my life where I had a situation like that where there were all these notes from a bunch of people my age. And every note said that “You’re really funny” or “You’re a funny kid” or “You’re the funniest kid I met” or something like that. It was really interesting. It was “Oh wow, that’s interesting, I’m considered funny. That’s cool.” So, that was kind of late. I was like 16, 17 at that point, but it did have an impact on me because it made me feel like maybe I am funny.

One of your earlier jobs, in comedy at least, was writing for “Late Night with Conan O’Brien,” what was that like?

That was great. That was a job I really wanted, and that was a coveted job in New York in the comedy scene there because there weren’t that many of those positions and people didn’t leave that job often. It was a really good place to work. It was great because, first off, Conan is great to work for. Jeff Ross, who is executive producer of the show, is also great. They are two genuinely nice people and they treat their staff well. So, it was really cool having a boss that I respected and liked who was really smart and really funny.

The other writers were great and one of the great things about that show is if you’re a sketch writer, so not monologue, but if you’re writing the sketch pieces, you get to not only write your bit, but you get to direct it if you’re shooting any kind of footage for it, you get to cast it, you get to work with the different departments — costumes or props or art. So, you’re getting a little crash course in directing in a sense and producing comedy, so I loved that about it.

The thing I didn’t like about it, the hours were kind of unpredictable. Some nights we’d stay until midnight and other nights we’d stay until like 8:30. You never knew when you were going to get out. It was really hard to do stand-up and do the job at the same time. So, I had to make a choice and I ended up leaving the job which I never imagined I’d do just because I wanted to keep pursuing stand-up, so I quit.

But you were part of an award-winning season in terms of writing, so you got that.

Yeah that was cool, yeah. I got a trophy.  

You were a correspondent for “The Daily Show” for several years and did a segment called “Trendspotting.” If you were to do a “Trendspotting” segment now, what do you think it you’d do it on?

That’s an interesting question to me because the world has changed and of course it does change, but even in the time since I did that segment. To me that was kind of a joke, the idea of trendspotting, but trending is now clearly a very common verb that people use all the time. I don’t even know, I’d probably — I like to read design blogs a lot for whatever reason, I guess it is because my wife is a commercial and interior designer, so she’s gotten me more into the world of design. So, it would probably wind up being something too dry. It would be something with design and sustainable. Everything is sustainable. A lot of 3-D printing. Stuff like that.

It is interesting how in just like a decade how much has changed. Like I watched your bit on social networking and it was all focused on Myspace and, of course, Myspace is gone.

Right. It is crazy. It is long gone. That seems like a different lifetime and it really wasn’t that long ago.

Unlike a lot of comedians, you’ve actually gotten to work with a two-time Oscar-winning director on “Taking Woodstock.” So, what was it like working with Ang Lee?

That was a great job. I was excited to get that role. It was pretty intense. It was super educational. I am not a trained actor. Ang is clearly one of the great directors we have in our time. I knew I was in for an interesting ride, and I was because Ang told me in the beginning of rehearsing, shortly after I got the part, he said “You know all the comedy you do, I’m not interested in that. I picked you as an actor.” And he told me point blank “Your job is to know your lines, be well-rested and be prepared and be able to adjust. I give you direction, I need you to be able to adjust.” He said “Your job is to give me options.” He said a lot of other things, but that was thing that stayed with me. Educational because I’m used to writing and performing my comedy and perspective, so this was a different assignment. And he did me a big favor because he taught me a lot about acting and filmmaking. But it was pretty intense. You know, I wasn’t working in a coalmine but, still, everyday I was on that set taking direction, learning how to do things and then there was a whole movie that was waiting for me to get a scene right. It was so different than stand-up because you are on your own, this was part of a larger creative ecosystem.

Right because your character, in many respects, is the straight person that is reacting to all this insanity around him, so it is very much is kind of the opposite of your impulses as a comic.

You’re absolutely right. It was a difficult thing to manage and also to learn. It is not my work. It wasn’t my movie. I didn’t direct it. I was hired to be a part of it, so I had to do my best to help Ang execute his vision in that movie as kind of a straight man in a sense reacting to, yeah, everything going on around me. It was really cool because it is a period film. As an actor it was a very great challenge. Not that it is that hard to play a gay character, if you’re not gay, but also there is some work there. I wanted to be sensitive to who that person was, who I was portraying and do my best to make this person three dimensional and become a character as much as I could. Of course, I don’t have a big range as an actor, so I did my best.

Did you learn anything from Ang Lee that you applied to directing “Dean?”

Yeah, I think so. Well, first on Ang’s movie and the few other films or TV series I’ve been cast in, you learn quickly how collaborative the whole experience is and how much trust is required. People really have to trust each other, and the other departments have to work together and, as an actor, you have to trust your director and everybody, really. So, that was something I thought of really in the process of making my own movie. This is not just getting people to help me execute my story or my vision or whatever you want to call it. It is finding people to work with who I can trust who will hopefully trust me, so it is really about finding collaborators. Whether it is hair and makeup, whether it is your DP, props, everybody, it is a big deal. Now, my movie was such a small budget, it made it all the more important. I’m sure on a huge movie, it is always important, but my experience with low-budget, I thought “Jeez, I really don’t have any time or money to waste.” You’ve got to just maximize every dollar and minute, so if you have good collaborators it is a lot easier to do. If you don’t, it just makes it so much harder.

What was it like not only acting with but directing such great acting veterans as Kevin Kline and Mary Steenburgen?

It was great. I got lucky for sure because both of them were such lovely people to work with and I didn’t know either of them before we worked together. Now, being on the other side of this movie, I can see how lucky I got. It doesn’t always work out that way. You can get someone to be in your movie and they can be difficult or they're afraid. As a first-time director, you’re really asking people for a lot because there is no proven track recorded. They are taking a big risk. Kevin and Mary did a lot more for me than I did for them, so I will be forever grateful to them no matter how the movie does. If it is some big hit then great, but even if not, they still helped me actually get my movie made.

But, yeah, working with them was great because they were patient, and again, I keep using the word collaborative, but it is really the best word for it because even in doing a scene, you’re really making it happen together. I tried to stay out of their way because they have so much more experience than I do, but then, at times, I asked “Can I have it this way?” or “Can we just try this line this way?” and things like that. It was very harmonious, especially given how little time we had. They didn’t have a lot of takes to do their scenes because we had to shoot so much each day in order to get the movie done, so there were only a few takes for each set-up with the camera but even given that it worked out really nicely.

“Dean” seems semi-autobiographical. How much of Demetri is in Dean the character?

It is autobiographical I guess you’d say in terms of its emotional storytelling or the emotions underneath the story, but it is pure fiction otherwise. I like the idea of making up a story and telling a made-up story but I also like the idea of making something that is grounded and is emotionally real. That is really what I tried to do with the movie. There’s nothing in there from my life. I can’t think of anything that is real, except that the character is an illustrator and even that, I’m not an illustrator. I’ve had a book of drawings and my second one will come out in the fall, but that certainly doesn’t make me an illustrator.

I am a comedian who likes to draw and I like to act but knowing real illustrators and seeing their work, I can’t tell those people I am an illustrator. I am comedian, but I thought it would be interesting to make the character an illustrator and focuses on that kind of work rather than a comedian or actor or something. So, that is pretty autobiographical as like a little sliver of who I am. And I lost a parent when I was young. I lost my dad, so for the movie I made it my mom. I really did want to fictionalize it and not and end up telling literal tales about my life. It just didn’t seem interesting. But, yeah,  if you see the movie, you see “Oh, yeah that seems like Demetri” because I’m not really disappearing it some different character, it is more like, “OK, here’s my sense of humor and now let’s put it into this character and tell a story.”

In 2006, you pitched a movie to DreamWorks called “Will.” Whatever happened to that? Did it basically become “Dean?”

No, that’s totally different movie. I sold that to DreamWorks. I did some drafts, some rewrites of the scripts for that. And then it ended up at Paramount and it got greenlit for like a week in maybe like 2010, somewhere around there. I thought the movie was going to get made and then it fell apart and didn’t get made. Then another director got attached to it a few years ago and I did another rewrite of the movie. It still didn’t get made. As with many projects in Hollywood, it may just die a slow, terrible death. I have a little, tiny shred of hope that maybe it’ll get made but I’m not holding my breath anymore.

It is partly why I made “Dean” because naively I thought when I sold it, “Oh my God, I’m going to get a movie made and it’s going to be at a studio. This is exciting.” And then my heart slowly got broken each successive rewrite that I did. I got paid for it, so I can’t complain about it but, at some point, I realized I am going to stop waiting for that to be my ticket into movies and just start making my own. And “Dean” was my first attempt at it. And it is not a high-concept movie. It is a low-budget movie. It is truly an independent film. I’m glad I did it and I want to make more of them. I hope someday I’ll have adequate budget, not like the biggest budget in the world, but enough that I’m not asking every single person who works on the movie to do me a favor because that’s pretty much what happens when you make a really small movie.

And going back to your drawings, obviously you’re not an illustrator, you’re not doing comic books, but if you were to create a comic book superhero character, what would that character be?

Well, I’d probably have to think for a while to come up with something really good but my first thought would be, maybe this is just me getting a little bit older, but I think if someone who had the power to change perception, his own perception and the perception of others, that in itself would be a pretty interesting superpower. I often feel like reality is just really what you spend your time thinking about or paying attention to. There’s certainly reality beyond that but for each of us, it just seems like perception is such a powerful filter. It might save my character and everyone a lot of effort and time if a lot of it took place in their mind instead of flying around and borrowing shit up and everything. Pretty boring answer. But yeah that’s my first thought. Maybe that’s why I am a comedian. It is more about ideas. But I think there’s something in there.

Perception Man.

Exactly.

Or Preconceived Notion.

Or Perceptor.