#had miles's back the entirety of the film knowing what was going to happen
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if we get some kind of reunion between these two in btsv i’ll bawl my eyes out
#i cannot stop thinking about how HOBIE. OF ALL PEOPLE. stood up for someone he met a few hours ago (who was destined to fail in that system)#had miles's back the entirety of the film knowing what was going to happen#punk culture is about standing up for the underdog. it’s about community#it’s about SOLIDARITY#spiderverse#atsv#across the spiderverse#across the spider verse#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman: across the spiderverse#hobie brown#hobart brown#miles morales#squid draws#artists on tumblr#edit: added some dimension to miles’s hair
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Across the Spider-Verse and Canon Events
Warning: Spoilers for the entirety of the new spider-verse film.
Into the Spider-verse’s plot is a brilliant commentary on the nature of superhero AU’s and the comic industry’s tendency towards retelling the same stories ad nauseum, and to explain why we need to look at both the plot of the movie and the words they use to describe that plot.
The plot of Across the Spider-verse (ATSV) is actually pretty standard. Its one we’ve seen a million times. Certain events have to happen or else something terrible will happen. Its just that in most of these types of movies the reason these events have to happen is fate, or destiny or time travel shenanigans. The hero changed the past and now they have to go back and undo that mistake to stop a “bad timeline” or whatever.
But in ATSV its not fate, its canon. And the events that the Spider-organization is seeking to ensure are the major plotbeats and storylines that define the character of Spiderman. Uncle Ben dies. Gwen Stacy dies. Spider-man lifts the rubble. These are the classic, iconic events of Spiderman’s story. The ones told and retold across a hundred different reboots, continuities and alternate universes.
And if these don’t happen, ATSV posits, the universe will be destroyed. In Spider-Gwen’s universe, Captain Stacy and Peter Parker have to die. She has to lift the rubble. Or else the world ends.
Except, that’s not true (if it was, Gwen’s father wouldn’t have quite the police and Miles wouldn’t be the main character of the movie).
Because those events don’t have to happen for the world to exist.
And that is really interesting in the context of reboots, AU’s, etc. Because in the real world, these events always happen. These are the events the reader’s want. When a reader opens up a Spiderman reboot they aren’t looking for a completely original story. They’re looking for these events. The greatest hits of a story that’s been running since 1962 edited down to perfection. Everything iconic, everything that works kept, and the rest jettisoned or retooled.
And it doesn’t matter what form of reboot the story is. If you’re watching a Spiderman cartoon, this is what you are going to get. Reading a comic where Spider-man is a robot? Same beats, just with a twist.
Because if these things don’t happen… well there’s a risk the fans might not like that. The story might not be good (and we know the original story is good, we’ve been telling it since 1962). And if its not good? Well then its stops getting made. The story ends. The universe ends.
And so every AU plays it safe and tells the same stories.
Except for Miles Morales. His story was never a reboot, or a retcon or an AU. It was a continuation. Ultimate Spiderman had already done the “greatest hits of Spiderman” before Miles Morales stepped onto the page. And that meant it was free to tell its own story.
And that story was great. So great that it survived the destruction of its own universe and Miles Morales got added to the “main” 616 continuity.
Miles Morales, in his comics, in real life, and in the movie is living proof that reboots can take risks and tell their own stories. The world won’t end. The readers will still read. The audience will still watch.
The world will go on.
So take risks. Tell your own story.
You don’t need to be caught in a web made up of 61 years of canon.
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Okay, so you said I could send an ask for headcanons about the childhoods of some specific merc(s)... I think I would really like to read your headcanons about Soldier’s and Engineer’s childhood :)
Thanks in advance and I hope your well.
Ooooh…I’ve been waiting for this! And thank you for being specific and not just saying “the rest of them.” Sometimes I get overwhelmed with nine specific mercs to write for. Your specifics are much appreciated.
****************
Soldier:
Soldier doesn’t talk very much about his childhood - whether it’s because something happened or he just doesn’t remember it, no one can tell. It’s nowhere in his file, either…he refused to do anything except tell fantastic tales of a fictional youth.
However, in a rare streak of almost lucidity, he spouted off the entirety of his younger years, much to the team’s surprise. Usually, if anyone asked directly, he changed the subject.
But now he described everything in vivid detail. And, with a bit of research from Miss Pauling, everything fell into place.
Apparently he had been born in a small military town in Georgia. His father was overseas, leaving he and his mother alone in their small yellow house.
In order to make ends meet, his mother worked at a nearby factory, mostly leaving Soldier to fend for himself and the house.
“Can you be a big, strong soldier like daddy for me?”
Soldier would always agree, finding his own food, his own entertainment, and his own friends. No matter what happened, he never bothered his mom. If anything, his job was to protect her.
That’s why, when his stomach started hurting and his arms and legs ached, he said nothing about it.
When he forgot the chores he was supposed to do and even the names of his friends, he didn’t bring it up.
When he felt tired all the time and some days could barely get out of bed, he just chalked it up to laziness like his mother did.
It turns out the factory they were next to was polluting the water next to the house with dangerous amounts of lead, which soon overcame Soldier’s immune system of steel.
He could barely remember anything anymore, and he became more and more distraught every day. Sometimes he would forget where he was and run outside, then get lost in the woods, only coming back once he remembered where he was supposed to be.
Soldier began to wear one of his father’s old helmets after his mom commented on his red eyes and the dark circles around them. He didn’t want to worry her. Besides, it helped bring back a few memories if he ever got lost again.
Finally, it got to the point where he didn’t even remember his mother, or his promise to her. He began to wander farther and farther away from home.
One day, he didn’t come back at all.
Out in the world with not a single memory to his name, Soldier wandered far and wide. He usually slept in barns and old, abandoned houses, cut off from most people.
Occasionally, he would find a family that wanted to “raise him as their own,” only to turn him away after finding him too difficult to care for.
He had frequent nightmares, ate little due to his unresolved stomach issues, and could barely walk ten feet without forgetting where he was going.
If he accidentally wandered into the same house twice, he would be chased out with either a broom or a gun - usually the latter.
He became “the demon child” in some counties, and “g*psy kid” in others, due to his long, unkempt hair, hidden eyes, and odd habits.
It even got to the point where Soldier couldn’t sleep on anyone’s property because he would be actively fought off like a wolf or a bear.
His only pleasure was an old movie theater that, as he recovered from his lead poisoning, remembered the location of and frequently snuck into.
The only thing that played were romance movies - which, like many children, Soldier hated - and war movies, which he watched over and over again with starving eyes.
Because of these movies, a single memory from his mother’s house came to him. A woman, tall and muscular from hard labor, giving him a shiny badge to hold, asking him to be a strong soldier like his father.
And thus began his life-long dream of becoming a military officer.
He trained according to what he knew from the films…which was mostly running, doing jumping jacks, and occasionally rolling around in the mud.
This only served to distance him further from his fellow human beings, but he didn’t care. Soldier had a mission, and he was going to do it well.
But the biggest change was his hair.
He had started cutting it off with sharpened rocks, but he was always saving up coins he found for a “proper army cut.”
Finally, he had quite the collection in a dirty mason jar, and marched into the barber shop in his town to ask for a haircut.
The manager was appalled, and at first refused, but Soldier stood his ground.
“Civilian, I’ll have you know that by denying a soldier with a haircut, you are denying America one of its best fighters! I can’t curdle the enemy’s blood looking like a hippie!”
After a short yelling match that, of course, Soldier won, the manager decided it would be in his best interest to comply.
He walked out of that shop with no hair on his head, but a huge grin on his face. Next stop, the ranks.
Soldier went from draft office to draft office, applying for and being denied entrance to the army for his obvious lack of mental stability.
This is when the personal retelling ended, since Soldier became very upset by the memory of his recruitment failures, but Miss Pauling concluded that he just bounced from state to state until Mann Co. found him, quote, “sitting in an alleyway, eating army draft paperwork while sobbing uncontrollably.”
Engineer:
Engineer also never really talks about his childhood, but both Medic and Spy (Spy knows everything about everyone on the team) know that’s for a good reason.
He grew up in a trailer community near an almost ghost town in Texas.
His father was an abusive car mechanic with a mean streak a mile wide and a shop full of failed inventions. His mother wasn’t any better - she was bitter and reclusive, only really coming out of her room to pick a fight with her husband.
However, what Engie lacked in family, he more than made up for in friends.
He had a rag-tag, Rugrats-esque team of pals from all walks of life: Rhapsody, the daughter of a struggling porn star; Tom, the son of two farmers wiped out by blight; Cici, an adopted girl that could barely walk into her trailer without a black eye and a string of slurs; Quinn, the nervous child of a single mother that serves as guidance to the other kids; And Fred, who didn’t seem to have any family, but had become a greaser big brother to all of them.
Together, they explored the desert near the trailer park, pooled their resources to feed and support each other, and used their individual strengths to get through each day.
Engineer, whom everyone affectionately called “Big Dell,” snuck parts from his dad’s workshop for his own creations.
By the time he was twelve, he could make a small, running engine for the soapbox cars his friends frequently raced.
No toy, piece of clothing, glasses, or tool was out of his line of expertise.
One day, though, upon finding that some of his parts were missing, Engineer’s dad gave him a terrible beating that broke a few of his fingers and left a huge gash near his eye.
Since then, he refused to fix, make, or even touch a tool.
He wouldn’t tell anyone what happened, but they could make a pretty good guess, since they knew where the scraps and parts had come from.
The whole group was furious with Engineer’s dad - their Big Dell was funny, smart, and was more loving than every family member they had combined. Even Quinn was red in the face.
They wanted to break into his dad’s workshop and destroy all of his inventions, just to teach him a lesson, but they knew Engineer would take the fall for it.
Instead, they rummaged through trash cans, searched their toy chests, and looked under their trailers to find things Engineer could use.
They waited until his birthday to unveil the massive pile of supplies they had stowed away.
Engineer immediately dropped to his knees and began to cry, and everyone else dogpiled him for a huge hug.
As the creme de la creme, they gave him a pair of welding goggles - the same welding goggles he wears to this day, having modified them so they still fit his growing body.
With his healed fingers and renewed spirit, he made each of them a gift: a toy car for Rhapsody, a skull ring for Fred, a full set of candle wax crayons for Cici, a chewable necklace for Quinn so they wouldn’t chew on their collar, and a mini-planter for Tom.
But Engineer was given the greatest gift - confidence in his own abilities and that he can be and was appreciated for more than his services.
This gave him the drive to build bigger and better things, which his friends happily assisted in creating.
Engie’s best memories are with that motley crew of scrawny, beaten-up kids.
But, as he became a teenager, the abuse grew worse by the day.
He was often kept in his dad’s garage to fix cars in sweltering heat and with nothing to show for his work except threats of what would happen if a customer complained.
His mother finally grew bitter enough to pick on him, wondering aloud and pointedly if she had made a mistake by having him, then immediately contradict herself by wailing in his arms about how she’s the most awful mother in the world, and how she would be gone soon, and then nobody would have to deal with her anymore.
Engie grew more and more distant from his friends as they either moved out, ran away, or, in Rhapsody’s case, died.
He thought of just shutting the garage door and turning on a car a couple times, but he would always return to his memories of the hidden cave of goodies his friends had collected or the many inventions they had helped him build.
It just wasn’t worth it.
On a night when his depression and self-doubt was especially bad, he decided to build a personal invention for the first time in years - a small, robotic chicken made out of bent gears and empty oil cans.
He worked on it for a few weeks, but made the mistake of leaving it on a work table once it was finished.
Engie came to work the next morning with his dad ready to chew him out. But, before any finger could be lifted against his son, he was interrupted by a sweet older couple that was having their tires replaced.
“Now, Ethan, ain’t that just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”
“Hm?”
“That there chicken statue over there! It looks like it could very well get up and start peckin’ for worms, don’tcha think?”
Engie looked at the couple, then at his dad, then at his chicken. He slowly lifted it from the table and turned the key.
It started to slowly lean forward, then took a few steps on it’s long, spring-loaded legs. The neck went down, and the chicken’s rusty beak began to scrape at the pavement.
Now he had the husband’s attention.
“Didja build that yourself, son, or did your daddy help ya?”
Engineer looked at his dad for a split second before answering.
“My own sweat ‘n blood, sir. My daddy says I should stop wastin’ time on ugly thing-a-ma-jigs an’ put my hands to somethin’ worth doin’.”
The man smiled. “Well, this ‘ugly thing-a-ma-jig’ shows real skill. We could use somebody like you, once we train you up a bit.”
“Now hold on a damn - !” his father interjected, but was silenced with a cold stare.
“We’ll put ya through a state-of-the-art school, then put ya straight inta the work force. You can build whatever you like…and you’ll have a lot better materials than rusty tin. Whaddaya say, son?”
Engineer just nodded, and the man grabbed his hand and shook it.
“We’ll keep in touch.”
Engineer left that trailer park at age seventeen, leaving his fuming father and drunken mother behind.
He only stopped to visit Rhapsody’s grave before embarking on his new life.
There is still a stone plate with a message carved into it next to the headstone. If you brush off the leaves and dig out the moss, you can see Engie’s parting words:
“A friendship with you and the rest of the gang is the greatest thing I ever built. -Big Dell”
#tf2#tf2 fandom#tf2 ask blog#tf2 headcanon#tf2 headcanons#tf2 engineer#engineer tf2#tf2 solly#send asks#ask blog#headcanon requests#lovely anon#thanks anon#thanks for the ask
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no place like home
pairing: jimmy page x reader
warnings: none, it's just so fluffy
words: 1.2k
summary: movie nights with jimmy have become a regular occurence, and tonight, you're whisked away to the wonderful land of oz.
author’s note: this is purely because the wizard of oz is a comfort movie of mine, and jimmy name-dropped judy garland in an interview. he has seen the movie, mark my words. also i love yardbean jimmy so much :’) enjoy! <3
“What are we watching tonight, love?”
Being part of the world-famous Yardbirds, Jimmy’s schedule was hectic, to put it lightly. On the road as often as he was, there wasn’t much time to catch up on the recent trends in pop culture, including any films he might have missed or neglected. When he told you that he hadn’t seen Alice in Wonderland, the gasp that left your lips could be heard for miles.
As a result, you and Jimmy resolved to watch a movie every weekend that you were together, alternating every week who got to choose. The quality time spent together was but a hidden perk, of course.
“Isn’t it your week, Jim?” you reply, smiling warmly at him as he walks into the quaint living room with two steaming mugs of tea. Taking the warm mug from his hand with a “thank you” whispered into the air between you, you take a sip. Comforting hints of bergamot and vanilla dance on your tongue, the sigh leaving your lips full of contentment. Sweet honey softens the rich, striking spices, and it feels like coming home after a long day. “Earl Gray, with a teaspoon of honey. You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered,” Jimmy sips from his own mug, his hands cradling it carefully, aiming to absorb every ounce of warmth that seeps into his palms. Glancing over at you as you melt into his embrace, he smiles, cheeks flushing a delicate pink. “Nothing about you is exactly easy to forget, love.”
“Sap.” A playful slap to his chest follows, a sound of protest courtesy of Jimmy echoing through the room. He frowns, green eyes sparkling with amusement, and leans over to press his lips to yours tenderly.
“You love me.”
“ I do. Sure hope that’s okay with you.”
“You know it is, Y/N,” he chuckles, music to your ears as you gaze up at him, enraptured by his bright, careless smile. It seems he’s always stressed, lately, and these movie nights are a lifeline, allowing him to be unguarded and vulnerable. Pure, and completely in love. “You’re right, I believe it is my turn. After all, I did sit through the entirety of Psycho for you last week.”
“What was wrong with it? I thought it was entertaining!”
“The pacing was all wrong, love. Though, I did appreciate you hiding your face in my chest the entire time.”
“What can I say? You were comfy.”
“Forgive me, I was under the impression that it had scared you,” Jimmy chuckles, his arm winding around you to pull you closer. You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile blooming across your features. “I’ll protect you from the big, bad Norman Bates. Don’t you worry.”
“My knight in shining armour,” you drawl, smiling up at him with nothing but love in your eyes. Pecking him on the cheek before he could react, you unwind your arms from around his waist. He grumbles at the lack of contact, and you giggle, twining your fingers in his hair to push a loose strand behind his ear. He needed a haircut soon, you realize. “Go pick your movie, Sir Page.”
He rises from the homely couch with a huff and moves towards the black milk crate sat in the corner of the room. Jimmy, a firm lover of every conceivable form of art, had always been quite interested in film. Around you, he often quoted the movies he had seen, sometimes taking on a comical voice to sell it. Now left with more money than he knew what to do with, Jimmy invested in a rather expensive projector, frequenting the local library to survey the films in stock. As he rifles through the selection of hard-shelled reel cases he had picked up for the week, you can’t help but appreciate the view of his bum from his crouched position. Your lover has fine assets, after all.
Your thoughts are interrupted by a noise of surprise, as Jimmy turns to face you, his eyes twinkling with excitement in the warm light of the living room. In his hand sits a film case, meticulously labelled, as all things are in his house, in black sharpie. He’s nothing if not organized, you think. The slip of paper, in his own writing, reads, ‘The Wizard of Oz’, hastily drawn stars surrounding the title. This definitely wasn’t a copy from the library...
“Why don’t we watch this? I… just happened to find it at the bottom of the crate, and it seems as good a time as any to revisit it.”
“It’s okay, Jimmy. You can come out and say you like musicals.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jimmy replies, scratching the back of his neck, a smirk creeping onto his face as he looks back at you. Setting up the tape, he reclines back on the couch as the opening music swells. Dragging the blanket resting on the arm of the couch around the two of you, your head settles on his shoulder. Warmth fills you as his arms encircle you once more, and the pressure of soft lips landing in your hair sends your heart aflutter. The two of you, content in the other’s embrace, lose yourselves in the bittersweet story.
Dorothy’s smooth voice, clear like a crystalline stream, filters through the dimly-lit room, bringing a smile to your face. Looking up at Jimmy, you take in the way his eyes never leave the screen, colours swirling in the shining surface like a mirror. Faintly, you can hear the sound of humming. When you delicately press your head to his chest, you feel the rumbling of his low voice as he sings along under his breath.
Sound seems to fade away not long after, as you fight to keep your eyes open. You’ve never felt as safe as you do right now, cocooned in his warmth. Moving your head to rest in the junction of his jaw and neck, your palm lands over his heart. The guitarist’s steady pulse against your hand pulls you ever-closer to sleep. Blinking tiredly, you tilt your head to look back up at him. Weary eyes threaten to close, opening only to see long, dark eyelashes fluttering against alabaster skin.
There were marks, dark purple in colour, painted under his eyes. He was exhausted, wearing himself thin over the last month. The one time he wasn’t stressed out, anxiety thrumming through his body, was during these nights with you. Jimmy could finally relax, content in the knowledge that you were in his arms. That you would be there when he woke up.
Gently carding a hand through his curls, you settle against him, head returning to it’s comfortable spot on his shoulder. Soon enough, you feel the weight of his head settle against yours, his arms curled protectively around you even in slumber, and you let your eyes flutter closed.
The Scarecrow gets his brains, while the Tinman receives his coveted heart; The Lion gains his courage, and Dorothy finally finds her way back to Kansas, though both of you are none the wiser.
Dorothy had said that there’s no place like home. Curled up, sheltered by Jimmy’s body wrapped around you like a safety blanket, you’re sure that it’s the truth after all.
Jimmy is your home, and you wouldn’t trade him for anything the world could offer.
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taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmypages (let me know if you want to be added!)
#jimmy page#led zeppelin#jimmy page x reader#jimmy page fanfic#jimmy page fanfiction#led zeppelin fanfic#classic rock fanfic#reader insert
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secret santa | kth x reader
secret santa | kim taehyung x reader
genre | bff2l, fluff
summary | What you thought was an ingenious plan to figure out the perfect gift for your secret santee turns out to take a whole bunch of wrong turns, but with the best outcomes.
rating | NC-17
word count | 6.2k words
warnings | some profanities (it’s like... once LOL), mentioned breakups, it’s Christmas in the context of a pandemic
a/n | Merry Christmas everybuddy 🎄✨ here is a lighthearted (or at least it was until i hit the 6am point of the night while writing slkdjflkjd) lil christmas gift to everyone, but mostly to myself LOL bcos I’m finally posting a fic about the one who owns my heart in its entirety 😌
Christmas without you would just not be Christmas at all
Bright mistletoes up above us, it’s just you and me
-- V, Snow Flower
“C’mon, ____,” Taehyung whines. He plops down on the couch next to you and puts his big, round eyes to good use, giving you the puppy dog eyes treatment.
Well too bad for Taehyung, having known him for the last decade has granted you immunity against his pouty antics. There’s a couple of things that Taehyung employs in a bid to get what he wants. First, he’ll whine. Next, he’ll attempt to reason it out with you… or as much as he can convincingly reason with the pout still laced thick in his tone. If that fails, he’ll try bargaining. And finally, if none of the aforementioned has managed to sway you, he’ll just pout in silence.
“That’s the thing about Secret Santas, Tae, they’re supposed to be, y’know, secret.”
“Well, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who your santee is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.
There it is. Stage two.
You ignore him and return to scrolling through Amazon in what you hope is a nonchalant manner.
“What if I guess who it is?” he tries.
When you don’t reply, he continues, “Is it Hoseok?” He runs a hand through his golden locks in thought. “No, buying for Yoongi is easy because all he ever wants is practical things like planners. You wouldn’t need help with that. Hm… Is it Seokjin?”
He rambles on about different kitchenware that could make a good present for Jin, a ramble that would have been really helpful if only Jin were actually your secret santee.
Taehyung gasps and falls silent, shocking you into finally looking up from your phone. His already round eyes are even rounder, wide as they are in shock. A hand hovers over his mouth as he goes still.
Then, as suddenly as he had gasped, he relaxes into a laugh.
“For a moment, I thought your secret santee was me,” he says, chuckling. A jolt runs through you, and your breath hitches in a way that you pray is unnoticeable. “But you’re too shitty a liar to do that.”
“Hey!” You jab his side playfully and he yelps. “What do you mean? I’m a great liar.”
“That’s a blatant and unconvincing lie right there.”
You fold your arms and turn away.
“I know you’re not actually mad, ____,” comes his sing-song voice, crossing his arms behind his head and reclining into the couch.
Letting out another huff, you turn further away. So when he grabs your hands and pulls you to face him, it startles you a little.
His eyes search yours, and you can’t help yourself from stumbling into their depths. The seriousness in his gaze holds yours intently.
But just as you think he’s about to apologize, his eyes melt into little crescent moons as he grins. “So. Who’s your secret santee?”
His cry comes out muffled under the cushion you hit him with.
An exasperated groan leaves you the moment you close the front door. Tipping your head back to rest against the solid wood, you shut your eyes. You hear footsteps pad closer.
“I take it your plan didn’t succeed?” Irene says, leaning against the wall as she takes in your defeated stance.
“Nope,” you say, picking yourself back up and hanging up your scarf and coat. Your roommate’s still in the same fuzzy pyjamas she was in when you’d left for Tae’s earlier in the day, and honestly, she’s got the right idea. You’re ready to get back into jammies too.
A Lifetime movie plays in the background, and you’d be willing to bet your life’s savings -- not that there’s much when you’re but a struggling student -- that she’s got a mug of hot chocolate to accompany her.
“Another Christmas movie?” you scoff in mock disgust. “How are you not sick of them yet?”
“What else are we supposed to do during a quarantined Christmas?”
“Don’t kid yourself. You’d be doing this even without the quarantine.”
“Hey. If you detest it so much, I heard that Taehyung’s place has many vacant rooms right now.”
You roll your eyes. She got that information from you. Both his roommates were gone from the apartment for the time being, one went back home for the holidays and another had chosen to attend the entire semester from home since everything was online anyway, leaving Taehyung with the luxury of the entire apartment to himself.
Meanwhile, Irene was making full use of the ongoing situation to evade going back home for the holidays. Too much family drama to allow her to binge-watch her holiday flicks in peace, she’d said.
And you? It’s kinda awful, but you’ve chosen to remain in your apartment just slightly off-campus so that you could get a head start on your research for your thesis, the campus library’s offerings much more vast than the local neighborhood library of your small town hometown.
Upon hearing this, Taehyung had offered to stay to keep you company over the holidays. “We’ve spent every Christmas together ever since we were kids, Christmas would just feel too weird without you,” he’d said. “And then we can join the gang’s Zoom Christmas celebration together too! I heard that’s what Namjoon and Jin will be doing since they’re both in the city over Christmas.”
How you’d managed to keep yourself from melting into a puddle of goo at his casual selflessness was a real feat. Taehyung had always been close to his family, and often missed them intensely while you guys were miles apart from home each college semester. So for him to give up a trip back home so you could still have a piece of home with you over Christmas was not a small sacrifice.
“Hellooo?” Irene waves a hand in your face. You jump, jolted out of your thoughts. “Are you actually daydreaming about it? Ooh, staying over at your crush’s place with no one else around… saucy things could happen, ____.”
Although that wasn’t what you were thinking about, you still feel the heat rise to your cheeks at being caught daydreaming about Taehyung. Instead, you give a feeble excuse to get Irene off your back, “I’m just thinking about secret santa gifts again. Ugh, why’d I have to draw him of all people?!”
“Are you sure you aren’t overthinking this because of your feelings? How difficult is it to think of a gift for a guy you’ve been friends with since you were kids? What about his interests?”
“That’s real tough. His hobbies are so whimsical and oftentimes just impulsive. Remember the phase with the film camera? And then the short-lived violin phase? And the piano phase? The only outcome of that phase is him playing the Chopstick Waltz every single time we pass by a piano.”
“Well, what about something that’s been a constant in his life then through all the phases?”
You purse your lips in thought, weighing the thought. It’s not a bad suggestion, but what has been a constant for him all this time?
Coming up with naught, you sigh and turn to head to your room. “I’ll think about it while I get changed back into my jammies.”
When you described Taehyung’s ideas and interests as being whimsical and oftentimes impulsive, this is exactly what you meant.
“Tae, I don’t think it’s gonna fit. Why’d you get such a big one?”
“You just have to believe, ____. We just need faith, trust, and- well actually, maybe just faith and a really good, hard thrust.”
“I feel like there’s so many that’s what she said jokes to be made here.”
“Wasting your energy on that line of thinking is the reason why we haven’t gotten this christmas tree through the door yet.”
With one more solid push, the widest part of the tree finally makes it through the narrow doorway of Taehyung’s apartment, and the two of you go stumbling forward with the extra momentum.
“We did it!” he exclaims, wrapping you up in a hug. “You believed!”
Internally cursing yourself for the way your heart has the audacity to stutter at his touch. The hug is nothing- the warmth that seeps from his body to yours is familiar because hugs are nothing special in your friendship. Even in your grade school memories, Taehyung had always been a tactile person, giving out hugs generously and demanding them in return by simply throwing himself at people to be received in an embrace, coerced or not. As you and your peers grew older, Taehyung became more aware and withheld himself from his sudden hug attacks, especially towards the other girls. But not you. He felt no need to skirt around things with you, and you found a quiet hum of satisfaction in knowing that Taehyung could be his tactile self with you. Hugs were just an expression of your friendship. Nothing more.
That is, until you wanted them to be more.
You shake the thought away. You’ve dealt with this successfully for more than a year now and you can continue on.
Taehyung loosens his hold but keeps his arms around you, leaning back to look at you. The soft puffs in his cheeks and the light creases around his eyes as they bunch up in happiness are just some of the little things you adore about him. The contentment practically radiates off of him. It’s just like him to get this excited over a christmas tree.
“Shall we get to setting it up?” you ask and he nods, releasing you completely then to get to work.
After the two of you find the perfect spot, situating the tree in the corner of the living room by the windows and in reach of a power socket, you grab the bag of decorations.
The oddly small and light bag of decorations.
“Tae?” you ask, pulling out the single box of baubles. “Is this all you got?”
Grinning sheepishly, he nods. “I didn’t have much left for decorations after I chose the tree.”
“Why’d you choose such a big tree then?”
“What’s the point of getting a tiny tree? It’s only nice and festive if it’s large!” he exclaims.
“Well, what’s the point of getting a big tree that will be bare except for six baubles, Tae?!”
“I was thinking we could improvise the decorations.”
You quirk an eyebrow. “Improvise?”
“Yeah, like- wait,” he says, running to his bedroom. His voice floats over from the narrow corridor, “just hang on!”
After a little rustling and rummaging, Taehyung emerges with two shoeboxes and a few scarves thrown over his shoulders. Grabbing one of the shoeboxes from him, you open it to reveal a bunch of keychains. Souvenirs from his friends’ travels and some of his own too. In there, you recognize an eiffel tower keychain you gifted him after your family’s holiday to France.
“Here, look!” He grabs a few and begins hanging them on the tree. “Decorations!”
You laugh. It’s a classic Taehyung move, and honestly it doesn’t look half bad. Picking a few keychains of your own from the box, you join him in placing them around the tree.
“What are you going to do about the tree topper?” you ask.
He smirks. “I’ve already got that all figured out.” Unboxing the second shoebox to reveal his collection of polaroid photos, he rifles around till he finds the photo he wants. Brandishing the polaroid of Yeontan, he grins. “Both an angel and a star. Perfect.”
You can't argue with that logic, and you say as much before vacating the step stool so he can clip the polaroid to the top of the tree with a wooden peg. Eyeing the pile of scarves on the couch, you ask, “What about the scarves?”
“Scarves? You mean ribbons?” he says, and begins draping them across the tree. You giggle and reach for one. The soft material is plush, caressing your skin as you run your fingers over the material. It's much nicer than the other scarves, you notice, and way too nice to be stuck on a christmas tree.
“Hey,” you say, “isn’t this cashmere? Are you sure you want such a nice sweater on your tree?”
Taehyung shrugs. “It was a gift from my ex. It’s not like I’m going to wear it anymore.”
His ex. The words hit you like a punch to your gut.
Taehyung's ex, Samantha, was a pleasant person to be around, easygoing and bubbly with a sunny personality that matched him well. At least, from what you could tell based off the first two months of their relationship that you got to witness firsthand. You're not quite sure who exactly initiated the distance -- whether it was from your own courtesy that you gave them space, or whether Samantha had, directly or indirectly, requested for it -- the memories were all too foggy by now.
What you do remember is that one moment they were happy together, and the next they were broken up, the relationship lasting just a little over six months. Taehyung never spoke much about it and when you did probe, he would brush it off with scant excuses that they just figured they weren't compatible after all.
That had been some time in the spring. Briefly, you wonder how many wears the scarf had gotten, and how much sentimental value it held. The quality of the material hinted towards a relationship that had been going strong.
Yet, you muse over it as you drape the luxurious material over the prickly christmas tree, Taehyung brushed it off with such brashness that spoke otherwise.
“Hey,” Taehyung breaks the silence that has fallen between you, clearing his throat in a self-conscious manner as if he’s feeling guilty over the awkward turn that the conversation had taken. You look at him, half-hidden behind the tree pines, his eyes pensive. Maybe he’ll finally open up about the relationship -- it’s been eight months after all. But then he flashes his usual elfin grin. “Any luck with your secret santee gift yet?”
You groan, partly because no, you’re still clueless and stuck on what to get him, and partly because he’s once again evaded the topic of his ex.
The incessant buzzing of your phone gets ignored, vibrating almost violently in its spot on the tinyass coffee table next to your feet which you’ve kicked up ever so demurely. The consecutive, rapid-fire notifications can only be from an overly enthusiastic Taehyung.
Irene nudges foot with her own socked one. “Aren’t you gonna check your phone? I can pause the movie if you want.”
“Nah, I’ve watched Home Alone enough times to not care about missing anything. And it’s probably just Tae being all excited about secret santa gift suggestions.”
“Ooh, how’s that going? Finally got him to spill what he might want?”
An exasperated sigh escapes you. “No, he’s sending me individualized suggestions for everyone that are so well thought out and personalized that I can’t get them for anyone else.”
Grabbing your still-buzzing phone, you flick through your texts. Just as you’d predicted, Tae’s sent you a bunch of Christmas socks he found on Amazon that he thinks would make a good addition to Jin’s collection of festive socks, a set of really nice paints that would pair well with Yoongi’s newfound interest in painting, and an anthology of time-travel short stories that he thinks would fascinate Namjoon.
“Hm, d’you think he’s called your bluff? Intentionally sending you suggestions that wouldn’t be helpful?”
You shake your head, frowning. “Tae’s not like that. Honestly, it was just a bad move on my part, hoping that he would give some generic gift suggestion that would let slip what he really wants. Tae is too thoughtful to get people generic gifts. He puts his heart and soul into the presents he buys for others.”
Reaching over, Irene pinches your cheek lightly as she coos at you, “Awww, you’re so in love with him. I can feel the cavities forming.”
“Pretty sure those are from the hot chocolate with extra marshmallows you love so much,” you say, tipping your chin in a gesture to the mug in her hands.
Irene sticks her tongue out and takes an extra large sip in typical defiance.
As much as you mock Irene for her love for Lifetime holiday movies and hot chocolate, you do have to admit that there’s a certain appeal to it. Curled up on the lumpy couch in Taehyung’s apartment, cupping the hot beverage in your hands, even the uneven lumpiness of the cheap piece of furniture begins to feel comfortable.
The entire room is dark, save for the glow of the television. Taehyung has always insisted that this is the best way to watch movies. Maybe it’s a good thing your makeshift decorations on the christmas tree -- still standing proudly in the corner of the room -- didn’t include christmas lights after all.
Outside, the snowfall has gotten pretty intense, the temperature dipping significantly compared to the previous few days. It is well and truly winter, the cold showing no mercy to anyone who wasn’t prepared for it. You’re thankful to be inside and with a nice hot drink.
But as the film runs on, you get so engrossed in the plot that you don’t even realize you’ve finished your drink till you drain the last of it. Oh.
Looking over at Taehyung, you could always request for more and you know he’d be more than happy to make you another cup. But the movie is at its climax and the way his eyes are glued to the screen, his mouth slightly agape with how invested he is in the film, you can’t bring yourself to interrupt him now. So you try to ignore the way the cold begins nipping at your fingertips.
Soon enough though, the once warm mug that was a pleasant source of heat became stiff cold ceramic between your equally stiff fingers. Scrunching your toes, you wish you’d thought to bring an extra pair of socks over, especially when you think about the pair of socks you’d stuffed into your boots, soggy and cold with melted ice. A shiver runs through you at the thought.
“Are you cold?” Taehyung asks, and you jump. You didn’t realize he’d noticed.
“Yeah, a little.”
He pouts. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? C’mere,” he says, and lifts the edge of his blanket, revealing his plaid pants and sweatshirt combination.
Crawling in quickly, you tell yourself that you’re only complying because you know he’ll put up a fight if you don’t, and you don’t want the cold air getting into the cocoon of warmth he’s created with his blanket. Not because you’re excited to snuggle up with Tae. Definitely not. But now that you’re here, you may as well make the most of it, you figure.
Taehyung yelps as you press your icy toes to his warm thigh. Your arms wind their way around him, desperately seeking out the warmth of his body heat. Nuzzling lightly into the crook of his neck, you sigh, finally getting some relief from the cold.
The tiniest of groans escapes him. Then, a tight gasp. Stiffening, you peer up at Taehyung carefully.
He’s turned to look at you too, his attention that was once rapt by the movie now focused directly on you with equal intensity. Nervous energy accumulates within you and your heart rate skyrockets, now keenly aware of every hard plane of his body against yours. The logical part of you regrets the way you launched yourself at him and gave no regards for personal space. But you’re only dimly aware of that. The part of you that just wants Taehyung, the part that you’ve kept under lock and key, now fights against the restraints you’ve tied yourself into, unravelling you. You gnaw at your lip unsurely, and you watch as Taehyung’s gaze drops to your lips, heavy-lidded as they linger there, then darting back up to meet yours head-on.
The hand that he has on your hip grips you a little tighter, and you clutch the front of his sweatshirt in response. Your heart is pounding now, and the headiness of it all makes you feel swirly. Is he leaning clo-
Slam!
Both of you jump. The noise from the film startles you both, and you accidentally head butt Taehyung’s chin in the midst of it. He yelps in pain.
“I’m so sorry!” You frantically rub the spot to soothe it. “Are you ok?”
He laughs it off in his usual carefree manner. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“You sure? It doesn’t hurt?”
“It’ll be fine in a bit,” he says, pulling you into his chest, his warmth emanating from his chest to your back in a comforting manner. “Let’s continue watching the movie.”
With his arms wound around you, you wonder if he can feel the way your heartbeat continues to beat erratically. If he does, he says nothing about it. And underneath you, you can feel clearly how his heartbeat matches yours in its stuttering pace. But you say nothing about it. Not for the duration of the movie, not when it ends, not when you stand to leave, and not when he wishes you goodnight at the door.
The next day, you wake up with thoughts of yesterday sending your mind into a spiralling whirlpool. You decide it’s time to make an emergency call.
Also, it’s five days to Christmas and you still haven’t thought of a suitable gift for Taehyung.
“Hello?” comes a chirpy voice over the line.
“Jiminie!”
“____! What’s up?”
“Listen, I need your help. It’s about the secret santa thing.”
“What about it?”
“I need a suggestion for a gift for your best friend.”
Jimin chuckles. “Isn’t he also your best friend?”
“Well, yes, but…”
You take him through your original plan to covertly ask Taehyung what he would like by asking what would make a good gift, and how it got completely derailed, to which Jimin just laughed. And then your discussion with Irene on finding something that has been a constant in his life. Since you’re on the phone with Jimin, you take the chance to rant about your annoyance with yourself at not foreseeing Taehyung’s thoughtfulness and the personalized gift suggestions that he’s been giving you.
“____,” Jimin interrupts you mid-rant. “The answer is right in front of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe your plan didn’t really fail. If Tae is suggesting personalized gifts, then…” he trails off meaningfully.
You gasp. “Oh. You’re absolutely right, Jimin, you genius!”
“This was your own plan, ____.” He chuckles. “Now as for what has been constant in his life… Do you really not realize?”
Oh.
“Jimin, you’re a genius, y’know that?”
“So I’ve been telling everyone.”
“Ok, I gotta go now,” you say, excitement zipping through you as your mind fills abuzz with different ideas now that Jimin has set you on the path.
“Seeya on the 25th, you dork.”
“See you!”
Belatedly, you realize you missed out on telling Jimin about what had happened the day prior. But you shrug it off, figuring that you could tell him about it another time.
---
But as it turns out, you don’t. The hectic rush of preparations for Christmas keep you and your friends so busy, you’re thankful everyone’s blocked out Christmas night for each other or you’d just miss each other completely otherwise.
Days on from the eventful movie night you had with Taehyung, the distance has already caused the memories of the night to go slightly fuzzy. You wonder if it had really even happened, or if you were just overthinking everything as per usual.
And since Taehyung never brought it up, your friendship carrying on in the easy status quo, it was simple enough to chalk it up to your own imagination.
The rush towards Christmas keeps itself up even till Christmas day itself. You’re huffing a little as you squeeze yourself and your grocery bags through the doorway of Taehyung’s apartment. The lopsided feeling of your beanie sitting askew on your head is just one part of your disheveled state right now.
“Tae!” You set the bags down and replace the spare key in its hiding place. “I’m here!”
He comes bursting out of his room and running over to help you with the bags. “Is it time to bake?” His tone is bright and shimmering with anticipation. Baking Christmas cookies with each other’s families was a tradition the two of you grew up with, and a tradition you both intended to keep even while away from your hometown.
Pulling the cookie cutters out of the bag, you wave them with a grin. “Shall we? We still have to prepare dinner after this and make sure we log onto Zoom on time too.”
The afternoon is filled with a flurry of flour and butter and sugar, cookie cutters and oven mitts, and a whole lot of messy icing. You pipe out a beautiful blue and white star, if you do say so yourself, taking pride in the baking skills you’ve honed over the past twenty years. Meanwhile, Taehyung scribbles Yeontan on a star-shaped cookie of his own. He adds this to his collection of alien cookies and rabbits on the moon.
When you’re both done decorating and the icing is left to set, you get to work on dinner. It’s a simple affair, just some mashed potatoes that you set Taehyung to work on, some lightly roasted veggies, and a rotisserie chicken from the supermarket in place of the usual Christmas turkey your families would normally have.
Grabbing plates to serve up your dinner, you can hear the chorus of hellos from the living room as Taehyung sets up his laptop to join the Zoom call. It fills you with a warmth you didn’t know you were missing, the cacophony of noise from your friends still as familiar as it always is even though it’s filtered through the speakers on the laptop. If anything, it may even be more chaotic than ever, with everyone speaking over each other, the social cues becoming even harder to read over the virtual platform.
When you finally enter the room with your two plates, the noise only gets louder, everyone shouting to greet you. You say a quick hi and slip back into the kitchen to get the tray of cookies to show off to the rest over the webcam.
You take your place next to Taehyung, seating yourself next to him in a similar cross-legged position, your knees knocking together as you both squeeze to get into frame together. Memories of the movie night come back to you, but Taehyung seems unfazed. Feigning calmness, you try to focus on the ongoing exchange instead.
The conversation drives itself, years of friendship and months spent apart from each other fuelling the chatter. With small talk on how Christmas day was for everyone, quick catch-ups on how everyone’s doing, inside jokes and references to shared experiences of the past, the atmosphere feels just like that one year you all went on a camping trip together and sat around the bonfire on the final night, swapping stories and jokes in a breezy fashion.
Just as the conversation slips into an easy placidity, Hoseok suggests you all move on to the secret santa bit of the night.
That’s when you gasp. Amidst the manic pace of the day and its activities, you’d forgotten to retrieve your present from where you’d stowed it in your apartment. In the same way that you treated Taehyung’s apartment like your own, so was your apartment to him. Taehyung could walk into your apartment any moment, whether you were present or not, and you needed to find a good secret place for your present. Stashing your prepared present in an unused cupboard in the kitchen, you remember commending yourself for having found such a great hiding spot. Turns out, it was so excellently hidden that even you had forgotten about it till this very moment.
But your internal struggle and the guilt that plagued you went unbeknownst to the rest, each taking turns to open their presents. A whole range of reactions and sound effects went on, Hoseok thanking Taehyung for his gifted sunglasses with such sincerity that transcended the boundaries of the webcam and screen. Yoongi had bought Jin a new fishing reel, and the boys were in the midst of discussing their next fishing trip.
But it was Namjoon’s reaction and the chaos that ensued that truly had you relaxing a little from your anxious-frustrated-guilty state.
“Snacks? And wet wipes?” Namjoon’s expression is incredulous as he pulls the items out of the brown paper bag. “Who’s giving me all these freebies?!”
“FREEBIES?!” Next to Namjoon, Jin smacks the table, causing him to jump. “I’ll have you know that those snacks were selected after careful observation, and I even went so far as to scout out for the specific brand you like and some even required shipping from elsewhere because the grocery stores near us didn’t stock it, and I got you wet wipes because you’re always spilling things, or maybe you could use them after you’re done snacking while on the go, but you still have the AUDACITY to call it FREEBIES?!”
At the sight of Jin gone red in the face, the snickers that the rest of you had been holding in came bursting out.
“Ok, I think we’re the last two to open our gifts,” Taehyung says, reading the room and moving on quickly before Jin could get even more agitated. “____, this is yours from your secret santa.”
Ripping open the wrapping paper swiftly, you find a brown leather-bound journal with your initials embossed on them in gold.
“Oh! This is beautiful,” you gush. “And since we’re the last two, this must be from Jimin!”
Even through the screen, the sight of your friend’s smile, eyes all scrunched up with the sincerity of it, has your heart swelling.
“And that means… that I’m your secret santee!” Taehyung gasps. “No way. And this whole time I was calling you a bad liar.”
He rambles on, explaining to the rest about your sly method of attempting to discreetly ask him what he might like for Christmas. The whole time, you’re chewing on your lip, trying to find the right moment to interject and explain what’s happened.
“Ok! So,” Taehyung finally pauses, looking at you expectantly, “I’m ready for my present!” His hands are cupped and ready to receive the present… that will not make it to him tonight.
You place your hands in his, lowering them gently and taking in his obvious confusion. “I’m so sorry, Tae, I left your present back at home. I promise I’ll bring it over tomorrow! Or you can come over after this to grab it if you want.”
“Oh,” he says, puppy dog pout hitting you full-force with guilt. “But I still want a gift now, so…”
Grasping your hands that are still in his, he tugs you forward into his chest, and plants a soft kiss on your lips.
Silence. Both from your brain, and from everyone around.
It lasts for two seconds -- your group of friends has never found it easy to shut up after all -- and then it’s an eruption, pulling you back to the reality that the two of you are not alone.
You can hear Jungkook screaming, “GROSS!” and Namjoon yelling in confusion. But Jimin’s tinkling laughter, filled with unmistakable joy, cuts through the noise along with a raspily muttered, “It’s about fucking time.” from Yoongi.
In the background, you hear Jungkook asking, “Waaaait, so does this mean that Seokjin has to give Namjoon a kiss now too?” and Jin’s immediate, “NO!”
The noise jump starts your brain back into motion. You attempt to pull away from Taehyung, highly aware that your friends are subject to witnessing all of this, but he tugs you back, anchoring you to him with an arm wrapped firmly around your waist. The laughter from the laptop speakers turns into cries of outrage and then an abrupt return to silence with a click, and you realize that Taehyung must have closed his laptop, ending the Zoom call.
Looping your arms around Taehyung’s shoulders, you begin to respond to his kiss, eyelids fluttering closed. It’s new, it’s electrifying. But it’s also like something deep inside has finally clicked, like you’ve finally arrived. You’re home.
“Did you know?” you ask. “About me having feelings for you?”
“Yeah,” Taehyung admits. Heat rises to your cheeks at that, and you hide your face in his chest. Now that you don’t have to be seated on the floor to be in frame for the Zoom call, the two of you opted to move to the lumpy but still much more comfortable couch.
The gentle strokes of his hand in your hair is familiar and comforting, reminding you of the infinite patience he’s always shown to you. It’s a reminder that this is Taehyung. The boy you grew up with through thick and thin. Your best friend. And that gives you the boldness to continue despite your embarrassment.
“How? And when?”
“Honestly,” he trails off slightly, in thought, “I think it was Samantha who made me realize it.”
A pang of jealousy hits you. But you’re immediately wondering if it’s even warranted, now that you guys are… Well, what exactly are you? You make a mental note to clarify that.
“She was jealous, y’know,” he continues. “Didn’t want to say it at first, and tried to put up with it because she understood that our friendship is not something she could just expect me to give up.
“But it got to a point where things just couldn’t go on any longer. What she initially saw as discomfort that she would learn to overcome with time, soon became an awareness that the two of us were crossing the line of just friends, even if we hadn’t realized it at the time.”
Taehyung sighs, causing you to look at him. He smiles down at you, and skims your cheek with his thumb affectionately. “Maybe it’s because you’ve been here by my side all my life, that it was such a gradual thing and neither of us really realized it.”
“Yeah,” you mumble. “It was only after you began dating her that I realized how not okay with that I was. I thought it was just me being the possessive best friend trying to get used to having to share you. But then I realized I didn’t just want my best friend back. I wanted what she had.”
Swallowing hard, you remember the bitterness of the jealousy you felt back then, and that still recurs from time to time.
“What about you then? How did you come to recognize your feelings?” you ask.
“Samantha made me face up to them.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes. “One day she laid it all out, about us being more than just friends. And when I denied it, she asked me, would I choose you over her if I were forced into making that decision. The answer very nearly rolled straight off my tongue. And that was when I knew.”
“Is that why you broke up?” you ask. Taehyung nods. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, you silly girl.” He boops you on the nose. “I’m just thankful that Samantha was as understanding as she was about it. I think that’s why it took me a long time to get over it -- knowing that I’d hurt someone as wonderful as she is with my own blind ignorance.”
“And you too,” he says, leaning down to lay a soft peck on your lips. “I hated knowing that I’d hurt you because of my lack of awareness of my own feelings. That’s why I had to take my time this time around, to make sure that I know for sure.”
“Do you know for sure now?”
“Yes,” he says, holding your gaze with seriousness that has you swimming in its depths. “I’m yours now. Purely and fully.”
When you returned to your apartment the next morning, Irene was waiting to grill you on your whereabouts. It didn’t escape her notice that you hadn’t come back to the apartment the previous night, and she joked about how the vacant rooms in Taehyung’s apartment probably didn’t matter because you could always spend the night sharing his bed anyway.
And when you, blushing madly but holding your own nonetheless, informed her that she was right, well, you should have anticipated her squeals of excitement. “Tell me everything!” she had demanded.
You also should have anticipated the endless teasing that she would put the two of you through, especially in the Christmas season. After a trip out to the stores, finally taking a break from her Lifetime holiday movies marathon, she’d returned with copious amounts of mistletoe to hang all around the apartment, insisting the two of you make up for lost time.
But what Irene doesn’t need to know is just how much the two of you agree with her. Stealing a tiny sprig of mistletoe from around the house -- there’s so much that she wouldn’t even notice anyway -- you pack it into one of the clear baubles you’d bought for Taehyung’s Christmas present, nestling it into the box alongside the other clear baubles that were customized with pictures of the two of you.
#ficswithluv#bangtanhq#btswriterscollective#bangtanarmynet#btswritingcafe#bangtanfairygarden#btsbookclub#btswritersguild#taehyung x reader#taehyung fic#taehyung oneshot#bts x reader#bts fic#bts oneshot
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As Sojourner Gibbs pulled out of her parking space at a Sam’s Club in Jefferson Parish, Louisiana, one afternoon last summer, she felt the familiar, sickening symptoms of diabetic shock. Weakness, confusion. She began to sweat and shake uncontrollably. And then, Gibbs said, panic set in.
Her car lurched forward a few feet. She slammed on the brakes. The groceries she had just purchased for her family’s Juneteenth barbecue jostled in the back. People started honking their horns. A concerned woman walked up to her car. “I’m a diabetic! I need help!” Gibbs yelled.
The woman called 911. Dispatcher notes show a report of a “Black female sitting/screaming” in a gold Ford Expedition. “Appears scared.” Moments later: “Needs EMS.”
Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Office deputies arrived before the paramedics. First just one, then three more. Gibbs, a doctoral candidate in public policy, thrashed in the front seat, her body stiffening. She recalls telling deputies she was diabetic. The sheriff’s department report says she told deputies to “go away.”
She insists she heard one say, “This bitch is lying. She’s high on something.”
As deputies surrounded the car, Alicia Dardar, who is white and grew up in Jefferson Parish, pulled up nearby. Dardar felt uneasy as she saw what was happening, she said, and she thought of George Floyd, who a month earlier had been killed by a Minneapolis police officer. She started recording with her cell phone.
Alicia Dardar witnessed and filmed sheriff’s deputies throwing Gibbs to the ground as the Black woman pleaded for help. “I think the cop saw a Black person and instantly assumed she's on drugs,” Dardar said. “If it was me in that vehicle, it would have been a very different moment.”
Her video shows the four deputies dragging Gibbs out of the driver’s side door. Gibbs cries, “I don’t know why you’re doing this.” Then a deputy grabs one of Gibbs’ legs from underneath her, sending her face-first into the dirt. They secure her hands behind her back with zip ties, restraining her as paramedics arrive.
She remembers thinking of her sons, 10 and 4, and praying: Please, Lord, do not take me.
When paramedics arrived and took Gibbs’ blood sugar level, it was 17 milligrams per deciliter. Levels below 40 milligrams can be critical, even fatal. She said one paramedic told her, “You could have died.” While she was in the ambulance, deputies combed through her belongings in her SUV.
Over the next few months, Gibbs would file a complaint with the sheriff’s internal affairs division, hoping the officers involved would face consequences. What she didn’t know at the time, but would later learn, is that the Sheriff’s Office would fail to follow its own internal investigations policy. Despite her complaints, no official would ever interview her or Dardar before exonerating the officers of all wrongdoing. The Sheriff’s Office did not respond to questions about Gibbs’ case.
Had the scene in the parking lot played out in New Orleans, just four miles away, Gibbs’ pursuit of answers likely would have had very different results. That’s because just over a decade ago, the U.S. Department of Justice released a scathing report about policing in the city. It found that the New Orleans Police Department had failed to properly track and review when its officers used force, that its internal investigation system was deeply flawed, that officers were disproportionately shooting and killing Black people, and that years of ignored complaints and stonewalling had eroded public trust.
The report led to a settlement agreement with the city in 2013 that has resulted in drastic overhauls in policing, turning a troubled department into a model — albeit an imperfect one — of reform. Federal monitors wrote in February that despite still needing some improvement, NOPD had become a “changed agency.”
But the DOJ has never launched an investigation in Jefferson Parish, a suburb of about 440,000 people west of New Orleans that straddles the banks of the Mississippi River. Its Sheriff’s Office is one of the largest in the state, with jurisdiction over the entirety of the parish’s 665 square miles, including those cities that have their own police departments.
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cardigan
cardigan by capthamm
and when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed
you put me on and said I was your favorite
part three of capthamm’s captain swan’s folklore
read on ao3 / read the ao3 series / read invisible string / read illicit affairs
Reevaluating her life over the rim of a toilet bowl was not where Emma Swan thought she would be at 20– well, maybe it’s not that far off, but she thought Killian would be here too. Life keeps giving her glaring reminders that he isn’t and hasn’t been for nine fucking months. All she’s got is her shitty one-night-stand turned casual fuck, Neal, who won’t even hold her hair back as she pukes up the Fireball he made her drink.
Killian doesn’t drink whiskey. Even if he did, Killian would hold her hair.
Killian.
Funny how someone 2000 miles away can simultaneously be the cause of all your problems and the only one who can fix them.
She hears the front door shut and yells for Neal. She doesn’t expect a response— assuming he’s left her to her own devices for the night— so she jumps when someone answers back.
“Emma, love?”
Great. Now she’s hallucinating.
Except she’s not, and when she feels the familiar, warm touch of Killian’s hand scoop her sweaty hair from the nape of her neck, she’s confident this is as real as the next bout of vomit making its way up her throat.
Welcome home, Jones.
She hears him sigh her name under his breath, but is too embarrassed to look at him, the bowl of the toilet seeming like a perfect hiding spot of shame. When she’s finished, he gently tugs on the hair he’s twisted into a scrunchie (how he managed to find one is beyond her) and she knows he’s onto her.
Emma groans, the noise echoing through her porcelain hideout and she hears Killian bark out a laugh as she turns to face him.
He looks so much older. He always was more mature, but the Navy made him look the part too. His eyes are still the same though, blue and kind. Emma has so much to say to him, a swirl of every emotion imaginable making her feel slightly dizzy once more. She centers herself by asking the most obvious question, “What are you doing here?”
He winces at the same moment she realizes the venom in her voice. Guess even five– probably more than five– shots of Fireball and an hour of puking can’t hide months of resentment.
But she knew that.
He speaks softly– no pity laced in his tone, just understanding and maybe some guilt, “Your dad called.”
Emma is sure this is the eyeroll her mother warned her about— you know, the one where her eyes are stuck backwards forever and she has to get a dog to help her cross the street. Does Killian even like dogs? Of course he does, everyone likes dogs. Why does it matter to her if Killian likes dogs...
Focus, Emma. Your dad called him.
“Of course he did. Well thanks for coming. Clearly, it’s been great. I can take care of myself.” She spins on her butt to straddle the toilet once more and while she can’t see him she knows Killian is running his hand over his face.
She knows Killian better than she knows herself, every mannerism, tick, and pet peeve. She also knows his heart– fierce, kind, and loyal. And don’t even get her started on his face— handsome and one that would stand out in thousands. Emma thought she was past all this. Get a grip– he left you. He left you in this stupid town with no one but your parents and Neal. Hello, resentment, it’s great to see you again.
She groans and throws her head into her arms resting on the edge of her new friend. Killian chuckles once more and Emma can’t help but shoot him a warning glance.
“I missed you, Swan.”
She missed him too. Despite all the anger in her, love is winning out. Love will always win out when it comes to Killian and Emma’s not sure why she’s surprised. She was too stubborn to admit it was love until he was fourth months into basic training and she felt his absence like a hole in her chest.
When she doesn’t answer, he kisses the top of her forehead and tells her he’s going to grab some crackers and Gatorade but to yell if she needs him. Killian’s always been like this, an anchor to her wild storm. He knows when to push her buttons and when to just be there. Killian always seemed to be there— and then he just… wasn’t.
Emma can’t blame him for changing the life plans they made when they met that first summer. They were only 14 and she’s not sure why her heart put so much stock in what he said under that willow tree.
Probably because she knew he meant it. If Killian Jones was anything, he was loyal.
But life happens— no, shit happens. Brothers go off to war, decide to be the hero, and never come home. And men like Killian feel a duty to continue their legacy.
Like she said, loyal. And who is she to get in the way of destiny?
It’s just… she thought she was that destiny. She thought he was going to be different. Emma’s life threw her an innumerable amount of twists but the one she never saw coming was Killian leaving.
A small voice somewhere deep in her soul reminds her he came back— it sounds like her mother— but a much louder voice seems determined to remind her he left at all. It reminds her that he left and she went off the rails and that somehow that makes it his fault.
Killian would kill her if he knew all she’d done— and not done— in the past nine months.
Somehow she suspects he already knows, and that’s what has her tearing up as he returns to the bathroom with comfier clothes and the promised snacks to calm her stomach.
He makes it so hard to let go. She doesn’t want to let go.
He turns away as she slips into the sweatpants as though he hasn’t seen her underwear a hundred times— trips to the quarry at midnight playing like film reels in her mind. As she slides on the sweater– his oversized cardigan she stole yearsago– Killian slides down the wall and sits across from her. She relaxes at his touch, his legs long enough that the bottom of his feet touch her knees.
Swans. She bought him those socks.
They sit in silence for a while. He watches her intently as she hydrates and eats the crackers he brought. Meanwhile, her head is reeling at how to start a conversation that’s approximately 6 years and 9 months overdue.
How does she tell him he hurt her when he left because she doesn’t know how life works without him by her side? How does she tell him she’s sorry that she’s broken? How does she tell him that she’s used goods now, tainted, while he’s growing into the man she always knew he’d be? How does she tell him she’s not good enough for him?
That she loves him?
As if on cue, Killian speaks, “Swan, we need to talk. I know you don’t do talking, but we can’t avoid this any longer and I don’t have much time before–“
“Don’t say it.” She knows the end of the sentence will pierce her heart like 1000 knives. Logically she knew he’d have to leave again, basic training bleeding almost directly into some sort of placement. (Emma isn’t entirely sure how the Navy works, but she knows Killian will always be somewhere else.) “I know what you’re going to say, but don’t say it. We need to talk sure, but don’t already put us on a timer, Jones.”
He nods solemnly. “Tell me about Neal.”
She can’t help the laugh that bursts out of her. “I haven’t seen you in nine months and you want to know about Neal.” Emma feels herself grow hysteric, the giggles bubbling out of her uncontrollably.
Killian doesn’t seem amused. “Aye, Swan. I had to kick him off your couch– bloody knockered by the way– while you were neck deep in a toilet, so pardon me if I’m a tad curious.”
His tone brings Emma back down to earth like a bucket of cold water. “He’s nothing Killian. Just someone to warm the bed. I’m sure you understand.” A low blow– so low, she has to hold back a flinch. Emma knows Killian… loyal.
But what did he have to be loyal to? They never said more than a goodbye. No commitments or strings attached. Emma told herself that’s what Killian wanted.
She knows it wasn’t.
“Ouch, Swan. You know me better than that.” He levels with her, his eyes slowly becoming lighter than the stormy blue that was present when he arrived.
Emma speaks at almost a whisper, “He told me he loved me…” She doesn’t need to finish her statement. Killian knows what that means to her, and it’s probably why he never said it– that or she’s been seriously misreading his signals for 6 years.
Foster care makes that word as fragile as an antique vase– the misuse of it shattering the antiquity til there is nothing of value left. It’s an easy way to get a foster kid to trust you. Neal used it to get in her pants, and she let it happen. Sure, she has David and Mary Margaret now, but it was 13 years of different homes and broken promises.
That doesn’t go away.
Killian grabs her knee and slides her over to him, positioning her comfortably by his side and she instinctively rests her head on his shoulder. She doesn’t mean to say her next sentence aloud, but it escapes her lips all the same, “I’m too broken without you, Killian.”
She hates how pathetic she sounds, never one to rely on anyone but herself.
Still, Killian was different from that moment in Morrison Park. She went there to read and Killian, new to the area, was sitting in her spot doing just the same. The rest is history. They didn’t know each other their whole lives but they grew up together. He stuck with her through the excruciatingly long adoption process, and she held his hand through the entirety of Liam’s funeral. People rarely addressed one without the other and they became a unit. When Killian left, she broke– a cog in her mechanics coming to a halt.
“That’s bullshit.” Emma sits up at his profanity– she’s not sure he’s ever sounded so American.
“Excuse me?” She can’t help but chuckle at her shock.
“It’s bullocks, Emma. You aren’t broken in the slightest. How could I make you whole when you were already so complete without me?” Emma is stunned to silence as Killian looks at her as intensely as he did the night they said goodbye. “You don’t need me to be you, Emma Swan. I’m just the fortunate one who gets to watch you become who you’re supposed to be.”
Emma is crying now. “But I’ve ruined everything. I didn’t go to school, I stopped showing up at Granny’s, my mom is–“
Killian cuts her off, “And who said you can’t start now?”
It’s the most simple piece of advice anyone has ever given her, but it feels like an epiphany. She thought losing Killian was the end, that she couldn’t go on with life without her best friend there every step of the way, but she was dead wrong. Killian never would’ve wanted her sulking over his choices, so why would she?
This isn’t her. It never was. Killian speaks again, “This lifestyle– it… it may have been easier than venturing out on your own, but none of your life has been easy, Swan. Why start now?” She nods, taking him in. “And you know that no matter what you do or how you feel, you’ll always be my favorite being on this earth.”
Emma wipes a tear from her cheek and looks away, too overwhelmed to think about what he’s truly saying.
He loves her. Always has— probably as long as she’s loved him. Until now she thought it couldn’t be because he never said it, but as she replays the six years of their friendship, she sees it. Vintage t-shirts found at Goodwill, children’s games like Candy Land or hide n’ seek, nights out with fake ids, reading under the willow tree– he left and she thought it was because none of that was enough for him anymore. That she wasn’t enough. And for a moment, when he first entered her bathroom, she was convinced he was only back because of her dad.
She’s a fucking idiot.
Emma stands up abruptly, on a mission to right the wrongs she’s created over the past nine months. Killian looks taken aback by her sudden movement but remains on the floor.
She brushes her teeth.
When she’s done she reaches out a hand to help him stand. Before he can get his footing, she’s pulling him into a kiss that almost knocks them both off their feet. Her back slams into the stone sink, but the feeling of Killian connected to her at last overrides the pain. Killian starts to laugh when they come up for air, and Emma initially fears the worst. He kisses her once more, gently, before speaking, his lips brushing against hers as he talks, “I appreciate you brushing your teeth before doing that, but, full disclosure, I’m not sure I would’ve minded.”
Emma laughs, “I’m sorry it took me so long.” He rubs his thumb over her cheek and she leans into the touch. “You came back.”
He kisses her again, “Did you ever doubt that I would?”
Emma answers him with a kiss, but deep down she knows he’s right. Despite losing her way, and holding months of anger towards him, she knew he wasn’t the same as everyone else who had ever let her down. It was easier to hate him for leaving than to love him and let him go, but she doesn’t want easy anymore. And as Killian unbuttons his old cardigan later that week, sending shockwaves through her system, she realizes no matter what it takes, she wants to remain his favorite forever.
#cs ff#CS modern AU#Captain Swan#killian jones#emma swan#capthamm#captain swan's folklore#friends to lovers#folklore#cardigan
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I Found a Reason ( To Keep Living)
My first anderperry fanfic set in the late 60s´ and early 70s´!
I had already posted the a03link to the first chapter but it doesn´t show in the tags for some reason (?) so i´m posting it here as well.
Summary: It is the fall of 1969 and the start of senior year at Wellton for the Dead Poets. The world around them is changing fast and soon they will have to decide what they want for their lives. Neil is struggling against his fathers wishes of becoming a doctor,while his roomate Todd is trying to find the confidence to allow himself to lead the life he wants. They connect through their shared loved for music and dreams of moving to New York ,but don´t quite know what to do when it comes to the feelings they have for each other.An ode to the dead poets and the counterculture of the 60s´.
Warnings for: underage smoking, underage drinking, period typical homophobia, police brutality ( mentioned), brief mentions of war, poor parenting
Chapter 1: Gimme Shelter
Neil Perry loved music, there was no other way to say it. Even before acting and performing, music had been his lifesaver in the ever-demanding life his father had already planned for him. Whenever he was feeling blue, he knew all he had to do was listen to his favourite records. He kept them in his closet, neatly ordered and hidden under piles of sweaters and other clothing items. Under the bed was the record player his mother had gifted him when he turned fifteen. His father had resisted at first, going on about how much it had costed and how much it was going to distract him from his classes. It took some help from his mother, but he let him keep it as long as he promised to use it “moderately and only after he was done studying”.
Neil had some records stored at home, but the ones he kept at Wellton were the ones that would get a disapproving look from his father and one or two of his professors. Most of the albums from the Beatles and the Stones, some Bob Dylan, Led Zeppelin, Hendrix, Clapton, he had a bit of everything. It hardly mattered now that he was back at school, away from his father and his incessant demands. He listened while doing homework in the afternoon with the volume almost at the lowest just in case Hager was around. Saturdays were his favourite days because he would then take the record player to the school´s rooftop along with some records; the others would join him too. Charlie provided cigarettes and wine that nobody knew how he obtained. Pitts would bring snacks and when he was feeling particularly happy, he would dance along with Meeks. They spent their afternoons lazily listening and dreaming how their lives would be after Wellton.
For Neil, sometimes it seemed as if there was no future. There was so much chaos in the world around them: the war, the civil rights movement, the riots at that bar in New York, the police brutality, the list was endless. Yet, all his parents could think of was getting him to medical school. He supposed they had a point; in a year he and all his friends would be eighteen, all eligible for the draft. Sure, he could play it safe for a year or so with the college defer but what if he wasn´t able to keep up with the workload? Pre-med wasn´t easy, he knew that much, and it did not help that he dreaded the idea of becoming a doctor almost as much as the idea of getting dragged to the jungle. Unlike Charlie, who kept bragging about how he would burn his draft card if he ever got called, Neil´s parents had no connections that could help him. He was certain Todd and Knox had them but the rest of them were screwed. Pitts had once told him that if he ever got drafted, he was done for. No way he would survive in the jungle. They had all seen the news coverage; it was a massacre.
“Perry,” Charlie said on one of those afternoons, while rolling his eyes “Knoxious here wants to listen to Rubber Soul because he thinks that the Beatles are better than the Rolling Stones, can you believe it?"
Neil sighed internally, the same thing happened with Charlie and Knox every time they listened to music. They would first argue about which record to play and then endlessly debate who had the better music taste. Since Neil was the owner of the record player, he unofficially had the power to ultimately decide which album to liste, and he often had to intervene between the two.
“I didn´t say that Charlie,” Knox interrupted “I´m just saying they have more idea of what they are doing, what they want their music to sound like. Even Bob Dylan said so.”
“Well Dylan hasn´t really been the same since he went electric right?”
“Come on Charlie you love the guy”
“Not relevant right now, Neil” he said while putting out his cigarette “I say we take a vote to settle this for once and all” He called to the other dead poets, who were mindlessly talking about the massive amount of workload they had barely a month into the fall semester.
“What are we doing?” asked Pitts
“Taking a vote on who is better: the Beatles or the Stones” Neil said hoping his voice conveyed the slight annoyance of the situation
Cameron rolled his eyes all the way back to his skull “Not again”
Todd was standing slightly behind Meeks not saying anything yet. His new roommate was still a bit of a mystery, one that Neil found himself drawn to immediately. He was a bit of detective, so he tried hard to be friendly and the payoff was that little by little he saw glimpses of what composed the entirety of Todd. He liked hot tea on the afternoons, he only liked to shower at night, he clasped his hands together when nervous, his favourite sweater was a blue woollen one, he wasn´t good at maths, such little things. The most important one Neil had noticed was that even if Todd didn´t speak his mind often, his brain worked a thousand miles an hour and when he spoke, he did it with power, like prophet. He had such a gift with words and probably so much to say; it made Neil a bit sad that he would not allow himself to do it. He didn´t quite know what it was, but he had bonded with Todd in a way he had never with anyone else in his life. He suppossed that is what some would call "connection" but there had to be another word for it. Everytime there was this electricity running through both of their bodies and pulling them together. He felt the static in every inch of him, amplifying every part of his soul.
“Who do you prefer, Perry? Asked Charlie, pulling him out of his thoughts. Damn it, Charlie.
“Look, I don´t know who is better but right now I would take Let it Bleed over Revolver any day of the week”
“You are a man of taste, Meeks? Pitts?
“Sorry Charlie,” said the ginger “but I prefer the Beatles, not the old stuff though”
“I agree the old stuff sucks, but I´d rather go to a Stones concert” added Pitts.
“Cameron?”
“You should know that I don´t approve much of either but if I had to pick, I would go with the Beatles. No way I am listening to someone who calls themselves satanic”
“Why did I even ask?” sighed Charlie.
What about you Todd? asked Neil raising his brow.
The blue-eyed boy jolted slightly; he knew he had the final decision in his hands. If he was completely honest, he was more of a Beatles guy himself. He found that the lyrics suited him better, the mellow sounds were more of his taste, and even the old cheesy stuff ,he found endearing. The problem was that Neil had said he preferred the Stones and he could not deny Neil anything, even if he wasn´t aware he was asking. Neil was special on his own: he had this energy and passion to live that Todd had never seen on anyone else. He loved everything and everyone so much. He was determined to share bits and pieces of his beautiful soul, some he might never get back, just to make his friends feel the same joy he radiated.
Neil was also the first person who had not given up on Todd. He had tried to push him away for good as much as he could during their first days at Welton and yet Neil persisted, like the leaf that refused to fall of a tree. Soon enough Todd realised that talking to Neil was easy and lovely. They had developed this little game, an unspoken one, where they guessed each other with just a hand gesture or a smile. Neil could guess what Todd was feeling or thinking with just a glance and the other way around. He liked this game, he liked being predicted and basked in sheer happiness whenever Neil smiled at him, signalling that they were thinking the same. Wasn´t that beauty in this world? To finally be able to talk with someone? To laugh? To dance? To read? someone to a dream about? Maybe it seemed small for Neil but the kindness he had showed him made Todd cry every time he thought about it. He took a few more seconds to think before finally saying:
“Sorry, Knox but lately I´ve been more into the Stones and their blues”
“Oh, you guys are the worst”
Everyone laughed and the first few notes of Gimme Shelter were heard. The sun was setting, and the air was filled with cigarette smoke, everything was perfect. Todd wanted to preserve this in his head, capture it like a short film he could go over and over every time he felt alone. He tried to take it all in and took the courage to glance at Neil´s direction. Todd was certain he would be there, looking with that secret smile of his. Their eyes met through the last beams of light the sun had to offer, and when he curved his lips into a playful smirk and then a smile, they both knew he was saying:
“Liar, we both know you prefer the Beatles”
Todd smiled back and slightly shrugged his arms
“You are welcome, Neil”
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I like MCU Spider-Man, but I agree with nearly all of your critiques. The 3rd film will have the same director and writers, so I don't expect the problems to be fixed, but I'm curious: do you think MCU Spider-Man is salvageable? If you could be completely in charge, how would you write the story and fix the problems?
Yeah, I don’t really expect the problems to be fixed in the third film, no matter how many times they promise it’s going to be something “different.” If I’m honest, besides the incredibly weak scripts, I think a big part of the problem is that Jon Watts is a bad director for a Spider-Man project. Which, to be fair, I think is actually why he was hired – he’s got a pretty short list of credits under his name. I mean, “Cop Car”? “Clown”? Nothing about his repertoire suggests he was going to give the studio the kind of artistic pushback they have a history of receiving from their more experienced directors. He’s basically the director version of Jell-O – easy to mold and bland to boot. The perfect guy to direct a car commercial I mean mainstream superhero film.
This is actually part of the reason I’m disappointed that the Sony-Marvel rights deal ended up sticking after all. I think that if the film rights had reverted entirely back to Sony, there might have been some damage control. We know that they intended to keep Tom Holland, if not the whole cast, for at least one more movie even if the rights had reverted entirely back to Sony so I don’t really get what the raising of arms was about. The rights reversion would’ve cut the apron strings with the rest of the MCU which would have been good, forcing both this Spider-Man to stand on his own two feet within his own narrative and also forcing the movie to focus solely on Spider-Man and on his cast. Sony’s recent Spider-Man films as of the time of writing this (I no idea what the hell they’re gonna do with Morbius and I don’t really care) have dealt with some element of “corporations are evil” – Oscorp pulling the strings in TASM/2 and Venom’s whole entire deal – and I would really like to see this version of Spider-Man be thrust into a plot where that’s the reality and that’s something he has to deal with and where he’s actually forced to defend normal people not just against a costumed villain with a grudge but against an entire system that is set up to exploit and abuse the vulnerable. I think that would have gone a long way towards if not fixing the damage inflicted upon the narrative, then at least course correcting it for the future. But that’s not happening now so whatever.
I find it kind of hard to think of what I would do if I was handed complete control of MCU Spider-Man with the caveat that I had to go forward using the two previous films as my background just because I dislike so many of the choices they made so much. On the other hand, I do like money and inflicting my own opinions on a captive audience, so. I think I would want to scale back the stakes a lot – keep Peter in New York for the entirety of the movie’s plot and film mostly there if at all possible. I would want to cute the ties to all Iron Man cast members so sorry, Jon Favreau, but you’re out, while at the same time redirecting the film’s focus into something more oriented in Peter’s civilian community. Bringing in a character like Leo Zelinsky, a Holocaust survivor who works as a tailor specializing in super-clients, would be a really good way to give Peter and the audience a personal connection to Peter’s Queens community while also tying this Peter back to the Jewish subtext of Spider-Man, and it could work in a plot where cut the Iron Man cast – this Peter isn’t an experienced craftsman when it comes to creating his own costume, so bringing in Leo Zelinsky would make sense, and a costume created by the both of them could be quite meaningful if it was played out well.
I would definitely want to give May Parker much more screentime and rework her relationship from the “big sister” role (the writers’ words, not mine) to that of Peter’s mother, someone who realistically worries about the dangers of Spider-Man but also provides a strong moral backbone for him. I’d want to establish the exact circumstances of Ben’s death – I don’t know exactly what I’d do, but given this Peter’s development has failed to track with most other Peters I would definitely want to switch Ben’s death up somehow to kind of shed some light on that. Peter and May would have to talk about him. I would definitely want to bring Peter’s classic college friends group closer together, starting with Peter and Flash since I really like Tony Revolori as an actor. I find this MJ to be an incredibly inscrutable character, and not in a good way, so I’d want to shed some better light on her, her family circumstances, and what makes her tick. I’d bring Liz back and give her some of her comic counterpart’s fire (perhaps literally, given Ultimate Liz’s Firestar status) and also I’d get Betty’s actress a brunette bob stat. There would definitely be a bigger focus on women and on Peter navigating complicated friendships with women, not just letting him have a romantic interest and that’s the end of that. I’m very conflicted on what to do with Ned Leeds because I think Jacob Batalon has some of the best screen presence of that cast, but I find it hard to get past the “Ganke Lee with a minor Peter antagonist’s name pasted on him” aspect of the character. Honestly? I might rework Ned’s role to go full villain, skipping directly to the Hobgoblin with the shadow of the Green Goblin and the Kingpin behind him. That would solve my problem of wanting to give Batalon massive amounts of screen time and a big role but absolutely detesting the reworking of Ned Leed’s into the best friend sidekick position. I would say I’d want Ned to then have a romantic subplot with a young Richard Fisk, who would be here for some reason (it’s not like it’s the worst continuity crime the MCU would have ever committed) but I don’t want yet another Disney’s first ever gay character spotlight moment to be given to the villains, so. It would take some finangling. Maybe I would reinvent Aunt May’s one time fiance Nathan Lubensky as a woman so we’d have some nice balance.
And we defend not one single bank within the movie.
Alternatively, I go mad with the power and reveal that this entire cast is made up of clones created by the Jackal, thus explaining all the Ben Reilly-inspired costumes, and subject everyone to my five movie Clone Saga adaptation dreams.
What I would really want to do given full creative control and being told I could wipe the slate clean and restart Spider-Man within the MCU, no questions asked, would be to have Peter as a retired superhero who was active underground years and years before Iron Man or the Avengers were ever on the scene, and have his daughter Mayday be the young teenage Spider-Man of the MCU, someone fresh and new who carries her father’s legacy while living in a world saturated by the Avengers legacy.
Or I’d just kill Peter and bring in a great team to do a Miles movie. I maybe think about this theoretical where I can get my claws into things a lot.
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Playing the Vocals (series)
Chapter 8: No One Else
Pairing: Josh x fem!Reader
Word Count: 4.9k
Warnings: Language, smut (18+ ONLY), lil bit of angst
A/N: I know this took forever. My bad. But I hope you guys like it!! Please tell me what you think <3 Thanks to @sparrowof-thedawn for being a fantastic beta!
Summary: Josh and Reader are competing vocalists at a music college. They are each trying to win a competition as soloists, but their advisor tells them they can only win as a duo. They begrudgingly become partners, but find that they may have bitten off more than they can chew.
It was warm when you woke up. The soft sunlight filtering through the windows had slowly raised the temperature of your room. When your eyes fluttered open, both you and Josh had kicked the covers to the floor. You were draped across him, one hand on his chest, and a leg thrown over his thighs. Your forehead was pressed to his cheek, and you could feel his heart beating, steady and soft under your hand. His skin was warm, too, and added to the comfortable heat of the room.
You laid there for a bit, running your fingers over his bare chest in slow figure-eights. Eventually this stirred Josh, who mumbled under his breath and yawned. You lifted your head to smile at him, fingers tracing over his ribs as he blinked away the sleep.
When he finally came to and focused his gaze on you, Josh smiled sweetly. You felt his hand, which had been resting on your back, move up to brush hair out of your face.
“Morning, glory,” he crooned, settling his thumb on your cheek. You breathed in the smell of him; everything about it was comforting.
“Good morning.” Your voice was soft, still husky with sleepiness. You weren’t sure if you should get up yet, or try to make conversation. After all, the events of last night were still sinking in. You had called Josh crying because of a wet dream. He had responded by coming over and indulging you in your neediness. He had taken care of you. He had made love to you.
It was the first time you had actually spent the night together. It was the first time you’d gotten to wake up in his arms. And it was perfect.
So you elected not to talk. You shifted your weight and cozied up to Josh’s side, closing your eyes again. He lifted his other hand to hold yours, clasped together against his chest. You spent half an hour this way, wrapped up together under a single sheet.
The only thing that made you lift your head again was Josh reaching over to look at his phone. It was abandoned on your nightstand when Josh decided to stay with you.
“What time is it?” you asked, remembering that you had promised to meet Emily later that morning.
“Almost ten-thirty,” he answered, setting his phone down and rubbing his eyes. You sighed and pushed against the mattress to sit up.
“Shit. I told Emily I’d grab coffee with her at eleven.”
Josh sat up next to you, taking your hand in his again. He didn’t look thrilled about your obligation, but he kissed your hand and smiled anyway.
“Okay. I’ll get dressed and be out of your way.”
He moved to get up, but you tugged on his arm.
“Hey,” you said, and pulled him back to you for a kiss. It was soft, but so sweet. Like your entire body sighing. It was how you wanted to start every morning from then on.
“See you at the dining hall? So we can walk to practice?” You asked, when Josh pulled back from you, biting his lip.
“Absolutely,” was his immediate response, paired with a dazzling grin.
….
You met Emily at your go-to coffee shop, as was planned. What you did not expect to do, however, was confess to her all of the ins and outs of your feelings for Josh. You told Emily the entirety of what happened last night, especially Josh’s confession about laughing during practice. You spilled your guts on everything you’d been holding back, as Emily sat in front of you, calm and unblinking.
“...and I know you don’t really need to know all of this, but the point was… Emily, I think I’m in love with him,” you finished, sighing.
Emily sat across from you, sipping her coffee while holding eye contact. You waited, confused, as she took her time in coming up with a response. When she did, it was brief.
“Well, yeah, no shit.”
“Ye--what?”
Emily just shook her head, giving you a look similar to one Miss Michaels had given you and Josh the day she proposed a duet.
“No shit,” she repeated, setting her coffee down. “Everyone knows already.”
“Wh- who’s everyone?!” You spluttered, taken aback. Emily shrugged.
“Oh, you know. Me, Rhiannon, everyone that’s ever met you, probably all of his friends, too. Definitely his brother. Just... We all been knew, bud.”
You squinted at her, and took a long pull of tea. Had it really been so obvious from the get-go?
Miles away, your partner was just as perplexed.
“You mean to tell me,” Josh began, frowning, “that you knew this whole time?”
“Well, yeah,” Jake replied, not even looking at his twin. He was focused instead on rifling through the pantry looking for something to eat. Josh stood by the counter, arms folded.
“Jesus Christ. Well, when were you gonna say something?”
“I did, dumbass,” Jake pointed out, pulling a box of Pop-Tarts from the top shelf. “You just didn’t listen to me.”
He plucked a package out of the box, and began tearing into it. Josh could only open and close his mouth, like a fish out of water. He was at a loss for words.
Jake looked pleased with himself as he took a big bite out of the pastry. Josh watched him, still frowning in confusion, as he leaned against the counter, munching away happily.
“Good God,” he muttered finally. Jake raised an eyebrow.
“I am an absolute idiot.”
Jake nodded in agreement.
“Yeah,” he said through a mouth full of blueberry Pop-Tart. “You really are.”
Josh squinted at the ceiling, falling into thought. Had you come to the same conclusion as he? Were your feelings the same? Last night was a lot to process.
“That’s okay, though,” Jake continued, taking another bite. “You came to it in your own time.”
“Yeah,” Josh replied weakly. He felt so stupid. But also a little relieved.
“So now all you have to do is tell her,” Jake concluded. And he exited the kitchen, but not before placing the unwanted rest of his Pop-Tart into Josh’s mouth.
Josh chewed on the pastry, frowning still. Jake was right. He had some confessing to do.
And so did you.
….
You marched up to the dining hall, determined to finally lay it all on the line. It was high time you told Josh everything, and you were gearing up for the mother of all confessions.
Unbeknownst to you, Josh was doing the exact same thing. He gritted his teeth and furrowed his brows as he walked across campus.
When the two of you came face to face on the steps of the dining hall, the tension in the air was palpable. Josh gripped the strap of his book bag with both hands, eyes ablaze with the intention of all the words piled up in his head. You returned his stare with equal intensity, adrenaline rushing through the blood in your ears.
But neither of you said what you had planned.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
For two people who loved the spotlight, both you and Josh appeared to be suffering from crippling cases of performance anxiety.
You walked to practice shoulder to shoulder, exchanging pleasantries and small smiles. But neither of you gave up the ghost. Neither of you managed to summon the courage to bring up the topic on your minds.
It was a fairly routine practice, with Miss Michaels only present to offer pointers here and there. For the most part, you and Josh had the song down to a T, and merely needed to rehearse it. The only thing left to do was to win the competition.
Which all three of you were confident could happen. Miss Michaels had taken a chance on you and Josh. And although she had started bringing a flask to rehearsals, you could see that she was pleased with the progress you were making. And it begged the question:
If Miss Michaels could take a chance on the two of you, why couldn’t you?
...
You and Josh busied yourselves that night, away from each other for once. You parted ways after practice, and it was a weirdly quiet night. Sure, you were frustrated at not having been able to tell him how you felt, but it was nothing that a movie marathon with the girls couldn’t fix.
Still, as Legally Blonde played on the tiny TV in Emily’s dorm room, you found your mind wandering. Josh liked to watch old films. What would it be like to have a night in with him, watching a black-and-white classic on the couch?
You shook yourself from those thoughts when Rhiannon passed you a bowl of popcorn. Emily laughed next to you, and you were pulled firmly back into reality. You would tell Josh tomorrow, and for the time being, it would just have to wait.
….
In retrospect, you probably should waited for Josh to text you back before going over. It was 9 o’clock on a Saturday night and there was a very good chance he wasn’t even home. But still, you were eager--impatient even.
The words you had been rehearsing in your head for two days had begun to eat away at you from the inside out. And it was high time to just spill them.
You sent Josh a “hey are you free?” text and waited ten minutes before realizing you couldn’t stand just sitting there.
So you drove to his apartment, quickly fixing your hair in the rearview mirror as you put the car in park. It occurred to you how much you were imposing, but you didn’t care. You just needed to tell him.
Your heart was pounding inside your chest by the time you reached Josh’s door. You took a shaky breath, and knocked three times.
Your worst fear for the night had been telling Josh your feelings, and him responding that you had completely misinterpreted the situation. But nothing could have prepared you for the moment that Josh answered the door, revealing to you the living room inside.
There was a girl sitting on the couch. She was pretty and well-dressed, with impeccable hair and makeup. She looked ready for a date.
Your eyes widened as you took in the scene behind your partner. You ignored Josh’s surprised “hey” and focused instead on the lit candles around the room. The small vase on the coffee table containing three white roses. The dim lighting.
Oh my God, I fucked up.
Josh saw the look on your face and realized too late what you had seen.
“I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Wait, YN--”
But you had turned on your heels and left. You heard Josh’s footsteps behind you, but tried your best to ignore them. You were lost for words. Your heart, which had been pounding with excitement, felt like it might stop altogether.
There was a girl in Josh’s apartment. He had lit candles for her. He had gotten her flowers. What made her so special, and you so expendable? Had you really misunderstood Josh’s feelings so completely?
The air was cold, and chilled the tears falling down your cheeks. You bit your lip, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, but it went nowhere. Behind you, Josh desperately called your name. You were halfway down the stairs by the time Josh’s voice broke behind you.
“YN, please.”
His voice was cracking. There was an urgency, a desperation, you’d not heard from him before. It was enough to make you stop in your tracks, in the middle of the stairs. Your hand gripped the railing, knuckles turning white. Josh kept going, getting to the step below you and turning to look up at you.
“I know what that looked like,” he started. You shook your head.
“It’s fine, Josh, I shouldn’t have come over--”
“No, it’s not like that,” he interjected. Clearly trying to cushion your feelings. You interrupted him in return.
“I misunderstood what this is, is all.”
“No.” Josh’s voice was hard, forceful. But when you finally brought your gaze up to meet his, his expression was soft. He looked almost as upset as you were, and there was an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.
You didn’t realize it at the time, but it was love.
Love and determination. Josh placed his hand over yours on the railing, and took a deep breath. He had upset you once with a misunderstanding. And he wasn’t going to let it happen again.
“That’s Callie. She’s Jake’s new girlfriend.”
You just stared at him. Josh gave your hand a light squeeze and continued.
“She’s here because they’re about to leave for a date.”
It seemed to make sense. But you were still uncertain. It was easier to believe that he simply didn’t want you.
“But… the candles and flowers?”
“When you texted me, I thought it’d be nice to have you over. So I lit the candles.”
You released the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. And then you just felt stupid. Stupid, and so, so relieved.
“The, uh, the flowers--I got them yesterday after practice. They’re for you,” Josh admitted. In the fluorescent light in the stairwell, you could see a tinge of pink creeping into his cheeks.
A nervous laugh broke from your lips.
“Wow,” you muttered. “I’m an idiot.”
Josh laughed, looking equally relieved. You released your grip on the railing, and turned your palm upward into his hand. It was warm and smooth, and disproportionately comforting to you.
“No, I’m glad you’re here. There’s something I want you to know,” Josh told you, swallowing hard. Your features softened, but your heartbeat picked up again. If Josh didn’t say what you thought he was about to say, you might drop dead of cardiac arrest.
“The thing is,” he began. “Ever since you’ve been around… I don’t see anyone else.”
Heat rose to your cheeks as Josh’s words sank in. But you needed just a little more.
Josh sensed this, and smiled again, taking both of your hands in his.
“I don’t notice anyone else. You’re the one I want. The only one,” he finished, his smile disappearing to be replaced by a solemn look. He squeezed your hands just a little as he said it for emphasis.
You tried to be nonchalant. But relief flooded your body briefly, only to be replaced by joy. You let out another laugh, this one more genuine. You beamed at him, feeling a surge of love. It was long overdue.
You were prepared to launch yourself in Josh’s arms, but your impulse was interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind you. Seconds later, Jake and Callie were slipping past you in the narrow stairwell.
Josh exchanged a brief smile with his brother, who patted him on the shoulder as he passed. When the clack of Callie’s heels on the concrete had faded into a distant tapping, Josh looked at you again.
“Let’s go back inside,” he suggested. “It’s chilly out here.”
You smiled and nodded, turning to head back up the stairs. You didn’t let go of Josh’s hand, keeping it clasped firmly within your own. And Josh was more than happy to follow you, relishing the feeling of togetherness. Now that you had both finally allowed yourselves to feel it.
Upon stepping into the apartment, you looked around at the candles and flowers. Smiling sheepishly, you turned to Josh, who had been watching you and smiling to himself.
“This is nice,” you said softly, moving close to him. Josh opened his arms to you as you leaned up to him for a kiss.
It wasn’t an intense kiss. For once, you felt no rush, no urgency, no great need. You could just take your time, curling your fingers loosely into Josh’s collar as he kissed you back. He placed one hand on the small of your back, letting his other hand tangle into your hair, fingers brushing the back of your neck.
You kissed each other like that for a few moments, soft breaths mixing as your lips worked together. But Josh pulled back, waiting for you to open your eyes before speaking.
“I wanna play you something,” he told you. You smiled and put your arms around his neck, leaning in for one more quick peck before letting him go.
Josh led you to the small piano that he and Jake had opted to buy instead of a dining table. He patted the bench next to him, and you sat down.
Josh took a slow breath and postured his hands over the keys. When he started playing, it was a melody strangely familiar to you. It took you a moment to recognize the song, but you smiled in realization just before Josh opened his mouth to sing the first lines.
Caught out running, with just a little too much to hide
Maybe baby, everything is gonna turn out fine
The chords were simple but beautiful; haunting, almost. Josh did well, keeping perfect time and never hitting an off note. You could tell he’d practiced.
But there was one thing missing. Please Read the Letter was a duet. And Josh needed a harmony.
You joined in at the top of the first refrain, keeping your voice low to complement his.
Please read the letter, I nailed it to your door
It’s crazy how it all turned out, we needed so much more
You sang together through the first chorus, then the second verse, and so on. Before you knew it, the two of you were jamming out. Improvising fioritures and adding harmonies to parts where there previously had been none.
When Josh’s fingers found the final chords, you couldn’t help but grin. You really did sound amazing together.
Miss Michaels would be so proud.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard your lower register,” you noted, briefly leaning into Josh’s shoulder. He smiled and looked at his feet, then back up to you for an opinion.
“It’s really lovely, Josh. You’re talented.”
Josh laughed, almost a giggle, and tilted his head in agreement.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get into my pants,” he joked, making you laugh as well. But you remembered suddenly that there was still something you had to say to him.
“Josh, I need to tell you…”
Josh looked at you, eyes soft and full of wonder. You inhaled slowly.
“What you said earlier, about not seeing anyone else… I want you to know, it’s the same for me. There’s no one else,” you admitted. The corners of Josh’s mouth turned up, but nervousness still churned in your stomach.
“But it’s more than that, Josh. I fell--really hard. I’ve been in love with you for weeks,” you blurted, in disbelief at yourself for holding in these feelings for so long. Josh chuckled, though, and you feel like throwing yourself out the window.
Thankfully, it was a chuckle of relief. Not that you realized that yet.
“And I never asked what you wanted from all this, from me,” you continued, babbling. “So I guess I’m just hoping you feel the same. Because I’m bad at these things, and I couldn’t tell. Before tonight, anyway,” you trailed off, realizing you’d said too many words.
Josh just grinned at you, his eyes sparkling with a joy he couldn’t contain. It was the kind of smile that made you smile, too.
“YN, I’ve been in love with you since you handed my ass to me at the solo awards last year.”
You could have sung every line of Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. But Josh’s face fell, and he fidgeted with a string on the leg of your jeans.
“But after that day in practice, and how I acted when we first became partners, I thought you would hate me forever.”
You winced to remember the misunderstanding that had caused your rivalry in the first place. But it was in the past. Josh sitting next to you, telling you he loved you--that was the present. And you were done missing opportunities with him.
“I don’t hate you, Josh. Not even close.”
Josh’s lips were parted when your mouth reached them.
You turned your body to press against his, eliminating any space between the two of you. Josh was ready, of course, and his arms closed around you as you kissed him, hard.
It was liberating, getting to kiss him without a question of your feelings. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty. No reason to doubt. He was yours.
You took your time once you got to him. The kiss was passionate, burning, but not rushed. You worked your mouth over Josh’s slowly and deeply, each movement deliberate. Both of you were breathless, hands tangled in hair, legs twisting together under the piano bench.
The wind being knocked from your lungs wouldn’t stop either of you, though. It was just like that night in your room when Josh had come over. The entire world could have collapsed around you, but it wouldn’t have mattered.
The only thing that interrupted your kiss was the feeling of Josh squeezing softly at your hip. You couldn’t tell if it had been five minutes or twenty when one of his hands left your hair. But his fingers found their way to your hip and flexed, pulling a delicate moan from you.
You reached out blindly and shoved at the piano, pushing Josh and the bench away from it. The wheels under the legs of the bench squeaked as it rolled, but you paid no mind. Throwing a leg over Josh’s thighs, you settled into his lap to get your hips as close as possible.
Josh responded by holding you even tighter to himself, to create friction between your bodies as you rocked against him. You didn’t have much leverage on the narrow bench, but you made it work all the same. You tangled a hand in his hair, and gripped his shoulder to hold yourself steady.
You took every noise Josh made, all of his little moans and his drawn-out groan when you reached down to palm him through his pants. He was hard and ready for you, just like you knew he’d be. And as much as you wanted to take him right then, you wanted something more from him. And Josh knew that.
His arms went around your waist as he stood up, letting you wrap your legs around him. You were still kissing him silly, but Josh managed to move around the piano anyway. A moment later, he deposited you on the edge of it. You broke the kiss to lean back as Josh kissed a searing trail of kisses and bites down your neck. He didn’t seem particularly intent on leaving marks. He focused instead on doing whatever would make you cry out the most.
When he reached the collar of your blouse, Josh pulled away from you with a soft pop. He turned his attention to ridding you of your clothes as quickly as possible. The moment he had your shirt off, you returned the favor by tugging at his until he lifted his arms and allowed you to pull it off.
Once your chests were bare to each other, Josh restarted his path of kissing and biting down your neck. This time, unencumbered by clothing, he continued the trail down your chest as his hands massaged your breasts. Your head fell back and you could only run your fingers through his hair in response. The little whimpers and moans falling from your lips were all the encouragement Josh needed to keep going.
When he stopped at the hem of your jeans, you had to lift yourself a bit to help him pull them off you. But Josh made quick work of it, and worked his way back up your legs by pressing kisses to the insides of them. He did pause to suck at the soft skin on the inside of your knee, holding your gaze as his mouth painted a perfect mark there.
You whined as Josh brought his mouth further and further towards the apex of your thighs. He took his time, slowly but surely making his way to you. His hands came up to hold the backs of your legs, keeping you in place when he finally pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your center.
You sighed as Josh gave several kitten licks to your clit before pressing his mouth against it in earnest. By that point, he knew what you liked, and he knew just how to flick his tongue the right way while he sucked. You were squirming under him in no time.
You barely needed the foreplay in the first place, but you let Josh eat you out for a few minutes because fuck, he was good at it. And from the way he grabbed at you and groaned into you, he seemed to enjoy it almost as much as you did. Almost.
You were already getting close, so you tugged on Josh’s hair to get him to come back up to you. He grinned as he did so, his mouth shining wet in the candlelight. You pulled him flush against your front, feeling his hardness between your legs through a layer of denim.
You took Josh in another fierce kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue as you fumbled together to get the fly of his jeans undone. It was no match for the both of you, and Josh’s pants fell to the floor seconds later. You hiked your legs over his hips again, bending your knees to pull his hips to yours. There, the head of his member rubbed against your clit, driving you crazy as the kiss continued.
You reached down to take his length in your hand, wrapping your fingers around him and giving a few light pumps. Josh groaned when you lined him up with yourself, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as you rubbed his cock over your clit. But he lifted his head and held your gaze as he slipped inside you.
Your breaths were heavy and irregular as Josh slowly pushed into you, making you feel every inch of him. You dropped one hand to his ribs while the other went back to his shoulder. You clung to him tightly as Josh bottomed out and then set up a relentless pace.
The look on his face was indescribable. You kissed that face everywhere you could reach as Josh fucked you there on the piano. You didn’t talk--you didn’t need to anymore.
You lost yourselves in each other, in the ecstasy of finally admitting everything. You reveled in the feeling of being together, in every sense of the word. It was everything you had wanted for so long. It was perfect. And it felt really fucking good.
Josh picked up the pace when he noticed your moans growing in pitch. His hands were splayed across your shoulder blades, holding you impossibly close. And he kissed you like he meant it, pressing his mouth against yours one last time before moving to your neck.
You slipped a hand between your bodies and began to rub yourself in tight circles. The spring coiled inside you felt like it might break, and soon enough you were rutting your hips to meet Josh’s. It wasn’t sensory overload--it was the perfect amount of everything good. The smell of Josh, the taste of his mouth, the slick of his sweat mixing with yours as skin smacked into skin.
Josh bit down on your shoulder at the exact moment you increased the pressure on your clit, and the coil inside you snapped. You came with a sharp cry, legs shaking, as every muscle in your body tensed and every nerve ending was set alight.
The orgasm moved through you in waves, and the pulsing between your legs was enough to send Josh over the edge a moment later. His hips stuttered a final few times, and his fingers dug into your skin as he released.
You held each other for a while, until the piano got uncomfortable to sit on. Josh lifted his head from your shoulder to look into your eyes. You gave him a tired smile and kissed him when he pressed his lips to yours one last time.
After you got yourselves cleaned up, Josh gave you one of his shirts to sleep in. He didn’t invite you to stay the night out loud. And you didn’t ask. It was just a foregone conclusion that you would stay.
So you did, curled into Josh’s side for the rest of the night. You dozed off right before he did, after kissing him some more. Just because you could.
Josh murmured a soft “I love you” into your hair and held you close to himself. You returned the sentiment and rested your head on his chest. Sleep overtook you moments later.
….
It was just after nine in the morning when Jake got home. He dropped his keys on the counter and shrugged off his coat, shuffling to his room. As he passed Josh’s room, Jake noticed that it was open. Inside, he could see you and Josh snuggled up together, sleeping peacefully.
Jake smiled to himself and shook his head.
Finally.
-------------------------------------------
Next time: the competition, Miss Michaels finds her first gray hair, and a shit load of fluff.
Taglist: @kissthesun-fightthefire, @lover--leaver, @myownparadise96, @satans-helper, @songbirdkisses, @bluewillowmom, @sparrowof-thedawn, @sweetkiszkadreams, @mountainofthesunn, @chestinfect-me, @ohsososophisticatedd
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regnant (of snakes and cherry blossoms - sasusaku)
regnant (adjective) – reigning; exercising authority
[“Then, now, and always. This tie between them is til death.” Sakura. Forward-looking. The things lost and regained. An underdog’s ascension.]
—
They call themselves Akatsuki.
The volume is turned all the way down; she stares at the laptop glaring orange in her dark study room.
Dawn—of a new era, they claim, and they’ve brought along the fire and destruction of rebirth.
The news shows a burning sky and black, coiling smoke; a proud historical landmark, an entire section of the great city reduced to snapped rebars and broken rubbles.
It might have been the work of many, but watching the fire all she can see is him.
Her dear older cousin.
She drops her head into her hands, and imagines her shoulder blades creak and crumble from the powerlessness settling over them.
The fire glows brightly even through her closed eyelids. For a moment it feels as though she’s there, burning and wasting away.
But the reality is that she isn’t. She’s here, safe and sound, and separated from the blood and carnage by the thin film of the screen.
And about a thousand miles of flight from Konoha.
She thinks about her cousin, looking upon the mass as if they’re puppets and the razor-thin strings are wound around his fingers.
She thinks about her father, a near-stranger for all intent and purpose, trying to hold it all together in the Hokage Tower, while the rest of the council commence the customary finger-pointing.
She thinks about the millions of people (her people, she dares think) caught suddenly, fearfully at the forefront of a war they never knew was brewing in the background.
Her heart goes out to them all.
Father said once, she was too good. Cared too much, too soft to ever do anything, and perhaps he was right.
Perhaps, though, he was wrong (like he is on so many other things) because she knows she can be heartless too.
His blood through and through, she too knows how to completely ignore the cries and screams she’s sure are echoing out of earshot, every second of every day of her sheltered little life.
And then there’s this other part of her; this embittered, anarchistic part that’s just waiting for it all to burn down to the ground.
It apparently soon will.
A not altogether unexpected end.
Konoha is corrupted. For all the beautiful people who fill its streets, all the courageous individuals who have led it, loved it and sacrificed for it, the truth remains that it is corrupted to the very core, rotting from the grounds up.
A sigh escapes her lips. She shuts the laptop and hugs her fluffy nightgown tighter around herself. The darkness that falls over her vision chills her to the bones.
“What now, Director?”
Her eyes flicker up to the pair of dark eyes outlined by blue morning light. Sasuke stands there on the other side of her desk, blends so well into the black with his uniform suit and tie, she’s forgotten he’s there.
And yet for the longest time, his was a constant presence by her side.
She’s missed that. Missed him. But there are things you can no longer say at twenty like you did when you were eight and still thought the whole world would be your oyster.
She lowers her gaze away, trying not to linger on his prosthetic left arm as she does so.
He’s always read her too well, and she doesn’t want him to right now. For good measure, she spins around in her chair to face the window. Three-inch thick, floor-to-ceiling slabs of glass reveal to her the quiet calm below, the tranquil Kiri docks doused in silvery mist.
“This is my post, Sasuke.” Kun, she desperately wants to add, but doesn’t.
Her post. Her insulated bubble. Her cage.
The silence is tangible enough to choke on, and stretches on for long enough, it sparks a small hope he would let this go.
“Of course.” His tone is light and unassuming when he speaks, but she flinches from it anyway. “And what will be mine?”
She bites her lip harder and refuses to say another word. It’s not her call to make. She’s done; it’s back to her duty now, and phenomenal specimen that he is, he’s not part of her research.
She’s only made her move again this one time because she’s been sure no harm would come to her or her little bubble. Or, more importantly, to him (her Sasuke-kun).
But it wasn’t enough, was it? Sasori still won.
No risk no gain, her cousin has taught her that himself.
But the last time she’s dared to risk, she’s lost Sasuke his arm, and her him.
“Director.”
She squeezes closed her eyes. And remembers begging her father to spare him. Remembers swearing to high heavens she’d behave from then on.
She also remembers the tall back of Sasori, only fifteen and in the ardent glow of daybreak, hair and eyes fiery, so brilliantly red. Red, like the rebellion he now spearheads.
“Sakura.”
She snaps to her feet and rounds on him in a second. He doesn’t even blink.
He’s crossing the line. She wants to shout. He’s crossing the line to be digging up a different tie between them and he better bury it right back and bury it deep.
He only holds her glare in that non-challenging way she knows is only a ruse, the deceptively submissive front he’s mastered to an art, to survive in a society that believes his blood the greatest evil ever birthed by the planet.
But he and she don’t argue. Not after everything that has happened. Certainly not before everything that hasn’t.
Funny, though, how frequent their not-arguments are, considering how infrequently they get to meet these days.
His eyes are blood red now, the evidence of his mad legacy spinning lazily. How rare for him to be so transparent about his displeasure, but she supposes it’s not something he needs to hide. Not before her.
He has never hidden from her, she remembers, and it placates her. Knocks the air out of her lungs at the same time, too, because she realizes she’s forgotten that before she remembers.
And she remembers Sasuke.
A younger and much less angry Sasuke (but quite angry still), choosing her, the pale, towheaded child over the flaming beacon that was Sasori.
Sasori, who’s making differences, even if they are of the questionable sorts. Sasori, whose grand vision and greatness she could never match up to.
Where has that left them? Her in indefinite banishment, and Sasuke on a tighter leash than any other Root member.
And yet, here he is.
Her chest constricts.
Here he is, and he’s risking everything, his life, his dream to restore his clan—all for what?
Her gaze drops to his arm. In a moment of wayward thinking, she imagines wrapping her hand around that metal wrist.
She imagines that’s when he’ll flinch. He’ll flinch but he won’t pull away, and she’ll squeeze him reassuringly, even though he can’t feel it, and rest her head against his chest where he can.
He’ll smell like iron and gunpowder and death, which he’s secretly self-conscious of, but which she won’t mind. Never.
(Because to her he will always, always be life and black pine and blooming jasmine, and that vibrant flower garden back in the Konoha mansion; and carefree laughs under afternoon suns, and small hands holding onto even smaller hands, and a silly pinky promise-)
She’ll just listen closely, carefully to his strong, steady heartbeats and attempt to match hers up to them. Just in fragile hope that she could be as steadfast as well.
But she doesn’t do any of those. That’s not how it works anymore.
She’s Director Haruno, and he’s Sasuke of the Roots.
She lifts her gaze to his again.
In those lazily spinning eyes are willingness, and a bright anger he doesn’t direct at her (never does). And also, certainty. Such confidence he holds. For her, for them, for this partnership. After everything that had gone wrong and can still go wrong.
She can’t even begin to imagine what he’s gone through these past three years. How many scars are hidden under that immaculately pressed suit of his. How many more there are on his heart, made deliberately hard as steel.
Three long years have not broken him, and they shouldn’t have broken her either.
It’s about time she risks again, too.
Strange. The old wives’ tales insist those lazily spinning eyes could make people lose their minds, yet every time she looks into them, she always comes to her senses instead.
He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.
She reminds herself of this fact, after spending so long pretending the opposite.
“What will we be doing?” he asks.
Run away, she wants to say. Sakura would in a heartbeat, but she’s Director Haruno right now. And he’s Sasuke of the Roots.
They’d be fine on the run. So, so fine; but no one else would be.
Konoha. The entirety of Fire Country. Milions and milions of people.
Because her father is quickly losing support, and if not her then ruthless Sasori. Or someone worse. Hopefully someone better—but until that is confirmed, she needs to play her part in this war.
She sucks in a breath, smells the iron and gunpowder deep in her lungs (all pine and jasmine), and squares her shoulders.
“We stop him.”
He’s alive. He’s alive.
Sasuke’s alive, and she’s sending him out to tangle with death again.
But he smiles, with the tiniest curve of his lips, an approving sort of smile.
Then all is wiped clean, his eyes fading back to a subdued shade of black. He clasps his arms behind him and stands at attention.
“Your order, Director.”
Her next step is crystal clear. In the deep recesses of her mind, in between researching volatile compounds and tasteless, odorless poisons, she’s continued to keep track of the important players, continued to amateurishly scheme.
Senju. Hyuuga. Uzumaki.
“Get me in touch with Orochimaru.”
There’s a culled silence, a stillness Root members have instead of, say, a gasp of surprise. He’s contemplative before dipping his head in acknowledgement.
“Very well.” And he heads for the door.
“Sasuke.” Kun, she still has to keep herself from saying. Be safe, she wants to tell him.
But she’s not allowed to do any of that. Can’t be soft, and most of all cannot care too much. Not if she wants this to go anywhere.
She thinks about Sasori who’s stopped in the middle of polishing his puppets collection to pat her on the head, smiling kindly.
She thinks about her father coldly telling her to pack for Kiri when he could have left her and Sasuke to the council’s not-mercy.
She thinks about Sasuke and endless blue skies, and the promise two children made about changing the world, never realizing it was so much bigger than the mansion grounds they called home.
She thinks about them all before banishing them; waves them away like hazy plumes of smoke.
This war is complicated enough without the added chains and tethers of personal feelings.
Sasuke waits for her to speak and does not rushes. Because that’s how he is, and that’s how they are.
They’re co-conspirators, partners-in-crime in this bloody power struggle, and loyalty is about a good enough label for this tie between him and her.
(And just maybe, if they make it to the other side of it all-)
“Don’t fail me,” she says with her arms crossed and her back straight, and he holds her gaze over his shoulder for a length.
The sunrise glows brighter by the seconds behind her, and it casts this warm glow on his profile that mellow out the sharper edges in his features; soften his eyes.
“Aa.”
That single syllable, sounded in the deep timber of his voice is so cripplingly nostalgic. The door clicks shut; he’s gone and it takes her everything not to collapse against her desk.
It takes her everything, but she stands tall and proud as she turns around and basks in the light of a new day.
And, she supposes, that’s about good enough for now.
A/N: Yeah, I’m not smart enough for politcal AUs but the word prompt forced my hand.
#sasusaku#haruno sakura#uchiha sasuke#political fantasy AU#family feud#plotty#gen-ish#naruto#snakes & cherry blossoms#fanfic#ficlet#feelings denial/repression#love vs duty
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Red or Green? The literary and folk themes of Oroborous
Red or green is the official state question of New Mexico as ratified by the legislature in 1996. Order anything at any restaurant, even a burger in some places, and you’ll likely be asked “Red or green?” Do you want red chile sauce on your entree, or do you prefer green chile? The “state question” can sometimes reveal geographical origins-- red sauce is supposedly favored in the northern half of the state, while green is more popular in the south (I lived in the south, and you could easily get either one anywhere so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .) The best green chiles are grown in the south, so maybe that has something to do with it-- like wine grapes, chiles from different parts of the state have different flavor profiles. Green chiles from the Hatch area are world famous.
But it’s important to remember that the sauces are made from the exact same fruit. The difference is all in the timing. Green chiles are harvested early, unripe, then roasted and chopped up and canned or put in the freezer, whereas red sauce is made from chiles that have been allowed to ripen fully and are then (typically) dried.
It’s all about timing. Let your chiles stay on the plant too long, and you miss your chance at the magical elixir that is green chile sauce.
Timing.
The sister stories of Snow White and Sleeping Beauty are, to a great extent, about timing. They are about waiting, about vigils, and about being at the right place at the right time-- or the exact wrong time.
(If you have not already read this rundown of Snow White in season 14, I suggest at least reading a few of the translations of the original folktales here or here. And cw the Sleeping Beauty story called Sun Moon and Talia is dark. I’ll be discussing the difference between the original material and the Disneyfied stories somewhat. Usual disclaimer that this is lit crit and not spec, why you ask, because I am a hundred years old is why.)
I want to say first that Steve Yockey in Ouroboros did a truly wonderful job allegorizing the story of Snow White, which has been teased for a while now. In the Grimms’ Snow White, as in other tales of that type, Snow White has been 1. run into the wilderness by her stepmother, B. taken in by a group of dwarfs, Three: then poisoned by that stepmother and fourthly laid to rest in a glass coffin. While the story has been poked at over the course of several episodes, Yockey sums it all up again in this one.
Dean-- along with the rest of TFW 2.0-- has been traipsing around New Mexico looking for a peculiar monster. Trope one. From the screen shot it looks like they’ve possibly been through Clovis, Roswell, Albuquerque, and finally made it up to Raton. As far as wildernesses and in-between places go, New Mexico is the most liminal state in the union-- many people in the country think it’s part of Mexico and if you think that’s a joke when I was a senior looking at colleges I had two well respected schools send me their foreign student applications. Roswell. AAAAaaaaahhhh Roswell. Roswell is the city that straddles reality and science fiction. They fry ice cream in New Mexico, they eat both ripe and unripe chiles there, and they have old mountain forests and arid white sand deserts within fifty miles of one another.
Another nod to the Snow White story is the Ma’lek Box that Dean mentions again-- B-- it can be seen as an allusion to Snow White’s glass coffin (in other versions, it is merely ornate or sometimes bedecked in rare gems but it is definitely something that she alone can not get out of… being dead and all...)
Finally, when the Gorgon knocks him out and Michael escapes, Sam tends Dean’s wounds while he is unconscious, which fulfills the traditional Snow White requirement for someone other than the king/prince to affect a physical change in the heroine’s state-- cutting off an enchanted dress or jostling the coffin so that the bite of poisoned apple can be coughed out-- in order to bring her back to life. Walt Disney and his studio added the “first love’s kiss” into the Snow White matrix in 1938, not even a century ago, but it quickly took over the narrative-- Disney also brings the story into a more accessible reality for modern viewers, he introduces the prince into the actual storyline earlier than in the folk tale, and then has him awaken her with The Kiss. Which do we, as an audience, prefer? The rabbit-hole of darker, more psychological Snow White tale types, or Disney’s recent and overwhelmingly iconic romantic reimagining?
Red or green?
Yockey gave us green, the version that has not ripened into what most people know as Snow White through the Disney cinematic behemoth.
The other duality in this episode is that we have Sleeping Beauty being referenced simultaneously with Snow White’s allegory.
Sleeping Beauty is Cas’ story and elements from that tale type can be seen in how the Gorgon stalks and overcomes his prey. The Gorgon uses sex to snare a human for consumption-- he says he’s an opportunist but that women have begun to be more cautious now that they are “waking up” from a long period of oppression. Sleeping Beauty’s deep sleep comes as the result of a symbolic sexual awakening-- in the more recent stories that awakening comes from the machinations of an enemy, so it is more a violation than a sudden innocent awareness. Where am I going with this? I don’t even know, this seems like it belongs in a different essay. What I’m trying to say is that the Gorgon uses sex to put people into a state of paralysis, and the evil fairy (known in the Disney movie as Maleficent) used a sexual metaphor to lure Briar Rose to her doom before she was ready for that kind of encounter. We are asked to contemplate the symbolic aspect of the Gorgon’s predation because he also uses a symbolic act-- eating eyeballs-- to see into the future and thus subvert the natural order of time.
In Sleeping Beauty, the evil crone/Maleficent also subverts the timeline by jumping place in line. She was not invited to the party in honor of the infant princess, but after nearly all of the other wise women have given Briar Rose their blessings, she breaks in to curse the baby. There is always one fairy left who, while not powerful enough to nullify the curse, can modify it to a deep sleep instead of death. In Ouroboros, TFW2 exploits the fact that Cas and Jack exist outside of the workings of Fate to defeat the Gorgon, but not without great cost.
Which brings us to The Wrong Kiss. I didn’t even want to meta the Sleeping Beauty stuff because of the kiss, seriously. So. What happens to Briar Rose is tragic, but in the three most famous versions of the story she comes out of her enchantment because a prince falls in love with her. Jack, here, as a result of Cas’ deal with the Empty, is no longer in the Sleeping Beauty story, he is not a Prince but a Giant-Killer once more, and the antidote he administers to counteract the Gorgon’s venom will not work. Once he activates his giant-killing powers, he can heal Castiel. (In the reciprocal, Cas is an agent of the SB story and the antidote works on the dude the Gorgon was about to eat because Cas administers it. It’s a very meta way of treating the folklore theme by both subverting it and keeping certain characters strictly within the parameters.)
Jack finally lives up to his name as a Giant-Killer when he takes out Michael. In Appalachian and English Jack Tales, Jack is always clever, sometimes to the point of unscrupulousness, but in the story Jack and the Beanstalk he is a naive picaro who betters his circumstances through reliance on his simple nature as much as his wits. Often “Jack” does not change as a result of his adventures, as most fairytale heroes do, but like many other mythological tricksters he operates outside the bounds of normal morality. Jack Kline has managed to hold onto his innocence despite initiation into the Winchester clan. Now that Jack has, presumably, burned off some large portion of his soul, it will be interesting to see how his picaresque nature might actually change. Because the story of Jack the Giant-Killer? Not the same story as Jack and the Beanstalk. The Giant-Killer is the story of a deadly clever young man who defeats several giants as well as Lucifer using mainly his wits and is afterward given a place on King Arthur’s Round Table. The story in its entirety borrows from Cornish, Welsh, and Briton mythology, echoing other simple folktales as well as hearkening to high heroes of the Mabinogi. Jack has become larger than life. (AN I started this before Peace of Mind, I’ll get to that one by the end of the season maybe :P )
In a less meta sense of course, this episode is one huge mythological allusion-- Cas refers to Dean’s imprisonment of Michael as a “herculean” feat, the MOTW is a Gorgon (and traditionally gorgons were a trio of cursed sisters in Greek legends,) and Dean enthusiastically references the 1981 Clash of the Titans film twice. In a /more/ meta vein, Andrew Dabb quotes the more recent Titans movie in a tweet on this ep’s airdate. I find that exciting because the story of Perseus in CotT features a descent into the underworld, and again while I flirt with speculation here I would REALLY like to see these nerds freaking raid the Empty.
As for Snow White and Sleeping Beauty now? Red or green?
It feels as though the Snow White story has possibly been tied up and tucked away now, solving the riddle of the “red or green” sister stories. Michael, Dean’s evil rival, is dead. Pretty sure. Whether his grace is contaminated and will have an adverse effect on Jack remains to be seen. See drsilverfish’s lovely analysis of the oroborous symbolism in the last two episodes for more discussion about what it means for Jack to have consumed Michael’s grace. But. Unless there is a Ghost of AU!Michael coming up, he’s gone.
We are left, however, with Cas’ deal with the Empty-- he gets to operate under normal parameters as long as he does not exceed the minimum threshold of happiness (and I want it to be an accidental or unexpected moment, unlike a lot of meta writers, but then that isn’t spec it’s just what I hope for.) And what does that mean for destiel subtext? I don’t know. Honestly, this is a little too intense for me, I am not “canon positive” or “endgame positive” and this episode freaked me out. Analytically, though, it places the subtext at a really interesting place. It means the princess who gets rescued from an enchanted doom is still on the loose, still avoiding Fate, and the prince is still out there having Adventures in the Woods. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
#the folklore of supernatural#snow white#sleeping beauty#sister stories#spn meta#the title of the next episode is killgingg me
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Jared Leto x Reader
Prompt: Can we get a reader x Jared where maybe Jared cheats on the reader on tour but then they fix it? I know it’s so mean but I’m weird 😬
{A/N} Happy Valentine’s Day puddin’s, I hope ya had a great day! This is a short little one shot for the cheating request to give ya something in place of Home squared while I work on it. I know it’s the day of love, but this story is a bit of a roller coaster ride emotionally, so please read at your own risk!
Warnings: Self doubt, adultery, slight violence (meaning a glass was thrown in the opposite direction of a person), depression. But also fluff at the end, somehow.
ALSO- Regardless of any previous rumors in real life, I do not see Jared as a cheater, this is purely fiction for the request I received! He’s a good guy. Right, Jared? Okay, cool, good.
There we were, “Jared Leto and {Y/F/N}.” We were in headlines for days about a “new blossoming romance.” We graced every front cover of every tabloid, every episode of TMZ and Dish Nation, Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood. We were Hollywood’s latest power couple, despite our best efforts to keep it a secret. Eventually, it got to the point where we just said “fuck it,” and did what we wanted. He loved me, and I loved him. What did it matter who knew?
But it wasn’t so easy to keep up with each other. It wasn’t easy at all. Scheduling conflicts between appearances, filming and recording kept us apart more than together, and after a few months or so, my cynical nature always had me second guessing his true feelings for me.
On occasion, we’d fight, and we’d fight ugly. I always thought we fought hard because we loved harder, but as fame and the media broke me down, and hit him with false accusations and reprimands for things from our age difference to calling us a publicity relationship, I began to lose myself and what I was fighting for. After long, theraputic chats, he always brought me back down to earth, reminded me of who I was and who we were. But our previous arguement had been over the phone, and neither of us seemed to have the level head to call the other back to apologize or talk things through.
And while this day was the day he finally returned home from months worth of tour, I couldn’t be excited; I couldn’t be happy. In fact, I couldn’t really feel anything at all other than heartache.
I sat on the couch, my heart feeling as though it was shattering like glass inside of the confines of my chest. A shaky hand poured another glass-full of vodka into a crystal glass that sat on the coffee table in front of me, beside that, an email of an article open on my laptop that had been sent to me by my publicist just a couple hours earlier.
“Jared Leto cheats on girlfriend with mystery brunette on tour.”
Awesome.
There were no feelings in my entirety, yet every feeling all at once. My mascara had long been running, and my publicist had already heard an earful of screaming from me, though it wasn’t her fault. She was looking out for me, not wanting me to be caught off gaurd hearing it elsewhere. Hell, I hardly even knew if it was his fault. But I hadn’t the mental capacity to make decisions that weren’t brash anymore as I downed the glass I’d just poured.
The vodka burned in my throat like acid as I held the glass tightly in my hand. He was slated to be home any minute now, and while I’d run through speeches in my head, the notion of trying to find out what actually happened, and other things to say, I knew the moment I set eyes on him again I’d lose it all. In what way this time, I wasn’t sure.
I’d dealt with the mean headlines, I’d faced the intense lines of questioning at every interview. But I’d never seen this headline before, and it was eating me alive. We’d fought over petty things, and some important things, but neither of us had ever dealt with cheating accusations from one another, despite the way the press loved to talk.
Moments later, I heard the doorknob click and the familiar sounds of bags and rustling that came when he returned. I heard Shannon laughing with him as they carelessly entered the living room, not yet noticing my shell shocked state in the opposite end of the large room. I was already shitfaced, and I felt the tears silently pour down my cheeks once more as my eyes caught sight of him. It felt as though I were looking at him from within a hollow shell, the caving sensation of my heart breaking in my chest in the forefront of my senses.
“Babe!” Jared called out when he saw me, a grin on his features.
“Hey, {Y/N},” Shannon grinned.
I could only inhale and turn to face them, gripping the glass in my hand even harder as I tried with all my might to keep quiet; to keep from overreacting.
“{Y/N},” he said next, his tone turning into nothing but extreme concern as he saw the state I was in.
Jared rushed over to me, and as he grew closer, I pushed the laptop open further and turned it to face him without another word. His brow furrowed as he looked down at it, taking a bit to read the headline and study the photo of him beneath it. He remained quiet, his expression growing tense before he turned to Shannon, who was just as confused in the entryway.
“Can we have a minute?” Was all he said, and Shannon simply nodded and walked his things towards the back of the house.
“How could you, Jared?” I heard myself slur from what felt like a million miles away. “I trusted you..”
There was pain written all over his features, and while his silence spoke volumes, I wasn’t sure what I was willing to believe.
“Baby..”
“Don’t you dare baby me. You.. I told you I’d be your ride or die no matter what. I know tour life. I know how it is. I didn’t expect this not to happen, I just.. I didn’t think I’d ever know, you know?”
My voice cracked again, trailing off of the end. It was true, I was willing to put up with anything for him. My heart beat solely for him and him alone. I knew he loved me, everyone knew he loved me- and everyone knew I’d die for him. Still, I couldn’t help but feel betrayed, and as though I just weren’t enough for him anymore.
To millions, I was a shining beacon of beauty and sex. Everyone wanted to be me, and those who didn’t wanted to have me. The same was said about Jared, of course. I did what I could when we were together. I gave him every ounce of affection and attention I possibly could. I cared for him like I’d never cared for anyone before.
I just couldn’t wrap my head around why.
I stood from the couch, glass in hand. Swaying a bit, I stepped closer to him. It was far too late to keep my tears hidden in my waterline.
“Is she prettier than me? Was she.. Was she sweeter than me?” I drunkenly inquired, hot tears running down my cheeks as I turned to face away from him. “Because I don’t know what else it could be..”
Jared stayed quiet, his expression tense as he watched the woman he loved fall to a million broken pieces before him. Trying to find the words to say, he opened his mouth to speak.
“It was that fucking fight we had,” he started, cool and collected, and I recognized the tone to be the one he took when he was trying to keep me level headed. “About the fact that you have to start your tour the same day I have to start filming, even though we planned for you to come with me.”
It was like something snapped in me instead. I chucked the glass in my hand toward the wall, turning to face him again as the shards of sparkling glass scattered across the floor. I was never a violent person, but my heart had no idea how to react, and my mind was no help, either. He kept his demeanor calm, and only pushed me further.
“Is that supposed to make it okay?” I spat, angry and deeply hurt.
I had never felt so strongly for anyone in my life, and this, coupled with the stress I’d been enduring in other ways, finally made me unravel.
“Please just tell me what I did,” I begged, feeling the the life slip away from my body as I weakly shut my eyes. “Please..”
Before I could open them again, he took my hands in his, squeezing them firmly. It caught me slightly off guard when he wrapped his arms around me. His embrace was possessive, as though he were keeping a cracking statue together; as though he were protecting me from someone else, even though the harm had come from him.
“I’m so sorry, {Y/N}.. You have no idea how awful I felt. I wanted to call you as soon as it happened, but I didn’t want to stress you out even more. We’d just had that huge ordeal and I felt.. Well.. Fuck, I felt vulnerable and pissed off. And she was just.. there. It’s no excuse, there’s none..”
“What, does she fuck better than me?” I mewled, sobbing against his chest.
“God, what? No,” he grimaced. “I didn’t sleep with her, I just kissed her.”
His toned arms squeezed my frame even harder. Inadequate was hardly the word to describe how I felt. The ache that sat in my chest seemed to radiate from deep within my ribs to the flesh that sat just under my necklace. I tried to collect my drunken thoughts; tried to make some kind of sense of what I was hearing. Then, it hit me. I looked up at him through my makeup stained face, sniveling quietly as our eyes rested on each others.
“Wait.. You didn’t sleep with her?”
“No, baby. We went out.. Got food.. And, you know. But I didn’t take her back to the room.”
I sat quiet for a moment, reeling from the details but mulling them over. It was much less to take than the image I had of them burning a hole in my mind. My eyes drifted away before I spoke again.
“It was just once?” I whispered, as though that was going to make it all go away.
“Once. And it wasn’t even good. It wasn’t really anything,” he scoffed.
No, it didn’t make it better. I was still going to have to come to terms with what happened, and either move on from it, move on from him or let it destroy me. I wasn’t having the latter two. He was my heart and soul, and despite this whole scene playing out before me, I knew I was his, too.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against my hair on the top of my head, and if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said I heard some kind of emotion catch in his throat.
Swallowing hard, I pulled away from his embrace, feeling defeated. What else could I do? I sniffled again, dragging the back of my hand under my eye. I suddenly felt over dramatic when it was just a kiss shared between them. Still, my heart hurt.
“You don’t have to forgive me,” he said, taking my hand and cupping it between his. “What are you thinking? Talk to me, please..”
“I..” I started, sitting back down on the couch. “I love you, Jared.”
My voice was shaky with emotion and exhaustion. I believed he was sorry. I believed it was a one time mistake. Everyone is human, we all make them. He at least hadn’t been caught doing it before, and anyone knew it was easy to do so when it came to either of us. I shook my head as he sat down beside me, his sight set on nothing else but me. Despite it all, I just wanted to get comfortable and cuddle with him while I fell asleep.
“I love you, too, {Y/N},” he responded. “So fucking much. Even if it doesn’t really seem that way right now.”
Stupid as it was, I cracked a small grin. Maybe it was just the exhaustion, or the booze, or both, but I found it amusing. So amusing, that my next response wasn’t though out at all.
“It’s okay. I fucked Shannon in the other room while you were sleeping before you left, anyway.”
His face, while what I said was a cruel, terrible joke, was priceless.
“I’m kidding, babe,” I sighed, watching his chest rise and fall again as he willed himself to believe me.
I supposed one slip up in the course of our relationship so far wasn’t too bad, considering I had already married myself to the idea that he’d be full blown cheating on me left and right. It didn’t make it any more okay, but, fame was a hell of a drug, and he could have anyone he wanted at the drop of a hat- mad at me or not.
I relaxed a bit, groggy and overwhelmed. I began to feel just a little better that it wasn’t something as far as a passionate night of intimacy in bed. Just lunch and a kiss, or maybe they made out, but, it wasn’t sex.
“Please just tell me you’re not trying to make this a habit. I can’t handle this every time you’re gone.. as it is, I’m going to have it in the back of my head forever,” I complained.
“Absolutely fucking not,” he assured me. “I told you, it was a mistake. A one time, stupid, rash decision.”
Shaking my head, I threw my arms around him and sighed, my breathing still rugged from crying.
“I really thought you two were banging, so I’m relieved.. but still hurt.”
His hand moved to stroke my hair slowly as he kissed the top of my head.
“I know, baby. But the only lips I want to kiss are yours. And the only person I’m trying to bang is you,” he grinned lightly.
Another faint smile crossed my features as I sat up straight before him. It was then that I leaned in, placing my hands on his cut jawline and locking my lips with his.
I kissed him like I never had before; like it was the first time we’d ever kissed after days of sexual tension. I kissed him as though I were taking him back from whatever spell he’d been under, and he kissed me like he’d never get the chance to again in return. When we pulled away, I sighed, brushing my lips against his delicately, feeling the smile that placed itself on his expression all over again.
“Let’s get cleaned up and go to bed,” I whispered, ready to end the madness that was my day.
He nodded, standing up and sweeping me off my feet in one movement, carrying me out of the living room. I gave a slight giggle, nuzzling my nose against his shoulder.
“I’ll show you exactly who belongs where,” he winked, squeezing me playfully with a smirk.
#jared leto x reader#jared leto#jared leto fanfiction#jared leto fanfic#fanfiction#Thirty Seconds to Mars#30 seconds to mars#fanfics#joker x reader#imagines#one shot#jared leto one shot#harley quinn
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nct 2018 reacts | their idol crush gets made fun of by an mc
warnings: idk if this is a warning but the reader gets made fun of for their looks sometimes
genre: angst but all fluffy
paring: nct x fem!reader
a/n: I didn't add gifs because i'm lazy and my computer crashes when I try adding more than 9 gifs to a post
taeil
Taeil would be playing with his hands, he was very nervous, it wasn't easy being on the same show as the person you've been crushing on forever. His ears would perk up when he heard your name mentioned. “You look like a frog trying to walk on two legs,” the mc said while watching your dancing. Immediately he felt his heart drop. He looked at your expression and felt his anger boil, it was obvious that you were hurt. “Hey, dancing isn't easy, you should try it,” Taeil spoke quietly while looking at his hands. He looked up to see you smiling brightly at him
taeyong
“How can a leader be so quiet and reserved? Shouldn't it be you to peak up and not your members?” the host asked after another membered explained the album and not you. “Well actually during comebacks someone gets assigned to remember what to say about the album, its not always the leader,” Taeyong defended. He could tell you seemed hurt and he didn't like seeing his biggest crush offended. The host nodded in response, he didn't expect Taeyong to defended you like that, he was intimidated. Once the camera were off you'd go over and thank him for sticking up for you.
johnny
“I literally didn't know that you were in this comeback. Where were you in the mv and where are your lines?” the host asked while looking at you. Truth be told, you didn't know why you didn't get many lines nor why you didn't have much screen time. “I really don't know,” you mumbled while looking at the water bottle in front of you. Johnny nodded his head, he knew what it was like to work so hard for something and have it still be out of your reach. The hosts laughed “Apparently there is something very wrong with you,” he said while trying to move on to the next topic. Johnny rolled his eyes, he placed a reassuring hand over yours and gave you a calming smile. “Don't listen to him, okay? Even though you don't have many lines this comeback you shine brighter than your members,” he encouraged. You nodded your head and tried to calm your beating heart. Johnny's words really helped you and you made sure that you needed to hank him the next time you saw him
yuta
“If we are talking about looks here than Y/N is definitely at the bottom,” the mc said while laughing along with the others. Your eyes widened, you were surprised to hear his words. Yuta was too, he had always had a crush on you and thought of you as the most beautiful women he had ever met. “No, Y/N would be at the top,” Yuta corrected while sending the mc a deathly glare. You giggled and sent a smirk over to mc. Yuta couldn't help but laugh at your new found confidence
ten
Your Korean wasn't the best and you'd be the first person to admit it. Despite knowing about your lack of Korean speaking skills you didn't like being made fun of for them. However making fun of your speaking seemed to be what every host did, it was their favorite thing. Ten had noticed this, throughout the entirety of filming the host would reoccurringly laugh at how you said things or when you forgot a word. By the end of filming Ten noticed that you weren't speaking as much, he would feel extremely bad so he approached you and said. “Y/N dont listen to them, its not easy learning another language. I bet none of them can speak 2 languages (or more).” You smiled at his words, he had a point. “Thanks, Ten,” you said with a charming smile. Ten would nod and decide to help you for the rest of filming, he didnt care if the fans noticed
doyoung
“And you are the main vocalist? How in the world did that happen?” the host asked after listening to you singing your favorite song on your new album. You were clearly taken back by his statement, you had been called a terrible vocalist before but always by angi fans, never by a host. “And you are the main host? How in the world did that happen?” Doyoung sasssed back while sending the host a glare. You giggled at him causing his heart to flutter. The host simply looked at the floor and burned red in embarrassment while everyone laughed at him
kun
Kun was standing next to you while your members talked about your new song and the highlight parts. He was already extremely nervous because of this comeback and being next to his crush made his nerves 10x worse. “I keep forgetting your not a 6 membered group and that there is 7 of you,” the host said while gesturing to you. You had taken a hiatus because of health problems and this was your first comeback back. Kun couldn't control his expression, his faced formed into confusion before it went to pure anger. Once the camera were off and you guys were leaving Kun leaned over and whispered in your ear “Don't listen to him Y/N. Sometimes I forget you aren't a solo artist because you shine so much compared to your members,” he winked at you before walking away. You brought your hand up to your heart and tried to control its rapid beating
jaehyun
Jaehyun awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck while the host started asking questions about his personal life. When his ideal type was mentioned the host brought up if any of the other girls on the show matched his ideal type. Truthfully, he wanted to answer yes and mention you but of course he knew that he couldn't do that. “Well I can tell you this, it isnt Y/N,” the host added while making everyone laugh except for you and Jaehyun. Jaehyun could tell from your expression that you were hurt, being made fun of for your looks was a recurring thing for you on variety shows. “Actually, I was going to say Y/N is the closest person to my ideal type,” he said making your cheeks turn crimson
winwin
Winwin didn't know what to say or do, all he knew was that he wanted to stick up for you. He looked at the hosts before choosing to not speak up yet and instead say something later. Once the filming was over you were mentally and physically exhausted. “Y/N? Id like to apologize for not sticking up for you earlier, I should have said something,” he said with an apologetic smile. You shook your head “Its okay Winwin, im glad you said something now,” you said making him feel much better, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Uh, here is my number. Call if you need anything,” Winwin said before rushing away to his managers
jungwoo
Jungwoo took a bite of the ice cream and continued to walk with a skip in his step. Today was a good day, the sun was shining, he got ice cream, and he was able to film a show with his idol crush. “You know Y/N, I wouldn't eat on camera if I were you, you look like a donkey,” the mc said while they changed the cameras out. “Oh,,,okay,” you said while tossing the cone away. You felt sick to your stomach, why hasn't someone told you the truth before.”Y/N,” Jungwoo mumbled while walking next to you. You looked away, embarrassed to be called a donkey while in the presence of Jungwoo. “Don't listen to him, you look perfectly fine, stunning actually,” he said with a cheeky grin. You giggled at his words and thank him. Jungwoo placed a short but sweet kiss on your cheek
lucas
You followed close behind Lucas, he tall stature and broad shoulders helped shield you from the harsh winds. He had told you to stay behind him, that he could lead the way back and you felt bad. You wanted to be able to help out more but you were already sick due to the lack of food and the freezing rain. Byungman had insisted that you and Lucas go and find some wood but what eh didn't realize that a huge storm was going to hit. Now you two were stuck in it while trying to get back to base camp. After what felt like hours you were completely worn out, and it was noticeable. Your fever had raised and you kept coughing. Once you got back Lucas was beyond worried for you “Y/N you're so useless right now and you're literally the ugliest thing i've ever seen,” one of the guests on the show said while laughing. Lucas scrunched his face up in confusion “She is sick, id like to see you try and walk 2 miles in this storm while sick. I think she still looks beautiful,” Lcas said while giving yo a soft smile.
mark
“Y/N you look like a lifeless corpse,” the host said with a laugh while pointing at your makeupless face. You looked at him with wide eyes and hid yourself behind your hands. “Im sorry, let me go apply my makeup,” you said while turning around and returning to your room. “Y/N I think you look even more stunning, if that's possible,” he smoothly flirted without realizing. The hosts were surprised by his words, just like you. “Oh my, thank you Mark,” you giggled while removing your hands from your face with a new found confidence causing Mark to smile proudly.
renjun
You sat in the chair and played with your fingers while you waited to be called back on set. Biting your lip you did your best to hide back the tears but it was really hard. No one liked getting made fun of for their looks, especially not in front of their crush. You looked up and wiped your tears when you heard someone in front of you cough. “Hey Y/N,” Renjun said while he looked down at you. “Hello Renjun,” you simply said before looking back down. You tried to hold them back but they kept falling.”Y/N don't listen to them, you're a beautiful girl, there literally isnt a single flaw on you,” Renjuns words took you by surprise. You looked up at him with light pink cheeks. Renun sighed and cupped your face in his hands before wiping your tears with his thumb. “I mean it”
jeno
Jeno held the microphone tighter than usual, his eyes were burning holes into the camera and his poster was picture perfect. “Y/N, you read the wrong line, who invited you to be the guess mc?” the other mc asked while staring at you. Jeno furrowed his eyebrows and looked over at you. You lightly laughed and tried to keep a smile. Once the camera were off you rushed away so you could cry. “Y/N!” Jeno called out while reaching for your hand. You stopped in your tracks and looked at him with a wry smile. “Don't listen to him, you did great,” he said sending an eruption of butterflies in your stomach
haechan
Haechan scoffed at the hosts joke. “Its not cool to make fun of someone for something they cant control,” he said while sending him a sharp glare. The host looked back at Haechan “What did you just say to me?” he asked, testing the younger boy. “I said dont make fun of someone for something they cant control,” Haechan snapped back. You watched from Haechan side with a glint in your eyes. No one had ever stuck up for you like that. “Thank you haechan, I mean it,” you mumbled to him before leaning up and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. Haechan watched in awe as you walked ahead, his hand went up to the spot where your lips once were and he beamed
jaemin
You yelped slightly as you slipped on the floor, your hand reached out for something to hold onto so you wouldn't fall. Grabbing Jaemins forearm tightly you caught your balance. You sent Jaemin an apologetic smile, he had been helping you out all day. “Wow Y/N, dont you think Jaemin is tired of taking care of you, its like he is babysitting,” the host started to laugh at his own joke, others joined in. You stopped and looked over at him. Jaemin didnt mind taking care of you, you were his biggest crush and he liked having you cling to him. “Please dont put words in my mouth, I dont mind it at all,” he said with giving you a soft smile
chenle
The host stared at your beat red face, you were in the middle of trying to think of a reply but couldn't come up with anything. Instead you opted to sutter out a incomprehensible “yes.” The host rolled his eyes at you before looking at the producer “Why did you invite her, she can't even answer a simple question. How are you a idol?” he tried to play it off as funny but you were very much hurt by it. You knew you were shy and awkward and you did your best to get over it. “I think her shyness makes her even more cuter,” Chenle piped up out of nowhere. You sent Chenle a thankful smile, no one had ever stuck up for you like that, especially not a cute boy
jisung
Jisung watched in awe as your body moved to the beat perfectly, he was completely mesmerized by your dancing. Once you were done you smiled proudly, you had noticed the way Jisung was looking at you and it made you feel all giddy inside. “And you call yourself a dancer?” the mc asked while giving you a sharp stare. Jisungs eyes widened, he didnt even know what came over him when he spoke “No offense but she is the most amazing dancer id ever seen.” Once Jisung realized what he said he glanced over at you and saw you giving him the biggest heart eyes he had ever seen, he put his hand up to his mouth and tried to hide his growing smile
#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#kpop fluff#kpop angst#nct imagines#nct scenarios#nct fluff#nct angst#nct reactions#nct dream fluff#nct dream imagines#nct dream reactions#nct u imgines#nct u reactions#nct u angst#nct 127#nct 127 fluff#nct 127 imagines#nct 127 reactions#taeil imagines#taeyong imagines#johnny imagines#yuta imagines#ten imagines#kun imagines#doyoung imagines#jaehyun imagines#winwin imagines#jungwoo imagines#lucas imagines
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Endgame review(ish) LOTS OF SPOILERS
I saw it 2 days ago but needed some time to wrap my head around this one. I have never described a movie as a masterpiece before but this definitely hits all my boxes.
What I liked/loved:
•Watching Thanos die twice in one movie was an honor and a damned privilege.
•Tony and Nebula having a friendship & Carol rescuing them
•Pepperony’s reunion ❤️
•After we jumped ahead 5 years and Scott gets reunited with teenage Cassie. That made me tear up. If they ever do another Ant Man movie it’ll be great to see Cassie old enough to have a bigger role
•Seeing Nat crying and showcasing how much Steve and her have such a great relationship plus Carol’s new bad ass ‘do.
•SEEING PEPPERONY’S NEW LIFE! MORGAN STARK! DAD TONY!
•Tony knowing in the end there’s no way he won’t help. It’s just not in his DNA and insisting nothing changes from the last 5 years
•Dad bod!Thor
•Fucking “Dr.” Hulk. Ffs, Bruce 🤣
•The whole going back in time deal. I’m a sucker for time travel and watching Scott get turned old/young and not knowing which one peed his pants, lmao, and Tony guessing right off the bat what happened
•The renewal of the Tony/Steve friendship and team. I missed the two of them being on good terms
• “Dr. Hulk” half heartedly trying to imitate his 2012 self destroying things. Again, for fuck SAKE, Bruce. 😂
•Cap saying “Hail Hydra” easter egg. Since all of us fans were sooo angry over them making Cap hydra in that comic. Steve being all smug as he walks out with the scepter. Tony having Scott give past!tony freaking arrythmia’s for a distraction then being all smug because he thinks he got away with it just to be mowed down by The Hulk who was angry he had to take the stairs & Tony teasing Steve about his ass and Scott admiring it. Same, dude. Same.
•The entire scene of Dr. Hulk going to get his stone
•Steve fighting himself. The whole thing was gold.
• “I can do this all day.” Annoyed future!steve “I know, I know” & “That really is America’s ass” And god bless that ass, my golden haired freedom baby.
•Steve and Tony teaming up and overruling Scott because damn do I miss Stony
•The entirety of Thor/Frigga & Tony/Howard
•MJOLNIR RETURNS
•Everyone finding out about Nat’s death and her mini funeral. Not that I “liked” it per say but I thought it was a beautifully acted scene on Scarlett’s part. Clint’s reaction had me bawling as well as everyone else. I’m not a Bruce/Natasha shipper at all but still. It was a very hard scene to sit through with the whole theater sniffling behind me since I was in the front row. (Side note: LOVED Natasha’s blond/red hair. It was really pretty on her)
•Dr. Hulk taking one for the team by wearing the infinity gauntlet. After Nat’s death I really think there may have been a small part of him that wouldn’t have minded joining her. I was happy to see him make it though
•Nebula getting through to past!Gamora and taking past!Neb down
•Tony finding Steve and calling him “my guy” GOD DAMN DID I MISS THAT FRIENDSHIP
•Thor doing that lightening clothing transformation thing and having both weapons
•Everyone teaming up to kill Thanos (again)
•STEVE BEING WORTHY & SUMMONING LIGHTNING MY GODDDDD THAT WAS HOT (the entire theatre erupted in cheers when he was standing there with his shield and Mjolnir. The scene was even cooler in 3D) Thor smiling when he saw all this and saying “I knew it”
•Steve preparing to face Thanos and his whole army by himself and then all these portals pop up and IT’S EVERYONE. Again the entire theatre were on our feet clapping, cheering and laughing with joy the second the Wakandians came into view. Best. Scene. Ever.
•Pepper! In! A! Suit! Again!
•Peter and Tony’s reunion! Peter talking a mile a minute and Tony being so emotional he just hugged him. Fuck, man. Right in the feels indeed
•All female heroes teaming up
•Wanda being enraged at Thanos and his royal grape ness being scared of her power as well as Carol’s when she showed up
•The Entire fucking battle. The mini reunions. I could sit here and go on for ages about it. This battle scene pretty much was one of the best ones I’ve ever seen in any movie/tv show ever.
•Tony realizing what Dr. Strange meant when he said “if I told you what had to happen it wouldn’t happen” and the look that passed between them. Stephen looking at him with sorrow.
•Tony, knowing it was gonna kill him, putting the gauntlet on anyway.
•Again watching Thanos lose everything he loved to disintegration like our heroes did and realize he’s lost to the Avengers again then die himself. I don’t think I’ve ever hated a movie villain more than him to date.
•Tony’s death. At this point I was back to trying not to sob out loud in front of a bunch of strangers. Peter’s reaction is what got me going. Pepper’s as well as the rest of the OG Avengers who had been with Tony the longest. Rhodey crying and pulling Peter away. Just writing this now I’ve got tears in my eyes.
•Pepper telling Tony it was okay to go and she and Morgan would be fine
•The funeral. The grown up kid from Iron Man 3 being there. Aunt May and Peter. Sending that wreath out onto the lake. It was a stunning scene. Happy talking to Morgan.
• “I love you 3000”
•Old man!Steve. Look, I do not care what plot holes it creates. This movie was too well done to let stupid technicalities bug me. As a loooong time Steggy shipper I’m so happy he got to live where he wanted to live back in the 40’s with the love of his life. I’m thrilled Peggy got the love of hers. I don’t care that it destroys the Agent Carter show. It got canceled anyway so I just do not care. Nor do I care about whoever Peggy’s husband ended up being (it was Daniel from AC, I think) getting erased. The two of them pined for each other for so long I think it was beautifully done in the end. I wish we’d gotten to know how many kids Steggy had but 🤷♀️. Bucky was still Bucky. No, Steve didn’t kiss his niece if you listened to Bruce’s explanation but people are being stupidly stubborn on that bit. Steve has been my ride or die hero since his original movie in the MCU. I was terrified he was gonna die in sacrifice. I hate, HATE that it was Tony but I’m a little relieved at the same time, I won’t lie. I’d like to think Steve and Peggy were around for baby!tony. Maybe they were Aunt Peggy and Uncle Steve to him.
•Scott, Hope and Cassie mini family
•Clint happily reuniting with his family
•Ned and Peter reuniting
•SAM! BEING! PASSED! THE! CAPTAIN! AMERICA! MANTLE! I cannot wait for Bucky & Sam’s tv series.
•The film closing out with dancing Steve and Peggy happily in love.
What I did not like/hated:
•Loki surviving. I just hate him. Obviously he was going to given he is getting his own show too but Christ on a cracker
•Both Tony and Natasha’s deaths. I know why they happened but it still really really sucks to lose any of the team for any reason. Seeing the Tony stans super upset has been very hard even if we all knew it was gonna be Steve or Tony dying. It’s one thing to know it and then another to actually see it play out
•Clint’s family dissolving? 😭😭 Yes, we knew it was gonna happen but watching it suuuucked
•Not showing the Aunt May/Peter reunion. She had to live 5 years without him after all.
•Not getting to see Carol and Nick interact or reunite.
•Not getting to see Maria’s reaction to Natasha’s death (I know there was only so much time and these reunions are just splitting hairs but I would have liked to see them)
•Not enough Pepperony!Parents scenes. (Again, splitting hairs here, lol)
Over all:
A++++++++
I didn’t go into this movie with expectations in case it was a disappointment. Needless to say it was NOT a disappointment in the least. It was a beautifully done film. The cinematography was stunning. I laughed, cheered, was kept in suspense and definitely cried. Which is not easy to get me to do. I will miss Tony and Pepperony every day but I also cannot wait to see Wanda get Vision back in their series. However that happens nor the Bucky/Sam team up. I think I hit all the major points (I hope). I intend to go see the movie again next week. The Russo Brothers did a wonderful job honoring 11 years worth of movies and the fans who have been here since 2008. A lot is storylines were paid off and the like. Just amazing. Thank you for reading this long word vomit.
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This is a story about farming. It is quite long. I think it may be worth reading anyway, but unfortunately I have no way to prove it. I’ve also tried my best but I still don’t know if it actually makes perfect sense in every way? But it did all actually happen; so it all kind of has to make at least a little bit of sense, even if doesn’t really seem like it.
The trouble all started in 1901, when my great great grandfather emigrated to the United States from the modern-day Czech Republic and later, in 1911, bought a 90-acre farm there. Many years later, most of that farm came to belong to my grandfather, and roughly 10 years back he retired from his job selling tires at the tire store and started making the 40 mile drive north to the farm to spend his summer days there and plant a garden (in the area that wasn’t already rented out to be planted with soybeans.) Not long after that, he had enough produce to start selling stuff at a nearby farmers’ market in an upscale town, physically not far from the farm, although psychogeographically immensely distant from that chunk of desolate, isolated, fairly representative rural Ohio.
I was dragged in in the summer of 2015, from the end of June to the beginning of July, mostly pounding stakes into the ground so that the roughly 1000-1500 tomato plants that my grandfather had planted that year (with occasional help from my grandmother and uncle) could be tied up between them and the fruit wouldn’t lay on the ground and rot easily. I hated it there (in fairness, I probably would’ve hated anything that involved leaving the house during that time in my life) and when my dad got me out of it (by hiring me to help him paint a house) I quickly divested myself of the money I’d received there to wash my hands of the place and resolved never to go back. My dad was never in favor of me going to the farm, knowing as he did that the work could be dangerous (operating old, large, and unreliable tractors and backhoe with minimal training or safety precautions; running large, dangerous power saws in creative ways without the proper guards, gear, or safety precautions, mostly to put points on stakes; operating saws in an unsafe manner while standing in the raised bucket of the old and unreliable backhoe in order to trim trees; etc) and probably also suspected that I personally (especially then) was fairly vulnerable to being psychologically manipulated into performing difficult tasks that I was unhappy doing over a long period of time while being underpaid under some circumstances. Hmm.
I returned to the farm for the entirety of the summer of 2016. After barely surviving/graduating my senior year of high school that year I had given up on life and settled pretty quickly back into the routine of the daily back-and-forth farm trips. It is true that I was getting paid; it was also true that I was being challenged and learning things, mostly the basics of planting vegetables, like which plants were cold-season crops and which were warm-season and how far apart to space the transplants, and how a PTO works on a tractor; and it’s certainly a fact that on a personal level, I was still completely taken in by my grandfather’s wit and farm wisdom and overpowering managerial confidence. I made myself completely subordinate to him, and blamed myself when his ideas for what we should be doing next were completely obvious to him but rather opaque to me; I remember it frequently happening that he would tell me what to do and I would reflexively go off to do it, and then realize I was unclear on what he meant and have to timidly re-approach him for further instructions. This kind of slowed down the learning process. Much later I would also realize how superficial his constant confidence could be, and how it was often less the natural attitude of someone who knew what they were doing and more a tool he used to impress people into doing things without thinking too much about any of the potential alternatives. Also, according to my admittedly fallible memories, I was getting paid $35 per day for what were generally between 7 and 8 hour days. I was, in fact, 18 years old that year and probably could have gotten a different job that for one thing paid a better hourly wage and for another left me less reliant on the caprices of my family; but this was neither a thing that happened nor a thing that was expected from me, least of all by me. My internal world hadn’t expanded as I’d grown older; my universe of possibilities was limited to the things that were already present in my somewhat simple life. This was probably symptomatic of some larger problem or problems with the functionality of my brain at that point in my life.
One can become trapped in many different ways. You can be trapped in a specific city, or a zip code, or in a geographic region sorely lacking in cities, or one which they are considered entirely strange and outlandish things; in a job, in a career, in a lifestyle, or in a set of lifestyles considered realistic given your high school grades, ability to connect with others, and standing in society and life; in a friend group, or in an identity, or in a lack thereof, or in any number of the various rules and regulations that govern how one is allowed to interact with the rest of the human race; in a comedy, a tragedy, a pastoral narrative, or in any combination of the above kinds of story that one no longer wishes to be part of. For all I know, thanks to the stereotypical farm benefits of character building, meaningful work experiencing, and nature connecting-with, working at the farm for that year may have actually been good for me; nevertheless, I wish that it had been my last full summer there. I had showed up, learned some stuff, earned a small amount of money, and, in retrospect experienced at least the majority of what this particular 90 acre area of the planet had had to offer. Alas.
2017! This year, we had a pretty consistent schedule that I can remember clearly to this day: we left at 9:30 AM, when my grandfather would pull into my driveway and blow his horn, and got back between 7 and 8 o’clock at night. Built into that schedule is a one hour commute each way (we both lived about 40 miles away from the farm, which was actually inhabited by my uncle, who was often around and occasionally helped with the work but frequently made fairly abrasive and critical comments (if often correct) comments about it (for example, about the fact that our work day started so late in the morning)) and a daily grocery store stop for drinks for the cooler. I was the driver (once my grandfather’s problems with what I suspect is undiagnosed narcolepsy had almost killed us a couple of times) which you would think give me control over the stereo, but I quickly learned that my grandfather had pretty specific taste in music (country from the 50s and 60s) and a temperament unsuited to most podcasts. Obviously, most of that time in the daily schedule was taken up by the work day (so generally either planting tomatoes (which gets a little less rewarding after about the 500th one, which that year only put us at about a quarter of the way through the tomato plants, not counting the hundreds of eggplant, cabbage, and zucchini plants or the miscellaneous corn, squash, and beans), pounding stakes and tying string for the tomatoes, or harvesting tomatoes) which lay at the end of the lonely highway on a lonely work site at which the same 2-4 people showed up every day. (It became four people once you counted my younger brother, who came up to the farm that year until the start of marching band season got him out of it, and who fortunately made it his main job to get everyone to pack up and leave promptly at the end of the day. Once he stopped showing up, and even though I persuaded my grandfather to move the schedule up an hour so that we could get home earlier, we never left as consistently as we did when he was there; I didn’t have the stamina to find my grandfather (who didn’t carry a phone or a watch) and tell him what time it was at the end of the day every single day so that he could start to think about leaving.) I was being paid $40 a day, with a $20 bonus for market days once they started, which with our theoretically 35-hour work week ends up being about $6.29 an hour? Huh. In addition to the extra $20, the market season was nice because picking stuff is less tiring and more rewarding than planting stuff, and because I got to see way more people every day in the form of our market customers, even if I was interacting with them mainly through the intermediary of my grandfather.
Another nice thing is that this is the first year I have a decent photo album for! I started experimenting with old 35mm film cameras in late June and by early July I had my first interchangeable-lens digital camera, which I relied upon to keep my brain alive for large parts of the summer. I have… a lot of pictures from this season.
Finally, at the end of the year, I ended up in college. Any criticisms of my grandfather that I might offer up here have to be tempered by the fact that he did in fact drive me to the local (relatively) cheap higher-education dispenser and basically registered me for me (technically, I applied but there’s a 100% acceptance rate.) This was something I desperately wanted to do but was unable to make happen by myself. I won’t say that my grandfather every really understood the problems I went through while experiencing formal education, but as perhaps the member of my family least comfortable himself with the concept and culture of higher education, he was the most willing to notice and accept that I needed help getting started with it.
However, I did do quite badly that semester (I started out enrolled in 4.5 classes and ended enrolled in 2, with a C average) and going to the farm to work 4 days a week still (after morning classes and also on Saturday) did not help that except in that it provided a convenient distraction from it; an opportunity for me to distract myself from my frustrations by wearing myself out.
Why did I come back to the farm for 2018? I wasn’t happy there in 2017, I have the journal entries to prove it. Reasons: it was the path of least resistance, it was something I was more already familiar with than any other job, and my grandfather remained a very difficult person for me to say no to. (Also, he asked me (and my brother) to commit in midwinter, when it still seemed non-threatening and pretty far away.) The schedule was pretty much the same as I described for last year except that for some reason we went up 6 days a week as often as 5 (weather permitting.) My brother went up with us for the same period of time as he had previously, but was even more ornery this year than he was the last, which was an accomplishment; this didn’t stop me from being grateful for his presence. Mostly, I recruited him to work on whatever I was working on during the day, whenever I had a specific project: like building a fence around the second patch, or digging drainage ditches on the lawn, or moving the rainwater collection tank trailer to water stuff before Grandpa could realize that something that he didn’t plan for us was happening. My uncle became extremely fond of complaining that we were getting less done working on the same thing together than we might have working on different things far apart; this may have been true, but I was unwilling to test the theory.
As I implied above, I had a lot more freedom this year to pick projects that I thought needed to be done instead of following instructions all day, as long as I could seem confident about it under scrutiny later. I responded in two ways: I started wearing earbuds and listened to music and occasionally podcasts for most of the day, which was great except that it ruined earbuds and made me feel slightly spacey like I wasn’t even physically there sometimes, given that it was the main input that was actually making it to my brain, and I gave myself three new jobs. The first was to pick, display, and sell produce at a roadside stand that I set up back home (ideally without attracting too much attention from my uncle, who was doing the same thing); the second was to start picking for and selling at a new weekday farmers’ market; and the third was to fix an old dump truck that had been sitting in the back barn for the better part of the decade with a broken brake line, with the help of my dad, who came up to the farm a few days to show me what to actually do. The stand was very successful but 20% went to my mom for stocking it during the day and another 20% went to my grandfather for owning the farm; the new farmers’ market only required me to pay off my grandfather but had too many vendors for the customer base and was generally very slow; and the truck project was a huge disaster that consumed countless hours and brain cells: one brake line burst after another, we ended up having to remove and replace the two brake cylinders in each of the back wheels (which necessitated jacking the 12.5 ton vehicle up and removing both rear wheels and axles), the wiring for the lights was fucked from a previous botched repair job by a person or persons unknown, the bed needed to be attacked with the farm’s one working boom truck to get it to even move, and even after it was going up and down smoothly the hydraulic pump was occasionally leaking fluid, which I was neither qualified for or willing to try to fix; then, during the first test drive with a potential buyer, the radiator apparently exploded, and he convinced my grandfather to sell it to him for $1000, which was split between him, me, and my dad and uncle for helping (more or less.) I eventually calculated that with those three extra projects in addition to my regular salary (up $5 a day but without the weekly bonus, resulting in a net raise of $5 a week) I nearly made minimum wage working there that summer. (Hey, if Quinn is going to read this, I should probably note that minimum wage in Ohio was $8.15 an hour, at least when I wrote this, it’s up to $8.55 an hour now.)
Also, after going on three years of the whole “pull into Mitch’s driveway and blow the horn for a while” routine, the horn on my grandfather’s F-150 finally gave out and he locked the keys in my car while climbing inside of it to use its. (He did admit to this but also told me that I should never have left the keys inside of a car with “automatic locks.”) I had a much better spring semester this year, but it still wasn’t made easier by my 28 hours a week at the farm (plus the commute) right up until October 25th, when I finally quit.
Performance review:
Another part of my feelings about the farm that I have to mention is that the whole time I was there, I was pretty well aware that it was not nearly as productive as it should have been. One large part of this was just flawed soil management practices; by the time I got there, my grandfather had been planting mostly the same plants in mostly exactly the same spots for nearly 10 years, which is absolutely not how any of that is ever supposed to work. He sent soil samples away for analysis, got back reports prescribing long lists of fertilizers to be applied in massive quantities to help production, and then went back to using what he was planning on putting down anyway (mostly starting fertilizer (which we dragged around in 5 gallon buckets for the entire planting season), calcium spray to try to prevent previous years’ blossom end rot epidemics, and some poorly labeled sacks of miscellaneous stuff that he had gotten at a farm auction and that had been taking up space in a barn for years.) My grandfather’s managerial attitude was that all ideas were suspect unless they occurred to him first, which meant it sometimes required some stamina to get certain things done; he would ride up on the lawn mower and stare at you suspiciously if he wasn’t sure of exactly what you were doing.
Like this.
(Of course, the farm was not really run with the purpose of maximizing production, anyway. My grandfather kept it going year after year initially because he was retired, and wanted something to take up his time, and because he wanted to turn himself into a farmer; later, he got the idea that he was going to turn me into one.)
The other main obstacle to growth was the fact that we were surrounded by 80 acres of soybean fields that were at a slightly higher elevation than our plants, which meant that 2 inches of rainfall was more than enough to flood the place. This is not actually a good thing for any plant’s growth (except for cucumbers, and I guess sometimes zucchini.) I ended up (with my brother) digging hundreds of feet of drainage ditches in 2018 to try to combat this. Like, with a shovel. We had a trencher, but its hydraulic pump leaked fluid like a sieve, which had prevented it from being used for years, kind of like that dump truck I mentioned fixing earlier. Other broken down equipment included two boom trucks (one of which was specifically designed just to lay railroad ties), two full-size tractors (an Oliver and a Farm-All), a handful of mechanical tractor attachments that lay scattered throughout the barn-adjacent grass, a smallish red Troy-Bilt riding lawn mower, and a 1963 Buick Riviera.
On a personal level, going to the farm every day felt like dying? It was long hours of difficult, tedious, low-paid work in a desolate and isolated location. It was sort of like a sensory deprivation chamber, but for thoughts and feelings instead of for senses. On one hand, I regret every single miserable second of it, and hope to never see the place again for as long as I somehow manage to live (sadly unlikely); on the other hand, I do think it made me more appreciative of the moments when I do feel like I’m alive in the world, even when they’re not exactly easy ones. I have more enthusiasm for certain types of fear now, like driving to a strange and distant city to see a band play by myself, actually talking to the host in the AirBNB there, and descending into a strange subway system without really knowing how I’m going to get anywhere I’m trying to go from there; or signing up for classes for next semester without knowing exactly what they’ll be like, and talking to the strange person sitting next to me, or even just emailing the professor to ask for an explanation of an assignment that I don’t understand. It reminds me that I’m not as trapped anymore.
This contradicts what I want to be true, which is that the farm was just a background event in my life, instead of something that defined it for all of those years. The things that I was doing in the background of this, the story about farming, were the things I now realize were actually important to me at the time: taking those pictures, going back to school, the music I was listening to while I was out in the field, pounding in tomato stakes… I was also re-learning the piano in the evenings when I still had the energy. Unfortunately, the farm did define that part of my life to a large extent because of the way it served as an obstacle to me pursuing those things. The thing is, I wasn’t really trapped there, in any real physical or consequential sense; the farm took over my life because I was unable to recognize and act on the fact that I did have access to real sources of happiness.
Also, I guess the whole time I was technically committing tax evasion?
Anyway, whenever I see one of those posts about how nice it would be just to leave society and go live on a farm or something, this is what I’m thinking of.
#yes. long. maybe save this for when you already know that you're going to be bored#if anyone actually makes it to the end please interact
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