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life-rewritten · 3 years

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OMG!! I just found your blog through a WBL fan sharing your post about WBL on Instagram, and I am SOOOOO happy to see that you noticed and appreciate the tutor and fighter couple from Why R U series too. If possible, please write an analysis about this couple, about any specific aspect you deem as most important or just generally, whatever you are okay with. I love reading your analysis and the insights it gives me, and I just finished binge reading all of your writings on my favorite bl (1)

Hi wow mindblown by this comment Thank you so much for letting me know that my stuff is being shared I really appreciate that and I am so grateful that you took time of your day to come speak to me. I adore Fighter and Tutor, like they’re my favourite couple ever. What happened when why r u was airing was I wasn’t yet analysing BLs at that time otherwise I would have been writing essays and essays about them. Because it’s been so long since I went back to watch them I’m going to let you see some of my drafts on how I would have broken their relationship into pieces and analysed. Because they are incredible and I really always feel sad when people see them as just like a se*ual couple when there’s more to them than that. So I will let you see the first drafts and my ideas on them through this ask and I hope that's okay for now. Maybe after my other shows I will like go back and rewatch them and start analysing more about them. If I do I’d probably do a youtube video about them because they’re so good.

Here’s some of the analysis for them that I wrote:

The theme for these two is the struggle with internalised homophobia and self-acceptance. They both had this obstacle in themselves as they fell for each other and tried hard to avoid and run away from what they felt. It’s been a long journey for them being into each other since the first time they met but not really realising what they felt. Fighter did but he went into extreme panic mode and tried to run away immediately he felt that. So he tried to stay by Tutor’s side through the teasing and bullying because Tutor made him feel great and happy always but then with pressure from his father and the path he was meant to take to keep on being seen as successful, he thought his feelings for Tutor were useless and wrong. Plus he didn’t know if it was reciprocated so that caused even more fear for him which is why he just stayed with teasing and finally kater in thinking Tutor likes Hwa he chose to pull her away from him by taking her attention but also he chose to keep what they have as enemies/haters that way and avoid being near Tutor. This is why they end up hating each other a lot by the beginning of Why R U which is like 3 years later or something after he chose to stay with Hwa.

Tutor didn’t understand fully why he got angry, jealous and annoyed, he had an inclination from the first year that Fighter liked men and he was actually hopeful about it because deep down he had feelings of wanting to also flirt with Fighter, wanting to stay with Fighter even when annoyed him and bullied him. He liked Fighter’s softness at times and he liked the way he felt even though he didn’t understand why he was so rifled and affected by Fighter’s presence when no one else has been able to do that to him before. But he became upset when Fighter chose to date Hwahwa because it was his automatic issue with IH that of course Fighter doesn’t like him but he likes girls, so he got jealous and sad and proceeded to also dislike Fighter because he had this effect on him whilst still trying to date his best friend who had feelings for Fighter.

They both have had unknowingly pent up feelings for each other, so once Fighter breaks the barrier by their first kiss, they both go into extreme panic and they both could no longer pretend any more with what they have. Which is why the first episodes they both keep struggling to keep their attraction with each other quiet because its been 3 years since they wanted each other that way. Fighter has so much pent up attraction and needs to give into his feelings that each time they have a chance to break that barrier it’s intense and crazy. Both have been longing, pining secretly for each other since the beginning of the show. What happens next is for Fighter he has to choose to finally accept that he cares a lot, a lot , a lot about Tutor, he finally starts to learn more about this person he loves and he starts to want to protect and keep Tutor happy and by his side. When it comes to finally choosing to let go of Hwa and choose to fight for Tutor and start knowing if he feels the same way. It’s a leap of faith he takes when he breaks up with Hwa. He realises he’s the one stopping his wishes from happening with Tutor because he keeps being in denial about what they are because he’s scared it’s only him that’s gay and has feelings for the other.

It’s only after tutor sister tells him that he’s holding back his feelings does he realise that it’s time to talk about their unstable relationship and Fighter at that moment had also come to terms with his break up with Hwa after making out with tutor revealed the truth, that’s why on the rooftop they do a test that ultimately breaks their walls down and choose to give in to their feelings no matter how scared they are about it being reciprocated. When Tutor looks away and loses the game it’s a symbol to Fighter that he’s also been the same as him from the start. Tutor looks away sadly thinking he’s the one who has the feelings but Fighter just loses it and lets him know its equal which is why I love that scene so much because for so long both of them because of IH has been avoiding thinking the other had the same feelings for them when they both from the start have felt love for a long time. And from then they go on a journey to learn about what this means, if it’s real feelings and not just attraction hence their beach vacation which is essentially them asking if they could love each other and be in a real relationship, and if they can take on their obstacles around them. The beach solidifies for them their feelings so they choose each other for life hence the earring and necklace. But it’s fast paced how they feel because it’s just confirmation, now Tutor starts to realise that Fighter is actually different than he thought he was and he falls so fast, he now realises how much he loves Fighter and how much Fighter made him want to fight for his happiness and life. Tutor has not had hope for happiness and ease in his life, because he’s always had to fight to survive on his own. So when Fighter shows up like a prince charming and constantly is connected to saving him time and time again, it’s exactly him realising there’s someone who does represent that hope that he’d be fine. Hence why the final obstacle is Tutor regressing and starting to think because of IH and society that he and Fighter are just a pipe dream.

They go back to face the world only for Fighters father to bring back all the fear, internalised homophobia and obstacles they had. Fighter panics and thinks he was right; the reason why he never told Tutor his feelings was because he was afraid the other would break his heart (was not gay, did not have feelings for him, would make fun of him etc) so when Tutor breaks up with him he loses his mind after trying hard to let go. When he sees that actually Tutor is taunting him and is still flirting with a guy, not him, he proceeds drunk and upset to try and get back moments from the beach scene/ past make out scenes to keep that spark alive but realises Tutor is not okay this time and he’s the one forcing it. He also acted out because with them the truth comes out each time they’re physical with other romantically. It’s a kiss that caused them to finally tell each other how they felt. That’s always been the way they break their walls down.

It’s what causes him to break down and finally reveal the truth he’s loved Tutor since he met him, he’s just been afraid of all that’s happening even if it’s happening he still wants to be with Tutor. Tutor however breaks his heart even more so he backs off. Tutor on the other hand is broken and mentally exhausted back to depression, back to having to fake being strong and deal with the futility of hope and joy in his life as he’s always been used to. He gets seen by Fighter and doesn’t have it on him to fight him away, so decides to stay in an idealistic fantasy, tells him to hold him and breaks his walls down again. Tutor is always having to fake being strong because it’s how he survives so whenever Fighter enters his world his vulnerability scares him, that’s why his sister gives him the image of a cactus. He’s tough and sharp or pretends to be with his demeanour but actually he’s just a boy who wants to be happy and be safe and survive. So when Fighter shows up at his weakest moments, as he struggles to deal with his mental exhaustion and heart break, he gives in because again Fighter represents to him that hope. He starts to waver and want to stay in that lie for a long time with Fighter. Hence when he wakes up and Fighter is gone he thinks its all over and he finally breaks down completely.

Only when Fighter goes he breaks down in anguish truly thinking he lost him. Fighter finally comes out to his dad and fights his views, And we end up back at the beach, a place which represented authenticity and truth for them, it’s their truest realest self, but it also was their escapism. So Fighter coming there and letting Tutor know there’s no more obstacles in their way makes them both finally equally start a stable relationship with no more fear or care about anything. These twos relationship is full of tension and they both feel the chemistry, like magnets their bodies are drawn together, every scene they’re in, it’s their love language physical touch not bl fan service. They just naturally want to be in contact with each other and also their pent up feelings leads to them constantly wanting to sleep together because of hormones and well because they enjoy their se*ual life, nothing bad about that it’s realistic for couples to be that horny, that needy and that touchy.

It’s people who don’t get the context of internalised homophobia and what being in the closet is like for people with this anxiety and self hate caused by how they think society views them and treats them if out, those are the people who think there was no plot. Every dialogue these two had, their flashbacks and their acting (eyes, facial gestures, touches) showed why Fighter liked teasing Tor, why he dated Hwa but never paid her attention, why we had the beach scenes, why the break up escalated, why Tutor gave in when ill, why the non/dubious consent scene happened, why they get back together and why they told each other I love you forever immediately after they got together. Every single part adds up. It really is insane to me how people don’t see their real story to this day or see them as such a great storyline for BL. I would never get it.

#fightertutor #saintzee #fighter x tutor #thai bl #bl series #bl drama #fvete #march #wrpup #asks #why r u

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qianinterprises · 3 years

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Lies {Ten x Reader}

Author's Note: I wrote this in a few days and it has not been beta read so I'm more than a little sure it will have grammatical and spelling errors. I still hope you enjoy though!

Synopsis: You are hiding a big secret. A secret that, to keep hidden, you continuously lie to your boyfriend about.

Pairing: Ten x Reader

Word Count: 3600 words

Brisk, polluted air washed over the city, bringing the soft, fresh scent of morning to the land. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but the city was awake, shop owners unlocking their doors, cars stuck at traffic lights, half dressed and hung over men and women doing the walk of shame. It was the same every morning. Except, this morning, there was a slight difference.

You tugged your boyfriend's jacket tighter as a soft breeze breathed across your body. You weren’t usually awake at this hour, preferring to sleep well into the morning, but today, there was too much to think about. Too much on your mind. You’d slept as long as you could, but, for once, your boyfriend's embrace was unable to lull your racing thoughts.

Life could be complicated. Just when you were starting to enjoy it, it threw you a curveball. Typically, those curveballs somehow made everything fall into place, somehow kickstarted your life in some new, better direction. This time, life had done more than throw you a curveball. It kicked you in the crotch and spit in your cereal.

Your fingers wrapped around the cool rail of the balcony and sighed. Worries and fears rushed through your mind. How were you going to tell Ten? How were you going to tell your family and his? How did you even feel about all of this?

A hand dropped down to your stomach, still aching and cramping from the early morning sickness. Your eyes shut. This was the last thing you needed. Yet here you were.

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

“Are you sure? You could just be late this time,” your best friend had asked.

You weren’t. All you were certain of was it had been two weeks since you were supposed to get your period and it still hadn’t shown up. Now, you didn’t like bleeding from your lady bits, but it was always a sure sign that your uterus was perfectly unhappy without a fertilized egg nestled inside its warm walls. Without a bloody hissy fit producing a murder scene in your pants and with some sort of stomach virus churning up your guts, you were beginning to get worried.

“Have you been to the doctor?” she asked.

“Yeah right, they’d call here and Ten would somehow end up answering and find out the truth from some middle-aged balding guy instead of me!”

She raised her hands in surrender.

“Then… a drugstore test?” she asked.

“How? I’d end up using my credit card and when he pays the bill, he’d see a weird charge and ask me about it, then I’d have to tell him after he’d backed me into a corner!”

She sighed, clearly getting annoyed.

“Do you want me to get it for you?”

You paused a moment to think, a smile blossoming across your face.

“That’d be great!”

She let out a groan and slid up off the couch, grabbing her purse.

“If you are, I get to name it,” she declared before marching out of your apartment.

As her car started and back out of the driveway, you grabbed your favorite blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around you, burrowing yourself deeper into the fuzzy softness as your stomach twisted in knots. You shut your eyes and took a deep breath, praying for a good answer, but the issue was, you had no idea what answer you truly wanted.

On one hand, you loved Ten with all your heart and would jump at the chance of having a family with him. On the other, he was an idol. He was an idol in NCT no less that was constantly traveling back and forth between South Korea and China for promotions. He was busy. His career was just getting good. Something like this could, not only change your life, but alter his forever.

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

It hadn’t taken long for your best friend to get back from the pharmacy. It was only right down the road after all. Still, as soon as she stepped in the door, holding up a bag filled with packages of sticks that could show your future and alter your life, you tightened the blanket around you. Did you even want to know?

She sat down on the edge of the couch seeming to read your mind as she brought a hand up to softly stroke over your shoulder. Her gaze softened. You knew she understood. It wasn’t long ago that she’d also had a pregnancy scare which had resulted in simply being food poisoning.

You doubted that was the case this time.

“It’ll be better once you know. Then, there’s no longer the lingering curiosity and fear,” she encouraged softly.

She was right. You knew that, but nothing could stop the anxiety from pooling in your stomach as you cast your eyes at the shopping bag.

“How many did you get?” you asked.

“Five. Just to be certain,” she said softly.

With a nod and a deep breath, you reached for the bag still resting in her hand. You carried it to the bathroom, locking the door. You knew she wouldn’t barge in on you, but as shuddered breaths fell from your lips, you knew you needed to do this next part completely alone.

You unpackaged each of the tests and lined them up in an easily accessible row.

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

Eight minutes later, you sat on the bathroom floor, back pressed against the door as your eyes sharply watched the timer on your phone count down. Your chest clenched at the last few seconds before it dinged in your hand, signaling time was up. The tests were ready and, once you looked at the results, you would finally have answers, answers you possibly didn’t want.

“Deep breaths, (y/n),” you whispered to yourself.

You shut your timer off and eased yourself off the floor, hands trembling as you reached for the closest plastic stick. What were you even hoping for?

Your fingers closed around the plastic and your eyes closed, breath becoming shallow. Just a few more seconds. Few more seconds of ignorant bliss before you would be forced to learn the truth.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and opened your eyes, two pink lines on the stick greeting you.

The test fell from your hands as your body crumpled to the ground, tears spilling from your eyes and cascading down your face.

“(y/n)?” your best friend asked.

You didn’t respond. Your body shuddered as silent sobs racked through your body. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy or that you’d never dreamed of having a family, you just never expected it to happen like this, especially when you could not only ruin your life, but the life of a child and your boyfriends.

It was a few extra minutes before you were finally able to pull yourself off the floor and unlock the door. Your best friend gaped at your teary eyes, face etched with worry, but she opened her arms and you dropped into them, wrapping your arms around her tightly and clinging to her.

“It… It was… p-positive,” you stammered.

She squeezed you tightly, hands rubbing up and down your back.

“I’m pregnant…”

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

By sheer luck, Ten hadn’t come home that night, choosing to stay at the WayV dorm with Hendery and Xiaojun who, according to Ten, were distraught and upset that they didn’t get to see Ten every day anymore.

His absence had allowed you time to dispose of the tests, all of which read positive, burying them in the trash and making a mental note to take the trash out the next day. You’d also had time to calm yourself down enough to make a decision.

Getting rid of the baby wasn’t an option. You loved children. You’d always loved the prospects of having a child. Even if Ten wanted nothing to do with you or the child, you were not going to simply get rid of it. If he left and you decided you couldn’t do it on your own, you would check yourself into a facility that would help you and give the baby up for adoption. If you thought you could handle it, you would raise your own child. Because no matter what Ten said, you still had your own choices to make.

That night, you had settled down with a sappy romance movie and a bowl of ice cream, curled up in one of Ten’s shirts in bed, preparing to tell him the next day.

However, that day would never come.

As the next day rolled around, you had put off telling him and, as the days ticked by, you kept making excuses not to. Pretty soon, you’d hit the three month mark with a healthy baby and your flat stomach was starting to expand. You’d always worn baggier shirts so, covering up wasn’t a big deal, but the constant sickness and cravings were getting harder to hide.

Arms wrapped around your waist, causing you to jump, thoughts evaporating into the chilly air.

“What are you doing up so early?” he whispered sleepily against your ear, a chill running down your spine.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you calmly responded.

He hummed against your ear and squeezed you a little closer. You winced as his arms tightened around your stomach.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head.

“I’m still getting over this virus, I guess,” you lied.

Ten was an attentive man, so when he noticed how often you were getting sick, in the mornings specifically, he had immediately asked you about it. Being on the spot and not quite ready to tell him the truth, you’d lied that you’d been hanging around a friend with the stomach virus and they must have given it to you. He had bought it, insisting that you go to the doctor if it got worse, but you had declined. Now, weeks after you’d first lied, as your sickness continued, Ten was becoming more freaked out, begging you to go to the hospital, convinced that you were dying.

Not wanting to admit that you’d been lying, and slightly concerned that, even three months into your pregnancy, you were still getting sick, you had waited until Ten was doing promotions before going to your doctor.

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

“It’s nice to see you again, Ms. (y/l/n), how have you been feeling?” your doctor, Dr. Byun asked, taking a seat on the plush stool by the laptop.

“I’ve been alright. Just concerned. I know I’m around three months, but I would have thought the morning sickness would have ceased by now…”

He let out a hum and pulled your chart up on your laptop.

“Your last check-up was two weeks ago. Did they do an ultrasound? I’m not seeing it in here.”

You shook your head.

“Alright, so that’s the first step. I will tell you that morning sickness at three months usually goes away, but it is completely common and natural for some women to experience sickness well after that,” he responded.

You let out a sigh. Ten would never buy it if you told him your throwing up was completely normal. But you nodded and he stepped from the room to get a nurse to set up an ultrasound.

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

After the ultrasound, Dr. Byun came back, holding his notes.

“It looks like everything is normal. It’s possible that the baby is simply rejecting some of the nutrients given. I know oftentimes during pregnancy, the baby craves sweets, junk-food, or other things, but I would recommend trying to eat as many fruits and vegetables as possible. This will help give the baby nutrients and hopefully quell the sickness. However, I am going to send your blood-work to the labs and see if there is anything else going on.”

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

That had been a week ago and still, even with extra vegetables and well-balanced meals, the sickness persisted, and with it, grew Ten’s worry.

“Maybe I should take you to the hospital if it keeps getting worse,” he suggested, mumbling against your ear.

You shook your head.

“I trust Dr. Byun. He says it can be normal when the ba- I mean, when the immune system needs a little extra nutrients,” you answered.

He didn’t respond for a long moment, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Did Dr. Byun ever call you back with your bloodwork results?” he asked.

You shook your head. It was the truth. Sort of.

You really did feel bad for lying to him. It never was your intention, but the longer you kept your secret, the harder it got to tell him. Part of you wished you’d just come clean the day he’d gotten home so, you’d at least know how he felt and whether or not you’d be doing it alone. The other part of you was terrified the moment you told him that you’d be giving him up.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, lips touching your skin in a soft kiss that made you shudder in his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered against your skin.

Your heart melted. If he truly loved you, would he stay? Would he understand why you lied? Would he accept you and the baby as his?

Suddenly, you felt brave enough to come clean. No matter what, you were confident that love would prevail.

“Ten I-”

You were cut off as his phone began to ring.

He sighed, letting his head drop onto your shoulder before reaching into his pajamas pants to retrieve his phone.

“Hello?”

You couldn’t hear who was on the other end, but it was definitely Kun or their manager.

“Now?” he asked.

His nose crinkled in annoyance.

“But (y/n)’s still sick!”

A huff fell from his lips.

“Fine,” he growled into the receiver, hanging up the phone and shoving it back into his pocket, eyes fixing hard on the railing.

“I have to go. Some stupid radio show decided last minute they want us there and we can’t get out of it now,” he grumbled.

You turned around, your courage disappearing as you placed a soft hand on his cheek.

“It’s alright baby. Go, I’ll be here when you get back,” you spoke softly.

He leaned his cheek against your hand, leaning his face closer to press a gentle kiss to your wrist. Butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“I’ll be home after lunch,” he promised.

With that, he hurried back inside.

You watched him disappear into your shared bedroom before facing the city again. The sun was now almost all the way over the horizon.

Would Ten still kiss you like that if he knew?

Your heart clinched heavily in your chest.

Would you be able to live without him if he left?

Ten’s POV

Something wasn’t right. Ten knew that. What he didn’t know was what. (Y/n) had been sick for several weeks and, despite her reassurance that everything was “normal” and “fine,” he couldn’t shake the notion that you were lying about something.

As his car pulled up to the WayV dorm where their manager would be picking them up, he glanced down at his phone. He had been expecting to see you in his background, smiling blissfully, looking as radiant and beautiful as ever by the lake they’d visited over the summer, right before you’d gotten sick. What he saw instead was himself, grinning and holding a small cupcake with purple icing, a single lit candle waiting to be blown out. The picture you’d taken on his birthday.

Confused, he turned the phone over in his hand and shook his head in minor annoyance at the cute little stickers of Ten and the other members of WayV stuck on the clear phone case. Your phone case.

He must have accidentally taken your phone rather than his own in his rush to get dressed and get to the dorm.

A small laugh bubbled to his throat. He knew getting matching phones and phone cases would end up being a bad idea, but you had insisted.

The phone vibrated in his hand and he laughed as his own name popped onto the screen.

From Ten<3: Babe, you took my phone instead :D

Ten shook his head.

To Ten<3: guess you’ll have to forward me updates from everyone today!

From Ten<3: Or I could keep them all to myself and “forget” to tell you

He sent back a laughing emoji and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He stepped out of his car as the large van meant to take them to the radio show pulled up. He waved to the manager driving and laughed to himself as YangYang led the way sprinting from the building, Lucas and Hendery hot on his heels.

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

It was in the middle of the show that Ten felt the phone buzzing in his pocket. As Lucas energetically retold the story of how he’d managed to pull off a prank on Kun and WinWin, Ten discreetly pulled the phone from his pocket. Dr. Byun flashed across the screen and Ten’s heart quickened. On one hand, he wanted to respect your privacy and not answer the call. On the other, he desperately wanted some answers.

“We’re going to take a quick break! We’ll be right back!” the host said over the speaker.

That was all the answer Ten needed to hear.

He clicked the green answer button and pressed his phone to his ear, quickly making his way out of the room before anyone could question him.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Byun, is Ms. (y/l/n) nearby?” he asked.

“She isn’t but I’m her boyfriend. I can take a message.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ten knew he shouldn’t have said them, but part of him couldn’t help being curious, his gut too filled with worry to think rationally.

“I’m calling to let her know we got her results back. Her sickness is being caused by an anemia that sometimes has the effect on women carrying children. The fetus isn’t getting enough protein nutrients. We’d recommend she eat more red meat and add anemia vitamins to her prenatal vitamins. If the sickness doesn’t stop in two weeks, she should come back in for another visit,” he said.

The phone dropped from Ten’s hand, hitting the floor hard. His eyes were wide, hands shaking. His left knee gave out first, buckling beneath his weight. He clutched the wall for support.

“Ten!”

Kun’s voice barely reached his ears as his heart pounded.

The leaders arms wrapped around Ten’s middle, leading him to lean against him as Kun held him up.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok? Are you feeling faint?”

Ten didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on a spot on the wall.

Pregnant. That’s why you kept throwing up…

Your POV

The moment you’d noticed you were left with Ten’s phone, anxiety pooled in your stomach. You had no idea when Dr. Byun was going to call or whether Ten would answer. Dr. Byun telling Ten the truth was not exactly the best way for him to find out. Especially since you’d been lying to him.

The minute the door to your shared apartment flew open, slamming hard against the wall, your hands began to shake.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me?!” he snapped as soon as he rounded the corner.

His face was red with anger, a sight you weren’t used to seeing. Ten didn’t get angry a lot. And when he did, he often had good outlets, like dance, to vent his anger.

He yanked your phone out of his pocket and threw it on the couch, making you flinch.

“You lied to me! For months! Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” he seethed.

Yours eyes glazed as they met his, tears gathering, but you blinked, refusing to let them fall when his anger was your fault to begin with.

“I-I… I was afraid… I didn’t want to lose you…”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you wanted to take them back. His face fell. His arms tumbled precariously to his side. Tears gathered in his own eyes, escaping and cascading slowly down his face.

Ten didn’t cry often. His pride prevented it. Watching his shoulders begin to tremble and shake had guilt gripping at your heart tightly.

“Did I not prove my love to you enough?” he asked, voice stammering.

You stared at him for a moment before sliding yourself off the couch and wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders.

“I know you love me baby. But… your career… I was afraid you’d leave me… leave us… because I was holding you back from this…”

It was a long moment before he responded.

His hands cupped your face gently, brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized were beginning to fall.

“My career is important. I love being in WayV, but you always come first. And now, you and the baby come first,” he spoke softly.

He trailed his hand down to softly rest it on your stomach. A water smile spread across your face.

“You’re going to have to do a lot of the parenting alone. So I’ll understand if you want to leave me to find the baby a father that will be there to help you. Otherwise, I’m with you all the way.”

You brought your gaze to his, searching his eyes for jokes or laughter. Finding none, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close to you.

“Our baby could have no better father than you,” you whispered softly.

He pressed his lips delicately to yours, drawing you in closer and holding you against him.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Both of you.”

#ten fanfic #reader insert #ten x reader #nct x reader #short fic #I hope this isn't too trash

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cinearia · 3 years

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The "Morally Grey" in ACOTAR

I decided to write something I have been thinking about since I saw some people saying this when pointing out the wrong attitude of some characters in ACOTAR (aka Rhysand and company), but I think this can apply in general. In another specific story, but I will focus on ACOTAR.

And please, if you disagree, that's fine. This is an opinion of mine that I decided to write and post, because I find it an interesting subject that does not necessarily apply only in ACOTAR, but that is in the saga and I have seen people commenting on it. I don't want to fight with anyone, okay? I put in the tags that fit in.

So...

I love morally gray characters, but just to make it clear right now, I don't think that EVERY story has to have ambiguous characters. It's okay if the story is to follow a line more heroes versus villains line. But one of the things I saw here on tumblr and twitter about the attitudes of IC, Rhysand and Feyre was using that same argument, that they are not perfect, that they have their flaws. I definitely agree with that.

But history itself does not recognize this (and some fans too). Because nobody seems to call their shit out.

Starting from a general view that can include all of the IC. Like, how not to worry about your image while protecting your city? Okay, i get it, we had to be the tHe BaD gUyS, but y'all will suffering the consequences for this, especially if its to protect your own city. Some other people are protecting their citys too. Doesn't mean that you are wrong, but everything has consequences.

Or, how they constantly abuse their power; how Rhysand threatening and using his powers even at a political meeting sound good? How Feyre ended up hurting someone during that same meeting, even if unintentionally, was just fine? No one will call their shit about using their powers? Do you really seek to make allies and friends in the middle of a war by showing abuse of power and threatening others (and not just feysand doing this)? Or saying that they should step over the others so that there is only one king and queen in Prythian (that was right for you, Amren).

And that is partly the fault of writing. Now, more specific:

They lie and steals a valuable artifact from a possible ally and political leader of an entire court? Ah, but it is for a greater good. It will not jeopardize the confidence of a HIGH LORD OF A COURT who was supposed to be his ally in the midst of a war.

Did Feyre decimate an court? Ah, but the leader was abusive to her, she felt trapped in the place that was rebuilding because of a curse of hundreds of years, even though there are innocent people. And, of course, you will have the consequences for this.

(this one more personal and less political) Elain, perhaps the least worst of all, neglected Feyre as much as Nesta did, and also do nothing when she went hunting? Ah, but Elain is Elain.

Did Rhysand hide information from Feyre's pregnancy that she and the baby could die in childbirth? Ah, but he didn't want to worry her, he was scared to lose her and her son. And the whole IC agreed not to tell her anything? Ah, they also care about her, the High Lady.

(And this is the worst and yes, I’ve seen someone say that) Rhysand did it all with Feyre UTM, drugged her, put her in a dress that didn’t cover anything, made her dance all night on his lap? But because he wanted to protect her, we need to hear both sides of the story.

And that's fine because they are the good guys in the story. But it is nothing more than pure hypocrisy, and no consequence falls on them. If it happens, it will be unfair, is just to move the plot.

Do you want us to believe in the heroes of history, do you want us to side with them? Great, we can do that. We could have liked Feyre and Rhysand and the whole IC more, as a group that doesn't always do the right things, except that would have to change literally EVERYTHING (a little bit of charisma would be good).

Instead, for me, it became an egocentric boring FoUnD FaMiLy group that only cares about their own city - and it's not necessarily wrong to be concerned only with Velaris, it's part of their history. But forcing an image on them that doesn't match their actions makes me believe the opposite, especially cause started in ACOSF, again from AMREN, about a King and Queen in Prythian.

So, I came to believe that it was a POV issue. For IC, they are the heroes of history, and think they are better than the rest.

It would be curious, in fact, if the whole point was that Feyre's POV would incapacitate us from seeing the flaws that she doesn't see. And totally proposital. That is why we have to see her as a saint, but at the same time so badass. Wow, no one, i repeat, NO ONE, suspect of me while i pretend to be innocent.

Or how we see her mate so perfect, to the point that history doesn't allow us to stop and think 'wait, this is kind of ...weird'. Or that, as much as there is an error there, but not leat the reader question the characters themselves. Rhysand, for Feyre, is perfect.

We have to see Rhysand as that altruistic, laid-back person who does everything for others, mostly because he did it for Feyre, and that can't be denied. He saved her, took her to her city, her family. What made me stop to think is how Feyre may be reproducing their behavior. How he seems to want her to be part of it so badly. I don't know how to put it into words, but that's more or less what I wrote in another rant I did.

Everything she does is justified by the other characters. At the same time that she, Rhysand and everyone in the IC have hypocritical and very wrong attitudes that history itself does not recognize. And, worst of that, the story seems glorify her POV.

Seriously, when she disobeys the instructions given to her (what she does the most) she has no one to say 'girl, please stop. Just STOP)

And with this said, i add:

We don't have to agree with everything that the characters and the protagonist do. We can love them and still disagree with them, because they are people, or fae, like any other, and there will always be something in them that we will disagree with. It makes them real. They can be heroes and still have their dark side.

The reasons may be as noble as possible, but that will not exclude the consequences, it will not exclude them from being wrong. They do not necessarily need to take a spur or a lesson in morals, but just do not miss out on what every action can bring, especially political leaders in the midst of a war.

Whenever the IC does something, it is for a "bigger" reason, but without giving us the chance to even question it. We don't see them paying for their words, without necessarily moving the plot of the story, in a story that focuses so much on the development of the characters themselves and putting the war in the background (or how should been). Without us being able to question the motivations of the good guys and always doubt the villains.

And this is where I’m going to focus on a more specific point; funny like any character who is "MoRaLlY GrAy" and who "have YOUR rEaSoNs" are men or with history of abuser. Thats funny, right? The new one now is Eris, who was part of Mor's trauma and one of Lucien's nasty brothers, that one who already attacked Lucien, the one who was going to kill Feyre. Who did all that to Mor.

But having Eris saying that she, the victim, didn't tell the whole truth, and the history is now showing that we will see his side...

It just makes me ask, how, in ALL the process of creating and writing these books, passing for her editors, in the books that she wants to pass the message of feminism so much, SJM didn't stop to think, or didn't have a friend to put their hand on your conscience, how wrong does it sound for the abuser to say that the victim is lying?

Why are the men in this saga constantly gaining the gift of doubt?

I can no longer see Rhysand as being morally gray precisely because of what SJM wants us to believe as he is and justifies his actions. What could have been in ACOTAR stopped being completely from ACOMAF, probably because SJM wanted that in her story, the girl would stay with the """villain"""

For from then on, every action of Rhysand is justified and without future consequences, since we are supposed to root for him. Now he is the protagonist's new love interest. So we don't blame him for what he does. So, everything is fine. He's not the bad guy.

And meanwhile, Tamlin comes down to being the bad, abusive guy and... That's it. And no, I don't think he's a good person, he doesn't have to have an arc of redemption, what he did with Feyre is still wrong. The difference now is that Tamlin is just that, those are his only attributes now, while Rhysand has attitudes as bad as, perhaps more, than he had. One is being extremely vilanized while the other is the hero of history, when they are only two sides of the same coin.

I can share this hatred as ALL characters feel for Tamlin, if I didn't see how everyone else did such bad things. Let's remember too, one has the job of torturing people, another has decimated an entire village. They really do what they want and... It's okay.

Doesn't work say that the story has a morally grey area with the characters if the consequences balance it does not lean towards the protagonists.

It costs me less to believe that they are what they are every time SJM reinforces in Feyre's POV how selfless Rhysand is and how much Feyre talks about how badass she is and the two of them such a powerful couple. Literally, I start to think the opposite.

(I did a second part of this rant, but I think it can get a little more personal cause focus in Nesta and Feyre that I decided to split it in two)

#sjm talk so much that rhys is the most beatiful male all the time #that i start to see him with a normal appearence #thats sound so wrong #i swear i cant stand eris #if sjm continue with this redemption arc #rhysand is already wrong #cassian too #azril is more acceptable but still no #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #anti feyre #anti acotar #anti acosf #anti ic #anti amren #morally grey

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nightswithkookmin · 3 years

Text

Dear new friend,

I just finished reading your messages. First of all, thank you. I think I would have been less traumatized out here if a lot of people took to sharing their thoughts on matters such as these in the manner in which you do.

I think I set myself up too because I be wanting to participate in certain topics and discussions and so often I find myself trying to sieve through the vitriol and pejoratives.

The gender of the word is feminine not masculine. I don’t see how that is misinformation.

"Sorry, the misinformation bit was because I was thinking about that tweet that went viral about this word being used only for woman. The person said it was an adjective, and you said it was an adjective, so I thought you were basing this information on that tweet. That day was crazy, some people spread this, wanted to change his pronouns, trend a hashtag and were saying he had came out... This was too much. And the "debunked" thing was about this tweet, as well. Not about the words being feminine and masculine. That's a fact, you're right."

I had no idea a tweet went viral like that claiming he wanted to change his pronouns. That's wild and I disagree. Lol. I think I've always maintained he uses He/him pronouns and said time and again I do not think he wants to be emasculated at all. As I said, that would have made him transgender not bigender and thus defeat the purpose. To be bigender he has to be two genders at the same time not one.

But I have been following the discussions on this topic on the bird app and I try my best to bring nuance to certain discussions. I try. Lol.

I take note of the differences between your language and Latin as you rightly pointed out. But I also do see the similarities and I think the explanation you gave and the examples you provided gives me a better understanding of the language structure.

"Yeah, totally fine hahah We tend to interpret things according to our own experiences; for me, a gendered word is part of my daily life, normal, and I don't bat an eye about it. Is just a word, the importance is in its meaning ─ and it suits filter SOOO well. For you, it's something more. At the end of the day, art is here to be interpreted, and if Jimin doesn't explicitly explain the filter performance, tattoos, set, outfits... It's open for interpretation. (And I'm not a person that tries to find hidden meanings. I simply enjoy what I enjoy. I have this thing about being as accurate as possible, so I try to stick to facts (like: I don't feel comfortable saying he chose these words, because I don't know if HE was the person that chose it (in the sense that he was the one that bring it up to the staff/company). Maybe someone else showed it to him and he was like: "Nice! I want it!". But I feel okay saying he's had a tattoo with these words (A fact). Also I don't make a big deal of most things ─ for me Jimin is Jimin and I'm supporting him regardless, he's precious)

(But Memories 2020 is coming and I'm almost sure they are going to show filter behind the scenes!!!! So we're going to understand better this masterpiece (I HOPE SO))

I understand what you mean. Some people are inclined towards taking the literal meaning of texts or in this case art and not read much into situations beyond what is presented at face value- not me🤣🤣🤣🤣

I do the magnifying glass and errthang👁

I think humans are complex and there's always a possibility of a psychological and or pathological stimulus underscoring their behaviors, choices and actions in most cases.

But that aside, I think it's easier to take a heteronormative view on things sometimes because cis straight has always been the norm even in appreciating art- but truth is, coding and co opting codified expressions is almost always part of queer culture and behavior too. If any other queer celebrity had used that expression, I would be reading much into it too beyond its semantics.

For me it's simple, would I be reading too too much into the language and art choice of someone I thought was cis straight? Hell No. Straight is boring and blunt as fuck.

Unless of course they were being intentionally witty or secretive about something, I'd assume and expect their expressions to be pretty much straight forward- generally. I went home to be would mean just that.

If I sensed the author were queer coding Home would mean something else entirely to be. Home becomes a symbol not a word. And if he chose to write that in Latin and not the language they spoke naturally, I'd assume there's something about that language that he likes and perhaps uses to code a queer message.

For closeted queer people who live in a world where they are constantly coerced to take on a duality and have an expressional alter egos- two identical identities with one being the facade and pretense through which they openly and largely perform normalcy of self, the other being their real self which they tuck away because it is inconsistent with the acceptable norms- I'd a take a very different approach to their art. But that's me.

If a straight person said they needed escape, it would mean something totally different to me than say if a queer person said they needed escape. Because those two are escaping two very different things.

For example, the words Moon and moonlight used by a straight person means nothing to me- perhaps because I just don't care much to look for its deeper meaning beyond the literal meaning of the words as presented. If it appears in a queer person's parlance, even if in passing, I assume immediately they are referencing something much more deeper, meaningful and coded.

Queer coding is a thing you know? And it's born out of necessity not choice sometimes.

Take for instance BTS's proclivity to 'queer codify' their music. Moon and moonlight has become symbolic of the inner struggles of a queer person amongst black 'educated' queer men and women. It's come to symbolize cultural norms and expectations and how those affect queer people- perhaps of all race.

In the Movie Moonlight, which has become the epitome of queer black struggles and desires for liberation, this motif was used to represent the struggles of a black boy dealing with the pressures of a hyper masculine society.

When RM references this in 4 Oclock, 'the whole world is blue under the moonlight' is he queer coding or just appropraiting queer parlance as buzz word? That expression takes on a whole new meaning were he queer. Blue symbolizes queerness- a theory popularized of course by the Film. When V who once wrote an allegedly 'queer coded song' Stigma says he is blue- what does he mean now? On the surface blue means blue. Would you take a straightforward view on this or assume its symbolic? And what is it symbolic of?? Sadness?? Gayness?

If RM had an accompanying tattoo as compliment to the song in his performance that evoked similar sentiments or hinted at a possible second meaning I wouldn't assume that that tattoo meant nothing or that it didn't have a deeper meaning behind it.

It's just as how Lil Nas X posted a city of rainbows and people said 'rainbows are rainbows. Y'all shouldn't read much into it.' But for queer people that was pretty much a declaration of his sexuality.

Later he had to post again and reiterate that that rainbow post was his coming out moment. 'I thought I made it obvious.'

Somethings are pretty much obvious.

For JM who don't speak Latin- unless he is secretly fluent in which case my bad- I don't think he cares so much about the grammar of the language beyond it's meaning. And perhaps gender? Grammatical gender I mean. That's just because the first thing you learn about Latin is that all the nouns are gendered?

I won't lie. When I first learned that I was supper fascinated about grammatical gender and why speakers of the language felt a need to gender every word of the language.

In the end, we all don't know. I'm out here convinced two Asian men are so gay they can't straight to save their asses. I have a tendency to view everything they do through queer lens. If they are not gay I'm pretty much gaslighting them you know?

I'm always fascinated by different point of views on a myriad of subjects. Just as you said, our diverse experiences inform our experiences and perspectives. I just hope people acknowledge how their straightness informs their understanding of queerness too and how that has a tendency to be invalidating and dismissive of queer issues and experiences.

But to me it's like, if Jikook are gay why do you have to interpret what they do through straight lens?

Personally, I wouldn't interpret straight through queer lens and force that view on to straight people. That would be homonormative? Assuming rainbow means straight people are gay when they are not, moon means feminine to straight men, that the use of the word God makes one a Christian- that's just silly and bizarre.

I use Namaste often and suddenly some people here think I'm Indian. I wish. They have one hell of a culture.

When I was reading through your messages, all that kept playing in my head was- that's a very 'straight' view on the matter. Lol. Please tell me you got the pun. Lol.

I think my opinion will remain the same on the matter if you placed any queer person in Jimin's stead. Any queer person that I believed was queer and had hinted a few times at exploring a dual identity or going through that phase at least.

I think I'd enjoy your blog if you had one.

I love love the lesson on Italian or is it Spanish?

Also, I would love your take on V and Stigma. A lot of queer stans have a queer reading of the lyrics- I see the appeal however I don't have a queer reading of it at all. Thoughts??

Namaste.

Signed,

GOLDY

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bbaronpiper · 4 years

Text

Darkness

Hi guys! here’s another story I wrote for you. This one’s a bit personal. My demons are stronger than me tonight soooo. yeah. I didn’t go into details but I dunno maybe it may trigger yours a bit too. so please be cautious and don’t continue reading if you feel it may trigger you. love you all! Night! I’m off to bed <3

I hope I lived up to your expectation anon. Also sorry to the lovely anon who requested fluff. I promise I’ll write yours after this. <3

i already know its gonna break my heart but can u write a fic with either 23 or 35 from the angst prompt list? thanks so much ❤️

23.”How do I make you love me again?”

35.” Can I have one last kiss?”

not my GIF. Credits to @anderaron

Aron Piper x Reader

Your life is a fucking routine and you’re getting tired of it. Every day you wake up, go to your 9 am to 5 pm job, pass by the grocery or fast food chain for your dinner, go back to your apartment, eat, watch TV then go to bed, wake up the next morning and do it all over again. Every. Damn. Single. Day. You never felt genuine happiness and you’re convinced you probably never will. Yes, you smile and you laugh but you always had this darkness in you which goes a long way back in your childhood days. It’s a feeling of emptiness.

Until he came along. Yet you never considered him as your knight in shinning armor. You hated the thought that women needed men to save them. No, women are built strong, they can save themselves and besides you’re not sure if you want to be saved. However, you can’t deny the fact that Arón spiced up your life. He brought different kind of positive feeling without even trying and for a moment, you forgot about this certain darkness of yours. You bury it deep inside you as an unfamiliar, pleasant feeling emerged.

You met him in a photoshoot as you were working in a production house but this was way before his career took off, before Elite. The “simpler times” as he used to say.

“You wanna go for a drive?” he asked you smiling.

“as long as I’m driving” you stick out your tongue at him. He never let you drive not because his car is expensive as shit but because you are a reckless driver.

“How about no?” he said almost laughing and put his arms around you as you both walk to his car. “I Have a few on my bucket list that I haven’t crossed yet” he winked

You just laughed at him and pinch him on the arm earning a low “oww” from him. You love watching him drive though. The way his arm muscles flex a little every time he shifted gears. His short glances from the road to you as you sit beside him. The way he put his arm behind your seat when he’s backing up. Damn. That shit turns you on more than he knows.

You both found yourselves at Cerro del Tio Pio Park. Both of you love going up here enjoying the nice quiet time it provides not to mention the beautiful view of the city lights. Arón may have loved this place a bit more than anyone. He always come here every time the noise in his head gets too loud for him, get some steam off or just enjoy the sunset with you.

you felt his hand rest on your thigh. you looked at him and saw he had a small smile playing on his lips while looking forward, straight at the sun as it sinks down. You then place your hand on top of his.

“Arón”

“Hmm?” he answered still looking at the sky.

“Te quiero.” you said simply. Blush slowly creeping in on your cheeks. He looked at you and grins. “I think I love you moooorrrreee than you love me” you played trying to get a little something from him.

“Nahhh. That’s not possible. Yo te quiero mas.” (I love you more) and with that he leaned in to give you a kiss.

His kisses are passionate most of the time. so passionate that you always get lost in it as you feel yourself melt. Your hand traveled up to his neck just behind his ears, deepening the kiss. This goes on for a few minutes before you both pulled back gasping for air. You see him smiling at you hinting at something. You rolled your eyes, laughed and nodded yes knowing he’s asking you to make love with him. He then got out of the car and went to your side. Imagine having sex in a two- seater car. Damn right.

“Uhh. It’s tight in here” he said not knowing how to position himself.

“yeah I heard that before. Just last night, I think?” you laughed relieving the words he said while he pounds into you the night before.

“whatever, Y/N. you know you loved it too” biting his lips as you see his growing bulge. He sat on the passenger seat lifting his ass up a little to help you get off of his pants and he did the same to you. you positioned yourself on his lap, your legs draped on either side of him and kiss him. His hands traveled down your pussy and played with your clit, rubbing circles making you moan in his mouth.

“Gotta wet you first bebe” he said in between kisses. You didn’t respond as the pleasure took over you. “you like that huh?”

“hmm” again, no words just moans.

“words Y/N” he demanded as he pushed two fingers inside you. you moan in pleasure at the sudden feeling. “Y-yes” you stammered. You buried your face deep into his neck as he moves his finger faster and curled it. he pulled out completely after a few pumps making you groan at the loss of touch. You decided to play him again and started to rub your pussy against his length a few times. Earning a low moan from him“You like that baby?” you said mimicking his words earlier. You then positioned yourself on his tip. As you were about sink down on him, you stopped and got only a few inch of him in. “words, Arón” you said close to his ears. He just grunts in return growing impatient and put his hands on your waist and slammed you down into him. You screamed his name so loud you think you startled the birds on the tree. “Si, I liked that” he teased you.

He lets you adjust for a few seconds. Your nails dug into his forearms as you feel him stretching you out. Damn, he’s huge. You slowly rise up and sink down again slowly. Moaning his name while doing so. Repeating this until you had the urge to go faster. You looked at Arón as he watched his dick disappear and appear inside your pussy. You cupped his face making him look at you while you moan his name. he smashed his lips into yours silencing you while his hand grabbed your left ass cheek and the other went down on your clit again rubbing it fast. “Cum for me Y/N” he then licked your nipple, sucking and biting it lightly and soon enough you felt your pussy clench around him “Oh, fuck.. fucckkk.. fuck.. Arón!!” and cum on his dick. He slammed into you a few more times before letting himself go. You both collapsed on the seat catching your breath. His arm automatically went to your waist holding you tightly and the other at the back of your neck. Your foreheads pressed together savoring the moment.

But this was almost a year ago. If you only knew then what you know now, you would’ve hold on to him a bit longer that night.

You lied on your bed watching him sleep, your hand placed on his chest caressing it slowly with your thumb. Contemplating on how you’re supposed to tell him. Tell him that the darkness within you resurfaced and you couldn’t handle it anymore. You were not sure if it was because of your busy schedules, the months being away from each other, his constantly partying leaving you alone in bed or it’s just that there’s really something wrong going on with you. Nevertheless, it’s back. You felt it once again: The emptiness, you thought was long gone.

“Good morning princesa” his husky voice broke you out of your thoughts. You just smiled at him in return. A smile that didn’t reach your eyes and he knew right there and then that there’s something wrong. He turned to face you completely. Lifting your chin up. “A penny for your thoughts?”

You opened your mouth just to close it again. Not knowing where to start. Arón knows you had issues like this and he always understand and helped you with it just as you do to him. Your chin starts to quiver but you’re trying your best not to shed a tear. When Arón noticed, this is when he start to be more alert and awake.

“C’mon baby, you can tell me. I’m here” scooting closer to you.

“we need to break up” you said quickly, avoiding eye contact.

“What’s that baby? try that again but slower.”

“Arón” your voice starts to tremble. “I think we should break up”

He looked at you with what seems like forever not saying a single word. It took him a lot of strength to sit up on his side of the bed, with this back turned on you, rubbing his hands on his face like he always do when he’s frustrated. You then sat up on the bed too resting your back on the head board. Afraid of how’s he gonna react.

“No” his voice muffled as his hands are still on his face.

“Arón-” he cut you off

“I said no” his voice stern still had his back turned on you.

You knew he loves you. and you love him. With everything you have. But you didn’t wanna drag him down with you nor ask him to save you from this. So you had to lie, you know it’ll break him but it's for the best.

“I don’t love you anymore” looking down on the sheets. Your fingers fidgeting.

He instantly turned his head to you. “Que?” his face has a mixed look of shocked and pain. “Don’t say that baby. Tell me you’re lying Y/N”

“No, Arón. I’m sorry but it’s the truth” you heart breaks at every word. The look on his face killed you. you wanted to take it back but you know the damage has been done.

“How? Why? When? What the fuck Y/N?” questions after questions after questions. He just kept on throwing them at you and you couldn’t comprehend. Everything went into slow motion and you couldn’t hear a word he says, you’re too focused on the pained expression on his face. Your Arón. You broke him. You couldn’t give him answers. you just sat there looking at him with tears streaming down your face.

“Y’N!!!” he screamed, frustrated. You were startled and afraid. “answer me! ” You’ve never seen him like this.

“I’m sorry, it has to be this way.” You stood up from the bed. Went to your shared cabinet and starts to load your clothes on your luggage. Your tears are now streaming down your face like a waterfall. You couldn’t stop it but you tried your best not to make a sound which made it difficult to breath. He can’t see you like this. He would see through you and your plan wouldn’t work. You’ll just fall back into his arms again in one snap. He sat there on the bed as his leg bounced up and down, looking at you as you packed your things. Unable to grasp the reality.

He then stood up and walked out the room probably to smoke. You continued to pack your things pacing from the bathroom to the bedroom gathering your things. your heart was pounding in your chest you can almost hear it. You know you had to do this quickly as you felt that you’re about to breakdown. You were zipping your luggage when he walked back in the room. You slowly stood up and turn to face him only to see him inches away from you. his eyes red and his cheeks are flushed.

“How do I make you love me again?” he whispered while he searched for your eyes hoping for a slight chance he has with you. His hands went to touch both of your forearms with his thumb caressing your skin. Desparation evident in his eyes.

A stab in the heart. That’s what it felt like when you heard his words. But you believe you’re doing this for him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat “You’ll always have a special place in my heart, Arón” his looked down as he shut his eyes tightly. Not the answer he wanted to hear but he knows there’s nothing he can do to change your mind now. He lost you.

“Can I have a one last kiss?” you can feel the pain in his voice and all you wanted was to wrap him in your arms and tell him you’re sorry. That you change your mind and that you love him dearly. But unfortunately, the darkness in you won. Again.

You closed the gap between you, cupped his face and kiss him with every passion and love you have in your body and he did the same to you. You can feel his hiccups from crying but he continued to kiss you, never wanting it to end. You both pulled away but he refused to let go. so he place another quick kiss on your lips and said. “I have never loved anyone this much in my life but if this is what you really want, I’ll give it to you. I love you too damn much.”

You wept. You cried in his arms as he did to you. you were standing in the room holding onto each other for the last time and you never felt this kind of sadness in 3 years you’ve been together. But again, you had to. you pulled away pushing his chest lightly.

“Thank you for everything Arón. Te quiero but this is for the best.” You sniffled and wipe your tears. trying to limit the words you say because you had to get out as soon as possible and drown yourself in your own tears. You then grabbed your luggage and begun to walk away when you heard him say…

“Maybe for you Y/N, but not for me”

#aron piper imagines #aron piper fanfic #aron piper x reader #aron piper #Aron piper x you #Elite imagines #Aron x reader

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46ten · 4 years

Text

AH: marriage and military service should not mix

The summary of this post: A lot of historians have noted how important AH’s marriage to EH was to his future, a true before and after marker in his life. But the strangeness of it has gotten less attention - AH married while the war was going on, and even wrote of not hanging around the army at all in order to setup for his life with his new wife. Once one sees the oddity of that, a lot of other things fall into place in his 1780/81 letters.

For the past few years, I’ve wanted to work more on the theory that although marriage was generally expected of the 18th century Anglo-American colonial man (see prior posts here and here), the elite in AH’s circle did not marry until their military obligations and other duties were complete. From their examples and a few phrases here and there, getting married seemed to have been frowned upon, perhaps because of the uncomfortable examples of general’s wives and this idea that romantic love with a woman was a weakness that interfered with duty and hindered one’s commitment to military glory. (I am familiar with the challenges faced by Martha Washington, Catharine Greene, and Lucy Knox; Philip Schuyler refused a return to military assignment and presidency of the Continental Congress after the death of a newborn, among other things, in 1778). AH is an exception among his circle, with Meade, in getting married during the war itself - nearly everyone else who is unmarried waits until after their military service is complete (and sometimes well after) to marry. Not enough is made of the oddity of his courtship and marriage, within his circle, while the war is ongoing.

Now to modern thought, the title of this post makes a lot of sense - relationships are often strained when one partner is in military service, and the hows and whys are very familiar to us. But for the 18th century, when adult manhood was tied to matrimony, avoiding matrimony seems odd, as does the length of some of the courtships of AH’s friends: two years for William Jackson, about the same for Tilghman, four years of flirtation for McHenry. At a time when engagements lasted a matter of weeks (and AH notes that his own is unusually long - it’s lasting “an age” in one of his letters to ES), the delay in taking the next step is notable. Even in the prior generation, although Philip Schuyler was sexually intimate with Catharine Van Rensselaer, he continued his military service and did not marry her until it became unavoidable by decency standards (CVR was 4 months pregnant).

So what’s with AH and ES wanting to get married in such a hurry, comparatively, besides the obvious emotional ones? Maybe he really was 26-27 years old and time was running out! Another obvious possibility, noted then and noted by biographers since, was the benefits of their marriage on a personal and political dynastic level. @aswithasunbeam has noted a contemporary article (sourced from Mitchell) about what Philip Schuyler had to gain through the new attachment between himself and Washington’s aide-de-camp. (And look how quickly P. Schuyler had AH working to get GW to visit them.) The advantages for AH were obvious to, as the Marquis de Fleury stated outright to AH: “ I congratulate you heartyly on that conquest; for many Reasons: the first that you will get all that familly’s interest, & that a man of your abilities wants a Little influence to do good to his country. The second that you, will be in a very easy situation, & happin’s is not to be found without a Large estate.”

I also suspect part of AH’s decision to hurriedly marry was tied to getting a command and spending the rest of his time studying the law.* I agree with most biographers that he never takes the steps of leaving Washington’s family and asking for (Nov 1780) and then demanding (June 1781) a command without being Philip Schuyler’s son-in-law. (I also think the break with GW doesn’t happen without AH feeling VERY confident in his relationship with his new wife. EH should have been a better patriot - as in other times - and seemed less happy in her marriage, or at least not let AH read her letter to her sister.) I think that’s what Laurens knew while on parole in Phil. and causes the minor flurry of letters in late August/September 1780, when P. Schuyler was briefly at HQ and then sending lots of letters about Congress to GW, AH was going on about his planned six month leave, McHenry was writing a love poem about AH and ES and trying to get AH to get P. Schuyler’s help in getting him a command, etc . AH and ES likely intended to marry in October/early November, but both Meade and Harrison took leave instead, and AH had to stay, though he would leave in late November before their return (in fact, Harrison and Meade never returned.)

Take Laurens (left wife and daughter he’d never see in England) and Lafayette (absent from France from March 1777 to Feb 1779 and March 1780 to early 1782). Both of them left wife and child(ren) behind, and here AH was planning a long absence from military service and telling his fiancee that he’ll leave it entirely if that’s her wish. AND Meade is discussing doing exactly that! [So Laurens presumably wrote to AH - we don��t have that letter - that he hopes AH will get over this quickly, and AH wrote back that he won’t, but I’m getting ahead of myself.]

I offered to make a comparison of AH’s letters to Laurens vs Elizabeth Schuyler - while revealing of personal feelings, in content and expression they are more different than they are similar - but I think I first need to set up that major transition that’s occurring in AH’s life in 1780/81. To the extent Laurens may have objected to AH’s excitement about ES and their impending nuptials (and there’s only one phrase in one letter, and that from AH to Laurens, from which it can be interpreted that those were Laurens’ feelings), and AH felt embarrassed about conveying the news of his engagement, it was because it interfered with a (believed to be mutual) sense of military obligation and public duty and dismissal of marriage and its attendant obligations. I touch on it in a response here; I’ll try to elaborate on it in upcoming posts. [I will get into why this makes the most sense, and why claims of AH trying to spare any romantic feelings JL may have felt, quite frankly, do not make sense in a later post. Spoiler: AH wrote absurdly callous stuff re ES and his relationship with her in his letters to JL if he was hoping to spare JL’s feelings.]

I already put some of my thoughts on this in old posts that may have some helpful content and may spare me having to repeat myself too much, and then I’ll also provide some quotes from letters to get started, limited to 1777-1782 and then probably the most famous quote from 1799.

Hamilton on marriage part 1 (overview)

Hamilton on marriage part 2 (feelings on marriage 1777-early 1780)

Hamilton-Schuyler engagement (early 1780-mid 1780)

Hamilton on marriage part 3 (my breakdown of the July-Oct 1780 letters to ES)

Hamilton on marriage part 4

Reynolds Pamphlet, part 2

And a post (not my own) about how much AH’s military involvement as Inspector General was affecting his family financially.

Letter quotes [my emphases]:

You and I, as well as our neighbours, are deeply interested to pray for victory, and its necessary attendant peace; as, among other good effects, they would remove those obstacles, which now lie in the way of that most delectable thing, called matrimony;—a state, which, with a kind of magnetic force, attracts every breast to it, in which sensibility has a place, in spite of the resistance it encounters in the dull admonitions of prudence, which is so prudish and perverse a dame, as to be at perpetual variance with it. AH to Catharine “Kitty” Livingston 11Apr1777

Do I want a wife? No—I have plagues enough without desiring to add to the number that greatest of all; and if I were silly enough to do it, I should take care how I employ a proxy. AH to John Laurens 1779 [likely from mid-April up to July - this letter is actually undated, and the April date is based on other mentions in the letter; both JCH and Lodge dated it December 1779]

The most determined adversaries of Hymen can find in [ES] no pretext for their hostility, and there are several of my friends, philosophers who railed at love as a weakness, men of the world who laughed at it as a phantasie, whom she has presumptuously and daringly compelled to acknowlege its power and surrender at discretion. I can the better assert the truth of this, as I am myself of the number. She has had the address to overset all the wise resolutions I had been framing for more than four years past, and from a rational sort of being and a professed contemner of Cupid has in a trice metamorphosed me into the veriest inamorato you perhaps ever saw. AH to Margarita Schuyler, Feb1780

I would add to this by way of consolation, or rather of countinance, that the family since your departure have given hourly proofs of a growing weakness. Example I verily believe is infectious. For such a predominancy is beauty establishing over their hearts, that should things continue to wear as sweet an aspect as they are now beheld in, I shall be the only person left, of the whole household, to support the dignity of human nature. But in good earnest, God bless both you, and your weakness, and preserve me your sincere friend James McHenry to AH, 18March1780 [this was during the time of AH’s courtship of ES]

Here we are my love in a house of great hospitality—in a country of plenty—a buxom girl under the same roof—pleasing ⟨expect⟩ations of a successful campaign—and every thing to make a soldier happy, who is not in love and absent from his mistress. ... Assure yourself my love that you are seldom a moment absent from my mind, that I think of you constantly and talk of you frequently, I am never happier than when I can engage Meade in some solitary walk to join me in reciprocating the praises of his widow and my betsey. AH to ES, 6July1780

I hope for a decisive campaign. No one will desire it more than me; for a military life is now grown insupportable to me because it keeps me from all my soul holds dear. Adieu My love. Write to me often I entreat you, and do not suffer any part of my treasure, your sweet love, to be lost or stolen from me. AH to ES, 20Jul1780

Impatiently My Dearest have I been expecting the return of your father to bring me a letter from my charmer with the answers you have been good enough to promise me to the little questions asked in mine by him. ... Meade2 just comes in and interrupts me by sending his love to you. He tells you he has written a long letter to his widow asking her opinion of the propriety of quitting the service; and that if she does not disapprove it, he will certainly take his final leave after the campaign. You see what a fine opportunity she has to be enrolled in the catalogue of heroines, and I dare say she will set you an example of fortitude and patriotism. I know too you have so much of the Portia in you, that you will not be out done in this line by any of your sex, and that if you saw me inclined to quit the service of your country, you would dissuade me from it. I have promised you, you recollect, to conform to your wishes, and I persist in this intention. It remains with you to show whether you are a Roman or an American wife. AH to ES, Aug1780

But now my love to speak of the practicability of complying with both our wishes in this article—There is none, I am obliged to sacrifice my inclination to ⟨my public⟩ ch⟨aracter.⟩ Even though my presence shou⟨ld n⟩ot be essential here, yet my love I could not with decency or honor leave the army during the campaign. This is a military prejudice which while I am in a military station I must comply with. No person has been more severe than I have been in condemning other officers for deviating from it. I have admitted no excuse as sufficient, and I must not now evince to the army, that the moment my circumstances have changed, my maxims have changed also. This would be an inconsistency, and my Betsey would not have me guilty of an inconsistency. Besides this my Betsey, The General is peculiarly averse to the practice in question. If this campaign is to end my military services, ’tis an additional reason for a constant and punctual attendance, if it is not my leaving the army during the campaign would make it less proper to be away all the winter ’till late in the spring. In one case, my honor bids me stay, in the other my love. AH to ES, 31Aug1780

Pardon me my love for talking politics to you. What have we to do with any thing but love? Go the world as it will, in each others arms we cannot but be happy. ...I was once determined to let my existence and American liberty end together. My Betsey has given me a motive to outlive my pride, I had almost said my honor; but America must not be witness to my disgrace. AH to ES, 6Sept1780

I have told you, and I told you truly that I love you too much. You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any thing else—you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream—and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness. ‘Tis a pretty story indeed that I am to be thus monopolized, by a little nut-brown maid like you—and from a statesman and a soldier metamorphosed into a puny lover. I believe in my soul you are an inchantress; but I have tried in vain, if not to break, at least, to weaken the charm—you maintain your empire in spite of all my efforts—and after every new one, I make to withdraw myself from my allegiance my partial heart still returns and clings to you with increased attachment. To drop figure my lovely girl you become dearer to me every moment. I am more and more unhappy and impatient under the hard necessity that keeps me from you, and yet the prospect lengthens as I advance. AH to ES, 5Oct1780

I would not have you imagine Miss that I write to you so often either to gratify your wishes or to please your vanity; but merely to indulge myself and to comply with that restless propensity of my mind, which will not allow me to be happy when I am not doing something in which you are concerned. This may seem a very idle disposition in a philosopher and a soldier; but I can plead illustrious examples in my justification. Achilles had liked to have sacrificed Greece and his glory to his passion for a female captive; and Anthony lost the world for a woman. I am sorry the times are so changed as to oblige me to summon antiquity for my apology, but I confess, to the disgrace of the present age, that I have not been able to find many who are as far gone as myself in such laudable zeal for the fair sex. AH to ES, 13Oct1780

How often have I with Eloisa exclaimed against those forms which I now revere as calculated to knit our union together by new and stronger bands...Meade already begins to recant. I have received a letter from him on the Journey2 in which he tells me he finds he must return to the army. This will be a new proof to you that I cannot leave it, as we both so ardently desire. AH to ES, 27Oct1780

You possess a heart that can feel for me; you have a female too that you love. I was reduced at one period to entreat, threat, kiss, but all to no purpose; her fears were for my safety, mine for hers. You must imagine to make out the tragedy all that I am incapable for want of words to express. After placing her with at least Twenty other females & children at a safe distance I immediately returned, & joined the Baron about the time the Enemy left Richmond in order to render him all the aid I could being intimately acquainted with the Country for many miles in the vicinity of the Enemy & on their return down the river I left him to go in pursuit of a residence for a favorite Brother who was driven from his home & obliged to attend to his Wife & a family of little children. Was it not cruel my dear fellow that my matrimonial enjoyments should have been interrupted thus soon; not more than one month had passed when the damned invasion seperated us, & we have yet to meet again, for 60 miles divides us. You know I am a Philosoper my dr fd & prepared to meet much more serious disappointments. This gives me an opening to speak of my return to the army. I have been long wishing your advice in full on the occasion; you are acquainted with the arguments I have used in favor of my stay here. I have now but one to add to them, the experience of that happiness I ever expected to enjoy with the best of Women. She loves not less than your Betsy, & I fear could not bear a seperation. I have not however as yet thrown off the uniform, but I am inclined to believe that it must be the case. Meade to AH, 13Jan1781

I was cherishing the melancholy pleasure of thinking of the sweets I had left behind and was so long to be deprived of, when a servant from Head Quarters presented me with your letters. I feasted for some time on the sweet effusions of tenderness they contained, and my heart returned every sensation of yours. Alas my Betsey you have divested it of every other pretender and placed your image there as the sole proprietor. I struggle with an excess which I cannot but deem a weakness and endeavour to bring myself back to reason and duty. I remonstrate with my heart on the impropriety of suffering itself to be engrossed by an individual of the human race when so many millions ought to participate in its affections and in its cares. But it constantly presents you under such amiable forms as seem too well to justify its meditated desertion of the cause of country humanity, and of glory I would say, if there were not something in the sound insipid and ridiculous when compared with the sacrifices by which it is to be attained.

Indeed Betsey, I am intirely changed—changed for the worse I confess—lost to all the public and splendid passions and absorbed in you. Amiable woman! nature has given you a right to be esteemed to be cherished, to be beloved; but she has given you no right to monopolize a man, whom, to you I may say, she has endowed with qualities to be extensively useful to society. Yes my Betsey, I will encourage my reason to dispute your empire and restrain it within proper bounds, to restore me to myself and to the community. Assist me in this; reproach me for an unmanly surrender of that to love and teach me that your esteem will be the price of my acting well my part as a member of society. AH to EH, 13Jul1781

Don’t think me unkind for not talking of your making a journey to the Southward. It would put us to a thousand inconveniences and would in fact be of no avail; for while there I must be engrossed in my military duties. Heaven knows how much it costs me to make the sacrifice I do. It is too much to be torn away from the wife of my bosom from a woman I love to weakness, and who feels the same ardent passion for me. I relinquish a heaven in your arms; but let me have the happiness to reflect that they ever impatiently wait my return sacred to love and me. Give your Mama, your sisters and the whole family every assurance of the warmest affection on my part. Indeed I love them all.

Yrs. with unalterable tenderness and fidelity AH to EH, 25Aug1781

Early in November, as I promised you, we shall certainly meet. Cheer yourself with this idea, and with the assurance of never more being separated. Every day confirms me in the intention of renouncing public life, and devoting myself wholly to you. AH to EH, 6Sept1781

My heart disposed to gayety is at once melted into tenderness. The idea of a smiling infant in my Betseys arms calls up all the father in it. In imagination I embrace the mother and embrace the child a thousand times. I can scarce refrain from shedding tears of joy. But I must not indulge these sensations; they are unfit for the boisterous scenes of war and whenever they intrude themselves make me but half a soldier. AH to EH, 12Oct1781

You cannot imagine how entirely domestic I am growing. I lose all taste for the pursuits of ambition, I sigh for nothing but the company of my wife and my baby. The ties of duty alone or imagined duty keep me from renouncing public life altogether. It is however probable I may not be any longer actively engaged in it.

I have explained to you the difficulties which I met with in obtaining a command last campaign. I thought it incompatible with the delicacy due to myself to make any application this campaign. I have expressed this Sentiment in a letter to the General and retaining my rank only, have relinquished the emoluments of my commission, declaring myself notwithstanding ready at all times to obey the calls of the Public.4 I do not expect to hear any of these unless the State of our Affairs, should change for the worse and lest by any unforeseen accident that should happen, I choose to keep myself in a situation again to contribute my aid. This prevents a total resignation.

You were right in supposing I neglected to prepare what I promised you at Philadelphia. The truth is, I was in such a hurry to get home that I could think of nothing else. AH to Meade, March 1782 (from a JCH transcription)

You were right, My dear General, in saying that a Soldier should have no Other wife than the service...William North to AH, 12Nov1799

AND just for amusement:

I thank you My Dear Sir for the military figures you have sent me. Tactics you know are literally or figuratively of very comprehensive signification. As people grow old they decline in some arts though they may improve in others. I will try to get Mrs. Hamilton to accompany in games of Tactics new to her. Perhaps she may get a taste for them & become better reconciled to my connection with the Trade-Militant. AH to McHenry, 21June1799

__________________________________________

*I broke this down in a prior post too, but I’ll repeat it here again: I think the clearest statement of his plan left to us is from the draft of the letter he sent to Philip Schuyler explaining why he wants to break with GW (18Feb1781):

As I cannot think of quitting the army during the war, I have a project of re-entering into the artillery, by taking Lieutenant-Colonel Forrest’s10 place, who is⟩ desirous of retiring on half pay. I have not however made up my mind upon this , Start insertion,head, End,, as I should be obliged to come in the youngest Lt Col instead of the eldest, which I , Start deletion,should, End, , Start insertion,ought to, End, have been by natural succession had I remained in the corps; and , Start insertion,at the same time, End, to resume studies relative to the profession which, to avoid inferiority, must be laborious.

If a handsome command for the campaign in the , Start insertion,light, End, infantry should offer itself, I shall ballance between this and the artillery. My situation ⟨in the latter⟩ would be more , Start deletion,substantial, End, , Start insertion,solid, End, ⟨and permanent;⟩ but as I hope ⟨the war will not last long enough to make it progressive, this consideration has the less force. A command for the campaign would leave me the winter to prosecute studies relative to my future career in life. With⟩ respect to the former, I have been materially the worse for going into his family.11

I have written to you on this subject with all the freedom and confidence to which you have a right and with an assurance of the interest you take in , Start deletion,what, End, , Start insertion,all that, End, concerns me.

This letter implies 1) he had a plan post-military; 2) he had discussed with PS what that plan was, and possibly that six month leave (that never happened because of illness and unavailability) was tied to undertaking some of those studies to be a lawyer, to put himself in better shape to support a family. Being able to do so was important to AH - Philip Hamilton was born Jan 1782, and Angelica would not be born until Sept 1784.

#Alexander Hamilton #Elizabeth Schuyler #Elizabeth S. Hamilton #18th century masculinity #Philip Schuyler #John Laurens #I've always found it interesting that he references Achilles to state his willingness to #throw everything away for a woman (Briseis)

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five-miles-over · 4 years

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Why I Think ‘Gladiator’’s Commodus is a Better Character than Maximus

(Disclaimer: this schpiel is not intended to offend anyone, or any group of people. This is just a personal opinion I have based on the characters of the film, Gladiator. This has nothing to do with the historical Commodus. If you happen to disagree with some of the ideas here or might like to add on, I’m always happy to hear it. I welcome constructive criticism! Also SPOILER ALERT!!!)

So, without further ado...here are some of the reasons why I think Commodus is a better character than Maximus.

Tag list: @beautifulyoungprospect @captain-el-writes @jokerflecker @cruellytearful @dreamingmaria @cherrymoon75

(Note: When I talk about being a “strong character”, I don’t necessarily mean physical strength (I think I’ll leave that to your imaginations.) I think of strength as in emotional endurance and resilience combined with inherent good qualities present in both men. In addition, I factored in the ability to ‘win over’ the audience.)

1) Commodus is Self-Motivated

For this, I’d look no further than the scene in the first few moments of Gladiator, where Maximus checks on his camp and finds Commodus practicing with his sword. Aside from a little fanservice, I think this scene gives insight onto one of the ways Commodus acts upon his ambition. We (the audience) don’t see his father standing nearby or telling him to practice, thereby we can assume Commodus creates his own practice sessions.

And by the looks of his fighting (I’ve only tried fencing for a few weeks so pardon my ignorance), Commodus looks like he is actually interested in perfecting his performance. He genuinely wants to be a good fighter, knowing how important it would be in the future.

Compared to Commodus, Maximus constantly needs other people to stir him into action - be it his wife and son, Proximo, or Lucilla and the senators. Even when he’s put in the gladiatorial area, Maximus initially refuses to fight and has to be goaded. This is possibly the consequence of being surrounded by people all his life - he constantly needs somebody else to be the catalyst for his actions.

Commodus on the other hand knew he had to rely on none other but himself in order to get his things done.

2) He knows himself....and he stands up for himself

“You wrote to me once, listing the four chief virtues. Wisdom, Justice, Fortitude and Temperance. As I read the list I knew I had none of them. But I have other virtues, father. Ambition, that can be a virtue when it drives us to excel. Resourcefulness. Courage. Perhaps not on the battlefield but there are many forms of courage. Devotion, to my family, to you. But none of my virtues were on your list.”

For the record, ambition is a virtue when it drives us to excel. And in my opinion, it is a quality that Maximus lacks. I would rather trust a ruler like Commodus who had a clear vision of everything he wanted from his time on the throne, as opposed to someone simply thrusted the power of the empire with no intent (or possible idea) on how to rule.

The ability of Commodus to advocate for his own virtues makes him look better than someone like Maximus, who constantly needs someone to remind him of his abilities. While someone could call Maximus ‘humble’ for refusing to brag about himself, it is Commodus’s ability to fight for his rights that enables him to fulfill his lifelong ambition.

And it is only when Maximus decides to stand up instead of letting someone else control his life that he is finally able to get his revenge. By deciding to win the crowd using his ‘mercy’ and ‘defiance of killing’, Maximus is able to get closer to winning over Commodus.

Moreover, Commodus’s ability to fight relentlessly to get what (he believes) he deserves is something desirable in today’s day and age. People like someone who knows what they have to offer, and isn’t afraid to use their talents to get what they want.

3) He appears to have learnt from his father on how not to raise a child

When it comes to being a father-figure, he appears to have learnt some of the things what not to do based on his experience with Marcus Aurelius. For proof of this, watch how he interacts with his nephew, Lucius. He plays with Lucius, reads to him, and encourages him. (”A gladiator? A gladiator fights only for the games. Wouldn’t you rather be a great Roman warrior like Julius Caesar?”)

He never actively neglects him or berates him, like his father did. Most of all, once he finds out that Lucilla was conspiring against him, he made sure never to speak ill about her in front of Lucius. (Proof: the “busy little bee” monologue) Commodus wanted Lucius to have a mother he could respect, and he also knew when to separate politics from his family life.

(Also, side note to Lucilla and the conspiring Senators: don’t you all know better than to get an innocent child involved in political schemes that could endanger him? All he had to do was shout, “Maximus, the savior of Rome!” in front of Commodus.)

4) He wasn’t afraid to call out the Senate on their bullsh*t

“I doubt many of the people eat so well as you, Gracchus. Or have so such splendid mistresses as you, Gaius.”

Let me start with this: I admire sassiness in all its glory. And with Commodus particularly, I like the fact that he used witty retorts as a way to establish his authority in a room. It was the perfect, non-verbal method of saying ‘don’t mess with me’.

The Senate was elected to represent the Roman public, the majority of whom certainly did not fall into the aristocratic class of the Senators.

Commodus actually had a point when he stated this flaw- throughout the film, the Senate never really did anything to help Rome. All they cared about was gossiping about Commodus’s spending habits and plotting his assassination. Honestly, I would’ve ordered the Senate to be temporarily dismissed until those guys got their act together. The Senators needed to realize that they were elected to represent the people, not their own individual interests.

5) He shows instances of having excellent knowledge on being an emperor

For this point, I’m going to use the (deleted?) scene in which Commodus has two of his soldiers executed for lying about Maximus’s escape.

Many viewers use this scene as a way to emphasize how cruel of an emperor Commodus seemed to be. On the contrary, Commodus shows what an emperor is supposed to do.

To a ruler, lying is one of highest sins ever. Commodus himself explained it quite clearly in the film. “If they lie to me, they don’t respect me. If they don’t respect me, how can they ever love me?” The other point Commodus didn’t mention is, what’s the likelihood they won’t do it again? If a liar is allowed to go free, that makes the Emperor more vulnerable to further betrayal. So, to take no further chances, execution would be the correct punishment.

On another note, public execution is by far one of the greatest ways of establishing authority by intimidation. It was the one way Commodus could tell the entire kingdom what happens to people who lie to the emperor.

Most emperors, fictional and historical, would’ve seen this logic and followed suit during their own instances of betrayal.

Another instance is his organization of the gladiatorial games. His willingness to empathize with this particular aspect of the Roman people made him well liked among citizens - the very same citizens he is supposed to rule over as an Emperor.

6) Commodus had no allies throughout his reign...and still lived with his head held high

Being Marcus Aurelius’s only son may have gotten him the throne, but staying on the throne was all Commodus’s effort.

This guy had no allies throughout the entire film, no ‘personal cheerleader’ to encourage him. In fact he had the total opposite. He’s been criticized and belittled all his life, while Maximus was praised all the time - even as an emperor, Commodus was belittled by every one of the Senators. They never took him seriously or even considered Commodus’s ideas to be good in any way.

In fact, it would be plausible to say that Commodus was also his own enemy at times - fighting his conflicting urges, trying to create an identity for History to remember him by. (Should he be Commodus the Invincible or Commodus the Merciful?)

Nevertheless, he still keeps his head held high at the end of the day - never once do we see him attempt to give up the throne or drown himself in vices (like women, gambling, etc.) to try to escape from his duty as Emperor. He never lost his determination to be the best Emperor he could be.

7) Your Hero is Only as Good as Your Villain Is

This is by far one of the most interesting parts about stories involving a Hero’s Journey archetype. Based on the types of things the villain metaphorically “throws” in the hero’s way, audience members get to see the hero’s adaptability and even the depth, or the extent, to which the hero is truly heroic (or not).

(Side note: this gif is freaking adorable. He looks like a (big) little boy enjoying himself. I once watched this on loop for a solid five minutes.)

In Gladiator, Commodus is someone that many love to hate, but also many love to sympathize. Commodus’s desires to be a successful (and popular!) Emperor and a devoted son are things people see within themselves as well. This complex mixture results in a character that needed something as unforgivable as patricide or incestuous-looking actions in order for the filmmakers to tell the audience, “You are not supposed to be cheering for him. You’re supposed to cheer for the vanilla, goody-two-shoes guy.”

However, with the amount of things Commodus does to seem relatable or even likable by the audience, Maximus is expected to do more or show more heroism and charisma to be really considered the ‘good guy’ of this story. It’s something that each and every viewer decides for themselves.

8) Commodus is more attractive than Maximus

Now, this is not a comparison between Joaquin Phoenix’s and Russel Crowe’s looks- I think “People” magazine can do a better job of this than me.

(My ex-friends fawn over Maximus, I’ve found friends that think Commodus is more gorgeous...the feud never ends, folks.)

Commodus is definitely more charismatic, offering plenty more for the attentive audience member to dissect in his personality. His actions and emotions attract viewers into asking questions and even creating their own theories to understand what makes him tick.

Maximus, on the other hand, offers nothing of that sort. His profile ends at just, “loves his family, wants to do the right thing.” This is the main reason I call his character ‘boring’ - he brings no element of mystery. With him, what you see is pretty much what you get.

So there you have it, everyone. This is why I personally appreciate Commodus as a character more than Maximus. Sorry I made this super long; I really like analyzing movie characters. I hope you liked reading this and I would love to hear your opinions. Feel free to comment or message me directly.

#gladiator 2000 #commodus #maximus #movie analysis #commodus rant

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theimpossiblescheme · 4 years

Text

The Last of the Fires

I didn’t think it was possible for me to be dragged even farther into Cyrano de Bergerac hell, but by God @nonchalantdanger found a way. This alternate universe we’ve come up has already yielded some great results (I was already pretty proud of the first fic I wrote for it, and then reading the add-on... chills), so I thought I would take another whack at it. This takes place a few hours after that add-on--the truth has come out, Cyrano and Roxanne have more than reconciled, and now Christian has to figure out his new place in the world... enjoy!

Another greasy campfire had been lit in the camp of the Gascony cadets, but this time they finally had something to cook over it. Miraculously, Ragueneau was still pulling legs of lamb and whole partridges from his and Roxanne’s coach, which the soldiers accepted and devoured gleefully. Strains of old victory songs rang through the air, and at long last a few men could be heard to laugh. Even de Guiche, sitting with a barely nibbled-at turkey breast by the fire, was smiling more than any of them had known him to smile. The relief of triumph over the Spanish was palpable, and it had touched everyone present, young and old.

Christian wished he could feel that relief so keenly. Instead, sharp jabs of anxiety kept intruding, making it impossible for him to eat. He hadn’t seen Roxanne since he left her in the surgeon’s tent. No doubt she’d talked to Cyrano… he couldn’t imagine what they might have said to each other, though. Knowing Cyrano, he would deny everything—that he’d ever loved her, that he’d ever written a single letter, that he’d ever given Christian the smallest word to say—but Roxanne was in such a holy fury that Christian doubted very much that she would leave it at that. Perhaps they’d spent the whole time arguing—that might explain her long absence, but it was hardly a comforting though. Christian had seen both of them angry, and that was terrifying enough, but for them to be angry at each other… he’d never forgive himself for causing it. Maybe he should have… no. No, he was glad he’d said what he’d said. It had hurt tremendously, but a greater hurt would be to stand in the way of their happiness. The two people he cared for more than anyone else in the world.

Where that left him… he wasn’t sure yet. But he supposed he’d find out in time.

The fire sputtered a bit, and Christian leaned forward to stir it back to life. Through the flames, he could see a figure limping toward the camp, leaning heavily on an old walking stick. Only when the figure turned in profile did Christian recognize him and smile in spite of himself. Le Bret, though limping himself on his injured leg, turned away from one of the old supply wagons and raced toward him, pulling him into a fierce embrace. After pulling apart, the two exchanged a few brief words, and Le Bret patted him on the shoulder before returning to his duties. As he watched the figure grow closer, Christian felt his palms starting to sweat, the way they always did around… around her. What would he say now? What would he do?

Looking up, de Guiche’s lips curled in a small smirk, though this time it came without his usual contempt. “So you managed to survive after all, have you?”

Cyrano merely flashed him that dangerous grin before carefully lowering himself to sit nearby. “I had thought you would sound more disappointed.”

“Not necessarily. Surprised, perhaps, given your endless barrage of gasconades just earlier today. You sounded quite content—excited, even—to die in battle.”

“Perhaps… but Providence has given me another task to complete. I could hardly die leaving that great will so unsatisfied.” Cyrano gave Christian a meaningful sideways look, and Christian felt a new chill run through him.

“Mm.” Peeling the skins away from the eaten parts of his turkey breast, de Guiche returned the rest of it to a nearby basket and stood, swiping a delicate hand over his ribbons. “I must attend to what remains of our supplies. See that this one stays out of trouble, Nuevillette.” And he left the two men alone by the fire.

So. “You have… spoken to Roxanne?” Christian ventured, balling his hands into fists and kneading them fitfully against his thighs.

“I have, yes.”

“And she said…?”

The slightest little disbelieving laugh huffed out of Cyrano as he struggled to repress a smile. There was a look of… what could almost be described as peace in his eyes, a look Christian had never seen before. “More than I could have dared to hope.”

“She loves you?”

“… Against all wisdom, against all possible odds… I would never have thought it possible unless I were to hear it from her lips.” His expression changed as he looked back up at Christian. “Though I fear she was rather uncharitable to you, my friend.”

“Why—what did she say?”

For what felt like far too long, Cyrano hesitated, gathering all his finely spun words into precisely the right web for the present moment. “There was never a doubt in my mind,” he began, deliberately looking away and gazing toward the fire, “that your love for her, even in my borrowed declarations of the same, was sincere. You were willing to give her up entirely, as I was, for her own happiness. You say that I am your soul, but your own needs no embellishment of fine words and glib turns of phrase. I decorate mine with small glories, but yours rings golden. And yet… she insisted, for my sake or for hers I cannot tell, that your marriage can be annulled. That her love for you has cooled. And I cannot help but think that rather unfair, after all you have done for her.”

Christian felt his hands twisting tighter. He’d already cried once today, he couldn’t risk it again—not in front of Cyrano. It was true, that same thought had crossed his mind. There were no witnesses to the marriage; it was unrecorded, uncelebrated, and unconsummated. Throughout the siege, he’d entertained many a dream of returning home to Roxanne and curling up beside her under one blanket, finding her warm and willing… but no. She would be making love to a shadow, and he would have to convince himself that she truly saw him every night, not some other man with a different voice. Christian remembered that night under her balcony, her rapt silence as Cyrano practically sang to her in such words… he would never have thought of them himself, God knew, but they all rang so true. “Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart.” Perhaps he was a little in love with Cyrano’s words that night, too. He could feel that same bell pealing in his chest, crying the name of the woman he’d adored.

The woman he might never see again.

He forced a smile. “Perhaps I should take a leaf out of your book. Learn to love from afar.”

“No.” Cyrano’s voice was firm. “I have endured that torture for as long as I can remember, even when we were children together. There is no greater lingering pain than to love one who neglects or even refuses your very existence. I would not wish that pain upon you.”

“I don’t want to stand in the way of your happiness, Cyrano.”

“And I have spent enough time hampering your own--”

“Stop.” Christian ran a hand over his hair, fitfully pushing some of it back into his braid. “I wanted to say this before, when the fighting first broke out... I don’t wish to be my own rival anymore. And you have already given up so much for her. You talk about being unfair to me, but neither of us have been fair to you. She... she’s made her views perfectly clear, and if I--if I ever cared for her, I have to honor them.” Roxanne was no prize for either of them to claim. She had made her decision. Both of them wanted her to be happy... it was as simple as that.

“But is this truly what you wish, Christian?”

“Yes.” And he was surprised to find how much he meant it. After everything the three of them had been through, somehow this felt inevitable. Inevitable and only right. This was as graceful an exit he could make on behalf of two people he loved in his own fashion. “You... you have been my friend even when I have not treated you like one in return. And I can’t lie to Roxanne any more than I already have. Besides, she can’t marry two men.”

“Perhaps in a just world she might.” It was Cyrano’s half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood, but his expression softened into something gentler as he clasped Christian’s shoulder. “But in this one now, I promise you will love again. You shall find someone who loves all that you are and not merely what you pretend to be. Someone you will not feel the need to impress so constantly… you were placed in an unfair position from the very beginning, and I am sorry for it. The love you deserve is safer and kinder than what you were granted.”

“Oh, I don’t regret any of it for a second,” Christian replied, shaking his head. It occurred to him that neither of them had been so honest with each other before today, and it was almost embarrassing... and yet oddly freeing. “This is--this is going to sound ridiculous, I know, and I’m sorry… but I don’t think I will ever be out of love with Roxanne.”

“No need to apologize. In truth, I would never expect that. She is very easy to love, I’ve found.” A smile flickered back onto Cyrano’s face. “Carry that torch if you must, my friend, but a day will come when you find it too heavy to bear, and you must set it down for another to bask in its glow. And you will know that day that it no longer truly burns for her alone, and you shall be happy again.”

“...Do you really think that?”

“I do, or may I live another hundred years and never fight again.”

Christian considered his words. Ever since that night in the theater, it seemed that Roxanne was the only woman in the world, but now... now the world had opened back up again. And in so many words, Cyrano was urging him not to be afraid. “I dearly hope you’re right…” The idea of there being someone else out there in the world… as lovely as Roxanne, as brilliant, as spirited, but not quite as… well, intimidating. Someone who could listen to Christian’s damned fool clumsy words and not turn him away… someone with whom he could be more than just a pretty face and a slow tongue… it seemed so inconceivable, a far-flung fantasy. Yet Cyrano had said it with so much certainty. And he’d feared almost the same thing, hadn’t he—that he was too ugly for any woman to love? If he could be proven wrong… why not? Yes, why not…? “I should still like to speak to her before we leave. If she will allow it, that is.”

“You shall have that chance, I promise you that as well. In the meantime…” Planting his stick in the dirt before him and veering gently out of Christian’s reach, Cyrano rose slowly to his feet again. “I promised Le Bret I would help organize our return to Paris. You get some rest, and for pity’s sake eat something.”

“I will. Thank you.” Before he could stop himself, Christian’s hand shot out to catch Cyrano’s arm as he turned to go. ��I mean that… thank you.” For understanding, for being there for so long, for giving him another chance... he could go on and on if only he could find the words. Thankfully, Cyrano seemed to understand, nodding and giving Christian’s arm a brief squeeze of his own before limping off. Even on unsteady feet with shrapnel in his shoulder, the white plume of freedom floated above him, unspotted and ethereal.

Eventually the last of the campfire had guttered and stopped, and de Guiche had addressed his men one last time in the dark, detailing plans for their return to civilization and offering rather backhanded congratulations for their unlikely victory. Christian barely heard him—after the day he’d had, there was such a weariness in his bones that he could sleep for the next six years. As everyone slumped back to their bedrolls and tents, Christian followed suit, unravelling his threadbare blanket from the cocoon he’d twisted it into the night before and pulling up his rucksack to use as a pillow. But there was something laying over it: a note, folded three times. He unfolded it and read the familiar flowing script—obviously memorized and written down for posterity, and not for the first time.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wand'ring bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me prov'd,

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

Christian couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to his friend to find the right words, even if they weren’t his own. Folding the note back up again and tucking it away for safekeeping, he curled up under his blanket and finally let himself relax.

#cyrano de bergerac #christian de neuvillette #my fanfic #While I admit that my heart will always belong to the Cyrano/Roxanne/Christian OT3 I do love this take as well.#Christian deserves someone he can be completely himself with and sometimes that was difficult around Roxanne.#And I think Roxanne realizes that she was sometimes unfair to him--whatever she thinks of him she still wants him in her life.#That's the follow-up I'll probably write at some point--these crazy kids have put up with enough heartbreak...

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back-and-totheleft · 3 years

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“Make it for the soldiers”

The three-time Oscar winner is back with a new book—Chasing the Light: Writing, Directing, and Surviving Platoon, Midnight Express, Scarface, Salvador, and the Movie Game—and turning its pages is like entering a Stone movie. The one-time infantryman had a single condition in granting HUSTLER this Q&A: “Make it for the soldiers. You’ve got to make it interesting to them.” Movie stars are often household names, but Oliver Stone is one of the few screenwriters and directors to have a high public profile. Now he’s released a new book, and it’s a rip-roaring, rollicking read, full of tense drama and trauma. The 342-page memoir focuses on Stone’s life through the age of 40 and sheds light on what forged Hollywood’s movie maverick and makes him tick.

After the Allies liberated Paris, his father—Colonel Louis Stone, who served on General Eisenhower’s staff—met the Parisian Jacqueline Pauline Cezarine Goddet. In December 1945 they married, which Stone wryly writes was “possibly the greatest mistakes of their lives,” and sailed from France to live in New York, where Louis, a Yale graduate, resumed his Wall Street career as a stockbroker. Stone reveals how their divorce affected him and, for the first time ever, describes in detail his combat experiences in Vietnam, where he was awarded the Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. Coming under fire in Indochina’s jungles ignited an intense mistrust of government and hatred of war that actually compelled Stone to become a filmmaker. As the Chasing the Light subtitle indicates, the book zooms in on four movies and provides a behind-the-scenes peek at Stone’s maneuvering through Tinseltown’s machinations. Stone scored his first Hollywood triumphs as the screenwriter of 1978’s Midnight Express, winning an Oscar and a Golden Globe. Like his script for 1983’s Scarface, Midnight Express lampooned the so-called War on Drugs. This set the stage for Stone to tackle President Reagan’s secret war in Central America with 1986’s hard-hitting Salvador, followed later that same year by his grunt’s-eye view on the Vietnam War, the no-holds-barred Platoon. At the 1987 Academy Awards ceremony, Stone was in the rare enviable position of competing against himself in the Best Writing, Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen category for both Salvador and Platoon. Although he won neither, his boyhood idol Elizabeth Taylor did give Stone the Best Director Oscar for Platoon, which also won for Best Picture. The book’s curtain closes as Stone earns his sublime moment in the limelight, emerging as one of the movie industry’s most celebrated writer-directors of all time. His future body of work—1987’s Wall Street, 1991’s The Doors and JFK through 2016’s Snowden—are only mentioned in passing, if at all. An exception is 1989’s Best Picture-nominated Born on the Fourth of July, for which Stone was awarded his second Best Director Oscar, for helming this searing cinematic biopic about maimed Vietnam War vet Ron Kovic, whose relationship with Stone began during the period his memoir covers. HUSTLER interviewed Stone when he returned to Los Angeles in between trips to Europe to promote his book. In this candid conversation Stone opens up about the Vietnam War, drugs, censorship, Edward Snowden, Larry Flynt, Jackie Kennedy, his new Kennedy assassination film and so much more. HUSTLER: How did Chasing the Light come about? Did you write any of it while sheltering in place? OLIVER STONE: No. I was finishing up in that phase. I wrote it over two years. It was final draft, checking things, draft edits, around February, March… I was working on other things, documentaries and so forth. In your memoir you write about your time in Vietnam. Have you recounted those personal experiences extensively before? No. No, I haven’t. In interviews I’ve shared some of it. But no, this is all fresh material. The movies were dramatic presentations. I talk about Born on the Fourth of July and my relationship with Ron Kovic [the paralyzed Vietnam War vet portrayed by Tom Cruise in the 1989 feature]. And a lot about Platoon. Because both were written in 1976 [the year Kovic’s book was published], which falls in the period I’m covering in Chasing the Light, up to 1986. They play a significant role—the failures of those two films to get made haunted me. You were wounded twice in Vietnam—where you served with distinction as an infantryman, winning a Bronze Star and Purple Heart. So what do you think about President Trump allegedly calling dead soldiers “losers” and “suckers” and stating that military parades should exclude wounded vets? It’s a strange statement. I don’t know if he made it, but it sounds very bizarre. Obviously, I don’t agree with it. On the other hand, I don’t believe we should be over-glorifying our veterans either, because that leads to other sets of problems, which we’ve seen in the spate of recent wars. To prepare for this interview, I watched Scarface again. In your book you mention that you were probably conceived in Europe, your mom was an immigrant from France, and it struck me that Scarface is very much an immigrant’s saga. How do you view the Trump/Stephen Miller immigration and refugee policies? I abhor them. I do believe in immigration—it’s what the American way is about. This country has been built on immigration. Even in this lifetime of mine we’ve had such a new spate of immigration from different countries, Third World, Asia. It’s remarkable. In Scarface we talk about Latin Americans who are coming into Miami, some good, some bad. It’s a rich mix, and that’s what had given America its experimental nature. There’s no fixed America in my mind. It’s 250 years—it’s a constantly changing soup. Scarface, like Midnight Express, is drug-themed. Your memoir is quite candid about your own use of substances. What do you think of the War on Drugs? Who won? [Laughs.] It’s a ludicrous objective. It should not be called a “war.” Listen, I partook of drugs. I’ve been very honest about it. It started for me in Vietnam. I smoked it in the base camps, in the rear, when we came back. I smoked it to relax. I go into the reasons for it. It helped me get through that war as a human being. Very important to me. I respect it. I also talk about drug use later on in my life, like cocaine—which I don’t think worked for me at all, and I said why. So I’m on both sides of it. But I do think it’s an individual issue, of individual responsibility and education. The treatment for it is not punishment but hospitalization or medical help or psychiatric help. The War on Drugs is a waste of money, and again, it’s political. I saw that in Scarface, the birth of the Drug Enforcement [Administration]—very political, huge budgets; it’s growing every year. The Reagan war and all that—they call it a war. Everything in America is a war. But we don’t win any one of them. Have you encountered political censorship in Hollywood for your movies’ dissident politics over the years? You posit that Henry Kissinger and Alexander Haig being on MGM’s board may have affected an early effort to make Platoon. Yes. It’s been a long haul. And I emphasize the word may, because you never know when they turn it down. They never tell you, “It’s because of political reasons that we don’t want to make your film.” They never say that. They couch it in economic terms or, “This is too depressing.” “It’s blah-blah A, B or C.” You never know. In this case, it was a very easy deal for them to make. Dino De Laurentiis was behind it—as my producer he was financing the film. MGM had a distribution deal with Mr. De Laurentiis, and they didn’t live up to it. He was making very risky movies at that time, like Blue Velvet. MGM had to make a minimal investment in distribution costs, and they did not do it. Why? Well, I would assume that the president of MGM at the time, Frank Yablans, said that he had gone to the board and they had turned [Platoon] down, but I’m not sure he’s telling the truth. Because they sometimes don’t even bother to go to the board because they don’t want to take any heat. On the board, of course, were two very conservative men on Vietnam who I’d classify as war hawks. So, I mean, it became a political issue. I do believe that; I have no proof. Also, the Pentagon passed on the film, calling it completely unrealistic. This is an important issue because the movie is realistic. I was there, and I saw it on the ground. I was in four different platoons, in four different units, in three combat platoons. I served in the south and in the north and saw quite a bit of action. And I’m telling you, three things I wrote in the book, about the three lies in Vietnam, I believe apply even today to all fought wars. One is friendly fire. American soldiers get killed by their own side, by small arms fire, artillery and bombs. It’s not precision bombing. About 20 percent of the casualties, wounded and dead, comes from friendly fire. This is a very important point, because it is buried over and over again by the Pentagon in their after-action reports. Recently, the Arizona Cardinals’ Pat Tillman was killed in Afghanistan, and there was a whole mess in trying to get to the reasons for his death. Of course, that was a celebrity-type killing, but this goes on all the time in every war. In Vietnam, in the jungle, you can imagine the asymmetric aspect of it. When fire happens, you don’t even know where the fire is coming from. People are firing—you don’t know if it’s coming in or out. And various things like that are happening all the time. I believe my first wound came about through friendly fire. The second lie I talked about was killing civilians, trashing villages. Racism was really a huge factor in that. We treated the civilians mostly as enemies, as people who were supporting the enemy. [Secretary of Defense] Robert McNamara estimated three to four million Vietnamese killed. The third lie, the biggest one of all: “We’re winning the war.” We heard that lie again and again and again. It was fed to the American people. Even from the beginning, we never had a chance. In Neil Sheehan’s book A Bright Shining Lie, [Lieutenant Colonel] John Paul Vann made it really clear, in 1962 this was a hopeless situation, a hopeless war, because true patriotism was to fight for your country. This was a war, as he said, of independence that was fought against us as colonizers in the wake of the French. Inflating body counts, lying about enemy movements, CIA involvement in the war, no question about it. Misguiding the war. Often bad information, among other things, about the My Lai massacre in March 1968, when 500-plus villagers were killed in cold blood by [U.S.] units who were told that the enemy would be in the village. Not a single enemy bullet was fired in that whole day. And this was investigated by the Army itself, by an honest [lieutenant] general named [William Ray] Peers. He didn’t believe it at first. He thought it was bullshit, that the Seymour Hersh revelations were bullshit. He went in there and investigated thoroughly and came up with the conclusion. That’s what my movie I wanted to make on the My Lai massacre is about. He indicted 20-plus officers all the way up to the top of that division. He indicted the general of that division for his negligence. It’s a disgusting story. But it happens all the time in war and is covered up. Covered up for the dignity of the family, for the dignity of the death and so forth and so on. “How can you criticize the military?” You know, that horrible kind of righteousness, which prevents us from seeing what war is. Although you’re a decorated Vietnam veteran, the Pentagon denied you any support for Platoon—and, I assume, for your other Vietnam War-related movies. Yes, that’s correct. But other directors such as, say, Michael Bay, who never served in the military but who make pro-war, pro-military films, are given permission to shoot at U.S. bases, use of armed services personnel, access to high-tech equipment, etc. What do you make of this double standard? Does it violate the First Amendment? I don’t know about that, but it’s certainly a violation of morality. It’s much bigger than Michael Bay—there’s a book that came out in 2017, National Security Cinema: The Shocking New Evidence of Government Control in Hollywood by Matthew Alford and Tom Secker. James DiEugenio, who works with me, has covered this issue separately in another book, Reclaiming Parkland. These two books cover the involvement of the Pentagon in Hollywood. Alford and his coauthor talk about 800-plus films that were made with Pentagon cooperation. You’d be stunned at some of the films made. Among case studies are Pearl Harbor, Black Hawk Down—which is basically a whitewashing of the affair in Somalia—Charlie Wilson’s War, Hotel Rwanda, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Rules of Engagement, The Terminator, 13 Days, United 93, Wag the Dog. Talks about people like Tom Clancy, of course a big military supporter, and the CIA too. TV series such as Alias, Homeland and 24—which had a tremendous effect on the American public in glorifying the CIA, making it seem like it was a backstop for our security, which is a lie too. It undermined our security. All this is much bigger than Michael Bay. In Chasing the Light you mention “surveillance” a number of times, and of course you made 2016’s Snowden. On September 2, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit ruled that the NSA’s warrantless mass surveillance—which Edward Snowden exposed—was illegal and possibly unconstitutional. What do you think of that, and what should happen to Snowden now? [Laughs.] It’s obviously correct. Snowden should be brought back to the country. I don’t know if he should be pardoned for his wrongs—because he never did anything wrong. He should be pardoned immediately, as should [WikiLeaks’] Julian Assange. The fact is, the NSA has been breaking the law for so many years. We owe it to George Bush and that administration. That was reported on as early as around 2004, but buried by The New York Times until after the election. The Pentagon Papers was released by The Times because they hated Nixon, but I guess with Bush, they gave him a pass. Terrible. It [NSA’s bulk surveillance] has resulted in this sense of unease—you’re always monitored, we have to check our behavior, we’re under control. This is a disaster for the world. Also, other countries have responded accordingly. The World Wide Web is very dangerous. It goes back to the worst days of J. Edgar Hoover. Free speech is a recurring theme in a number of your films. How were you involved in the making of 1996’s The People vs. Larry Flynt? I was a producer. It was written by Larry Karaszewski and Scott Alexander. It was their script. Milos Forman developed it with them. I did feel that Larry Flynt had a case—he won the case [against Reverend Jerry Falwell Sr.]. I’m glad. I’m proud of the movie. After Platoon was released, you quote Jacqueline Kennedy, who wrote you and said, “Your film has changed the direction of a country’s thinking.” Your movies presented a counter-narrative to the Reagan regime’s reactionary agenda. Modesty aside, do you think that Salvador, Platoon and Born on the Fourth of July may have helped stop Reagan and Bush from turning their Contra Wars in Central America into full-fledged Vietnam-like invasions? I don’t believe that they did. What happened was the fortuitous fuckup by the CIA when Eugene Hasenfus was captured after his plane was shot down. He was a contractor—he was in Nicaragua supplying [weapons to the U.S.-backed anti-Sandinista Contras]. It leads to the larger story of Oliver North, Reagan, George Herbert [Walker] Bush and the Iran-Contra affair. That’s what stalled them. Not that it was revealed in its entirety—that’s another story, of course, that’s been buried by The Washington Post’s Katharine Graham, who has been lionized in another kind of movie. But basically that scandal at least was enough to stop the momentum of an invasion, and Reagan did not have the power, the ability, the credibility anymore after October ’86. Which of course helped Platoon too, because it came out right in that juncture, and that revived Salvador, which was rereleased. Both films had an impact, but whether that would have changed the course of Reagan without the accident with the CIA—I don’t think so. Tell us about your new film, JFK: Destiny Betrayed. It’s a four-hour documentary, and it has the facts. More facts than ever. We deal with everything that happened after—in terms of documentation—since [JFK] came out in 1991. Very interesting. Because the assassination records review board, which was created from the JFK film with the JFK [Records] Act—although it was stymied by many restrictions, it did manage to release a fair amount of documents. Not all. And in those documents there’s quite a bit of information, including, of course, Operation Northwoods, that the Pentagon was operating to undercut Cuba. What are some of the highlights you learned since 1991 about the liquidation of President Kennedy? Well, I think you have to wait for the movie. [Laughs.] But certainly the ties of [Lee Harvey] Oswald to the CIA. That’s more explicit. Certainly, the evidence. We revisit the original evidence presented by Mark Lane but with new witnesses; new characters have come forward. Many people [didn’t] talk, but they start talking after the movie in the 1990s…People talk. All these informational signals come from all directions. You explain that your book title, Chasing the Light, refers to a moviemaking term. But does it also allude to your personal quest for enlightenment? And if so, have you attained it yet? Well, I’m much older [now] than when the book ends. But certainly that is an important moment, in 1986. After wanting to achieve a dream of writing and directing since I was 22 and being rejected and defeated many times, having some success along the way, and after having almost given up at 30—finally, at the age of 40, I really had a breakthrough of major proportions, with two solid movies back to back that really convinced the world, as well as myself, that I was a writer-director. It was a core victory for me and an important fact. That sets the tone for the foundation of my character. There’s going to be changes, more detours, pushes and turns in the story, but certainly, it’s established in 1986. So your memoir ends in 1987. That means a lot of your other classics are yet to come. So, in that grand Hollywood tradition, will there be a sequel to Chasing the Light? Well, I hope so. I do hope so. I hope the book does well enough to justify it. What’s next for you? I have two documentaries. One is the JFK documentary, four hours long, that won’t be out for a year. Another one is unedited, about the future, the need for clean energy, which includes nuclear energy. It’s based on a book I bought called A Bright Future: How Some Countries Have Solved Climate Change and the Rest Can Follow, by Joshua Goldstein and a Swedish scientist, Staffan A. Qvist. I understand you’re traveling these days. I’m about to promote the book in Paris. I just came back from Italy, France and Germany… It was big in Italy—they loved me. [Laughs.] Much better than in the United States.

-Ed Rampell, Hustler, Jan 16 2021

#oliver stone #hustler #ed rampell #army #the vietnam war #chasing the light

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hecohansen31 · 5 years

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Micheal had noticed you a while ago. You were interesting, and beautiful in his eyes, but you seemed to think differently, your mind was always so loud, angry thoughts of no self-worth and worthlessness were a constant thing when he saw you. When you and him finally have an interview, the question "how do you feel about yourself?" comes up. And after a few failed attempts at lying. Everything comes pouring out, about how you hated yourself, and it was caused by a past abusive relationship.

(A/N): Hello lovely!

Thank you for sending this in!

I am honestly extremely sorry for taking this long with it my writing and everything, I actually am on vacation and it is a bit of a social life everyday (Please life stop I need my mental relax…). But I swear I didn’t forgot about it!

Also, HUGE DISCLAIMER: I haven’t been in an abusive relationship or witnessed one, so most fo what i wrote is based on others’ experience, most fo which fictional.

If there is even something that makes you uncomfortable or offended, lovely please let me know, and I will delete it and rewrite it.

Thank you, again!

WARNINGS: Mentions of Violence, Abusive Relationship and Abusive Behaviors (graphic description!).

Something that Michael had first understood, when he had met her was that she was a survivor.

Not a martyr like the other residents of the Outpost 3: lazy and greedy beings, not worthy of a shot of the redemption they were magically hoping for, since his arrival.

They were expecting to be picked for the Sanctuary, the miraculous place they would finally be all happy, after the Apocalypse destroyed their beloved planet.

Their new chance to live a happy and fulfilling life.

But still… they did nothing to earn it.

Nothing to make Michael feel pitiful towards their state.

Only disgust came to his mind when he thought about the people, who lived in the little shelter, thinking they were only useful for the slaughter.

Except her, the one who tried to make the Outpost feel more like a home.

She listened to Coco’s mindless ideas, meanwhile she tried to make the spoiled heiress feel like she might be more grateful towards the poor Greys she treated as slaves.

She avoided full-blown fights between Gallant and Evie, shushing the latter and trying to make the former feel better about himself.

She helped in her own way the romance between Timothy and Emily, hiding them from Venable or just standing at guard in the room the duo was talking, to make sure that nobody thought about a possible relationship, between the two.

She even let Dinah talk her entire bullshit at her, giving her any kind of TV show advice, meanwhile she just nodded and kept her head stuck in a book, probably to hide her giggle and boredom.

She was a good person, the type that Michael didn’t think would be still alive, and the fact that she was quite a beauty didn’t help, in the slightest…

He soon developed an infatuation towards her, finding way after way to spend time with her, sitting beside her during the meals, and trying to find her in the library alone.

But not only she was extremely squeamish when this happened, but her thoughts betrayed a darker truths: self-loathing thoughts flew in her mind and she was constantly putting herself down, insulting herself for any mistake and when there weren’t… she just shot insults on her physique or mind.

He had never wanted to introduce himself in her thoughts, but they were just so so loud and he couldn’t help but hear them, angry and red, screaming out from her head, till they eventually lost their voices or he would just run away, taken by the interviews or some conversation with Venable.

But in reality, some of part of him, his so-called-humanity, rooted for her and just wanted to gently lay her down next to him, caress her hair and listen to what she had to say about herself, fighting away all those horrible insecurities.

He had left her in the last rounds of interviews, hoping to know more about her in a less threatening way, but not only she refused to share more than he saw, but also she seemed a true afraid animal whenever they were even for a minute alone, and those angry thoughts covered her quiet ones.

So, when her interview came around, she stood on the chair as if there were burning coals under it, nervous and at unease, even more when he locked the door, and she uttered shyly an:

“Is it necessary?” her lashed hid her eyes, but her voice was teary and soft enough to smell of pure fear “… can’t we leave it open?”.

“It is better to close it” he replied, trying his best to appear calm and open, to ease a bit of calmness into her “… we wouldn’t want anybody to listen on your business, Mrs (L/N), would we?”.

She simply nodded, her eyes immediately lowering to her polished shoes: not a single thing in her appearance was out of place or recognizable.

It was almost as if she shrank in herself, to appear trivial and ordinary, just another human.

Whereas they both knew she wasn’t a simple human.

It took more than a simple human to get the Antichrist sleepless because he couldn’t fathom why somebody might hate herself like that.

-Mrs (L/N), how are you finding yourself at this humble house? – he asked, meanwhile he sat down in front of her, looking at the elegant desk where he had set down a little piece of paper and a pen, as if he intended to take notes, but with his side-eye he looked at her scrunched face, worried and a bit scared, but she soon found the voice to reply.

-… it is quite nice…- she raised a bit her head, and as if he had seen a ghost take over he face, she morphed into a smiling girl -… as nice as a post-apocalyptic shelter can be-.

Although he had to keep up his stern behavior, he let out mentally a laugh, and was surprised of that side of the girl, which quickly went back to the submissive tone she had started the interview with.

-… it is always nice to keep a positive note in places like this- he replied, sternly but he tried to let a bit of warmth linger in his tone -… and I saw that you are constantly helping your fellow survivors, whereas they aren’t so nice towards you…-.

He didn’t need to word the question, because she understood and, watching the rim of the desk, she answered:

-As you said there is need of nice people in places like that…- she mumbled, meanwhile twirling her finger around, sadly he also saw that there were some scratches on them, almost scars of self-harm, which he could link to her nails -… I don’t honestly understand why I was saved, just some men grabbing me because my genetical exam passed some tests-.

He had read in her files, something about her being indeed special in that department, alongside a long array of fractured bones and accidental cuts: he hadn’t been dumb enough not to realize that she was either extremely clumsy or there was something behind.

-… what about your family? – her family had also perished, according to her files, he already knew it, but he wanted to realize if anything in that department triggered something, but she just shook her head, revealing that she didn’t know what had happened to them, and only melancholic sadness shone in her eyes, but nothing which might show the aftermaths of an abuse -… what did you do before you were brought into the Outpost?-.

-I did actually different jobs- she scratched her hair, gently, as if she was trying to remember it all -… but my last employment was as a teacher for children with special need, and I was actually unemployed for three months after that-.

-Did you get fired or was it willingly…? – he had immediately seen the little shine in her eyes at the mention of her job, clearly she had liked her job and he could see by the way she hid in herself that he had hit a sore spot.

-I had a medical emergency and a familiar problem which made me quit- she said it in a way that asked to respect her and to avoid ask further questions.

But wasn’t the devil the one who gifted humankind curiousness?

-Care to explain more? -.

She had basically shrank in herself even more, her feet being on the chair, meanwhile her arms circled herself, as if she was ready to protect herself, her head ready to duck into her arms, in order to be protected by any kind of hitting her invisible assaulter might decide to do.

And there Michael had not the survivor anymore, just a scared little girl.

He had thought he would have somehow eradicated his sudden attraction for the girl with that image, but there was a softness in her and in him a will to protect her, to make her feel protected and to avenge her, that he thought that maybe soulmates existed.

-It was a car incident- she tried to lie, but her voice was shaky, exactly as her hands.

-… I would prefer that you didn’t lie to me, Mrs (L/N)- he remembered her, although he tried to word it as carefully as he could, with softness in his tone but also strength in his resistance and search of the truth -… I appreciate the truth as much as what comes with it-.

-I don’t think…- her voice broke halfway, and when it came back her eyes had finally raised to meet his -… I can’t-.

Tears now were flowing onto her cheeks and it pained him, in its deepest core.

-… you are safe, Mrs (L/N)- he comforted her, holding an hand out, not touching her, knowing it might trigger something in her, and she was thankful for it, shyly moving her hand towards it, but still not grabbing it -… I swear it-.

-… it was my ex-boyfriend- she finally let out, almost as a deep breath -… it is such a stupid thing to say, because I didn’t expect to be “that” girl… but it happened-.

And then she explained softly how she had met Christian, he had been sweet and nice with her, the perfect guy, but slowly he had shown the typical abuser signs, but she had been too blindly in love with him to react, and he had at first taken away her self-esteem.

“That skirt is too short, and even if you wanted to wear it, your legs look ugly in it. I don’t say this to be mean, but I want you to be better”.

Then it had been her friend.

“They said something bad about me, how can you stand that?! I thought you loved me” and slowly she broke away from her childhood friend, the college ones and the simple acquaintances of her work, but worst of all her family.

“They won’t support us… well… then we don’t need them! Those pompous assholes”.

And not only he had used manipulation but he had also gaslighted her into believing everything he said and each of his fault… was on her!

He had lost his job.

“It’s all your fault, you pathetic bitch, you wanted us to spend more time together and this happened!”.

He had once came back from a fight in a bar and meanwhile she had tried to clean his wound, he had grabbed her hand and twisted it, not hard enough for him to break her arm, but she had ugly bruises on the following day and although she brushed it off as any other insult he had thrown on his way, because “he would never hurt her”, she couldn’t help but be a bit scared.

He had come back with flowers and expensive wine (with her money, but she hadn’t been able to mention it) and had proclaimed that he had found a job.

She had thought it was only just a stupid and horrible period, and everything would be fine.

But it kept happening, whether or not Christian was employed, whether or not she did something to anger him, whether or not she cried and begged for mercy.

It never came.

Instead one time the ambulance had to bring her out of her home and for the first time in two years she met again with her mother.

The poor woman hadn’t slept after she had been called I the middle of the night about her daughter basically being an inch from death and being under a brain surgery since somebody had basically smashed her head against a wall.

Her mother had been extremely scared by the doctors who had adverted her that her daughter might not only wake up with no memory of her, but also no ability to speak hear or see.

“Brain injuries are very horrible and till the patient isn’t awake we can’t know, but she was lucky enough to arrive her and be alive, so let’s all pray that whoever rules our destiny that she will be fine” had mumbled a doctor to her mother who had religiously sit by her bed the entire time, and when she had woken up, she had her memories and faculty to speak and see, but a terrible headache.

Her mother had almost laughed when she had told her this, before starting crying and in that horrible moment she had realized she couldn’t go on, not because she cared about herself particularly but because she honestly couldn’t let the people who loved her be hurt.

Not when she knew they still cared about her, even because of this.

She hadn’t been able to confront Christian one last time, but she had indeed signed a restraint order towards him and she had moved with her parents again, finally hearing their laughs again, the teasing voice of your sister and the softness of nights spent in peace.

But sometimes things triggered her past memories, a noise too loud made her cower in herself, as if she had heard a scream or the simple crackling of bones remembered her of her own bones breaking and soon that apparent peace became another trap.

She started falling into a deep depression, feeling guilty both for what she was imposing onto her parents and both because she had been just so so stupid…

Nothing would have happened, had she been…

But the truth was that she couldn’t have done much more and could only focus on the fact that she had managed to escape him.

In those three months before the Apocalypse hit her, she had been falling down the rabbit hole, living also in fear of Christian coming back, and she knew that the Apocalypse should have just pushed her further, but secluded in that horrible shelter she had found herself again.

The voices in her head still screamed, but in that calm atmosphere, the nightmares quieted somehow…

… till Michael Langdon’s appearance shadowed hers.

He seemed so interested in her and she, an hurt animal, couldn’t help but run away and put herself down in front of him, scared that what happened with Christian might happen again with him, alongside her constant thoughts of being spoiled and rotten.

Damaged goods, as Christian called her.

-… I feel so sorry…- she couldn’t help but finish her entire story with those words -…I am sorry to have burdened you with these stupid things-.

And she moved to grab his hand, gently squeezing in, before ducking her head to the ground, ashamed by her sudden emotional outburst, but Michael gently squeezed her hand back, gaining her attention and a raise of her head.

-Mrs (L/N) or if you may, (Y/N), you are not a burden, in the slightest and I am actually the one who is sorry for bringing this all up, it wasn’t what I intended…-.

He couldn’t help but be heartbroken by her confession, it was the truest he had ever heard, a true human with a pure tormented soul: had he finally found someone who was worth the Sanctuary.

-How else would you know our darkest secrets? – she tried to lighten up the room, as she did so many times, alongside changing the subject, but he didn’t let her.

-… it was still… not my purpose to reduce you to tears- he gently brought out a handkerchief, offering it to her with the hand she wasn’t holding.

-Well… at least we now know that I won’t be heartbroken when I don’t make it in the Sanctuary- and it was too dark to brighten the affirmation or to laugh it up, but it also got to Michael’s head and before he knew it he had immediately jumped up from his chair.

-Why would you think that you won’t make it in Sanctuary- he could see the fear in her eyes, her head had indeed been ducked into her arms, but he had an hunch on why she might say something like that -… (Y/N)… you are the only one who has shown me a some truth, and for this you are the only interesting being in this Outpost-.

-I am spoiled goods, Mr Langdon- tears blurred her words, but Michael knew them and ach one hurt him.

-You aren’t in the slightest- his voice lowered an octave, in an attempt to seem calm, meanwhile he circled the desk in order to be closer to her, although he kept himself at a reasonable distance, crouching on the ground, at her feet -… you are a survivor, (Y/N), the brave and sweet woman I couldn’t help but admire, from the start of my staying at the Outpost. You are the only one I would think of bringing at the Sanctuary, a true pure soul, with a tormented past-.

-After Christian… I don’t know if I can…- she was scared he was demanding for more, which he wouldn’t.

So many people had taken too much from her and he wouldn’t ask her to give anything else, if not freely.

He would just wait till she would give anything to him.

For now, he just could live on the sweet smile that appeared on her face.

And the knowledge that Christian had perished horribly in one of his previous visits to the other Outposts…

-Now let’s talk about more merry themes, my lovely (Y/N)- he sweetened his tone and she giggled, a heavenly sound truly -What is your favorite dessert? -.

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hamlets-ghost-zaddy · 5 years

Text

queen of peace

Part 5/10

Shifty Powers x Reader

“Mother, are you absolutely sure you don’t want to come? Margaret said I had to convince—” you call, taking the stairs two at a time, if only to hear the green chiffon of your skirt fluttering at your ankles. Yet, when your Mary-Janes plunk onto the thin carpet at the bottom, girlish delight is forgotten in favor of your eyes bulging, air stoppering in your throat, and stuttering out: “M-Mother, is that—? Is that the—?”

She perches on her armchair in the sitting room—the tapestry upholstery faded; it’s been in the cottage since Mother’s gran lived here as a little girl—her beaming smile shifting from the tea kettle in her hands to you. It’s the tea kettle; the robin-blue heavy ceramic one that’s been shown in the cookware shop’s place of pride since July. “Look, dear, I decided to spring for it,” she says, her voice floating with lightness, as if reveling in an indulgence long overdue. “Isn’t it the loveliest thing? And, you did mention you wanted something practical for your birthday in a few weeks, so I thought this could be for Christmas and your birthday.”

Yet, the justification doesn’t reach your ears; you’re deaf to the chattering praise of the kettle as Mother holds it to the weak electric light of the overhead chandelier, inviting you to admire it from all angles. Your imagination conjures the scene of Mother creeping to the stronghold box secreted in the workshop, illustrating how she took out your carefully stacked pound notes—freshly and hard-earned from the nurses’ orders—halving it and scurrying off to the cookware shop. Is this your fault for not confiding in her how desperately the money’s needed? She surely knows some it, but you’re so careful to hide the letters from the bank, the reminders on the loans and interest, and she had been so thinly pale and grayly sick in the years since London; you couldn’t risk a relapse. Where would you be, who would you have, if something happened to her?

The thought sobers you, allows you to plaster a smile on, and you offer: “It’s really quite lovely, Mother. It’s just the right dash of color our little house needs.” Admittedly, the old cottage with its threadbare carpets and worn upholstery would take much more ‘dashing’ than a blue tea kettle could offer, but your seeming-approval cheers Mother noticeably. “Are you coming to the Christmas Eve party? Margaret asked me that I positively badger you about it.”

Her smile shrinks marginally. “Oh, I don’t know, darling. Why don’t you go ahead, and I may catch you up in an hour or so?” Carefully, you keep a frown from pulling at your lips at Mother’s blatant lie. She hurries on: “Don’t forget your Christmas packages; I put the tin of cakes on top.” She gestures to a modest pile of boxes on the ottoman, an old tin stuffed with almond-butter cakes, dusted with real powdered sugar, crowning it. That white sugar, an absolute necessity in your family’s sacred holiday almond cake recipe, had cost you dearly. Smilingly, you allow her to load your arms up with packages, sacks, and tins, and shoo you out the door and into the early chill of nightfall. She sends you trudging through the flurries of snow and toward the bright bauble of Margaret’s house.

You try not to brood as you walk, your surly thoughts keeping the nip of the air at bay, but your thoughts revolve continuously back to the neat stack of bank letters folded into your jewelry box and how you’d politely word a begging request to extend the payment deadline—again.

…

Margaret shepherds you into the party with wide-flung arms, a bright grin that stretches her immaculately painted cherry-red lips, and any of her stress or harried anxiety from two days prior—during decorating—has entirely evaporated. She coos over your Christmas dress (the same one as last year, and the year before that, though she’s kind enough not to notice) as she carves a path through the seemingly uninterrupted mass of humanity cluttering her home. American sergeants laugh at the vicar’s jokes—he’s putting in a brief appearance before scampering off to other party invitations—Mrs. Pinchent, your dowdy widow-neighbor, giggles and flirts with a taciturn American colonel; Evie Lowell holds captive a slew of local and soldier boys alike; Mr. Jamison, the busybody bartender at one of Aldbourne’s two feuding pubs, hoots uproariously with a cluster of American captains. Couples attempt to dance in a narrow patch of carpet provided, youngsters dart between legs, and the elderly have claimed chairs to keep an amused eye on it all.

Whatever darkness heavying your mood, you leave behind, outside in the cold of the garden.

“We’re not doing any kind of formal gift-exchange,” Margaret informs. “The idea is you put your packages under the tree, and then you’re supposed to check every once and a while if someone has left something for you. It stretches out the fun and anticipation of the gift-giving!”

“Oh,” you mutter, glancing down at your packages, eyes catching on the card attached to the one at the very top: in your neatest cursive, you wrote, ‘To my dear friend, Shifty.’ Disappointment trickles into your chest; you’d never admit it, but you wanted to watch him open it. You’re not sure why it’s important to you all of a sudden.

After Margaret helps deposit your packages under the tree, merrily ripping into hers and exclaiming over the cape you knitted for her—a lovely, pure white lamb’s wool that you matched to her white muff—she whisks the almond-butter cakes away to put on the serving table. You watch her dissolve into the crowd, fidgeting with your velveteen sleeves as your eyes flick over the profiles and backs of the party-attendants nearest you. You don’t particularly want to mingle with Mrs. Pinchent or Mr. Jamison, but they seem to be your only options at the—

“Look!” exclaims George Luz—you instantly recognize that brash American accent of his, constantly pitched as if auditioning to announce for the Royal Ascot—and you find a delicately carved wooden squirrel under your nose. “He did carve me a squirrel!”

“Huh,” is all you can remark, gently plucking the figurine from George’s hands, inspecting its deep, chestnut color, honeyed and rich. The little squirrel even clutches a nut, its head cocked in inquiry at the viewer and fluffed tail held in trepidation. You manage: “It’s lovely, George.”

Accepting the squirrel back, George glances over it, too, trying mightily not to seem too pleased. “It’s alright; Shift’s talented, that’s for sure. The kid’s got, I don’t know, depth or something.”

As innocuously as possible, you ask, “Did Shifty give it to you just now?”

“Nah,” George replies, pocketing the squirrel. “He gave out all his gifts back at the barracks; said he didn’t want to deal with carrying anything here.” The drop of disappointment through your chest from before builds into a free-fall. “I swear, he’s got some imagination, too; he gave Skip an otter but the funny things, I kind of see why Skip’s an otter, you know?”

Before you can think of a response, before you can sort the slowly dawning horror creeping over you that you gave Shifty a gift, and he most assuredly didn’t give you one, Skip appears at your elbow. He shouts to be heard over the party’s rabble: “You’re here! Good, I’ve had to use every stalling tactic I can think of to get the guys to hold off on charades! Come on, you’re on our team; our secret weapon.”

Your eyebrows jump. He remembered; he was being genuine about the team, you think, befuddled.

Skip’s hand wraps around your elbow and he’s towing you—George Luz trails, snorting over the paper crown balanced precariously on Skip’s head, most likely from the Christmas poppers Margaret adores so. You’re helpless to being dragged away from the tree, and any hope you have of swiping up your gift to Shifty before he can see it; before he can open it and face the unmistakable truth that you’re horribly enamored with him. Before your friendship turns brittle and crumbles because of your own self-sabotaging.

First the kiss, now this. It’s like you don’t want to be happy.

(This, in tandem with the damnable kettle, you decide, might be warrant enough to label this the Worst Christmas Yet.)

…

You had your doubts, given that Skip seems someone inclined to comedic dramatics, but he hadn’t been hyperbolic when he proclaimed he, Penkala, and Malarkey were truly pitiable at charades. “What on Earth are you doing?” Malarkey bursts, exasperated, as Penkala skips around the cleared charades floor, flapping his arms and occasionally squawking. All the charades were—allegedly—Christmas themed, though you pulled a Clark Gable card your last round, and you’re fairly sure Clark Gable has nothing to do with the reason for the season.

“Chicken?” Skip guesses, Penkala shaking his head and squawking again, as if this time, it’d trigger the correct answer.

“A deranged goose?” you offer, Malarkey and Skip snorting, but Penkala waves his hands emphatically, pointing at you. “Oh, a goose?” you guess, when Penkala twiddles his fingers, meaning its part of the phrase. “Um, Christmas goose? Roasted goose? Goose and—”

“Time!” Margaret trumpets, popping to her feet and nearly upsetting the holly and garland crown she wears. Allen Vest had made a whole show of crowning her after the first round of charades ended in her team winning, declaring ‘peace unto the queen of Christmas.’ “How many points did they get, George?”

George had made scorekeeper when it became obvious he couldn’t keep his great trap shut, guessing for teams other than his own and giving out freebie points. “Uh, seven! Wow, Penkala, way to go! You didn’t embarrass yourself!”

Penkala takes a bow as all teams—four teams of four, all composed of Easy Company men, the company all your American friends (because you do suppose they’re your friends) belong to—clap and cheer, Malarkey and Skip whooping. As Penkala flops onto the couch next to you, Skip leans over to whisper in your ear: “Looks like you’re not the star player anymore.” He winks, curling grin mirroring yours, and you shake your head back. Without you, the team would have negative points, if any: you earned eleven points when it was your turn, and had guessed nearly all of the words when the boys were acting.

“Good,” you shoot back. “I was getting tired of carrying this team.”

Skip’s eyebrows quirk and he tilts his chin back to roar his laughter to the ceiling.

Basking in the glow of your joke, you swing your eyes away and around the room, your smile growing stale and then shriveling. In the crowd amassed as spectators to the game, you pick him out easily—looking older, more tired somehow, in his dress browns, despite the cheerful blue and white scarf wrapped, once, twice, four times around his neck, the scarf you knitted him—the sensible gray cap, your other gift, peeking from his trouser pocket. Yet, after the initial yank in your stomach, a yank that makes you feel you’ve been thrown into open space, you forget the gifts for his expression. An expression you don’t comprehend, can’t ascribe any logical reason to, because he’s envious? There’s melancholy written in his frown, confusion in the pinch of his brows as if baffled by his own reaction, but yet, despite himself, he looks envious.

His eyes find yours, across the lounge of jostling elbows and knocking knees, and your chest aches, your lips part, words building in your throat until you’re rendered completely mute. What is it about Shifty, about how he’s looking at you now, that fills you until you’re sure you’ll burst? that drains you until you’ll pop out of existence? that makes you burn and chilled, made significant and trivial—feeling every new contradiction on each inhale and exhale?

“C’mon, girlie, get on up there,” Skip says, close to your ear, nudging your shoulder, urging you from the coach—Shifty had made you forget where you were, what you were doing, and you blink at Skip to chase away the haze in your head—and to the cleared performance patch of the lounge’s carpet. “We’re five points away from winning! You’ve got to go bag this one for us!”

Malarkey, having taken Margaret’s invitation to ‘help yourself!’ to an extreme when it came to the ale keg, leans around Penkaka to plant a good-luck kiss on your cheek. “We’re counting on you, sweetheart; you can do it!”

When you collect yourself, when you dare to steal another glance into the crowd, Shifty has moved, is moving through the archway and out of the lounge, You crane to keep him in your sights. But, there are too many bodies, too many voices clogging the air and rooting you on. He melts into the party as Margaret calls: “Two minutes starts now—go!”

…

Bing Crosby’s new Christmas record, and the drunken rhapsodizing accompanying it, floats out of the kitchen when you slip into the back garden. Easing the door shut behind you and clutching your wool coat tightly to your body, your eyes sweep across the snow, winking and reflecting the lights on in the house. Your breath clouds and you plop down on the stoop next to Shifty—it took you nearly twenty minutes to locate him after the charades game devolved into George and Malarkey leading everyone in carols, another five minutes to track down your coat.

He blinks at you, the redness in his nose and cheeks—luminescent in the light reflected off the snow, a wash of the lamp’s yellow and the winking green and red of the fairy lights—softening him, easing that earlier maturity and tiredness you noticed in the lounge. “Oh, hey,” he offers, adjusting his scarf self-consciously and angling to square his shoulders toward you. “I like your, huh, crown.”

“Oh, thank you,” gusts from your lips as you touch your fingertips the holly and garland crown you wear, bestowed upon you by Margaret after your team won the final round of charades. “I was proclaimed the queen of peace, or something like that.”

Shifty nods, eyes skating over your cheekbones, along your nose, to your lips, and back to the crown. The intensity, the thoughts darkening his expression, remind you of looking into a fishing hole, falsely shallow, secreting hidden pockets inside its murky depth; it makes you fidget with contradictions again, makes your chest expand until it aches and your shoulders hunch, as if collapsing on yourself. You reach to pull the crown off, but he leans forward, hands on yours, stopping you. “No, please; keep it on. It…it suits you.”

Biting your lip and lowering your eyes as your fingers drop to twist in your lap—it suddenly seems far too much to look at him—you manage: “Oh, well, okay.” Pause, and you fuss at the bare fur still on your threadbare coat’s cuffs, trying to marshal your senses and recall why you wanted to come out here, what you had formulated saying. “Um, I was going to, um, make sure you’re all right. I noticed you slipped out and I wanted to make sure …”

You allow your words to trail off.

Shifty hums after a moment, leaning closer to you. You’re not sure if its conscious or not. “That’s kind of you to be worried; you’re a good friend,” he offers, his accent coaxing the words from him. “I…” he pauses and you can feel him choosing his next words: “It’s great seeing everyone so happy and enjoying themselves, but I keep thinking about my family playing charades and other games at home right now. It’s made me sad, I suppose. But…but, it’s more than that…I can’t help but think …”

You’re not sure when you thread his fingers with yours, but you offer a gentle squeeze when he stutters to a stop. You tilt your face so you can monitor his expression through your eyelashes and still hide just how desperately you want him to know you’re there for him; how much you desperately wish you could articulate how you care.

He tries again: “I can’t help thinking about what’s to come. The…the war. Who will get hurt, or, or not come back … who’s celebrating their last Christmas right now.” At your backs, a wave of laughter floats from inside, muffled by the brick walls and door, but you feel its weight slamming into your ears, pressing on your shoulders. You know Shifty does, too: you track how he winces. “I know I ought to enjoy the happiness while I can, but what if…what if it’s my—?”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Darrell Powers,” falls from your mouth before you’re aware you spoke, gripping his hands urgently and entirely forgetting your carefully designed cover. You hold his eyes, hoping he sees the ferocity of your firm resolve, hoping he understands how greatly you feel and believe every syllable you say. “Don’t you dare talk or think like that. You’re going to come back, you have to—” because I’d be lost without your eyes in my life; your eyes looking at me like that, you think, but bite back. You can’t say it; you won’t. You can’t watch his face pale and widen in horror. Not again.

Yet his worry remains unchanged and you frown, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, trying again: “Shifty, I know you’re staring down the unknown and you’re scared, but it’s okay to be scared. I’d be worried if you weren’t scared honestly.” That earns you a faintly-cracked grin. “But this is one Christmas of many, many more to come, and whenever you want me to tell you that, let me know. I’ll keep saying it until I’m blue in the face, okay?”

His grin turns wobbly, his eyes glassy as you speak, and his nod is uncertain.

Huffing, you tease, “I’m going to need something more than a nod, Shift.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he manages thickly. He sniffles, takes a choppy breath, and tries to smile. And, God, you want to kiss him; you want to fold yourself into him and be safe from the war, fate, and all that’s to come; you want to cry and laugh and feel multitudes with him. You want, you want, you want—but when has it ever mattered what I wanted?

Instead, you content yourself to wrapping your arm tightly around him, letting him tuck you under his chin, letting his scent of bonfires, boot polish, and summer rain wash over you, letting his arms brace firmly across your back. This is the most you can have from him, you know; this is the most you’d ever ask from him, because what does it matter what you want if you can at least be there for him. Hold him and whisper a thousand assurances, allowing yourself to pretend for a fleeting instant that he really is yours.

tag list: @gottapenny, @wexhappyxfew, @maiden-of-gondor, @mayhem24-7forever, @medievalfangirl

#Shifty Powers #shifty powers x reader #shifty powers image #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fic #romance #christmas time pining #band of brothers imagine #My writing #i'll be gone for the weekend so expect an update on tuesday!!

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scarlettswxtch · 5 years

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You Feel Like Home | 1/2

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Description: You’re a therapist with a tragic past and Bucky’s your new bedmate. You try to deny your feelings for him but he keeps working himself into your heart...and your bed. Will you fall for his charms or keep him at bay?

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: Little bit of angst. All my fics are intended for 18+ readers: this mini series will contain + death.

A/N: I wrote this in a plane, on my way home from Easter holidays so I’m v sorry for any spelling mistakes! :) This was written for an anon - I kinda slightly changed your request up a bit, hope that’s okay ! hope this is (kinda) what you were looking for x Also Jesus Christ I can’t do one shots I just write a fuck ton. Lol. I’m posting part 2 tomorrow!! :)

MASTERLIST

You were in a grocery store when you first realised you were in love with him. He wanted ice cream even though it was cold outside - the wind was biting, chilling and New York was covered in perfect snow. He couldn’t decide what flavour of ice cream he wanted and you teased him about his indecision. “Why don’t we buy every flavour?”

He laughed - soft, innocent laughter in the air like glitter. The kind of laugh you could listen to forever. “You’re silly,” he said, green eyes sparkling with adoration and he kissed you.

You’ll never forget that kiss. Breath pale against the numbing air, you blinked thoughtfully as the frost patiently kissed his face and you were captivated by the soft, dusty illusions of light that sat heavy on his eyelashes. In that moment, you knew you loved him more than anyone, a once in a lifetime.

***

2 years later

“Talk to me,” you whispered to no one, sitting alone in the very early morning of crisp November. It was cold outside but, you didn’t care. It was snowing again, thick and deep and freezing cold. There were a few clouds but the moon shone bright and gilded you in silver but, you didn’t notice it. You saw nothing and heard nothing.

You’d been up here countless times before their deaths. His death - etched in your memory like it was yesterday.

It happened so fast. You were wrapped in his arms; laughing, kissing, telling each other sweet nothings. His lips tipped up and he looked at you like you were sunshine. You’ll never forget that look - how moments later it filled with horror and panic.

A figure appeared out of a bright, blinding red light; an ominous warning of what would come. It was a woman - beautiful, slender, with eyes uncanny to his; round, green as new-born leaves. She had his eyes but she didn’t look at you with adoration. No. Her eyes slithered on your form like it was insulting, gaze almost red with resentment. When she spoke it was melodic yet she spat her words with hot-red fury. “I have to kill you,” she said and when you asked her why your heart wanted to leap out of its chest. Your daughter. His daughter. Our daughter. “HYDRA’s orders,” she spat and he pulled you behind him without a second thought, sacrificing his life for yours, blood marring the dirt as his form became nothing but a corpse.

You stared at the ground - snow once blood stained long washed away or mingled with dirt. You didn’t know why you kept coming here. You wanted to hear his voice, see his face, replace that final look of fear and tell him everything would be ok. Instead, you sat there, dominated by a profound sadness, fatigue engraved on your worn face. No longer could you see see that inquisitiveness, that desire, that fire in your eyes. All that remained was the deceiving hollow soul. You were just a shell of a person.

***

3 months later

“Would it kill you to come to dinner?,”

You drew absentminded doodles on the piece of paper in front of you as your lips pursed in discomfort. Yes, yes it would kill you to go to dinner at Jane’s house.

“Jane,” you said into the phone “like I told you, I’m really busy,”

“But I thought you said you’d have some free time coming up?,”

Your eyes closed over in exasperation. Jane was your dead boyfriend’s sister and there truly was nothing worse than being around his family. “I was but things got busy. Very busy. I can’t make dinner this week,”

“How about next week?,” she pushed.

“Janey...”

“I’m worried about you, I haven’t seen you in months! I mean, who’s taking care of you?,”

“Jane honey, I’m a grown woman.”

“But I worry about you. Ever since you took that job I haven’t seen you,” she whispered, this time sad and concerned and, because you loved her, it killed you. You knew she was worried. You and Jane had been the best of friends before his passing, attached to the hip like sisters. When he died, you couldn’t bare her presence - she looked so much like him it physically hurt you. Jane was flighty, sensitive and nervous by nature. Therefore, she constantly checked up on you despite your excuses to avoid her. That, and, you now lived in New York with hero’s that needed your constant attention.

“Don’t worry,” you assure her quietly “I’m fine. Just busy.”

“Pardon me, Miss, but Mr.Barnes is requesting your presence,” F.R.I.D.A.Y says from above you and your pen comes to a halt.

“Jane I gotta go,” you say quickly.

“But-“ she began.

“Somethings just came up, honey. Really, gotta go. I’ll call you back later,” that was a lie.

You heard her sigh then, “Okay, I’ll be waiting for that call.”

“Love you Jane, bye.” you hear her say goodbye but vaguely.

“Send him in,” you say to F.R.I.D.A.Y, fingers now tapping nervously on your mahogany desk. Being a therapist for the Avengers has its perks and downsides - on one hand, you were generously paid (courtesy of Stark himself, of course) but on the other, you were on call 24/7. Not that that was an issue for you, no - not at all. Helping other people with their problems had helped your own inner conflict and you did it rather readily.

The problem was Bucky Barnes. He's not usually the kind of guy you fantasise about. For starters, he's brunette and you’ve always liked blondes. Dreamy men with bright blue eyes who were emotionally stable, preferably. Until you met Bucky. He’s someone with his own issues, issues that made your own seem totally minuscule. Life taken by Hydra, experimented on endlessly. He‘s emotionally volatile, prone to aggression and...drop dead beautiful in every way.

There was also the fact that you were sleeping with him. Non-stop. Like two damn bunny rabbits. It was insane. He’s the only healthy drug there is, the one that puts your mind into a frenzy of sparks. Makes you...forget. When you’re with him, your past life seems like a dream - something that never happened. The simple touch of his hand leads you into moving in ways you never learnt but know so well. In those moments, you are only alive in the present, all thoughts of past and future melted away. You weren’t sure if that was good or bad but, the guilt you felt over it was overwhelming.

The elevator opens directly into your office and you watch him step in, phone to ear, he hasn't looked at you yet so you gaze freely. “Yeah yeah, Steve I got it,” he says into the phone. There's something about him, a slight confidence and inflated ego, that has you muddling your words and blushing uncontrollably whenever he's around. He looks up at you and smiles a dazzling smile, making his way to your desk. “I’ll see you later punk, I got a woman that needs my attention.” he says, eyes still on you and you can hear Steve’s hearty laugh through the phone before he hangs up.

“Hey darlin’,” his voice is smooth as silk as he leans over, placing a kiss on your warm cheek. He’s holding a coffee cup that he places in front of you and he sits down on the velvet green chair opposite your desk - looking all handsome and comfortable. You suddenly felt small in your own office - his energy completely enveloped the room. It was always like this with Bucky. He was an intense guy who commanded everyone’s attention - it was completely impossible for him to walk into a room unnoticed.

You eyed the coffee cup, smiling “That for me?”

“Got your name on it, doll,” He said lazily, head bent as he tapped away on his phone. You took it giddily, bringing it up to your face and smelling the hint of hazelnut. You smiled to yourself - you only ever ordered coffee with him once and ever since, he’s remembered exactly how you like it: a little milk, 2 pumps of hazelnut syrup and no sugar. It was a small thoughtful thing but, so very heartwarming.

“Hmm, what’s the occasion?”

“Consider that a gift,” he said, sliding his phone back in his pocket.

You raised a brow, scanning your memory for anything you’d done to solicit a gift and you came up blank “What for?” you were frowning now as you sip your coffee.

He kept a straight face, he was looking at you with those gorgeous, irresistible icy blue eyes that could make the whole of the Arctic melt in seconds. “For you coming to Tony’s event with me.” That almost made you choke. Bucky and you were many things but explicitly public was not one of them.

Your eyes turn round as you abruptly placed the coffee cup on the table, a little warm droplet spilled on your hand and you unconsciously wiped it on your skirt. Well, say hello to a stain now, idiot. “What?”

“You and me, Tony’s charity gala,” he said simply, completely un-phased.

“What? Bucky I never agreed to that”

“Don’t need you to agree doll, I’m telling you,”

You stared at him speechlessly. Bucky was a dominant guy - you knew that the second he first walked into your room and sat his ass down on your chair like he owned the place. The only vulnerability he ever showed was during your therapy sessions, when you’d both speak about Hydra and his past with Steve. Other than that, you could be damn well sure Bucky Barnes would dominate you in every way possible and damn if it wasn’t hot. Sometimes, only sometimes, you felt like you could see some of that softness when he was in your bed but, he never let you see it for long enough. You didn’t blame him - you pushed him away a lot.

He raised a brow at your quietness and you realised you hadn’t said anything for about a full minute now. “Uhh,” you began, damn him and his tongue-tying effects! “Bucky I’m not so sure that is professional considering I’m your therapist-,”

“Darlin’ I think we’re way past professionalism,” he interrupted, leaning closer to you - he was looking at you with heat in his eyes as his gaze lazily flickered from your desk to your eyes “Whole of New York heard you scream my name when I took you on that desk,” he muttered, loud enough for you to hear.

You swallowed, heat flushing your face as a sudden tingling sensation took over your stomach. “Bucky I cant - I...it’s different for the public to know. You’re not exactly lowkey.” It’s true. He isn’t. The Avengers are all high profile people constantly all over the news - from dating to getting a coffee cup across the street, you could be sure their faces would be somewhere on the front page. You experienced that first hand when you were spotted out with Steve. Headlines covered both newspapers and magazines in bold red letters: AMERICA’S SWEETHEART? They read - totally ridiculous considering you were only getting coffee but apparently, the public obsessed over Steve’s love life. Jane had called you asking if you were dating and you panicked so much you vowed to never step foot outside with any of them again. Except for Tony and Barton who were happily married.

Bucky stood up, face flashing with something that faded too quick for you to spot “Doll seriously, I’m tired of you denying that we have something here. It started off as just sex,” he leaned into the desk, face dangerously close to yours “we both know it’s a lot more,” he whispered and your heart started beating irregularly fast. He wasn’t wrong. It was...more. He made you feel good in ways no one else ever has - not even him. Bucky made you forget him. That made you feel incredibly guilty because he was supposed to be your soulmate - he still is in some ways. Yet Bucky got this response from you, a different kind of response - like necessity - as if your soul yearned to knit itself to his and it killed you. So much so it hurt to ignore it.

“I-I I can’t,”

“Why?”

“I have...I just can’t do that to him, Bucky,” your eyes lowered as you looked away from him “I still love him,” you said, jaw tight “please, let it go.”

You were met with silence and you peered up at him. He was staring at you with that hardness in his eyes - the same hardness you saw each night when you asked him to leave your room. His jaw twitched in what you could only guess was impatience, frustration, annoyance...perhaps all three?

“The more you hold onto the past the more it haunts you,” he mutters and his eyes search your face - voice lowering, almost soft. “Don’t think I don’t see the way you look at me across the room, sugar” his hand curls around your neck, squeezing it and your body shivers at the contact. “I know that look,” he whispers - gaze so raw you could only squirm beneath it. “I’m here right now, in the present. I won’t wait for you forever.”

You swallowed as your heart clenched “Bucky let go,” you said, so quietly that if he hadn’t been so close to you it would’ve been inaudible.

But Bucky Barnes was not done. You’d know this when he was not across the table but in your space. So far in your space, you were now standing and your soft body was pressed against the length of his, his hand curled around the back of your neck, demanding, putting pressure to bend your neck up as your lips connected. You put your hands to his shoulders to push him away, your mind filled with how you could do that as gently as possible when his tongue came out and the tip touched your lips. And at that, your body and mouth made another decision before your mind could catch up. This being your arms closing around him tight, his mouth opening yours, his tongue spiking out, pushing yours back into your mouth and then he kissed you, very hard, very wet and very, very deep. He tasted like mint - sweet and fresh and fucking fantastic.

You kept one of your hands locked tight around his bicep while you slid the other hand up his spine, his neck and into his hair. He bent forward slightly, arching over his arm, forcing your body deeper into his and you moaned a sweet, soft moan against his tongue. It was the best thing you’d ever tasted in your life until he pulled away.

You looked up at him, breathless and outraged at the same time - smugness was written across his features as he stepped away from you. He was smirking now as if you’d just told him what he needed to know “I’ll wait for that RSVP,” he said and finally strolled out of your office.

***

3 hours later

Nat was looking at you from across the table, face totally impassive. You told her everything to the minutest detail that happened between Bucky and you. And it was fair to say you remembered the minutest detail.

Through this, she listened.

When you were done, you asked quietly, “Well?”

She simply stared at you, eyebrow raised and book in hand, “Was there a question?”

You looked at her incredulously “Yes! What do you think I should do?” You slumped back into your chair, hand covering your face as you grumbled: “God Nat I’m so torn, he makes me feel good but-“

“All I’m hearing is excuses,” she interrupted suddenly and you peeked at her from behind your fingers. She was looking at you with her judge-y jade green eyes.

“Nat he freaks me out!” You exclaimed and she suddenly took your hand in hers. She was staring at you with an unusual softness and you felt incredibly lucky at that moment. You knew this caring side was something Natasha rarely showed to people - it was something she had only gifted you twice in your time of knowing each other and each time, you took that look of hers and locked it away in your heart to keep forever.

“I get that,” she says softly “I also get why. You’re scared of moving on, feeling guilty because of what happened. I’ll tell you this though, nothing good comes of dwelling on the past,” she echoed Bucky’s earlier words and your heart clenched because you knew she was right. “You should know that - you’re the therapist here. Follow your own advice. Besides, from what you told me, who you were with was not a selfish person. He would’ve wanted you to be happy - not be a nun and never find love again. I think we both know that...you’re just having trouble accepting it.” She let go of your hand and leaned back in her chair, face turned up to the February sun.

“God I hate it when you’re right,” you grumbled, fingers massaging your temples in contemplation.

“I’m always right,” she says without looking at you. “You already know Barnes. He’s got a lot of demons, but he’s good around you - we all see that he’s been better ever since you.”

You closed your eyes “Oh God-“

“What we gossiping about here?” A voice said from the kitchen door and you squealed at the unexpected interruption. It was Tony.

Nat was about to say something before you quickly interrupted her with wide eyes. “Nothing!,” you said, and Tony’s eyes assess you in thought but (thankfully) chose to say nothing of what he was thinking.

“Right...” he drawled before he distractedly began pressing at the advanced looking gadget on his hand.

“Need you in the office, sweet cheeks, ASAP.” He said, waving at you to follow him and you promptly got up from your chair.

“Right away boss,” you said and followed him. You turned around quickly to face Nat “Thank you,” you mouthed to her. She only nodded in response and went back to reading her book.

As you followed Tony, something told you you’d have a very, very difficult time trying to get Bucky Barnes out of your head and the truth is...you weren’t even sure you wanted to.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader smut #winter solider imagine #winter solider x reader #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky imagine #bucky barnes

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rankakiu · 4 years

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Thoughts of the Droid: Joker (2019)

Hello people from Tumblr! How have they been in all this time? As always, I hope very well. I will begin by saying that it was really in my plans to see the film of It: Chapter II; however, due to various circumstances, I could not see in the cinema. However, I compensated, watching another movie that shares a feature with It: both films have a clown as a great antagonist. Only the latter is more disturbing, since it does not need an extra dimensional being, but a human disguised as a clown, which in itself is more disturbing. On this occasion I bring to you all my impressions and opinions of the Joker movie, the second film that Warner and DC have released this year and which (obviously) has a plausible origin for the villain and nemesis par excellence of Batman.

Could it be that this movie continues with the hit streak of DC and Warner? Or is it a movie that had a very high expectation and ends up disappointing own and strangers? Stay in my review to find out.

WARNING: NOT SPOILER-FREE. Read at your own risk.

To start, what did I think of the movie? Short answer: simply magnificent and fascinating. Now let's go into the review in more detail.

Characters: What to say about this thing? Each of the characters has been thought carefully and although we do not see much of them, at least they fulfill very well their function of being support characters and even some of them serve as a catalyst to further explore the mind of our protagonist. None of these characters will leave you indifferent and also make the movie a more pleasant experience, due to their good performances.

Of course, I could not ignore our protagonist, Arthur Fleck, played by the great Joaquin Phoenix, who once again consolidates himself as an actor of excellent quality, in addition to demonstrating his talent to his full potential.

In this movie, he interprets (as I mentioned lines above) a man in his forties named Arthur Fleck, a poor unhappy man and that life does not treat him at all well. To top it off, he suffers from a peculiar disorder: he laughs uncontrollably when he suffers certain levels of stress and / or anguish. Basically, when he laughs, it is when he ironicly manifests his pain and suffering. And certainly, in the scenes where he laughs that way, it is where Phoenix's acting quality is most noticeable, since while he laughs, his face is disfigured in gestures of extreme bitterness and pain.

If there is something that the film does quite well, it is to explore the tormented psychology of the character, while offering a possible origin and reason why it became the iconic “crime clown” of Gothic City. Throughout the film, we see him resisting as much as he can the attacks and ill-treatment he suffers from a society that cannot and does not want to understand him; we see him slowly succumb to his madness and dark desires, pushed more than anything for days full of disappointment, bitterness and disinterest on the part of his fellow men. Thus, the film knows how to balance these two aspects that manage to give the character its own mythology, while paying a well-deserved tribute by taking certain elements of comics and stories that are already legendary in their own right.

Story: A story, which despite a somewhat slow pace, manages to keep the viewer's interest for about two hours. And it is not for less, since the history has been meticulously planned and well conceived and carried out. It's a story that doesn't bore you at all, and that really leaves you wanting more. It's funny, since, even long before the trailers, we all knew in advance that it would be a story of the character's origin, so we knew that eventually Arthur Fleck would become the Joker. What really left us intrigued and made us go to the movie theaters was the premise of seeing how he became the clown of crime, whose motives he had to let himself be carried away by his madness and had such a unique metamorphosis. Again, the film tells that story precisely and brutally.

And how to start a story with so much potential? Simple, through a scene, where we see Arthur make up as a clown to go out on another work day and while preparing, we see our protagonist break emotionally for a few moments, where he forces himself to smile and while he smiles he spills a Treacherous tear, shows palpable suffering that has to deal with daily and somehow manages to resist almost heroically. But reality and life constantly inflict wounds on his being.

Throughout history we see many evidence of this: we have that, while Arthur does his job, a band of brats steal a sign and Arthur pleadingly asks people for help, who ignores him in that dehumanized way and not according to that, the same band of brats beat him up.

Or how about the scene where one of his co-workers, Randall, gives him a gun so carelessly and that he lost his job - that despite everything, he loved - and his partner decided to wash his hands , before admitting his mistake?

We also have the case in which Arthur fervently tries to fulfill his dream of being a comedian and unfortunately not only does not succeed, but also Murray Franklin, his idol and role model openly mocks him.

But without a doubt, the hardest blow he suffered was when he learned that everything, ALL OF HIS LIFE, until now had been a lie. Finding out that he was adopted only to satisfy a narcissistic desire of his adoptive mother, that his own guardian allowed him to be abused in various ways and that his origin is completely uncertain create an emotional dent in him, since it has been given realize that his life - in his own words - has been a joke in its entirety. In my opinion, this is one of the most emotional and heartbreaking scenes of the film, since that is where we see Arthur laugh more uncontrollably than ever, while shedding tears and his gesture is of such extreme disappointment and pain, that one as a spectator, you can feel a total empathy with the character, despite knowing that he will become a murderous villain.

Another scene to highlight in the story, is when Arthur, already become the Joker, is featured in the show of his now former idol Murray. That is where The Joker, stopping to read for a few seconds a thought he wrote long ago ("I just hope my death makes more sense than my life"), is that he finally decides what he wants to do and what being he wants to become .

And is that previous scenes, Arthur is seen rehearsing his entrance and his act to the show, where we clearly see that he aimed to commit suicide in order to end his life so tragic.

In my opinion, when he reads those lines of his thought, he changes his mind and decides that he will now be forcefully heard and will do what he pleases and brings his own happiness and control of his life. It is also in this scene where there is a monologue that seems quite interesting to me, since Arthur rants against society that abandons not only the patients with mental disorders, but also the poor and the most needy people. It is, in its purest sense, a passionate speech, full of anger and resentment against society that, unconsciously, led him to become an executioner, now free from the bonds and ideas of good and bad with what society intended to retain him. And now the executioner intends to torture this society, which ironically now cries out for mercy when never had it in the first place with a human being like him.

Also in this scene is where the Joker gives another equally interesting speech, and it is that to some extent he is right in describing society as easily manipulable, since in his own words, that society was shocked by the death of the three Wayne business employees, without even knowing how they really were. Recall that behind the scenes, the three subjects were behaving like real patanes, harassing an innocent woman. In part, their deaths are brutal and to some extent an exaggerated punishment. But this must also be considered: at what point would these three have reached if Arthur had not been present? What limits would have been exceeded? An interesting reflection that gives a lot to think about.

Another point in favor of history, is that it not only focuses on the psychology and evolution of the main villain, but also manages to sustain, showing a dark side of society and especially the eternal struggle of social classes, especially The poor against the rich. Just remember that in the movie, these social classes make their position very clear: the rich condemn the crimes that they have done against them. The poor are full of joy for those acts that they consider pure and expeditious justice.

But…

Did it really happen everything that defined Arthur as the Joker?

Because in fact, in the same movie (and in various theories hanging around the internet) there are several clues that would confirm that the whole story we witnessed as spectators would be false. Some say that all their history is false and others maintain that only parts of it. And one might think that that little detail ruins the movie completely.

In this case, I would not think so.

And it is because of how the character is designed from the beginning. Basically the Joker is one of those characters who, as long as we knows less about his past, is much better, since it is part of his essence, being an entity of chaos whose origin is enigmatic and mysterious, a whole unknown. And if in truth his whole story is ambiguous or it didn't happen the way him told us, his past doesn't matter. What matters is precisely that we have been shown how his madness dragged him into becoming a criminal.

The story definitely gives a lot of fabric to cut from and is very worthy of analysis in many facets. The story, along with the characters - especially the protagonist - is the best of the film, and therefore it is a film that has no waste of seeing again and again.

Action and Visuals and special effects: Well ... where to start? Because if you ask me, I doubt that this film has been a great edition of special effects. I do not deny that I have one or another, but most of all the film is beautifully guided with the environments, the color palette and lights and especially a great script, so it is not necessary great effects. As for the action, the film has good sequences but they are very scarce and when they occur they are usually ephemeral. But do the film need action? Of course not, since it focuses on the character and his circumstances.

In conclusion, Joker, is a film very worth seeing and that has already become one of the best DC films, showing that in truth, when they want, they can achieve these wonderful results and that even overshadow their eternal rival Marvel. Therefore, I give this movie 4.5 out of 5 jokers. Beyond that, this film presents a new scheme that, if exploited in a good way, will create a genre in the superhero films: supervillain movies. And that is one of the greatest achievements of the film.

Definitely a highly recommended movie to watch and a very deserved achievement for DC and Warner. Hopefully they stay on this good path.

Greetings

Rankakiu

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cobaltarchivist · 5 years

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Another slightly spooky story I wrote a while back.

“Potions?”

“Check.”

“All of them?” Demetrius rummaged through his potion sack. He tended to be a bit forgetful about which ones he had used recently. After almost a full dive into his stores, he came back up and nodded.

“Alright. Eliza, are all of our enchantments stable?” Eliza nodded. She didn’t tend to say much unless it was completely necessary.

“Erik, are all of your spells ready?”

“As ready as they ever will, boss.”

This was our final fight. this necromancer had been plaguing our lands for years. Demetrius and I had set out after him a couple of months ago. It wasn’t that hard of a decision really. The necromancer’s armies had killed both of our parents. Dem still wasn’t over his mom’s death. We met Eliza in the elven wood. she almost shot my eye out the first time we met. I got over it. Zombies do look fairly similar to someone who hasn’t eaten for several days. We met Erik a few days before getting to the tower. He had been camping out there waiting for us. Apparently there were folk songs about us now?

Months of traveling had led to this moment. We were finally about to vanquish this evil from the land. we walked up to the massive obsidian doors that led to the necromancer’s chambers. I nodded to Erik.

A massive fireball blasted through the doors, just in case there were any more mooks behind it.

“Necromancer! Your reign of terror is at an end!” a robed figure was at the end of the room, standing with his back to us, and looking out a floor-to-ceiling window.

“Yes, to you it would appear that way, but- wait, Jimmy? Is that you?” My jaw dropped. No. It was him? He had been here this entire time? My annoying, half-wit uncle?

“Jimmy! it is you!” Demetrius snickered. I turned to glare at him.

“Shut up.” I faced the uncle I had hated visiting my entire childhood.

“Uncle Bob... Hi... What are you doing here?”

“Oh, my boy. What does it look like I am doing? I’m taking over the world!” his idiotic grin never left his face, “Oh, it’s just been so exciting! tons of adventurers have come to me. It’s like they were just begging to join my army! Now that you’re here I can finally finish my plans!” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Why did it have to be him?

“Wait, This guy is your uncle?” Erik asked, completely bewildered. His gnommish mind was great at creating new spells, but when introduced to something that there was just no possible way for it to have been thought of, he tended to forget everything else, including his spells. Crap. I decided to ignore his question.

“And what plans would those be, Bob?”

“Oh, well you see,” he wandered over to a pedestal covered in a black cloth, “This thing will only let the ‘pure of mind’ use it.” the cloth was ripped off with a flourish. underneath was a glowing white stone, carved in a multitude of odd shapes, constantly shifting through them.

“This beauty is the eye of minds. It is slightly prejudiced against me, I think. There is some crap legend that says it can only be used by the ’sanest of men’ but I think that is just a bit made up to discourage people from taking it. I took it anyway, and tried, and tried and tried, to unlock it secrets, bit to no avail.” he was staring at the stone angrily now.

“The secrets of the universe, locked inside this prejudiced little rock. Isn’t it just... maddening?”

I looked back at my group. they were all transfixed by the stone. even Erik’s mouth was shut, and he was usually on some sort of tangent about how the universe worked or something like that. something was very, very wrong with that stone.

“uncle bob, can you cover that back up?”

“But why would I do that?” the creepy grin was back, “after all, your friends seem to enjoy it almost as much as I once did.” Demetrius took a step towards the pedestal that seemed to echo through the room.

“see? your large friend wants to try and touch it. It could work. or maybe it could, possibly, just maybe, drive him absolutely, completely, undeniably mad.” Bob let out a cackle that echoed through my bones.

“I wouldn’t let him do that though. The eye is my toy to break, not his.” he rushed over to the stone and picked it up. he twirled around the room as if the stone was his partner in a dance that only the insane could find any rhythm in. he stopped, facing the window once again. he was starting to freak me out. this was eerily similar to how he talked about his carvings before he had left us. His toys to break. the carvings had been beautiful, and were only seen once before being sold. yet no merchants ever came to his shop, or requested that he make something. I began to doubt he had actually sold a single one.

“Bob, did you make that stone?” my insane uncle turned, the stone held so that I couldn’t see it.

“What gives you that idea? the fact that it bears a striking resemblance to your mother? the way it shifts to show me every statue that was incomplete? the way they mocked me? why, what would give you even the slightest impression that I had made it?” he took several steps toward me. I stepped back on each one.

“no, the eye was given to me in the dead of night. I had to hide its shifting forms from my sister to keep her from taking its beauty away. yet, because of that, I see her in it every day. the only recognizable face in the flurry of doomed souls.” mom had died five years after bob had left. my father still hadn’t stopped grieving when he was killed. there was no way he could know she was dead.

“Bob, put the stone away. you don’t know what powers you are dealing with”

“oh, but I do my boy. every power in the universe has been tapped to create the eye. and I shall be the one to release them.”

“Bob, you’ve got completely nuts. that’s just a rock. it looks just like any other you would have been able to find outside of our village.”

“Why must you lie to me jimmy? I know you see it the same as I do.”

“No, bob. it’s a rock”

“Is it really?” this was getting tiring. I had to do something, and fast.

“YES!” the stone suddenly dulled, a normal stone once again. Bob began to panic.

“WHAT? where is the power? what has happened?”

“I told you bob. it is just a regular rock.”

“No! No!” he clenched his face, clawing at his eyes that were betraying him. He stumbled around the room, crashing into the furniture that was scattered haphazardly around the room. finally he arrived at the window.

“NO! NO! NO!” with every shout he pounded on the glass, cracks started to appear. growing larger and larger as he pounded his fist against the pane.

“NO!” one final shout, one final pound on the cracked glass. the entire thing shattered. he turned to face me.

“You did something. you took the power for yourself!”

“no, bob.” I raised my hand and shot a blast of strayng energy at my deranged uncle. he was launched out the window, and plummeted to the stones below, screaming madly the entire way to the sickening crunch that ended in a terrible silence. I still had some time before my friends awoke. I walked over to the stone, which was once again glowing and shifting through its many shapes. I took off one of my gloves and picked it up. It slowly disintegrated in my hand. Why did my boons have to come from a being who loved chaos as much as he did? I looked at my bare hand. The emblem drawn in a black deeper than night was shifting in the same way the stone once did. A horrible reminder of the path I had chosen. I put the glove back on. My companions would wake in a couple of hours. they would find an empty room. It would be best to let them think I had perished. I would miss them. I hated letting Demetrius think I was dead, but I had another job to pursue. I knew they would remember me fondly, however none could know of the pact I had made with the lords of madness.

#stories #story #writblr #writing #insanity #spoopy

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halfusek · 6 years

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You Left Me in a Heartbeat

I wrote a fic about my interpretation of how things were between Joey and Henry: from before founding the studio to the moment they split up and a bit more. Also it includes a certain theory I would like to discuss in a seperate post some other time. Hope you enjoy! Huge thanks to @pipesflowforeverandever for beta reading and helping me with getting this thing readable! <3 Warning: ...violence.

✪ ✪ ✪

There is nothing wrong with dreaming. Excitement filled his head and buzzing thoughts were running million miles per hour through that brain hidden under dark hair. Although none of that amount of thinking was focused on the real world. At least not yet. Which is why the owner of fancy looking (but actually really cheap, he was just a broke student with nothing but dreams and 60 cents in his pocket, well, at least for the rest of the month) black shoes didn't even notice his feet were constantly switching being attached to the ground between toes and heels. His sight seemed to be focused on a certain covered in lights sign which was hung way above the cogitating head, at the top of an entrance. He was standing close to the gate with the cinema's ticket booth in the middle, his pointy nose pointed at the sky, expression peaceful, shoulders relaxed, and body slightly bending back and forth.

Oh, no, surely nothing wrong with dreaming, especially dreaming big, but who is to say those smaller ones cannot be fulfilled as well? Even those silly ones.

The cinema was showing an animated production tonight. And he had just enough money to see it and only slightly starve for the next week!

He arrived way too early for the show, but he couldn't just sit at home! So he went out for a long walk, well dressed, which wasn't most comfortable, but God, did he feel good!

To be fair it wasn't just the show his mind was currently so occupied with. Oh, it surely is fun doing alone, but what an experience it must be with a company!

He heard his name being shout out from across the street. The man turned around on his heel and sent the best grin the mouth under the pencil moustache was able to make.

Especially good company!

Henry was with some woman.

Joey stood still.

When the pair finally approached him, he whistled under his nose and then bowed. Both of his arms moved right away, one behind his back, and the other one in front of him, reaching for her hand.

"What a pleasure meeting you, my lady,” she giggled and Henry couldn't help but roll his eyes, though his lips twitched, forming a smile, "Can I know your name?”

"Linda,” they exchanged an energetic handshake, "You must be Joey?”

Said man gasped and put his hands on his chest in disbelief.

"Wow! Well...” he pouted comically and put his finger on his chin, other hand resting on his hip, "It is a possibility.”

Linda snorted.

"You know,” she took Henry by his arm and turned her head to him, cascade of blond hair flowing with that movement, "When you said it's just some cartoon I had second thoughts about going... but it might be fun after all,” she bit her lip as she turned back to Joey.

"Oh?” Drew asked, his mind completely ignoring the compliment, "You don't like cartoons?”

"I mean... I never really tried watching any... who knows, maybe it's fun. I know a fella or two who seem to enjoy it," she showed her teeth in a beautiful smile.

Joey noticed with how much affection Henry looked at her face. His eyebrows frowned a tiny bit.

"Let's try making it a three then," Henry beamed and pulled his girlfriend after him to buy the tickets. He did it in such an adventurous way, she couldn't help but laugh.

Joey watched them from behind. He couldn't move his feet. This was stupid.

He was stupid.

He wanted to pay for them. Only the two of them. He didn't expect-

His body shaked for a second. Only now he noticed how cold it was outside. Or...

He took the first step.

They won't last.

He took another step.

They will break up soon and he will never see or hear of Linda ever again.

He came up to the gate and bought a single ticket, then followed his company for tonight.

He won't lose just like that.

After the seance, Linda’s love for toons started and was growing ever since. She couldn't draw a straight line, but was interested in her partner's passion.

He can't lose.

Few years from this night they are planning to get married.

✪

Music was so loud as if the world was ending and it was the last opportunity to dance ever. Wonderful combination of bodies moving to the wild rhythms, people shouting as long as they had air in their lungs, liters and liters of alcohol and pure happiness – truly the most humane form of insanity. Everyone was dressed in their most expensive clothes they should take care of and nobody cared as they waved their arms and legs, drowning in the ocean of sweat and panting breaths.

They owned the place tonight, newcomers could either join or stay being outsiders which ended for all of them in leaving. Judging by how, hm, unusual the party was, it effectively scared away those who could have something against some of its rules. One woman entered looking for someone to make love to, but went out scoffing as her moves resulted in nothing because she aimed at a wrong pal, currently making his own moves towards another pal. How weird!

Oh, those artists. Such deviants!

Joey was forcibly pulling Henry away from the table, despite all of the yet-to-come-animator's protests.

"Come ooooon!” tall man’s voice sounded lower and slowed down. Also very demanding at the moment, "Don't tell me you're not gonna dance at a celebration of YOUR OWN show!”

They finally both ended up in the middle of the chaos which was the said celebration. They were like two pales standing still in a storming sea. Now they either drown or move. Henry didn’t seem up for swimming.

He doesn't like dancing. Joey only knew he performed a few slow ones with Linda, but she wasn't there to get him out of his comfort zone this time.

Obviously Joey was obligated to step in.

"I-I don't know what to do, I feel weird everytime I do this, I-"

"Don't think about it, just do it!” they had to yell in each others ears to make anything out of their conversation.

"I can't. I can't!” light reflected in Henry’s glasses as he looked back at the table.

"It's like slow dancing! But faster!” Henry didn't need to turn again to his friend to see that big grin of his, but he did it anyway just to send him a mildly annoyed look.

"It's not!”

"It is! I'm gonna... fucking... show you!” Joey grabbed his hands and pulled, which took Henry by surprise.

"What the-"

"Think of waltz! But don't be strict! Use some instinct, for crying out loud you're the one with a girl!”

And so they took few first steps like in a classic waltz, which didn't go well with everyone else's tempo but Joey didn't care. Henry got more nervous.

"I told you I-"

"Shut up! Keep! Trying!”

Drew can be really exhausting with his motivational attitude and never-giving-up speeches, but Henry decided to listen to him. After all, he was usually right.

They took their steps faster. Then Joey started leading them into slightly different ones, and with time and occurrence those differences started increasing.

Henry found himself catching up and they both noticed that.

When they achieved a somewhat satisfying pace and didn't bump into others as much, Joey suddenly pulled Henry closer and whispered to his ear something the shorter man couldn't quite catch but it surely included the words "dancing demon" and he bursted out laughing.

Sillyvision pitched their idea.

Way later that night two figures struggled with walking down the street, both clinging to each other. They were trying hard to keep their balance yet still ended up moving between both sides of the road. Luckily for them it was quite a quiet neighborhood, no cars in the sight. There was only one cyclist who tried their best to avoid them with the accompanying sounds of the bike’s horn.

Their long walk was completed at a construction field. Not a recommended place for the drunk, but things were about to start happening here in a few days, only several materials have been gathered for building.

Joey wants to stand on his own but Henry didn’t let him – he knew that would end in the tall man laying face down on the dirt – so instead of making a majestic spin in the middle of the place with his hand pointed at the surroundings, he did an awkward turn-around, which almost knocked Henry off his own feet.

"Look. At. This!” words were pouring out of his mouth in a bulky mutter, "This will be ours. This IS ours.”

"Yeah,” Henry simply replied but then decided to elaborate a bit, "It’s… it feels amazing.”

"Yes! It does,” dark hair fluttered as the head it was on nodded. He kept doing that as he responded, "I think I’m gonna return today’s alcoholic be… be-ve… rages.”

"Ew. Let go of me then. And not on our future floor.”

"Imagine s-someone will be, like, sitting there, like, drawing, and then, I’ll like come to them from behind and be like-"

"Oh, Jesus.”

"Sir.”

"God.”

"You’re sitting on my barf.”

Henry didn’t let this low level joke make him giggle. He made an excessively serious face.

"You’ll be the worst employer.”

"I’ll be an amazing employer. So honest.”

"Please, don’t.”

"Yeah, no, I’ll lie on occasions.”

"I meant don’t puke on our legacy.”

"Oh.”

They took a sit on a stack of desks and breathed in silence for a while. Their shoulders were touching.

"I think I’m better now.”

"Good.”

"I’m so happy,” Drew’s voice broke as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"It sure doesn’t sound like it,” Henry made an awful joke attempt as his own tone hit a higher pitch and he felt a sudden urge to blink more.

Both men raised hands to wipe their eyes- only to be interrupted by their own bursting, bubbling laughter. Cartoonists put their arms around each other and they wobbled, they laughed, and they cried.

They were tired but it was the best kind of tired. The kind you feel after successfully achieving something, so you can rest a bit and let that accomplishment bring some joy into your life.

Henry rested his head on his best friend’s shoulder.

It was so warm. The night was cold and the alcohol wouldn’t help them keep a decent temperature for long, but they simply had each other.

At that moment, Joey could swear he was burning.

His hand found its place on Henry’s hip, long, thin fingers were trembling. He took in a deep, shaky breath.

Henry felt the chest he was almost laying on shiver and for a short moment there was a sensation grabbing his face by the hot hands of confusion. It lasted a few seconds until Joey stood up and took three steps forward. Henry, not expecting this, ended up falling on his elbow, so he was in a kind of semi-recumbent position, his mouth slightly opened. He watched Joey put his hands on his sides, and turn back to him. Shorter man almost expected some sort of negative expression, but the other surprised him with a smile which could only be described as a smile of a dreamer.

Henry forgot to remind him of being careful, because he knew his friend had something important to say. So he listened to the man of ideas.

"This,” he threw one hand in the air, "This will be great.”

His hand fell back on his hip.

"But it’s just the beginning. It will be greater.”

Henry raised his eyebrows and blinked.

"We will expand!” Joey suddenly released an excited shout and lifted both arms to the sky as if he wanted to grab all the stars.

At that moment Henry was almost certain he did. He got up and approached him.

"What do you mean?”

"We’re gonna make it big! Literally!” Joey let out a laughter before he explained, "The grounds were so cheap because most of them are located above a huuuge cave found many feets underground! Of course we won’t start building above that part, but later we could easily use it for building something…” he made a pause and put an emphasis on the next word, "under!”

"Oh, my,” Henry mumbled, genuinely surprised. This lack of knowledge didn’t bother him much. Not now, "That’s… that does sound great… although it will take a lot of hard work before we’ll be actually able to use something… something like that.”

“Yes. Hard,” he grinned widely, "and happy.”

Eyes behind the glasses rolled.

Joey noticed this is how Henry tries to mask his lack of confidence. He patted his friend’s shoulder.

Back then he used his observations for motivation instead of manipulation.

It’s funny how things change over time.

"We’ll make it,” corners of his mouth fell down a bit so the smile appeared to be more gentle, "You just have to believe.”

"Yeah, yeah,” Henry sighed and closed his eyes for a second, before looking up at his pal and reaching his hand to the one resting on his shoulder to grab it in a reacourging grasp, "Thanks, I will try my best. We will try our best. Right?”

Joey turned to look at the foundations of their workshop and released his hand from the touch. He repeated quietly but undoubtedly, "Right.”

Henry didn’t seem to notice weird reactions on his friend’s side and Joey was both relieved and disappointed by that.

He could have tried to make a move on Henry. Well, in fact, he has been trying. His crush already was in a few relationships before and he always waited them out and they always eventually passed.

(He had a bad feeling about this one.)

He didn’t want to interfere. He wanted Henry to be happy the way Henry wanted to be happy. It was the only fair way. But he didn’t see any dangers in his current one. Linda wasn’t… a threat.

(This time he didn’t have a girl just because of social pressures.)

He could try lying to himself, but in reality he was scared of rejection.

(Henry really loves her.)

What if that dream does not happen?

He closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again, green irises shined with determination.

They will make it. Belief is all they had before and it’s all they need. It’s all he needs.

They will make their dreams come true.

It’s a funny thing.

How so much can fall apart so fast.

✪

He stretched his back and let out a silent groan. No, he needed to stand up, even for a few seconds. And so he did, all his limbs tried to go as far away from his torso as possible. Brain automatically got filled with air. That felt refreshing. He twisted and bent his body before sitting down again. Just as he was finished adjusting his chair, he heard steps coming from the closest room. He peeked his head to the corridor.

A tall figure approached a long table that Henry could only see a small fraction of from this position. The other person wore a black, long jacket, which shoulders were covered in snow, that also was slowly melting on the dark hair making it a bit wet. Joey put some bags in the middle of the table and came back where Henry's sight could reach him. He took off his gloves and threw them next to - how Henry suspected knowing his friend - some warm food he bought for both of them. Cold, currently slightly red hands, rubbed each other energetically and the man grinned.

"Want some coffee?”

"I want you to get your ass over here and help me," his smile was rather sour but shifted to a tired and calm one, "But sure. Just right after that – you stay there.”

"Right, right," Joey did a reassuring gesture and headed for the kettle. He wanted to get a proper break room someday, but Henry couldn't really see it right now. Irrelevant. For this room to have any use they would have to have proper breaks first. At that time everyone was working really hard.

Well they had to. But they wanted to.

Happily tired.

The animator sighed.

After a while his friend was in Henry's little corner with something to fill his stomach and give a little boost to his head. Henry muttered some thanks and tried not to consume everything at once.

It wasn’t the first time he forgot to eat during drawing. Always, even when he did this as a hobby, he since had that problem. This didn't strike anything alarming in regards to his job, though.

He hasn't become aware of his workaholism yet.

Even Linda wasn't concerned yet, they haven't seen each other since that whole thing started but they both tried their best to stay positive. Of course there will be challenges on the way, especially at the beginning. But they won't give up, no, sir.

Joey took a sit on the other chair present in the room, which he once brought in and never got out. It was its only use as no one really needed to come here except for them. Wally or Norman were coming every now and then, but those visits never really required sitting.

Joey let Henry eat in peace and before asking anything, he took a look on what the shorter man was working on. He crossed his legs and studied the frames.

"Aw, that's no fun. I can't even criticize you for anything. Those look perfect,” his tone was mostly playful but with bits of pure admiration. Henry fought the want to hide behind an exaggerated modesty by declining every compliment which dared to tickle his ego. He couldn't just take it though, so he responded with a teasing joke.

"I would introduce my foot to your crotch if you did after last Friday,” he found himself only half joking. He knew Joey well and he was aware of their problems with perfectionism, especially in his pal's case, but the first time it occurred to him as a bigger issue was the aforementioned Friday. Joey didn't accept that character model but he didn't have to reject all those frames Henry did with it...

Joey's lips slightly twitched.

"Sorry. I'll make up for it. No business trips for the whole week.” Joey put one hand on his chest and raised the other, at which his friend chuckled a bit. He meant it and that was enough for Henry. That's great when you have a friend as your boss. You know you can trust him.

"Well then, let's begin!” Henry beamed at him. They assigned what needed to be done by which one of them and set goals for today, each day and the whole week. Deadline was closing in but they still had loads of time. They could do this. Joey moved to the other room with such a strong aura, he wasn’t even taking normal steps, but made small leaps, which made Henry choke on his coffee.

At moments like this you could say they were getting high on believing.

✪

No.

The smiling devil was mocking him.

No.

He turned another paper sheet into a ball and threw to trash.

He let out a silent sigh when he put the pen back in action and his wrist sent a complaining sensation.

No, Henry, we can't go on like this.

She said.

Wrong again.

He tore the sheet apart.

No.

He couldn't work like this.

He had to.

He felt something hot and wet in his eyes.

No.

He needed to be better. He couldn't lose her.

He took the pen back in his fingers and it was at the moment his hand twitched and emitted hurtful spasms through his arm when the water broke through the barrier of his bottom eyelashes.

He grabbed his right hand with the left one. The pen fell on the wooden boards.

Defeated.

"No...”

"Henry...?”

He almost jumped in his seat. Glasses bent askew when he turned his head to the source of the voice.

Joey.

He started wiping of the tears. It wasn’t really effective since he didn't even bother to take the glasses off. He just didn't want his boss... his friend to see him like this.

Well. Too late for that now.

Joey leaned back on his desk. A few months have passed since they started it all and the second chair was moved out of here.

Surprisingly for both of them it didn't take much for Henry to start venting. He never realised how much he has been keeping to himself. How much has bothered him. How bad he felt.

How afraid he was of talking about it with anyone. And his best friend he used to talk with about everything... was a part of the problem.

Heavy thing clenching onto his heart disappeared as he felt relief after Joey's reaction.

Understanding.

He was almost afraid they wouldn't get along as they used to.

Many things weren't as they used to be.

"Linda will be so happy,” Henry sniffed for the last time and used the tissues to stop his face from looking like a mess, "And right now we need every bit of happiness we can get. We planned some big things but... I don't know, maybe they are too big for us...”

"Nonsense!”, Joey exclaimed before he bit his own tongue, "There is nothing on the way to your dreams, Henry. Nothing.”

"I start to feel as if this idea sounds nice only on paper," that's what the animator said, but Joey as an experienced leader and manager knew what his employer meant: convince me. Motivate me.

"Okay, listen to me, dear pal," he put his arm on Henry's shoulder and leaned in a bit so their heads were on the same level, "Of course the idea sounds easier on paper! All ya gotta do is write it! Now – action – is what requires more commitment. But what would you get from just that paper? Welp, nothing, nada, zero.”

"Alright, I get you, please-"

"Do you kind of want it or WANT IT WANT IT?!”

Henry let out a frustrated groan but muscles on his face betrayed him and he smiled and he hated it.

"I want it. I want her.”

"Then get the hell out and make your future wife happy.” he said it as an order but it was one Henry will one hundred percent willingly listen to.

This was a good moment. There has been a lot of stressful situations recently around the studio. Everyone knew what they wanted, everyone knew what to do to achieve what they wanted. It was just... hard. And they had to do their best to be happy.

Joey tried really hard to make it a happy workplace. He might have gotten a bit harsh sometimes but never let his guard of positivity down. Workers were fast to lose trust but slow to regain it. He was trying his damn best and hasn't realised he was pushing his best friend too hard.

He felt awful.

He had to do this, stuff needed to be done, but today? No, he couldn't.

Henry was crying. He had to let him go home, even if that meant he will spent time with his fiance instead of him. Or more like working for him.

But that would make him unhappy. Henry was unhappy for a longer time.

He sat back and lifted his chin up to look at the ceiling.

Most important person in his life was unhappy because of most important thing in his life.

Oh, dear.

Henry's spirit was definitely lifted up when Joey watched him exit the building. He felt an unpleasant feeling in his stomach when he noticed that – almost as if the workshop was some sort of prison. That just felt wrong. But he was glad for his friend. The animator needed rest anyway.

Anyway... what the hell was he doing? Drawing with a hurting hand? Did he really think Joey is some kind of monster that would make him-

No.

He realizes he clenched his fists. His fingers got released right away.

Well. Is he?

No. Calm down. Henry finds it hard to stand up for himself. He never complains! No wonder he just literally exploded from everything he kept inside! Joey never had any problems with giving him feedback or going on and on about what was going inside that idea-pumping head of his, but to be fair he didn't really have any serious issues himself.

(bullshit)

(liar)

The dark haired man shook his head.

They both felt the unpleasant breath of incoming deadline on their backs. Henry was probably too occupied with his mind today to, well, mind going home. But Joey was fully aware.

Oh, well! Who is supposed to make the impossible happen if not him?

He picked up the pen and then he picked up where Henry left off. He felt tired, but only physically (right?) which was something he surely could stand. Unfortunately he had to focus more on the business stuff but some time in the future he planned to hire an entire management department and join Henry in the art one. He could look for more animators first but...

His eyebrows frowned and he bit his bottom lip.

...he didn't want to. Later.

Why?

Oh, obviously because-

Because...

Bendy looked so off model, Joey just stared at the sketch in pure surprise.

Oh, right, he cheered himself up, after that time period some warm ups are necessary.

The amount of time he spent warming up to get the frame right was a bit disappointing, but he kept going.

He was so absorbed by the work, he didn't (want to think) hear the steps approaching him.

"Gee golly. Is that really you, sir?” the janitor's eyebrows instantly rose up as he reached the end of the hall.

Drew gave him an unfocused look and blinked a few times.

"What," he didn't even articulate the question.

"Um, uh, ya know, I'm just doin' the usual, haha,” Wally wasn't sure what to make out of his boss' tone, so his reply was kind of nervous, "Gotta clean up the place!”

The look on Franks face woke Joey up from that strange state of hyperfocusing.

"Oh!” without any reason to he stood up. Just a second after he realized, but didn't sit back, he approached the worker, stretching his back, "Can't you do this later, my boy?”

"It's already after hours, sir," the smile on Wally's face told Joey two things. First: get some rest, old man. Second: I better get overtime for this.

Oh, he heard that second one so often. Not today.

"Forget it. Go home, Wally.”

"Oh, no problemo, I can wait.”

"Wally.”

"Alright, alright," Franks reassured him to back out of his extra work plan by replying with the strongest accent he could pull off, which Joey couldn't help but find amusing. Such personality! Would make a great character trait.

"You can leave the mop here," as Joey continued Wally twisted his head to one side in curiosity. Kinda like a dog, "I will use it later.”

"Wow, mister Drew, you do Henry's job, now mine. When are ya goin’ to write a song?”

"Very funny, Franks.” Joey sent him a tired smile. "I mean – Wally. Quit the mister Drew, please.”

"You got it!” Joey half expected him to salute. Wally Franks might not be the sharpest tool in this shed, but he sure tries his best to be one and works both hard and happy. He would never regret hiring such a character. Good for the janitor, Joey never cared much about papers and qualifications. There were many things to hate this place for but also many things to appreciate. Maybe even love. Like this little comedy he knew he could expect from the boy always walking with his head in the clouds, "Good thing, I don't hafta go back to the closet! Phew! If I met Sammy down here, I wouldn't hear the end of it!”

"Keys?”

"Keys.”

Joey wasn't even slightly mad. That was just hilarious. Even though he was the one paying for a pair of new ones. Well, the studio was, but someone is responsible for it and is in its very name.

After Wally left, he kept working for a few more hours. He almost got the shot done when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

He got up from the desk with a paper attached to his face. There were small spots of ink on his forehead and chin. He was really disoriented and looked at the person standing next to him with two cups of coffee with pure confusion.

Henry.

He was smiling but looked concerned.

"Damn me, I was afraid I will be too much behind so I got up earlier for work, but you..." he sounded genuinely touched, "Thanks.”

"You're welcome," Joey yawned and slowly got up, to which Henry responded by placing the cups on the desk and pushing him back to his place, "Wha-"

"You look like you're about to pass out,” despite his friend's tone, he could tell he wasn't really joking, "How long were you up?”

"Hell if I know," usually higher positioned shoulders now at a lower lever because of their owner's body being laid back in the chair shrugged, "What time is it?” he asked as he reached out for the cafeine.

"Eight.”

Joey took the cup to his hands and simply stared at the surface of what was inside of it. He smiled in an unsettling way.

"I have a meeting at half past nine.”

"Oh,” Henry gasped in that emotionless way of his but in the name of self-awareness added a more concerned: "Shit.”

"Yeah," a loud slorp could be heard.

"Is it important?”

"Yeah.”

"Are you gonna go there?”

"Yeah.”

"Do you want to?”

"Kinda.”

"Do you kind of want it, or-" Henry tried hard not to wheeze as Joey gave him an annoyed look, "want it, want it?”

There was a moment of silence.

"I don't.”

They both laughed hysterically.

Kinda.

✪

First year anniversary party managed to lift up everyone's moods a bit but not long after that event it faded away. They kept pushing but kept losing enthusiasm. It was even harder to stand that grin.

The one Bendy posters have.

The one Joey Drew has.

Said man entered the corridor to the left after coming through the entrance. He stood quietly and watched his only animator work.

He realized it's been some time since they had a normal conversation. He can't deny this feels wrong. He feels... awkward... out of place...

He hesitated to start speaking. It was Henry who sensed someone's presence and looked in his direction.

"Hi," he only slightly raised his eyebrows, "What do you want?”

"Oh? Is it forbidden to just come to see your pal now?” he tried hard to mask his stress and make the tone sound convincing. Henry's sad smile as a reply made him somewhat relieved.

"No. But I need to work on this if I want to get out of this place today," that used to be a joke.

Joey immediately run back to the previous room and returned with a chair.

"Move yo ass.”

"Come on, you don't have to-"

"It's been months since I used a pen for anything else than my signature or script writing. I. Want. To. Draw.” he really did, Henry was almost jealous of his friend's excitement towards drawing. It was only becoming less and less fun for the shorter man.

"Okay, then, here," he gave a folder to Joey and explained what needed to be done.

It was quite pleasant to have some company. Joey was working in the next room but they could shout things at each other. And they did.

Henry worked at a really fast paste. And very effectively on top of that. He didn't realise that himself but there has been quite some time since he heard an actual compliment about his work. He lacked motivation. Maybe that's why not long after Joey started, he went out of his hall and approached his friend's desk.

"Hey, I wanted to ask how you feel about those back-"

Joey has been scribbling circles.

Henry blinked.

This whole time.

"What the-"

"I can't get his stupid head. I'm so out of practice.”

"Are you serious?”

"I know I goof a lot, but not in the mood for it right now, Hen.”

"Ah," he was slightly taken aback by the nickname. It's been so long, "Maybe you want less Bendys and I'll give you some Borises instead? It's good to try different things.”

"Yeah, that does sound good”, Joey gave him a thankful smile.

Henry didn't dare to show him his backgrounds. He thought something but pushed it away.

No way it would demotivate Joey. Nothing was able to bring this man down. Right?

So they kept drawing.

Later, without anything to show this time, Henry came to him again to check how things were going.

Their little devil darling looked on model, just the way he should be.

When he glanced at the Boris Joey was sketching, he almost froze. He saw a mistake repeated on a few sketches already.

"You won't make me correct all the frames to give him a tail, will you?” he let out a nervous chuckle. Joey furrowed his brows as he studied what he made.

He gazed upon Henry who could see something shifting through his boss’/friend's face but couldn’t quite catch it.

"You're tired.”

"I'm tired.” Joey nodded slowly.

He muttered thanks for reminding him and went back to work. So did Henry. As the animator sat down on his own place, he wondered why did this little thing bother him so much.

Because? It's no big deal, right? Everyone makes mistakes.

After something around twenty minutes, Joey took careful steps while going to Henry's desk. He held some paper sheets and a pen. His face was covered by some undefined mask, so hard to guess what he felt at this moment.

Henry guesses he was... embarrassed? Afraid?

Why?

"Can you... show me how the details on Boris’ overalls look like?” his tone was so quiet, Henry got the impression it wasn’t even Joey speaking.

"Sure," he took out one of the concept arts he barely touched now since the designs of the characters were basically engraved on his memory. He smirked teasingly, "What kind of director doesn't know his own characters?”

That was supposed to be a joke.

Gritted teeth and pencil moustache pointed down told him someone didn't take it as one.

"You don't have to remind me about that," he hissed and pretty much threw all the stuff at the desk, "I'm done.”

"No, I didn't mean- Wait, what? What are you-"

"I'm done. I can't... do this anymore.”

"Um, hello? Are you listening to yourself?” Henry pulled out a nervous smile which was supposed to resemble his concern, "You just need-"

"Practice, yeah, no shit," Joey sighed heavily and crossed his arms, "But I don't have the goddamn time.”

Henry just blinked and stared at him. Joey finally realized what was coming out of his mouth.

"I... I'm sorry. I wanted to help you but-"

"No, it's fine. Don't worry ab-" Henry reached for his shoulder to lay a hand on it but Joey flinched back.

"I'm not worried. Of course it's fine. Now excuse me, I won't waste any more of our time-"

"Hey! No! It's... it's okay if it's not fine, we can talk about thi-"

"No need to. It's fine,” it was the first fake smile Henry remembered after finally quitting the studio.

"I don't believe that. Can you just... stop running away from talking about what's really bothering you?” he approached the tall man.

"I have no idea what you're talking about,” he turned away, planning to exit the room.

"It's okay to admit something is wrong!” Henry grabbed his arm.

Before he gets pushed with an unexpected force, he saw Joey in a completely new form. His friend's face was furious. Paper and pens fell from the desk on the ground. An ink well spilled out its content on a few pages by shattering on top of them. Henry hit the wooden structure with his back and the blue eyes watched the green ones in disbelief.

Joey's expression instantly changed. He looked at the other's face, not sure what to say. Seemed like he tried to state something but failed as his mouth opened and closed.

He exited the room in a hurry.

✪

Joey has been sitting in his office for quite a while now. Motionless. Staring at his desk. At an envelope laying on it to be precise.

He was away for a few days so he missed the biggest news going around the studio right now. On the way to this room he noticed some people gossiping and there was an unusual excited atmosphere.

Subconsciously, he knew what was inside of it. The thought just didn’t form inside of his head.

With a slightly shaking hand, he reached for the paper and cut it carefully with a letter opener.

He noticed the biggest word right away and lost his breath.

BEFORE THEY SAY

"I DO”

KINDLY JOIN US FOR THE

WEDDING

UNITING

LINDA & HENRY

After that there were written the date, the place and his own name but he paid no mind to those.

The invitation was put back down slowly, the fingers holding it twitching.

Tall, thin body was unusually still. Looked calm.

But wasn’t.

It’s over.

He stood up and a noise of something shattering could be heard. He felt a pain in his arm as he looked at it being stretched. He stared almost blindly at the wall and hardly noticed a big stain on it. Then his mind went back to focus. There was glass on the floor and on a chest of drawers which stood under the ink splatter. He remembered to breathe again, which he continued to do heavily, and then slowly approached the furniture to study what he’s done.

He appeared to just have thrown an inkwell.

Oh, what a mess.

Nothing like the one inside his head.

Joey pulled out the drawers. Various things ended up flying out of them. Documents, pens, stamps, keys, you name it. Falling wood made cracking sounds as it hit the ground.

He went around the room pulling his hair.

The man passed a wine rack which he pushed furiously. Alcohol spilled on the wood and the luxurious carpet covering it.

He stopped walking ending back again at the desk. With one swing of the long arm, he managed to push everything off it’s surface. There was something wet on his sleeve and he raised it up to his face with disgust, expecting to see ink.

But it was red.

And it hurt.

It must have been the letter opener.

He almost collapsed on his back, but the chair behind him broke the fall, so he ended up sliding down it. His legs were pointed at different directions, his body in general looked like an abandoned doll. The bleeding arm rose to the chest and was being hugged to it by the other one. It was now, when everything else went quiet, nothing was shattered or thrown, that he heard sounds which only a hurt animal could have made.

It slowly got through to him that he was sobbing uncontrollably.

His limbs slowly woke up from that weird apathetic state and along with head started coming together to one point – curled into a ball.

Hide.

Stop.

From what? Stop what?

What…?

He didn’t want to think.

He didn’t want anything.

Not anymore.

He…

He just can’t have it.

He can’t have him.

No matter what he does. Nothing really matters. He can’t succeed.

THIS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS!

His whole body trembled.

This isn’t right, this isn’t fair, this can’t be like this, he has to… he… he just needs to…

He has always believed you can achieve anything if you try hard enough. If you believe. If you keep going. At some point that dream will come true.

He fell on his side and put a fist inside his mouth to silence his own scream.

LIES. LIES. LIES.

What was right is wrong. Nothing is the way it’s supposed to be.

He felt that… toxic… desire… to get what he wants.

But the problem was… he didn’t want something. He wanted someone.

Henry isn’t and can’t be your damn property, you stupid piece of garbage. How pathetic can you be?

Dreams are supposed to be your power…

He choked on his tears, but that didn’t stop him from laughing.

…but they can also be your downfall.

✪

This was not what he dreamt of. He run his hand through his brown hair with ending that movement on the neck to give it a small massage. It ached a bit, his back did as well. And his hand.

Henry sighed. He was so tired.

Why won’t Joey hire more animators? They should afford to do so, and even if it was risky, they would rather benefit from it in the future as there would be less dangers of not meeting the deadlines. He managed to do everything alone but at what cost…

A wrinkle appeared on his forehead.

Joey won’t even help him anymore. And his name is in the goddamn-

He released the breath he was holding.

Time passed and things only seemed to get worse.

He put his hands on the Bendy sketch he was working on. He grasped one of the fingers and studied it.

He designed the main character. Heck, two main characters.

He gently touched and twisted the golden ring.

Does he want to live in his shadow?

Does he live in it?

Should he quit? What would happen to them? What job would he look for?

He didn’t want to think about this.

They wanted to start a family. He couldn’t be absent in their children’s life.

He needed to think about this.

Blue eyes closed.

Should he quit…?

✪

There was an unpleasant silence in the office. Heavy atmosphere hanging in the air.

Old friends sat on opposing sides of Joey’s desk.

They couldn’t look each other in the eyes. No one wanted to start speaking.

Henry asked for talking about something. Something important. Privately.

Joey exhaled deeply and looked up at the other one’s face.

"What-"

"I quit.”

Dark haired man blinked. Corners of his mouth rose but the smile didn’t reach the green irises.

"Let’s take it slow from here, okay? Tell me what’s the problem.”

"What isn’t a problem, Joey?” Henry didn’t expect himself to raise his voice. At least not so early, "Short answer is: I’m not happy here.”

Drew folded his hands and put them on the countertop.

"Could you elaborate on that?” his voice didn’t show anything except for impatience.

The animator swallowed his saliva.

"I’m working alone and it’s just too much work for one person, it’s entirely consuming my life-"

"Well, it’s like this in this bus-"

"I’ve become a fucking workaholic, Joey.”

"I… I’m sorry to hear that…”

"Haven’t you noticed?”

"Noticed what? How am I supposed to know what’s going on inside your head? You never tell me anything, you just wait till it all bursts out in one moment, and look what it lead to now.”

"Oh, well I… thought you knew me a bit better and were aware of some changes. I’ve been lying to myself because I have an addiction. And everyone around me seemed to notice. Everyone but you.”

"I thought you liked drawing.”

"I love drawing.”

"What’s the matter then?”

"That I’m a goddamn wreck, maybe that’s what. I’m… sort of… miserable… because of it… If it wasn’t for Linda, I surely would drown the sorrows in alcohol. Almost added drinking to the list of my problems, but she-"

"Oh, thank God, Linda is here.”

Henry didn’t miss the sarcasm in Joey’s tone.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

"She’s convinced you to quit for her, hasn’t she?”

"What? No! Well, we did talk about it, but it’s not like… This is MY decision, I’m doing this for my own sake… Well ours too but…” he shook his head and continued more angrily, "Are you suggesting that she’s… she’s… I don’t know, sabotaging?”

Joey didn’t stop his shoulders from shrugging and Henry could feel his teeth grit.

"I’ll tell you what,” he stood up, "The only person sabotaging anything here is you…”

"Henry, please, sit down-"

"You manipulative asshole.”

His boss gave him a dead stare.

Silence came back for a plenty of seconds, even worse to handle than before.

"You took my designs. You always used pretty words and ideas to get around it but the truth is you stole it from me.”

Joey listened to the accusations without showing any emotions. His mouth only once twitched.

"I won’t let you steal anything else.”

As a confirmation of his words, he turned around and headed for the door. When he pressed the handle, a cold, empty tone reached his ears and sent a shiver down his spine.

"Don’t you dare leave.”

Henry ignored it and walked out of the room. He was aiming his steps at the exit.

He felt as if his head was burning.

This is all wrong. How did they end up like this. Why is it hap-

"WHY AREN’T YOU LISTENING TO ME?!”

Against his will, his body faced the man following him.

Green eyes emitted fury and Henry experienced an irrational fear.

Of course he was mad. This was a hard situation for both of them. But it had to be like this.

It shouldn’t have to.

"I’m leaving. You can’t change my mind.” he replied in apologetic tone, even though he knew he wasn’t the one owning the apologies.

"What the fuck did she put into your head?” Joey asked in a disappointed tone and raised his arms in confusion.

"Leave her out of this. She has nothing to do with-"

"Oh, yeah?! Well, everything was okay before she started putting her fucking nose in places it didn’t belong,” taller man approached the shorter one, who was backing out carefully.

"I just told you to not involve her,” Henry growled, "You don’t even realise you’re the problem, don’t you?”

"Ah, of course!” he shouted and hit his forehead with right hand, completely forgetting they were in the hall where anyone passing could witness this scene. Luckily for them no one was there to see it.

Or maybe unfortunately.

"I forgot that three is a crowd.”

"What…?”

Joey immediately stopped and went silent. He was standing right in front of Henry, who also was done moving. Both of them were panting.

Both angry like they’ve never been.

A realization hit Henry like a train. He opened his eyes wide.

He was wrong. Many years from that moment he understood what was actually… the case…

But for now…

"You’re fucking sick,” now he took a step forward, "Just how controlling can you get?”

"What is that now, huh? What else have I done?”, Joey muttered but his tone seemed to have lost some fury, the loss being replaced with… fear?

That came to Henry as nothing else but a conclusion. Guilty.

He grabbed his best friend by the collar.

"You want to pull me away from her,” he hissed and his voice wasn’t ever as dangerous as in that moment.

Joey didn’t reply but his expression revealed his bewilderment and that somehow made Henry’s blood boil with rage. He rapidly pushed him away, long legs almost tripping over each other.

"You’re fucked in the head.”

"Henry-"

"I can’t believe I let you waste so much of my time, my energy… my… my life…”

"Listen to me-"

"No,” he cut him off and pushed again along with letting out a furious cry: "What the hell were you thinking?!”

"It’s not like this!” Joey noticed Henry getting ready to push him once more and tried to somehow stop his hands.

"Then how, huh?!” he went straight past Joey’s weak arms and grabbed him again, "How is it?!”

"I was just… I-I…” now he was the one pushing, anger suddenly kicking in and increasing his strength, "I was doing what had to be done to achieve our dreams!”

"Our dreams?” then Joey was the one backing out, "Or just yours?”

"I… I thought those were the same,” voice coming out from under the pencil moustache cracked.

"Well… maybe they were…” the animator’s tone calms down a bit as they reached an intersection of corridors. Behind Joey’s back was a place under construction which was going to be a break room. It was kinda upsetting Henry won’t even get to experience it. Would be nice… but at his position he probably wouldn’t even have a chance, "But not anymore.”

He held Joey’s vest with only one hand. He was ready to let go but-

"THEY ARE! IT’S ALL BECAUSE OF THIS FUCKING SLUT!”

Something red covered Henry’s vision. He didn’t know what was happening until he heard a loud thud. He blinked.

There was a smell of blood. His hand hurt and was wet. Blood on his hand. But what was that-

Again. Thud.

His eyes followed the noise.

There was a small trace of red dots leading to the beginning of the stairs.

Thud.

His chest suddenly felt heavy.

If he had air in his lungs, he would scream his friend’s name.

But he didn’t.

There was only one sound.

Thud.

And then silence.

A few seconds have passed before Henry finally moved. To him it could have been as well years. His legs felt like they were made out of iron.

Joey never realized he fell down the stairs. He was unconscious before he even fully registered being punched in the face by the person he only ever cared about.

For some reason there was one thing he remembered from that accident. Very clearly.

A sign he saw while the world was upside down.

"WATCH YOUR STEP”

Henry’s eyes stung. Hot tears rolled down his cheek as he watched the body at the bottom of the stairs. He would have sworn to God, he didn’t see it breathing.

Someone was coming.

People.

They will know.

Everyone will know.

Henry whispered a voiceless "sorry”.

He left in a heartbeat.

✪

There’s not enough air. There’s not enough air. There’s not enough air. There’s not-

Henry.

There were flashes.

Joey woke up in cold sweat and wanted to sit but wasn’t able to and it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt like hell.

There was light. Right above him.

And a face.

Henry?

It was a doctor.

The doctor told him many funny things.

Why was it funny?

Well, because it was a joke, of course! It just couldn’t be true! So it must have been a joke!

It! Was! So! Funny!

He was in a hospital. There were more people in the room, trying to calm him down.

They said he was having a hysteria attack.

How was that possible? It was not.

They’re joking!

They’re lying!

Isn’t joking just funny lying?

He didn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t use his arms properly.

They told him he had a spine injury. That he probably won’t be able to walk. Or at least not much, unless he’s really lucky. But they should focus on saving his arms.

They were so silly.

They said he won’t make it for too long. His body was so fragile right now, it was a matter of months until it shuts down completely.

So, so silly.

He asked for Henry.

Nobody told him anything except for that he had a concussion and shouldn’t have any visitors for a while.

Time passed. He barely noticed from all the drugs they gave him.

Then his head started to feel clearer.

He realized they weren’t lying.

He told them he didn’t remember what happened.

He was the one lying.

He was having visitors. Henry was not among them.

But there was the janitor.

The janitor…

Oh!

Franky!

Like a cute version of Frankenstein!

No, wait, it’s Wally!

Wally Franks. The janitor. A really important visitor.

Joey asked him for a favour.

✪

Wally looked around with confusion and scratched his head. He rang the bell again and held it for a longer while. Then he knocked and shouted out Henry’s name a few times.

Well, time to give up. He obviously wasn’t home. His car wasn’t even on the driveway.

Mister Drew just seemed… it just seemed really important to him. And he didn’t want to bring bad news to him, considering the situation his boss was in.

Speaking of the news, there was a stack of newspapers just laying on the pavement.

No one was there since a longer time.

The janitor didn’t need to count them to know the amount of days it took to deliver these was equal to the amount of days which passed since… the incident.

He even asked some people.

No one knew where Henry was. Same about Linda.

Something was telling Wally they were out of town.

Probably for good.

✪

He let out an unhealthy chuckle after he was done writing the letter.

Why does he keep doing it? No one even reads those. And never will.

Without knowing Henry’s current address, he just kept sending mail to his old one. No one lived in it anymore because it wasn’t for sale and it couldn’t be even considered a property belonging to the town, because they’ve got nothing on him.

That’s because Joey never made any statements about what happened. He faked a memory loss. Some people speculated about him remembering what happened, some tried talking to him about it, pointing out how his disappearance happened at the same time his accident did.

But he didn’t tell anyone.

Police would have to start looking for him. He could ruin his life.

And ruin what was left of his own life. But that would also take away his only achievement.

The studio. The characters they argued about amongst other things.

If he took out Henry’s trash, his old friend would probably return the favour.

He couldn’t move his legs at first but after some rehabilitation he managed to use crutches from time to time. On rare occasions he stood with a cane but didn’t really move with it.

His arms were really weak, but got stronger after he started using the wheelchair. Only the dominant left one was really usable though.

✪

The demon touches his glove with the uncovered right hand. His whole body is cold but this part seems almost comfortable.

✪

He sometimes was coming to the art department to watch the animators work. He has hired many after-

He never really paid attention to them though. The only desk he really looked at was the empty one outside the area they were working in.

Despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it.

✪

Old man pants heavily as he escapes inky black stains whirling all around him. He reaches a corridor without a proper floor, only wooden boards put together in hurry to make a provisional bridge.

He can hear the Ink Demon closing in.

Henry takes his steps carefully. Falling would probably cause him to break his spine in half.

He thinks of the vertebrae sticking out of the deformed Bendy’s back.

He notices a sign at the end of the hallway. It’s upside down.

"WATCH YOUR STEP”

#bendy and the ink machine #batim fanfiction #joey drew #henry batim #henry x joey (one sided)#wally franks #halfart #halfpost #violence #injury #drinking #ask to tag

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