#this shitty post brought to you by my knack for having bad ideas

[psuvevo]

this saturday night on ‘ty has an idea’: the foxes playing laser tag

probably nicky’s idea lbr

“cmon guys whens the last time we played something that wasnt exy? this’ll be fun!“

he has no idea what hes gotten into

the team isnt split even since theres nine of them but i think its monsters v. upperclassmen

andrew almost didnt play but neil convinced him otherwise

needless to say, this is an absolute shitshow

i mean they’re foxes how was this going to end up any way but terrible

the teams are split with the monsters on the blue team and the upperclassmen on the red team

i bet you thought the colors would be the other way around but no

anyway

 also: you already know aaron and andrew are camouflaged. all laser tag arenas (?) have black lights so most colors that arent black are bright as hell. these two can only be spotted by their vests. Danger Twins.

so they all get their guns and enter the arena

and immediately the foxes remember just how dangerous neil is

like this boy spent years on the run, learning how to hide and be sneaky

it doesnt matter that this is laser tag. this is no longer a game. 

its War

neil immediately finds the best hiding spot and exploits it

this boy, oh my god. he is a force of nature

“neil please, its just laser tag”

hes not listening hes too busy being Good

kevin, who will not be outdone, is now competing with neil (WHO IS ON HIS FUCKING TEAM) to be the Best at Laser Tag

aaron and nicky pair up but they arent very good

youd think all that video game practice would help but No. they are Bad

andrew is “guarding” the base

hes really just standing there and not really paying attention or caring about the game

until one of the upperclassmen shoots him

then, in true andrew fashion, does he start to care

No One was expecting andrew to care, much less be Really Good At Laser Tag

the upperclassmen’s strategy is to pair up: matt with dan and allison with renee

theyre actually pretty formidable this way, watching each others backs

the game is pretty even to start with even though the upperclassmen have a disadvantage

somehow the game shifts in the upperclassmen’s favor

neil watches nicky get shot

and nicky decides to be dramatic

“neil, im down, you must go on without meeee” and he falls to the ground with a hand on his chest

neil looks at him, and then, absolutely seriously, says “i will avenge you nicky”

sidenote: nicky can still play obviously getting shot doesnt mean youre out but nicky is Dramatique tm

neil and andrew team up and all hell breaks loose

theyre the Dream Team

at some point somebody hits someone else with their gun and then all rules are out the window

anytime someone gets hit by a laser they immediately go after the person who shot them

its terrible. half the foxes end up bleeding and the other half end up bruised

no one thought to get andrew to leave his knives behind

the foxes are banned from laser tag

but not before they see the leaderboard

the monsters won by a tiny margin, but they care more about the player with the most points

the foxes all look at kevin when they see whos name is at the top

its neil. neil is the winner

he gives kevin his most shit-eating grin before matt picks neil up and puts him on his shoulders while chanting his name

the other upperclassmen (and then all the foxes minus kevin) join in

neil is crowned the King of Laser Tag

and they never play again

[wiypt-writes]

Honey Haloed Weakness

A Bucky Barnes One Shot

Summary: Sometimes second chances come when you least expect them.

Warnings: Bad language, fluff, feels, some sad stuff…character death…mentions of smut but nothing explicit. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader. (Nicknamed Honey). Reader appearance bar eyes is deliberately not described. Moodboard is just for aesthetic purposes

Characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson

A/N: This was originally written for a writing challenge last year, and I meant to revamp/repost it for Bucky’s birthday a few days back but never did. Then the rumours of the title for the first ep of FATWS hit my feed and…well, it reminded me of this.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Main Masterlist

************

One bullet. One pull of the trigger. That was all it took. As you watched, the shot flew clean through the shoulder of one hostile, ricocheted off Sam’s shield and then hit a second straight in the hand causing him to drop the knife he had been slashing at Sam with. The three of you stooped, Falcon, The Winter Soldier and you, Silver Shadow. Shield, guns and sparking hands all lowered as you glanced around, the last noises of your fight dying in the air.

“Man did you just shoot two guys with one bullet?” Sam turned to Bucky, his tone laced with shock and awe. “Did it look cool?” Bucky quipped back, an air of nonchalance in his voice, despite the level of surprise he himself felt.  James Buchanan Barnes knew he was a good shot. But that…that was something else.

And something that had been down to chance more than anything. Even if he had tried to make that shot, there’s no way of predicting the trajectory of the bullet once it emerged from the guys shoulder or controlling the angle it exited at… 

Unless… He turned to look at you. Your hair, splattered with blood and gore from the battle, hung like curtains of scarlet drenched silk round your face, from behind which warm eyes glanced back at him. Your features remained passive, adorned with the same expression you had worn when he had first seen one another in your rundown apartment in Bucharest when Steve had come looking for him post the Vienna bombings. 

Sam turned away muttering something about retrieving the Intel they had come for off the hard drives in the main office, and once his back was turned, you caught Bucky’s eyes with your own and blinked as Bucky swallowed. After using your powers, your irises were always ringed with a bright gold, a honey halo. And, as Bucky allowed himself just a second to indulge in the warmth they exuded over him, one slipped onto a sly wink. And then he knew for certain.

“You did it.” He looked at you and you merely stared back remaining passive. He was right, you had. You’d controlled the shot, directing it exactly where it needed to go. And Bucky wasn’t sure whether he felt turned on or slightly emasculated. “Don’t worry.” You said gently as you made your way back to the jet. “I won’t tell Sam, on one condition?” “Yeah? What’s that?” Bucky asked, turning to look at you. “You ask me out for that drink Steve’s been telling me you want to take me for.” And with that you left him standing there, slack jawed as he watched you head up the ramp. **** “So, in a word, you’re still a punk.” Bucky finished recapping the tale later the next morning, leaning back in the comfy chair by the bed Steve lay in. The old man laughed and shook his head. “She’s a devil, I’ll give her that. Mind you, she always was good at playing the cards she was dealt.” A fond smile spread across Steve’s face at the thought of you, his other best friend, the girl he had pulled from that shitty HYDRA base in 2014 when they had been chasing the Sceptre. No one had any idea who you were, what you could do, where you had come from…and that included you. You hadn’t spoken for three days other than to thank him or Natasha for the food and clothes you were given, and Tony for his kindness. And then, on the fourth day, Steve found you in the kitchen at the base, trying to decide on what to make you for lunch, and he won you over with an expertly made grilled cheese. “What’s your name?” He asked softly as you sat chewing.

“I…I don’t know.” You shrugged, your eyes wide as you looked down at your plate.  Steve gently reached out, his hand taking yours softly as you looked at him, your eyes flashing that sparkling gold colour.

 "Honey, you’re safe now, you know that right?

“Honey…” You said wistfully, “I like that.” 

And so it stuck. Where your ability to manipulate metal came from, no one knew. A mutation? Maybe. Human enhancement experiment? Possibly. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact you embraced the responsibility that came with that power. You wanted to help people and, as such, you agreed to stay with the Avengers and they were better for having Silver Shadow as their teammate, and Honey as their friend. Allowing himself another few moments of nostalgia, Steve eventually shook himself free of his memories and, with a sly look turned his head to face Bucky. “In my eyes it’s normally correct to buy a dame a drink before you bump uglies on an African Plain. Yeah, I know exactly what went down between you two that night in Wakanda.” Bucky blinked before he snorted, shaking his head. “Of course she told you…” When the dust settled after the show down in Leipzig, Bucky didn’t see you for almost a year until you came to Wakanda with Steve to be there when they brought him out of Stasis. You were different then, but so was Steve. A year on the run in the shadows had hardened you both. Those warm eyes still flashed gold, yet they carried a darkness that hadn’t been there before.

But they still exuded all the power and warmth of the sun. And Bucky was on fire.

“Can’t sleep either?” He asked as he emerged from the comfortable farmers hut he had been given to live in. You shrugged. “My mind gets a bit busy sometimes. I find the stars help.” He sat down beside you, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Ever wonder what it’s like just to be normal?” You sighed and he snorted, his head turning slowly to look at you as you gazed up at the sky. “What’s normal?” You laughed softly and looked at him, your eyes flashing in the moonlight, turning this time a deep amber speckled with brown. There was a moment, another blink and then your lips were crashing together, tongues fighting for dominance, hands grabbing at whatever they could reach. Under the moonlight, sultry cries and gentle whimpers were shared. Skin slid on skin, hands wandered and explored as together you reclaimed your grasp on humanity, what it was to feel something other than fear and death and anger. And then you had to leave and it was another twelve months since Bucky saw you again, this time on a battle field in Wakanda…with those creatures. Now your eyes were fierce and laced with a reddish gilt, as you tore metal armour limb from limb, wrenched weapons from hands, made sure shots hit their targets, your daggers flying and returning to your hands.

But there was no beating Thanos. 

“I can’t control his gauntlet.” Your voice was laced with the desperation you felt, broken as you realised your powers were of no use.

And then Bucky had been snapped.

“Those five years were long.” Steve shook Bucky from his reminiscing. “For all of us. Trying to forgive ourselves for our failure. And it was that inability to do so that saw us figure it out, a way to bring everyone back.”

Bucky looked down. He knew all about that. Seeking redemption, wiping your leger clean. “Don’t keep her waiting another five years.” Steve locked his eyes onto Bucky’s. A plea, a beg.

So he didn’t.

Later that night, Bucky asked you for that drink. And he dated you, bought you flowers, made love to you some nights, fucked you into the mattress on others. You ran missions side by side with Sam, walked and danced in the rain.

A diamond ring was bought, a yes was said

And one bright April day a year later, his honey haloed weakness became his wife.

***** “Where are my keys?” Bucky asked, frowning as he gently closed the drawer to the sideboard. “You know, Honey, I wish you’d stop moving my stuff.” No sooner had he finished, he felt a vibration in his pocket and a moment later he heard the keys in question jangling. He turned with a soft sigh to see them hovering about a foot away from him in the air. You stood at the other side of the room, hand raised lightly as you wriggled her fingers causing them to move higher as you arched an eyebrow. “You owe me an apology, Buckaroo.” “So what’s new?” He chuckled and you smiled as you shrugged on your jacket and walked towards him, whilst he checked you had everything your needed. Even for a simple trip down the road it seemed like you were prepping for a mission, but then again, maybe you were… You made your way out of the Brownstone into the glorious September sun, your hand curled around Bucky’s arm, nestling comfortably in the crook of his elbow, the shiny platinum and diamond of your rings sparkling as they caught the light. Bucky had a knack for steering and making sure everyone moved out of the way, which was why you were happy to let him take the lead. After a short walk, you reached your destination and made your way down the familiar narrow gravel path towards what you were aiming for. Your pace slowed a little here, it was always harder on gravel, you felt like you were sinking almost.

Together you stopped in front of a beautiful headstone made out of white marble upon which a simple inscription was etched in deep, gold writing.

‘Steven Grant Rogers. Much loved husband, father and friend.’ Below the wording sat Steve’s symbol. His shield, the star surrounded by rings, along with a simple phrase to remind everyone exactly who the stone commemorated. ‘Captain America is hope, he’s freedom, he’s just a kid from Brooklyn’ Bucky’s metal hand gently ran across the top of the headstone and you smiled softly at him, before a noise drew your attention back to exactly why you had come here today specifically. Smiling at one another, Bucky turned and gently lifted his four day old baby boy from sling around your chest as you watched, reaching up to smooth a finger down the baby’s soft, rosy cheek. Steve had been so excited when you had both told him you were pregnant. But you had all known deep down that Steve’s time was coming to an end. The serum wasn’t repairing what was happening to him anymore, and hadn’t been for a while. Steve had noticed its effects had been dwindling for almost thirty years by that point and he was ready to go, to be with Peggy who had left him some ten years previously. All of you had hoped he would live long enough to meet Baby Barnes, but things never do work out the way you want them to, and Steve had passed quietly surrounded by his friends and family some six weeks before your baby boy bad been born. Bucky had made a vow, a promise to himself that his son would understand exactly who his Uncle Stevie was. Not Captain America, but that little kid from Brooklyn who was always too dumb to run away from a fight. “Had to bring him to meet you one way or another.” Bucky said gently, looking from his son’s face to the stone with a soft smile before he crouched down in front of it. He took a moment, the words he was trying to form sticking in his throat as pure emotion washed over him. He felt grief, he felt loss, but also joy at the fact he was a new father and an overwhelming sense of gratitude and serenity that he had found his salvation, his second chance.

And it was draining to feel it all at once. You stepped forward, softly squeezing his shoulder before you crouched by his side, gently wiping the tears from your own face as Bucky finally found his voice again. “Yeah, it was a him, so I got to pick the name.” Besides him you chuckled. “I can still see your face, Stevie, when we told you about that deal. Girl I picked, boy he picked.” Watery blue eyes that still had that sparkle widened as Steve looked at you both, horror on his face as he shook his head on disbelief. “What? You can’t do that…I mean it needs to be a joint decision, no matter what the gender…surely?” In the end, Steve had been right. Whilst Bucky had suggested the first name for your little boy, he had struggled with a middle one and it had been you who had quietly suggested one as Bucky stood in the hospital room, gently rocking his new-born baby in his arms. Both of you had welled up with tears at the simplicity and the poignancy, and the utter love you both felt that your son would help keep the memory of your friend, your brother, your Captain, alive. “Punk,” Bucky gently shifted the baby in his arms so he was facing the stone. “Say hello to Steven Roger Barnes” His son. His beautiful son. A life created because two people fell in love. 

 Because James Buchanan Barnes had a Honey haloed weakness.

[brockadoodles]

The CN Tower and Chocolate Chip Pancakes - w. nylander

AN: I swear before whipping this out I was complaining about no writing motivation and how I was going to finish my Christmas wips when this like came to me. So here’s a quick little story about one of our favorite blondies for @puckinghell​ and all of you. There is mention of losing a parent, which is something I closely relate to from losing one of mine recently, if that’s a trigger, I wouldn’t read this. It’s not an angst piece at all, I just think that warning is necessary. This also may or may not be self indulgent and based on an actual experience I had two years ago with a boy in NYC, but like, you didn’t hear that from me. Anyways, I hope you enjoy. 

Word Count: 3,337 

Warnings: Mentions of death of a parent 

Christmas was usually your favorite time of the year. You loved how the city lit up during December, the white lights twinkling from the streetlights and trees, the fresh snow that usually littered the city of Toronto, and the constant smell of gingerbread and spices whenever you entered a building were all things that brought you comfort. This year, however, was different. It was the first year without your mom, without a lot of the traditions that the two of you would do together as you grew up. 

You tried though. You went through all of the motions of the holiday. You decorated a tree, blue and silver just like she always loved. You went skating, an experience that was far less fun without your mom to laugh with you when you fell. You went to the Christmas Market, buying a new small knick-knack, like every other year you had done since you were five years old. All of it felt forced, but you were hopeful. You were hopeful that one last Christmas tradition would bring you the sense of comfort you had been searching for during the entire month of December. 

The fleeting feeling of comfort and your mom were how you found yourself spending nearly $60 to go up CN Tower on Christmas Eve. A tradition that was usually entirely reserved for tourists visiting the city, a romantic setting with the tower lit up for the holiday and the nighttime skyline view of the entire city providing a cinematic backdrop for people’s perfect holiday moments. You weren’t a tourist, you had grown up in Toronto for your entire life, but your mom had always believed in the idea that it wasn’t a bad thing to be a tourist in your own city, so every year on Christmas even she would bring you up here and the two of you would sit on the observation deck and make a Christmas wish. No matter how lost you felt, it was the one tradition that you didn’t think you could ever give up. 

You wandered around the observation deck, the dark beanie on your head keeping your ears warm and your hands were securely tucked in your wool coat pockets as you watched the various people scattered around. It was getting late, the families with children were long gone, probably at home tucked into their beds, and most people that were left were younger couples. You glanced to your right, spotting a boy on one knee holding a ring out for the girl standing in front of him with tears in her eyes. You watched them for a moment, finding yourself wrapped up slightly in how happy they both looked. It gave you an idea for your Christmas wish, and you found yourself smiling softly as you closed your eyes and wished. 

“I love you, mom, Merry Christmas.” You whispered as you opened your eyes, the feeling of comfort not quite sinking into your chest yet. As you walked the familiar route to the elevators, you decided that once last stop before heading home for pancakes certainly couldn’t hurt. 

You walked down the street with your eyes focussed on your phone as the snow was falling a bit harder than it had been previously. You were searching for anything that was open on Christmas Eve, your stomach growling a bit as you scanned through the search results. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Someone exclaimed, grabbing your arm slightly to prevent you from falling into their chest. You looked up, seeing a boy that must have been around your age looking down at you with a concerned look in his blue eyes. You must have ran into him, too focussed on your phone to watch where you were walking properly enough. You studied his face for a minute, wondering if you had somehow met him before from the feeling of familiarity you were getting in your stomach. 

“Do I know you?” You blurted out, adverting your eyes a bit when you realized how rude you must have sounded to this boy immediately after quite literally bumping into him. It didn’t seem to phase him though, and he just smiled. 

“I think so? I’m William. You know Steph right? Steph LaChance?” And that’s when it hit you, you did know this boy, well sort of. You had met him maybe once before, at a mutual friend’s birthday party at least two years ago. 

“Ah, I do remember you. Wow, you look different, I mean, good.” You stumbled out. It was true, he did look a lot different than he did when you met him. His hair was longer, his face a bit rounder, and a short beard that definitely wasn’t there before. You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment a bit as he laughed softly at your statement.

“So do you. Hey, this may seem a bit forward but, are you busy right now?” He asked. Part of you wanted to tell him yes, that you were busy. That way you could just get on the train back to your apartment, curl up with a warm cup of tea and your slippers, and fall asleep to the snow falling outside of your winder. But the other part of you was dreading going home, the sinking feeling of your first Christmas without your mom settling into your stomach and making you not want to go home. Because if you went home to your empty apartment, you’d have to fully confront your reality. So instead, you nodded up at William, taking a chance on the stranger in front of you that wasn’t quite a stranger. 

“What did you have in mind?” You asked softly.

“Come on.” He smiled at you and held his hand out for you to take, your question going unanswered as you hesitantly wrapped your hand in his, letting him lead you in the opposite direction you had come from. 

The walk was short and quiet, and your stomach grumbled once more when you stopped in front of what appeared to be the destination he was leading you to. You glanced up at the neon pink sign, the diner clearly out of date and straight from the 1980’s. You smiled to yourself, appreciating that somehow this stranger that wasn’t quite a stranger had instinctively known exactly what you needed at the moment. 

“I hope you like pancakes,” He smiled as he opened the door for you, gesturing you ahead with his hand. The diner was relatively empty, just a few other patrons sitting in the various worn-out leather booths. There were decorations everywhere, garlands wrapped around the posts holding up the ceiling and a small Christmas tree lit up in the corner of the diner, multicolored lights strung throughout but no ornaments. 

You followed William to a booth in the corner and watched carefully as he smiled at the waitress, her saying hello to him by name. You wondered if this was a place he went to frequently enough to be on a first-name basis with the people that worked here, or if perhaps they were just Toronto Maple Leafs fans who happened to recognize him.

“I come here all the time, usually after bad games. I just really like the people here, and something about diner food is comforting after a loss.” He explained before you had the chance to ask. You nodded at him while you shrugged off your jacket and pulled off your beanie, fixing your hair slightly as William handed you a menu from the side of the table. You grabbed the menu and let your fingers brush lightly against his, causing you to pull your hand back quickly. 

“Why did you want to come here tonight?” You asked softly, hoping that your question wasn’t taken out of context or as too intrusive for him to answer. William didn’t seem phased by any of it, instead offering you what would have been the fourth or fifth reassuring smile so far that night, if you were keeping count. 

“Just didn’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve, I guess.” He admitted. You were almost taken aback by his honesty with you, finding yourself wondering if he had asked you the very same question that you asked him if you’d answer as bluntly as he did. You felt oddly settled with him though, there in that shitty diner looking at a worn-out menu that probably hadn’t been updated in fifteen years and you found yourself wanting to give him the same openness that he gave you. 

“Me neither, I guess.” You commented, holding back and giving him just enough that hopefully he understood that on some level you felt how he felt, even if you couldn’t entirely admit to him why. 

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a few moments as you both scanned over the menu. The waitress came over, sliding two pale brown mugs filled with coffee in both of your directions and noting that she would be back in a minute to check if either of you wanted any food. You scanned over the pancakes and peeked over at William, his eyes also scanning the page with concentration and you found your mind wondering about him once more. You watched as he bit his lip softly and wondered if he was the type who liked pancakes with fruit on them, or chocolate, an inconsequential fact that most people wouldn’t be phased by but to you said everything you needed to know about a person. 

“You said you hoped I liked pancakes, right, William?” You asked, breaking the silence between you as you closed your menu in front of you. He looked over the menu in his own hands at you, raising an eyebrow quickly and smiling softly before looking back down at the pages. 

“You can call me Willy if you want, and yeah. I like most kinds, but if you try to tell me fruit on pancakes is better than chocolate, I might have to leave.” He teased as he closed his menu, now looking fully at you with a smirk on his face. For a moment you went wide-eyed, wondering if he somehow crept into your mind and heard exactly what you were thinking. You recovered quickly though, and folded your hands quickly on the table, sending your own smirk back to him. 

“I’m not going to argue with that, it’s obviously the correct answer.” Willy didn’t say anything, instead, he nodded at you before taking a sip of the diner coffee, seemingly not phased by its lack of strength or flavor. You grabbed your own mug and the two of you settled into a much more relaxed conversation as you waited for the waitress to come back. Nearly two hours of conversation passing through you without either of you realizing just how personal you were being with each other. 

“Usually this place is faster than this, I’m sorry.” The boy in front of you commented, his head tilting toward the large analog clock on the wall that had shown it was nearing midnight, nearing Christmas. You weren’t worried though, glancing around the small diner as the snow fell harshly outside. You smiled softly at William, 

“We haven’t even ordered yet, and I’ve got nothing but time tonight.” Willy just smiled back at you, nodding a bit and catching the eye of the waitress. 

“Sorry guys, been a long day. What can I get you?” She smiled apologetically. You nodded at Willy to go first. 

“No problem, Grace.” He started, referring to the older woman by her first name. He glanced at you quickly, taking a leap of his own as he spoke,

“Can we just grab two orders of chocolate chip pancakes and more coffee?” he asked. 

“Confident, what if I wanted strawberry?” You teased, raising an eyebrow quickly. Willy laughed, a genuine laugh that somehow hit you in your chest as comfort settled into your system, a soft smile lingering on your lips as he started leaning into his hand that was resting on the table. He looked at you at that moment like you were more than just a stranger who wasn’t really a stranger to him, and you would be lying to yourself if you tried to ignore the butterflies that it was giving you. Willy felt familiar in an unfamiliar yet exciting way. It didn’t feel like you had only met him once, instead, it felt like you had known him in passing forever, your comfort level and trust quickly rising in him in just a few short hours of really knowing him. 

“No chance, you said I was right about chocolate, and I pay attention.” He threw back at you. 

“Okay, tell me the real reason you’re alone on Christmas Eve.” Willy pressed as he set his fork down, scooting the nearly empty plate away from his body and toward the center of the table. It was nearly 2 am at this point, and you weren’t sure if it was the few hours you had spent with him giving or the tiredness weighing you down that gave you the false sense of closeness with him, but you found yourself giving in anyway, wanting to tell him everything about yourself in hopes that he would for some reason be taking notes to remember you by. 

“It’s my first Christmas without my mom, she uhm, passed away earlier this year and I spent the whole day doing things by myself that we used to do together. So, when you asked if I was busy, I said no, because going somewhere with you felt better than going home to my empty apartment and my thoughts.” It felt good to get it out and Willy’s reaction confirmed what you had already assumed about him, that he wouldn’t judge you for not wanting to spend Christmas Eve alone. After all, before you ran into him, he was set on being alone. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He frowned. You just shrugged, you were used to the apologies, no one really knew what it was like when a parent passed away unless they had dealt with it themselves. The apology was an expression of sympathy, and you didn’t mind it coming from Willy. 

“What about you? Have a sad story to tell me?” You inquired. Willy sighed and for a moment you wondered if you had pushed too hard if you had overstepped some boundary that he had put up between you that you missed. But the sigh came with a nod as he continued, opening his mouth to speak quietly as you looked at him with eyes that you hoped indicated your willingness to take in whatever he had to say without any judgment. 

“I guess I’ve just been having a rough year, I’m not sure how closely you follow hockey, but, a lot of people are doubting if I belong here. I guess with not being able to go home and see my family, it was getting to me. Didn’t even really have any plans until you ran into me and I just felt comfortable asking you to do something.” His voice wavered as he spoke and his eyes dodged your own a few times as he went through what you could only gather were insecurities he didn’t like to talk about. You reached out and put your hand on his wrist, running your thumb slowly across his skin and smiling softly at him. 

“You belong here, Willy. I’m not sure how much that means coming from a stranger, but you belong here.” He lit up at your words, turning his hand to grab yours. Your heart pounded in your chest as he laced your fingers together and gave your hand a soft squeeze before letting go, a silent thank you that didn’t need words. You knew what he was trying to say, you didn’t need him to verbally thank you for it. 

The two of you started putting your coats back on, the night coming to a close that you weren’t sure you were ready for. You hadn’t expected to have a good Christmas, and while it certainly couldn’t compare to the ones of your past, as you sat in that diner with Willy for hours you felt like you were soaking in the comfort you had spent the entire month trying to find. Each time he laughed at something you said you melted further into the old booth. 

Willy set some cash on the table, ignoring your protests as he paid for the meal, and grabbed your hand, once again lacing your fingers together as he tugged you out of the restaurant, this time not letting go once you stepped outside. 

“I’ll drive you home, I’m just parked a bit far. Is that okay?” He asked. You smiled and nodded in response, too focussed on the warmth of the feeling of his hand in yours and how it sent waves of feeling straight to your heart and butterflies to your stomach. 

The two of you walked in silence for about a block, his hand never wavering from yours until you were standing at a crosswalk. He stopped and looked around a bit. You were near the Christmas market, some of the lights were still on despite how late it was. The decorations were visible from where you were standing on the street, and the only light was coming from the reflection of the twinkling lights reflecting off of the snow. He turned to face you, squeezing your hand gently as he stumbled through his next few words,

“I know this is so abrupt and we just sort of met, and maybe it’s the over romanization of Christmas getting to my head but I really want to kiss you right now.” 

You looked up at him, his eyes were warm and the snow was settling into the hair sticking from his beanie. It might have been exactly what he said, the romanization of meeting someone outside of a shitty diner on Christmas Eve and somehow spending the whole night with them sharing things that you hadn’t even entirely shared with your closest friends. 

The more you thought about it the more you felt like it was a bad Christmas movie. But bad Christmas movies always ended in a kiss, and you weren’t about to stop the tradition now. So you grabbed him by the collar of his stupidly overpriced pea coat and crashed your lips to his before you could stop yourself. Willy settled into the kiss quickly, wrapping his hand around your waist and tugging your body into his chest. When you pulled apart, the puffs of cloudy air from your breath filled the space around you, and he smiled at you like you were the best thing he could have hoped for this Christmas, a feeling that was unspoken yet mutual. 

You buried your face into his chest, stomach in knots as you overthought exactly what had just happened and what it all meant. Willy took his hand and tilted your chin up so that your eyes were looking at his, smiling at you before leaning in to kiss you again, his lips brushing yours softly. 

“You never told me what you wished for.” He commented when you pulled apart. 

“You somehow gave it to me, Willy.” You smiled and kissed him again, tangling your hand with his once again. You didn’t need to elaborate, because Willy understood what you meant. He had given you comfort, a feeling of not being alone on the one holiday where no one should have to be alone. He didn’t know what the future held, or what this would mean to you by the time the enchantment of the holidays wore off, but he knew that right now you were what he wanted, and he could only hope that you felt the same as you kissed him for the third time that night in the snow.  

[mamashitty]

Character: Wyatt Vimes Thread: Characters & Characters & Characters Ship: N/A Post/One Shot: One Shot Date Posted: 10.1.2019 Blurb: Wyatt decides to be there for his brother, Renton, after the death of Renton’s mentor. Except, their relationship is fractured and screwed up at best. Still, he wants to try. CW/TW: Pot smoking and mentions of death of a major HP character.

Renton was hurting. Wyatt did not need to see his brother to know that. Even with their shit relationship, he would know that his brother was hurting. Rents had seen his mentor and hero die before his eyes. Along with an entire school full of children witnessing it too, and Wyatt, he knew he had to do something. He knew he had to reach out to Renton and be there for him even though he had not been there for his brother in probably over a decade. It took him a month to get the guts to reach out to Renton, and so it was in mid-July that he sent a message to Renton, asking if he wanted to meet up. Writing that letter had been difficult.  Wyatt could not remember the last time he had written a letter, let alone one to his twin. It all felt so stiff and formal. But he had managed to eke out a letter—something awkward with his rather shitty handwriting but at least it was something—and send it off. It took two days for his brother to reply.

And that letter read as awkward to Wyatt. His brother’s writing only marginally better than Wyatt’s, but a similar smear to the ink because they were both left-handed. He had stared at the letter, looking the words over, but not really reading them right away. There had been a strange compulsion to trace the letters and it was then that Wyatt realized he missed his brother.  Then the message of the letter sank in and he realized they would be seeing each other, a planned hang out, and when was the last time that had happened?

Before Wyatt had left it was always fleeting. Wyatt dropping Rufus off or picking Rufus up. Then he had signed custody over to Renton, and his memory had been wiped, and then he had fled. The last time he had seen his brother, well, it had not been that great. It had been unannounced, Wyatt had been an asshole and he knew that but being an asshole was his default defense mechanism. He supposed he would have to shut that off if he wanted to actually be there for Renton, and he did. Because… sure Renton had friends and a fiancee who were probably better equipped to handle Renton’s mourning. But… he and Rents they were twins and even if their relationship was screwed up… well… he had to be there for his brother. He replied to the letter with the address to the shop he owned and lived in.  He’d close up early that day, not like he had a lot of customers.

— It was the night he and Renton were to hang out and Wyatt was pacing his shop. He had gained some of his weight back that he had lost when he had fallen into the trap of harder than his usual drug usage. Ever since bumping into Leo and doing that job for him, and the promise of the Organization coming back (The Org that he did not remember because those memories of his had been wiped—but for some reason, he was going to return to them, because what else could he do?  Where else could he use his talents for thievery?) Wyatt had been clean. Clean-ish might be a more accurate term because he would drink on occasion and dabble in the Muggle marijuana—but the hard stuff he was done with. He was going to turn his life around or something. He glanced at all the Muggle knick-knacks and gimmicks that lined the shelves of his shop, not feeling any shame whatsoever in how he obtained those goods. He felt even less shame in how much he charged witches and wizards for the crap. He wondered, though, what his brother would think of it all. He wondered if maybe he should have splurged on a hotel room to hang out in. But it was too late to change the location, and to be honest, he doubted Renton could think much lower of him. Speak of the devil. Renton was knocking on the door and Wyatt went over to unlock it. He watched his brother’s face—paler than usual like he had absolutely refused to go outside at all this summer—as he took in the shop. His brother’s expression was unreadable or maybe Wyatt just did not know how to read him anymore, and that caused a pang in his chest. Time to ignore that because he wanted to be present for his brother, or something. He wanted the focus to be on Renton’s sadness and mourning and not whatever brother issues they had. ”Nice shop. How is business?” Renton asked, after a few minutes of silence had lapsed between the two of them. Wyatt belatedly realizing that he had not actually said hi or anything to his brother. He had just opened the door and let him in. “Great,” he lied because again he did not want Renton to latch onto anything bad about Wyatt. In part, he wanted his brother to think that he was doing absolutely fine. But also, the focus, it had to be on his twin. His fingers itched to reach out and touch his brother, give him a hug or something, and so he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. Awkward. Tension. It was all thick in the air and could be cut with a knife, or something. ”That is good,” Renton said and Wyatt nodded. He had no idea how he was going to do this. How he was going to be there for his brother but he had to try. — Twenty minutes later and they were in the backroom, it doubled as an office and where Wyatt slept. It looked lived in and he could see his brother trying not to pass judgment, or maybe just silently passing it. Wyatt was seated on his desk, legs crossed while Renton sat on the bed. “How are you feeling, Renton?  With… with McGonagall…” Another awkward silence had fallen before them before Wyatt asked that question. They had been sort of talking about their family—people who wanted nothing much to do with Wyatt—and well, it was time to force the topic into the matter at hand. His brother’s pain and hurt over losing his mentor. Over seeing his mentor get killed before his eyes. Renton tensed, Wyatt could see it from the desk. ”I feel awful…” Renton said, quiet. Barely above a whisper. ”I don’t—… how am I…. Everything is a reminder of her——I—I can’t even shift into my fox form… because she helped me with that. She helped us with that. She—… I don’t—how am I supposed to go back to Hogwarts to teach, she’s always been there? The Castle—… it won’t… I…” And then his brother stopped talking and Wyatt felt something in his own heartbreak as he stared at his brother. He ought to hug him or something. He should say something. He was the one who had brought the damned topic up. He was the one who had invited his brother over to talk about this. But he said nothing. He just stared and let his own memories overtake him. McGonagall had noticed that he and Renton both had an aptitude for Transfiguration.  It had been one of the last things the two of them had really done together, learning how to become Animagus and McGonagall had helped them both out.  He could tell that she preferred his brother, she was always a little more curt and short with Wyatt than Renton but she had helped them both out the same. The long hours of studying and practicing and prepping. She had answered any questions they had had. And Renton, he had become a little shadow to McGonagall as their school lives progressed. It had not been a shock when he had decided to become a Transfiguration professor himself while Wyatt… well…. Renton had lost his hero, his mentor, his friend.  And Wyatt had no idea how to fix that. No idea how to make his brother feel better because he wanted to do that. He loved Renton, complicated relationship and all. “Do you want to get high?  It… it won’t fix things but…” but what?  It might numb his brother some.  Wyatt realized that was probably the wrong tact to take.  Renton was quiet, staring at him, his eyes red-rimmed and his cheeks wet with fresh tears. ”Okay.” Okay. Okay. Okay.  Color Wyatt surprised, but he bent over until he could reach his desk drawer, and he pulled out his weed and a pipe. His brother watched him closely. — Time had lost meaning. Wyatt was high and so was Renton and they were both on the bed together. Staring up at the ceiling—quiet giggles escaping the two of them because his brother was really funny when he was high. And, sure, they had only brought up McGonagall once or twice since the weed. Wyatt stumbling over his words of comfort while Renton stumbled over his words of loss and pain and anguish and confusion and all of that. Then they began to tell stories, happy ones, of their childhood and Hogwarts and McGonagall and Rufus and it was nice. Sad. Funny. Nice. Ebbing and flowing and sometimes hard to keep up with as his mind turned sluggish with the weed and laughter burst forth from his lips. And from Renton’s lips. He knew his brother was not really happy. That it was the high causing most of the laughter but he still felt like he had helped some. That he had shown his brother that he could be there for him. That love was not gone between them or something.  He watched as Renton sat up suddenly. ”I should go. I told Roxie I would not be out late,” Renton explained, his eyes roving over the office. Wyatt watched him with heavy-lidded eyes. “I would not apparate,” the shop was not exactly close to where he remembered Renton living. ”You are smart when you are high,” was the reply his brother gave him. Wyatt could not tell if it was a compliment or not. He decided he really did not need to know for sure. In the end, he and Renton decided that they would walk towards Renton’s place. And the did, weaving between Muggles and wizards alike. Giggling on occasion, and leaning against each other sometimes. There was a comfort in being close to his brother again even though he knew that this would not last. He tried to ignore that thought, though. He focused instead on the walk. One foot in front of the other and making certain his brother was okay. As okay as he could be. ”Thanks for this, Wyatt.” “I’m your brother,” Wyatt said like that mattered. Renton looked at him and said nothing. Wyatt slipped him a joint for the walk home and then they parted ways when Renton was about halfway there. Wyatt doubted Roxie would want to see him, and well, Wyatt was not sure what else he to say to his brother. They had reached that moment where it was probably better to say goodbye than prolong hanging out. He missed his brother. He wondered if there would ever be a chance to fix their relationship, and he watched as his brother walked away before he turned on his own heels, and headed back home.

[robbieinterviews]

“Margot Robbie, Australia’s Newest Movie Goddess”, 2014

Margot Robbie was so outrageously seductive as *The Wolf of Wall Street’*s trophy wife, Naomi (a role that earned her an Empire Award in March), that she managed to exceed the script’s hyperbolic requirement that she personify “the hottest blonde ever.” When she makes her sizzling entrance at a Hamptons bacchanal, one prurient male declares, “I’d fuck that girl if she was my sister!” Another breaks down on the spot and masturbates. Richard Curtis compares the Australian siren—who played an unattainable dream girl in his 2013 romantic comedy, About Time—to that other screen goddess Grace Kelly. And this summer Robbie is taking on the role of the ultimate irresistible Ur-female, Jane (opposite Alexander Skarsgård), when David Yates’s Tarzan begins filming in London. Martin Scorsese’s casting director, Ellen Lewis, who first brought Robbie to the master’s attention, said, “As beautiful as she is, that’s how talented she is.”

The 24-year-old actress is slightly baffled by all the over-the-top admiration. “In my big group of girlfriends at home,” Robbie insists, “I am definitely not the best-looking. I did not grow up feeling like I was particularly attractive. You should have seen me at 14, with ­braces and glasses, gangly and doing ballet! If I looked good in Wolf of Wall Street I cannot take full credit; it was because of hair extensions and makeup.” Robbie even downplays her seemingly innate gift for acting, which, she says, did not always bring her topmost accolades when she was growing up in the Curumbin Valley, on the Gold Coast of Australia, about an hour from Brisbane. “My school was very academic. I was up there in English. I could have done law and a number of other things. But I was only second in my year for drama.”

Even so, she had a pretty clear idea of where she was headed. Since childhood she had amused herself and her family (she’s the third of four siblings) by memorizing the films they watched on the household VCR. “My family had nothing to do with the entertainment industry. We had farming on both sides. My mother’s family raised grains and crops. My father’s grew sugarcane and mangos. So I knew more about the basics of farming than of acting. But my background was real­ly helpful when I was shooting Z for Zachariah”—a post-apocalyptic drama to be released in 2015. “I already knew how to drive a tractor and milk cows.” The movie, for which Robbie became a brunette, co-stars Chiwetel Ejiofor, who says, “Whilst she is truly very, very funny and enormously vibrant, Margot takes the ‘doing of it’ very seriously.”

By the age of 10, Robbie was earning her own wages—polishing cutlery at a restaurant and then advancing to “chopping vegetables and waitressing.” During her last year of high school, she worked as a housecleaner. “I’ve worked three jobs at a time. I worked in a pharmacy, an office, at a warehouse, did catering. I was always trying to save up money.”

Robbie’s resourcefulness served her well when, at 17, she moved to Melbourne without professional prospects. “I was sleeping on a mattress in a shitty apartment,” she recalls. Her boyfriend at the time, a university student, worked as “a pizza boy.” Her favorite job during her early Melbourne days was as a sandwich-maker at Subway. “I was really good at it! I make a mean Subway. The trick is to spread everything evenly out and cut it so well that there is never a bad bite.” A few months into her Melbourne adventure, she announced to her Subway colleagues that she was quitting because she had landed a part on the TV series Neighbours—after cold-calling the show’s production company. Six months later, Subway hired Robbie for a commercial, and, she said, “I got paid like 20 times the amount I ever earned there.”

Neighbours—a beloved nighttime soap, running in Australia since 1985—had long been a breeding ground for the country’s breakout stars, Russell Crowe, Guy Pearce, and Kylie Minogue among them. Robbie’s guest stint as bitchy bisexual Donna Freedman quickly evolved into a regular role. “Neighbours was my initiation into the industry,” Robbie says. “It’s definitely the hardest job I’ve ever had; it was boot camp. I spent so long on it. I survived three years.”

During her Neighbours tenure, she received two nominations for a Logie, the Australian equivalent of an Emmy. But Robbie had set her sights higher and farther. “I was carefully setting things up,” she said. Robbie enrolled in acting classes, concentrating on dialect coaching in order to perfect her American accent for the next move she planned, to Hollywood. She traded in a “dodgy” agent for one with Hollywood connections and thriftily held on to her earnings. “I saved up enough to get me through three years unemployed,” she says. A Neighbours co-star, Jackie Woodbyrne, has said, “It wasn’t a matter of if she would become successful, but when.”

“People ask me all the time what it is about Australia that produces so many big stars,” Robbie says. “Honestly, I believe it is a combination of things. Our education standards are quite high, but our industry is very limited. Yet we’re very aware of the industry—everyone goes to the theater, sees TV shows. The logical step is to make a move to America—America is getting the best of the best of us. You don’t leave Australia unless you are passionate. Any Australian actor who comes to America is really committed. There are no dabblers—it’s all or nothing. If you’ve worked in Australia you can’t get away with bad behavior, like showing up late. We take our work ethic seriously. So maybe that’s why we have a good reputation.”

As soon as Robbie’s Neighbours contract ended, she was on a plane to Los Angeles. She had timed her January 2011 arrival strategically, so it coincided with winter auditions for television pilots. By springtime, she had landed a role as the stewardess Laura Cameron on Pan Am, the ABC period drama starring Christina Ricci. A kind of Mad Men of the skies, the series fared better internationally than domestically and was canceled in 2012.

Robbie’s Pan Am character was a runaway bride, who, she says, “fell in love with a black guy.” In both Z for Zachariah and Focus (a romantic-comedy caper set to open in February 2015), Robbie plays opposite an older, Oscar-nominated black actor—Ejiofor and Will Smith, respectively. “Will and I spoke about this,” she says. “It’s 2014—and we’re one of the few inter-racial couples you’ll see in a mainstream film! We’re breaking that mold!” Last November a tabloid published shots of the pair clowning around in a photo booth while filming Focus in New Orleans. Smith was bare-chested and Robbie was lifting her top above her bra. She tweeted at the time, “Been working nonstop, just catching my breath. There’s absolutely no truth to the ridiculous rumor in Star mag . . . ” Robbie says today, “Everyone wants to link me up, make it seem like I have a thrilling love life. They tried to say Leo and I were a couple, too. Ideal­ly, I’d want people to know nothing about my personal life. The truth is my love life is very dull. I’m in love with my job.” She does allow that she and her old Melbourne flame, the erstwhile pizza boy Jake Williams, are no longer together. He went on to co-found the Internet start-up Spotjobs, an Australian employment Web site. “We both went separate ways to pursue careers,” Robbie notes, “and went above and beyond what we wanted to achieve.”

Beore Pan Am was canceled, Robbie sent an audition tape to Ellen Lewis, Martin Scorsese’s casting director, without any real expectation of a response. The Wolf script had gone out to scores of hopefuls, she initially felt little sympathy for the gold-digger character, and she was ambivalent about the requisite nude scenes. Robbie had perhaps one edge over the competition: she had nailed Naomi’s salt-of-the-earth, outer-borough accent. For inspiration, she had drawn upon “my best friend from New York—a chef who grew up in Queens.” Robbie also channeled a woman from “the props department of Pan Am,” which had been shot at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. “These women have huge personalities,” Robbie says. “Nothing like what we have in Australia.”

Back in 2009, during the Neighbours era, an Australian journalist asked the then 18-year-old novice what actors she would most like to meet. High on her list was Leonardo DiCaprio. Remarkably, within four years Robbie was in New York auditioning in person for DiCaprio and Scorsese, doing her very best to keep up with the actor’s “daunting” off-script improvisations and make sense of the indecipherable exchanges between the two men. Riffing on a scene in which an exasperated Naomi argues with DiCaprio’s priapic con man, Jordan Belfort, Robbie suddenly reached out and slapped the star. “We were stunned,” Scorsese recalled, “because she was as surprised as we were. But when she made that move, she claimed Naomi.” As for DiCaprio, he apparently told Robbie, “That was brilliant. Hit me in the face again!”

Under the two pros’ influence, Robbie re-discovered her knack for improvisation, unexplored since high school. Some of *Wolf’*s more memorable bits were, in fact, Robbie’s off-the-cuff contributions. She improvised, for example, the lines (both of which reverse the couple’s power dynamic) “We’re not going to be friends” and “ ‘Who?’ What are you, a fucking owl?” For the notorious nursery scene, it was Robbie’s idea to push her patent-leather stiletto into a groveling DiCaprio’s face. And it was she who boldly suggested that the dominatrix Venice should insert a lit candle between DiCaprio’s buttocks, to follow more closely the debauched autobiographical source material.

Robbie says, “Nobody else compares to Marty. I still pinch myself that I worked with this director who has been a pillar for dec­ades and decades. I can’t believe it! It was one of the best times in my life! I’d sit down and have lunch on the set and think to myself, I’m getting paid to do this! It was insane! Pure insanity!”

Robbie—the latest mantle-bearer in a long line of extraordinary Scorsese temptresses that includes *Taxi Driver’*s Cybill Shepherd, *Raging Bull’*s Cathy Moriarty, and *Casino’*s Sharon Stone—can easily envision a future beyond Wolf. “I’m not an overnight sensation,” she says. Other upcoming films include A Bigger Splash, inspired by Jacques Deray’s La Piscine, with Tilda Swinton and Ralph Fiennes, and an adaptation of the World War II–era novel Suite Française, with Michelle Williams and Kristin Scott Thomas. Robbie, meanwhile, would rather not return to television, for the simple reason that she doesn’t like “playing one role for a long time—I’d rather do many characters for short periods intensely.”

For now the actress has no problem turning down lucrative offers. “I will never sell my soul for a paycheck,” Robbie says. “I don’t need the money because I’m not extravagant. I share my house in London with five roommates. I take the Tube—it’s free entertainment! I intend to stay the exact same person I always was; my family and friends keep me grounded.”

Robbie’s perspective may be unusually long for an actress her age. But then the outdoorsy Australian has some experience seeing vistas from great heights. “For my 18th and 19th birthdays I went skydiving,” she says. “I wanted that to become an annual tradition. But instead I’ve been working on my birthdays.” This year proved to be no exception—she was on the set of Tarzan. And that, she’s decided, is exactly the way she likes it. “The set is still my favorite place to be. I just don’t ever want the novelty to wear off.”