#oh right he turned 76 today actually

[virgo-dream]

Flowing

based on this lovely post and @softest-punk’s ficlet on the reblogs. it scratched my brain so good I actually wrote something!!! this miracle took at least 76 lazari.

dreamling, t4t, fluff, all that good stuff. not beta’ed we die like Hob doesn’t yadda yadda yadda, idk how many words it’s 4:30am and I’m eepy and hungy wow

Dream’s fingers run over the keyboard on his laptop in a staccato rhythm. He feels his fingers clicking against each individual key clumsily, almost as if for a moment, he’d forgotten how words should be strung together. He hits the backspace, once, twice, holds it like he means to suffocate the words on the screen. Like they scare him, like his chest is being torn open by a fictional claw.

It’s not flowing, he tells himself. It hasn’t been flowing for a while now.

Still, he pushes through, typing away, forcing the words out, until a hand much warmer and steadier than his own reaches out, stopping Dream in his tracks.

“Dove, I can hear the cogs turning in your head. What’s the matter? You’ve been jumpy all day.”

Dream’s eyes stay focused on the screen, and time starts to dilate in his mind. He’s not sure why, but his chest tightens. He’s not sure if he’s ready to bring a name to that feeling either. Still, it’s impossible not to look at Hob, whose expression is full of warmth and kindness, and unlike Dream, seems to have his chest open and ready to bring his wreck of a lover into an embrace.

Hob wears the scars on his chest like a badge of honour. A body of his own making, a body Dream could sense from afar even before Hob had started growing into it.

“I… I’m not sure.” The words to describe his anxiety are there, Dream knows that. He’s trying to reach out for them, but he falls short.

Hob’s lips curl into a soft smile as he carefully reaches for the computer resting on Dream’s lap. “That’s alright. But maybe you’ve done enough writing for today. No point in frying your brain like that.”

Dream feels his heart climb up to his throat, hands gripping the sides of the laptop as if his life depended on it. “—I’ll stop. You’re right. There’s nothing more I can put on the page for now.” He shuts the laptop down, pulling it away from Hob and placing it on the nightstand.

He’s got nothing to hide from Hob. He’s got plenty to hide from himself. Dream can tell from how Hob’s eyebrows raise that whatever it is, he’s going to have to face it sooner rather than later.

“…ooookay. I wasn’t going to look, you know? I only want to read what you want to show me.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Silence fills the room as Dream and Hob look at each other. He can tell Hob is not going to push, but oh, how Dream wishes he would. Maybe a push is just what he needs. Maybe Hob is the only person who can do it for him.

Dream looks at Hob’s chest once more. Open, welcoming, light. Free. At his eyes, loving, wanting, sincere. At his arms, reaching out for Dream, wanting to bring him closer, to protect him, to give him strength. “Duck, is there anything you—“

“—could you use they for me sometimes? I don’t think I’m… I don’t think I’m a he. All the time. Maybe.”

Silence now sucks the air out of Dream’s lungs. They stare at each other as his— their words move through both Dream and Hob’s brains. For a split second, Dream feels a surge of fear and shame, the horrifying possibility that everything went wrong and somehow a line was crossed. A line he cannot possibly ignore now.

Before he can dive into any more assumptions, Hob’s arms are around him in a firm embrace, almost crushing. A hand goes to rest on the back of their hair, fingers tangling with the soft, dark strands. Hob holds Dream like they are the most precious thing to ever exist. “—oh duck, I’ll call you whatever makes you feel good. Thank you for trusting me, I know how difficult this is. Thank you, Dream. I love you.”

Hob’s words feel like a soothing balm to Dream’s crumpled chest, that now opens up as they take a breath, as if the weight of the world had finally been lifted off their shoulders. Hob’s embrace feels like permission, like comprehension, like support. And love, so much love, so much that Dream doesn’t know what to do with it other than let their hands go to Hob’s softly stubbled cheeks and direct his face to meet Dream’s in the middle, lips crashing clumsily at first.

When Dream opens their eyes again, they are rimmed with tears. It’s okay, though. Hob would not denounce him for crying. Hob accepts it, celebrates their moments of emotional release.

“I know. It’s scary. You did something very big right now. I’m proud of you.” Hob presses a gentle kiss to Dream’s forehead, and doesn’t let of them. Dream is not bothered by it, in fact settling into Hob’s arms, like their bodies were always meant to rest against one another.

Dream wonders if Hob knew all along, like they somehow sensed Hob’s truth years before it came to light.

The next morning, their words are flowing again.

#Dreamling #dreamling fic #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #amazing art #t4t dreamling is somethin else #hob gadling #my writing

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Threenager by happyaspie

Part 76 of Tony Stark is a Good Mentor

No Archive Warnings Apply || Rated G || Chapters 1/? || De-aged Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Summary: While on patrol, Peter is struck by a spell that turns him into a toddler. Or mostly into a toddler. His memories, intellect, and experiences are still intact. Unfortunately, that makes being trapped in a toddler's body, with a toddler's motor skills that much harder. His legs are too short, and his fingers are too uncooperative. He can’t ride in the car without a super claustrophobic car seat. He can’t even wash his hands without help and it's frustrating. Between the teasing, Tony does his absolute best to help.

[except below the cut]

It was after ten in the evening and Tony was in his bed for once. He wasn’t sleeping. He was leaning up against the headboard, glasses perched on the end of his nose, thumbing through a magazine. They’d done an interview and photoshoot with him several months prior and it had finally been published. He didn’t like the photo they’d picked for the cover. His smile was off and a few errant strands of hair had fallen limply against his forehead. He hoped the article would make up for it.

He was about halfway through the two-page spread when his phone began to ring. Blindly, he reached over to the bedside table and wrapped his fingers around the device. He didn’t bother checking the caller ID as he brought it up to his ear. There was no reason to. It was his personal phone and only a handful of friends and colleagues had the number. 

“This is Stark,” he mindlessly greeted, the phone tucked neatly under his chin.

“Oh Thank God you actually answered!” a high-pitched voice rang out from the other end of the line.

Tony sighed, wondering which one of his imbecile contacts had allowed their toddler to play with their phone. “Hey there, Little Buddy. Does your mommy or daddy know you have their phone?” he asked, bringing the chipmunk-like chatter to a halt.

“Come on, Mr. Stark! This is serious!” the voice squealed. Though, all of the R’s and L’s were either missing or slurred into W’s. “I’m kind of in a bind here and I could really use your assistance.”

The first thing to pop into Tony’s head was how the vocabulary didn’t quite match up to the voice. Before he could stop himself the words, “Wait. How old are you?” slipped out of his mouth. 

The tiny voice growled. Vaguely, Tony wondered why he’d not already hung up. 

“It doesn’t matter! I really need you to hear me out here, Mr. Stark!”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony interjected. “That’s enough phone time for you today, Kiddie. Mr. Stark is going to say ‘bye-bye’ now.” Before he could press the end call button, the voice on the other end of the line grew increasingly frantic.

“No, Mr. Stark! Wait! Please! It’s me, Peter! Peter Parker! I need your help!”

As the voice pleaded, Tony pulled the phone away from his ear to verify who he was speaking to. Sure enough, the name Peter Parker was displayed across the screen, along with the cheesy photo he’d set to go with the contact information.

“Peter?” he questioned, still not quite believing. ”Why the hell do you sound like a nineties cartoon character?”

His inquiry was met with silence. He was right on the verge of probing for more when he heard Peter gather a deep breath.  

“Well, I was on patrol, right?” Peter said. “You know, just swinging around minding my own business. Then some weird guy with a big floaty book popped up out of nowhere! I tried to get away from him but then he threw this yellowish-orange glowy light ball thing at me, and he shrunk me! He shrunk me, Mr. Stark! And I- I don’t have any other clothes.” 

When the rambling finally came to an end, Tony reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have any other clothes,” he blandly repeated. “You just told me some random guy shot you with an unknown substance and you’re going your biggest concern is, ‘I don’t have any other clothes?’”

“I’m pretty sure being naked in the middle of New York City is actually a very big concern, Mr. Stark!”

Seeing as that hadn’t even crossed his mind, Tony sighed and pulled up the Spider-Suit's last known coordinates. Thankfully they weren’t far. “Alright. You win. I’ll be there in twenty.”

[continue reading on AO3]

#happyaspie writing #deaged au #threenager #de-aged peter parker #irondad and spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #iron man #mcu #marvel #spider man #light angst #humor #fluff #domestic fluff #iron dad #spider son #iron dad and spider son

[lemonlillybee]

Sticky Sickie

Title: Sticky Sickie

Fandom: Irondad

Word Count: 2500 (Read on AO3)

Prompts: #76 from @irondadmadlads and @comfortember prompts falling asleep on someone & quality time

“Pep!” Tony doesn’t care that he sounds whiney. Well, maybe he cares a little bit, but he has other, more important things to focus on. “Honey, I can’t stay in bed all day! I have things to do. I’ve been in bed all week, and–”

“I thought you might say that.” Pepper smiles brightly. “Would you rest if someone stayed with you? Misery loves company, after all.”

“Is that so?” Tony grumbles, feeling irrationally annoyed at the way his hopes soar at the thought of not having to be alone today. He stuffs down the hope and tries to sound indifferent. “You’re really going to stay here with me today?”

Pepper gives him a smile and Tony knows she can see right through him. “Mm, not quite.” She doesn’t explain herself, just leaves the room without another word, and Tony flops back onto his pillows with a heavy sigh that makes him cough a little. He’d been knocked on his ass almost a week ago by the cold from hell and though he’d love to be able to get up and get on with his life today, he’s actually still feeling really exhausted. Not that he’s going to admit that to Pepper.

Tony drags a hand down his face and starts to make a list in his head of things he’d like to get done today. When Pepper comes back into the room, she has someone shuffling along behind her, and Tony immediately forgets his entire list when he sees who it is.

“Peter?”  

Peter pokes his head around Pepper, raising his hand in a little wave. He’s holding a box of tissues to his chest with his other arm, and he looks terrible, his face pale and his nose red. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and he shuffles over to the wall closest to Pepper’s side of the bed, kicking his sneakers off and lining them up neatly before dropping his backpack down next to them. 

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter says, his voice so congested it doesn’t even sound like him.

“You’re sick too, huh?” Tony asks, guilt straining his voice. “I’m so sorry, Roos.” 

“I’m okay,” Peter replies, sounding anything but. “Ms. Potts said you’re not feeling well and wanted my company. Which, I’m not sure I’ll be any entertainment because I’m also not feeling well, but–” 

“Pete,” Tony cuts him off, because Peter is grimacing and rubbing at his throat as he talks, his voice croaky and fading fast. 

Pepper notices, too, and she ushers Peter toward the bed. “You’re running a fever, sweetheart, so you’re going to get into this bed and rest today. Both of you are going to rest, got it?” She says, looking pointedly at Tony over Peter’s head. 

“Got it,” Peter replies obediently. He climbs into the bed, sitting with his back up against the headboard, and lets Pepper pull the blanket over his legs. She smoothes her hand over his forehead, and he leans slightly into the touch, closing his eyes and making a little humming sound that turns into a whimper when she pulls her hand away. 

“We stopped by and got a dose of meds from Bruce,” Pepper tells Tony. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. is going to be keeping him updated on Peter’s temperature. And she’s going to call me if either of you need anything. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Peter says, answering again for the both of them. He shivers a little, then drags the sleeve of his hoodie under his nose, wincing as the action irritates the raw skin around his nose. He sheepishly grabs a tissue when he sees the way Pepper is looking at him, pressing it to his running nose and mumbling an apology. 

“You two take care of each other, okay?”

Tony and Peter both nod, and Pepper leaves, kissing Peter on the top of the head and then making her way around the bed to do the same to Tony before she goes.

“Well,” Tony says once she’s gone. “Guess we’re gonna get a little quality time together today, huh?” 

Peter, who’s dabbing at his nose with another tissue, swallows with a wince. “Huh?” His eyes look a little glassy when he looks over at Tony. “Oh, yeah!” 

Tony crosses his arms over his chest. He feels terrible for getting Peter sick, of course, but he’s glad Pepper thought to coordinate him coming to the Tower for the day with May so he won’t be in his apartment alone. Being alone while sick isn’t Tony’s favorite thing, and being alone in general isn’t Peter’s favorite thing, so the arrangement works out. Plus, he really does enjoy Peter’s company, even if Peter will likely be sleeping for most of the day. Tony’s thoughts drift to his mental to-do list again, thinking about how much he might be able to get done while Peter naps, but he pauses when he realizes Peter is still staring at him.

“So,” he says, rolling onto his side to face Peter. “How are you feeling, bud? What do you want to do?” 

“We could watch a movie?” Peter suggests. “Ms. Potts said to choose Star Wars if you want to be awake, or a movie that was made after I was born if you need to sleep.” 

“Did she now?” 

Peter nods seriously, completely missing the smile that Tony tries and fails to fight from spreading across his face. “I also have some homework I could work on, but that’s kind of boring.” He takes a long, shaky breath, and Tony suddenly realizes that he’s trying to be his usual chatty self, despite his rapidly fading voice and the fact that he’s clearly miserable. 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says, watching Peter shiver. “Why don’t you lie down so you can get all the way under the covers?” He holds the comforter up, and Peter nods, practically melting down the headboard until he’s completely horizontal. He curls up on his side, facing away from Tony, sniffling while Tony tucks the blanket around his shoulders. 

A shiver runs through Peter, and Tony reaches out to rub his back, hoping the motion might help him feel a little warmer. Soon, Peter is almost asleep, his breath whistling in and out through his nose, and Tony is startled a little when Peter clears his throat loudly and reveals that he’s still awake.   

“Your heart sounds really loud,” he whispers, and a second later he’s rolling over to face Tony, scooting closer until he’s fully pressed up against Tony’s body. He feels Peter’s hand against his face as he clumsily reaches up, his fingertips aiming for Tony’s pulse point and landing on his cheek instead. Tony’s skin is pulled slightly under the touch as Peter’s sticky powers are activated, his fingers prickly and clinging to his face.

“You’re…alive…I think?” Peter says, his eyes closed as he tries to assess the results of his failed attempt to check Tony’s pulse. 

“I’m alive.” Tony reaches up and gently takes Peter’s hand, pulling it away from his face and wincing when the removal of his sticky fingers feels like someone ripping a bandaid off of his cheek. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, letting his hand fall to Tony’s chest, fingers immediately sticking to the skin above the collar of his shirt instead. It’s an odd feeling, slightly uncomfortable, but Tony doesn’t mind. Peter is almost asleep again. Tony reaches over and cards his fingers through Peter’s hair, and Peter snores a couple of times, then shakes his head slightly like he’s fighting sleep. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice is so small and so hoarse and Tony cringes because he knows it’s probably painful for him to talk, if his own experience this past week is anything to go by.

“Yeah, bud?” 

There’s a long pause, during which Peter tucks his face into Tony’s shoulder, nuzzling the fabric of his shirt with his nose. “I have to cough,” he finally says, his voice muffled. 

“Thanks for letting me know,” Tony chuckles dryly. “This is the part where you unstick yourself from me so you can cover your mouth. You know, keep your germs to yourself.”

“You’re the one who got me sick though,” Peter murmurs, then promptly sneezes right into Tony’s shirt.  

“Oh, what the– That wasn’t a cough!”

“Oh.” Peter sniffles. “My bad.” 

“You are absolutely disgusting,” Tony grimaces. He looks around for the tissue box, but it’s on the far nightstand on the other side of Peter.

“I…am?”

Tony sighs. “No. You’re not. You are pretty sick, though.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. He lifts his head, unsticking his hand from Tony’s chest and tucking his face into the crook of his elbow to cough. “It sucks.”

“Want to try a movie, or do you want to sleep?” 

Peter nestles himself back against Tony’s side and closes his eyes with a congested sigh. He doesn’t answer, but two minutes later, he’s snoring. 

Tony grabs his phone from his nightstand. He can work on a lot of things from his phone, which is the only device Pepper didn’t confiscate from him. While Peter sleeps, he plans to get at least five things from his list done. The first task is checking his emails. He taps on his inbox, but he doesn’t even get through the first email before Peter shifts in his sleep, tugging Tony’s shirt down with his hands as he tries to burrow further down into the warmth of the blankets.  

“Hey!” Tony protests softly. He looks at where Peter’s hand is attached to his shirt, stretching out the fabric, and tries to gently slide a finger between Peter’s palm and his shirt to free himself. Peter moans unhappily, but his hand doesn’t budge. Tony tries a slightly more forceful approach. He peels Peter’s fingertips up one by one, but he’s not entirely successful until Peter moans again and lifts his hand up all the way. As soon as his hand is free, however, he slides it up under Tony’s shirt sleeve, seeking warmth for his fingers. His cold, sticky fingers.

Tony sighs. When Peter had been awake, unsticking himself from Tony felt like a bandaid being ripped off, uncomfortable and a little painful, but he’s worried it will be worse now that Peter’s asleep and he doesn’t want to risk losing skin or something. As soon as Peter stills, he pulls up his emails again, resigning himself to staying very still and very stuck. 

He lasts about one hour before he gets bored of reading and responding to emails. 

“Pete?” He whispers, satisfied when Peter doesn’t answer. He just needs to unstick Peter from his arm, and he can sneak down to the lab while Peter rests in bed. He reaches his opposite arm over and takes Peter’s wrist, giving an experimental tug. The motion pulls at his skin, but Peter’s hand stays firmly pressed to his bicep.   

“Mr. Stark?” Tony looks over to see Peter blinking sleepily up at him.  

“Your hand is glued to my arm,” Tony explains. Peter sniffles and looks down at where his hand is tucked under Tony’s shirt sleeve. It takes him a moment to move, and when he does, his motions are sluggish and clumsy. When he pulls his hand away, Tony clamps his mouth shut to keep himself from crying out in pain.

“Sorry for stickin’ to y–” Peter’s cut off by a yawn. “To you. When I’m sick it’s harder to control.” He yawns again, and Tony chuckles, adjusting the covers over Peter and sliding away and out of bed before Peter can stick to him again. 

“Go back to sleep,” Tony says. “I’m just going to run down to the lab for a bit.”  

“Pepper said I’m supposed to keep you in bed,” Peter says weakly. His voice crackles on the last few words, and he buries his face back into his pillow to cough a few times. He lifts his head, rubbing at his eyes with a fist and looking sad. “Sorry I’m not very good company.”

“You’re the best company, Pete. I just have a little work to do.” 

“But you’re not supposed to work today,” Peter argues hoarsely. 

Tony sighs. “I’ll just be down in the lab for an hour, two hours tops. You can stay here and nap the whole time.” 

“I could read you my book for English,” Peter offers. “Or you could read to me…?” 

“While that is a very tempting offer, what if we go down to the lab for a little bit first? You can come with me and keep me company down there,” Tony tries again.

After a moment of consideration, Peter nods. “Okay.” He sits up carefully, scooting to the edge of the bed and planting his feet on the floor, shivering hard when he loses the warmth of being under the comforter. Tony takes a blanket from the bed and wraps it around Peter’s shoulders, then helps him stand, frowning when Peter sways a little on his feet. 

“Here,” Tony says, grabbing the box of tissues from the nightstand for Peter and immediately smirking when Peter holds up a finger and inhales sharply, but instead of taking a tissue from the box right in front of his face, he tugs the sleeves of his hoodies down over his hands and aims a sneeze into the fabric instead. 

“Wha–? Okay,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. He shakes the tissues in front of Peter’s face with a pointed look. “Bless you.”  

Peter sniffles wetly and takes the box, crossing his arms to hold it against his chest, but still not using a tissue. “Thanks.” 

In the elevator, Peter leans up against the wall, letting his head rest against the cool metal side. His face is flushed red, and Tony reaches out, pressing the back of his hand to Peter’s cheek.

“Feeling pretty warm there, bud,” he says. Peter responds with a cough, sagging against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When Peter is done coughing, Tony holds his arms open. 

“Want a lift?” 

Peter shuffles forward, sniffling miserably, and lets Tony pick him up, blanket and tissues and all.

“Hold on,” Tony says, and realizes his mistake a second too late when Peter actually latches on to him, his arms and legs wrapped around Tony like he’s a sticky koala. He tucks his warm face against Tony’s neck and huffs out a little sigh, and Tony doesn’t move when the elevator doors slide open. He looks out into his lab, at all of his waiting projects, and then down at Peter dozing off in his arms. With Peter clinging to him like this, he’s not even going to be able to sit at his lab table, let alone get any work done. 

That’s how Tony finds himself back in his bed a couple minutes later, literally stuck to a sick, feverish teenager, and falling asleep to the sound of Peter’s loud snores and a movie from 2003 playing in the background.

#prompt fill #tumblr prompt #comfortember #sick peter parker #sickfic #sick tony stark #irondad #peter parker acting like an actual spider #fever #platonic bed sharing #fluff

[whichuniverseisthis]

Very early post because today I'll be out the full day again and I don't want to risk posting tomorrow. Beware of spoilers!

First - Vs Starly

Previous - Vs Dialga & Palkia II

Next - Vs Dialga & Palkia IV

Last - Vs Dialga & Palkia VI

Chapter 76 / Chapter 413

I know I'm pointing out the obvious, but Ice is not exactly supereffective because they're Water and Steel type too. But I get that in context they don't really know them, so if they "look like Dragon types", it must mean they're at least partially weak to Ice.

To me, this is one of the coolest shots of this final fight. You can literally see Palkia cutting through space, it's amazing.

And Dialga turning back the time to heal itself and using the power used to hit was super smart.

I love how the manga doesn't give a shit about the legendaries who can't be captured because they must "keep the balance". And I also love how confident Dia and Pearl sound as they decide they'll either defeat or capture them.

Action moment. Props because I can understand what's happening at all time. Also, is Diglett using Stone Edge??

Love that after she sees the hurt gym leaders, her first thought is that Dia and Pearl could get like that too. They love each other so much.

This is maybe the only thing I never fully liked about this arc. Gym leaders giving free Pokémon to Platinum for no apparent reason. I can still get over Candice and Volkner, but what bond does Gardenia have with her to decide to do it?

Oh wow, I never noticed how ready to fight Palkia Platinum was after it hurt her new Pokémon. It's so funny.

And this is why everyone in the trio was necessary for this final fight. As I said earlier, Dia and Pearl right now are fighting solely with intuition, but with Platinum's help they can gain actual knowledge to find the weak spots and defeat Dialga and Palkia.

Yeah, I hadn't realized it, but he disappeared halfway through the previous chapter, when the trio gets to Spear Pillar. Also, I love the distorted columns leaning on them.

#dp commentary #pokespe #trainer diamond #pokespe diamond #trainer pearl #pokespe pearl #trainer platinum #pokespe platinum #platinum berlitz

[back-and-totheleft]

"Not the Charlie I recognize"

When Oliver Stone returned from Vietnam, the budding filmmaker wanted to capture his harrowing wartime experiences on screen. After years of frustrating false starts with director Sidney Lumet and producer Michael Cimino (and even a very early flirtation with legendary Doors singer Jim Morrison to star), Stone finally stepped behind the camera himself for 1986’s Platoon. His gut-wrenching masterpiece, starring a young Charlie Sheen as Stone’s onscreen alter ego, wound up winning four Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Director.

To celebrate its 25th anniversary, Platoon is being released on Blu-ray today and looks better than ever. We spoke with Stone about his revolutionary film, his fresh-faced leading man, and that strange encounter with the Lizard King.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: When was the last time you saw Platoon?

OLIVER STONE: About five years ago.

So you haven’t seen the Blu-ray?

This is the first Blu-ray, right? I get confused.

Yes.

Does it look good?

It looks great!

Oh terrific. We didn’t have much of a budget, so some of the lighting was always a little shaky in the jungle. I should watch it again. I think it still works emotionally and as a mythology of a war. We didn’t have much money for effects. Today, some of that stuff could have been done with technology, but we just didn’t have it back then. We did it very well for what we had. We blew up a lot of stuff very close to people.

Do you see things in it now that you aren’t happy with?

It’s lit awfully. But it was pretty bold at the time.

Are you the kind of guy who goes back and watches your own movies? If you’re watching TV and one comes on do you keep it or turn the channel?

Oh, it depends on the movie. (Laughs). No, I go back so I can learn from it. And, sometimes I’ll play with it like with Alexander Revisited. I added an hour and made a new movie out of it in two parts.

What do you remember about the Oscars the year Platoon won?

It wasn’t my first time there. I won in 1979 for the Midnight Express screenplay. I was handed the Oscar from Lauren Bacall; that was quite a high. In ’86, it wasn’t easy to sit there for three hours. If you look at the broadcast actually, they cut to the wrong person when I won. It was actually a friend of my mother’s! They really screwed up. I got a kiss from Elizabeth Taylor, who was my love object when I was young. It was a great night. Very special. It was a movie that was very low-budget and made independently. We overcame incredible odds. It came from nowhere. Also, the same year I was nominated for my screenplay for Salvador. So it was an emotional night for me — being accepted as a director in Hollywood after so many years of trying.

For Best Picture, you were up against Hannah and Her Sisters, The Mission, Children of a Lesser God, and A Room With a View. Who did you think would win?

Well, I think Platoon was the odds-on favorite. So I would be disingenuous if I said I didn’t think it would be us.

For the role of Barnes that Tom Berenger played, I read that you considered Mickey Rourke and Kevin Costner. True?

Yes, but they were not who they were at that time. There were others, too, because there were so many layers of time with this film. It was written in ’76 and was almost made then by Sidney Lumet and Pacino. Then there was a period in ’84 when Michael Cimino was going to produce it and Emilio Estevez was going to play the role, actually. Costner passed on it, I believe, because his brother had been in Vietnam.

For the Elias character that Willem Dafoe plays, one of the stars considered was Jeff Bridges?

Quite possibly, I don’t recall. I liked Willem because I’d seen him as a bad guy in To Live and Die in L.A. and I liked the idea of him being a more positive character.

I’ve read that a lot of people were also considered for Charlie Sheen’s role: Keanu Reeves, Kyle MacLachlan, and maybe Johnny Depp as well.

That’s right, Keanu turned it down because of the violence. He didn’t want to do violence.

How did you land on Charlie?

Charlie was a dumb-struck 17-year-old the first time he came in for the film, back when we were going to make it in ’84. And in those two years, he’d grown and seemed perfectly wide-eyed and had a vaguely privileged look.

Looking back, what do you think of his performance? He’s pretty much the stand-in character for you and your experiences in the war, right?

Yeah, you could say that. I think he did a great job. He was perfect for the movie. He conveys the horror of the place. I like his performance.

Are you still in touch with him? What do you make of what’s been going on with him lately?

Well, it’s not the Charlie I recognize from several years ago when we did Wall Street and Platoon. This is another character. He’s grown in many different directions and he’s made so much money … I have no idea.

I heard that you wrote a very early draft of Platoon back in 1970 and sent it to Jim Morrison of The Doors?

That’s correct. In ’69 I wrote it. It was another version of it — a very mythic version. The character dies in Vietnam and goes to the Underworld. A lot of mythology. I couldn’t deal with Vietnam yet in a completely realistic way at that point. And I did send it to Morrison because it had a lot of Doors music in it. And he had it in his apartment in Paris when he died. It was returned to me in 1990 when I made The Doors. Very bizarre.

That’s spooky.

Spooky, yeah. (Laughs)

Johnny Depp has a small part in the movie as one of the soldiers. What did you see in him 25 years ago?

Frankly, it’s going to sound cliche, but I clearly believed he was going to be a star. He was a great looking kid. He was considered for other roles, but I didn’t think he was quite ready at that time to play Charlie’s role. We got to know each other pretty well in the jungle and I really thought he was going places. He was shy. I think it was before Jump Street.

You shot in the Philippines during a very turbulent period there. What was your Coppola-Apocalypse Now moment during the shoot?

Well, we didn’t have all the money they had! It was very low-budget. And for me to finally get there after two close calls in making it in ’76 and ’84, was a real highlight. And then out of nowhere there was this people’s revolution. I mean, I was happy for the people in the Philippines, but it really threatened our shoot. We had made all of these deals with the military. And when the change came, we had to make new deals with the new military. You had to get a lot of permissions and bribe a new set of people. I remember the helicopters were pretty dangerous because they weren’t maintained well. But I ended up going back there three years later for Born on the Fourth of July.

Why did the two earlier versions fall through?

The ’76 version was just not considered upbeat enough. It was too realistic, which is why Sidney Lumet liked it. So who knows? And then I wrote Midnight Express, which was my big breakthrough in Hollywood. And at that point, Platoon was stashed away in a closet because no one wanted to make a realistic movie. And then you had films like Apocalypse Now and The Deer Hunter. And the feeling was our moment had passed. So I was sad about it — really heartbroken. I forgot about the script for a while, thinking it would never get made. And then Michael Cimino [who also directed The Deer Hunter] said I should bring Platoon back and he would produce it. This was in ’84. And I thought it was going to happen, but Dino DeLaurentiis f—ed us over, big time.

How so?

He was only willing to go so far. The script was mine and he hadn’t paid for it, really. He considered it his, but he hadn’t paid. We had to threaten to go to court to get the movie back. It’s a miracle it eventually got made. It’s also a miracle that it was received well because it was supposed to be past due. We’d had Rambo and a bunch of other Vietnam movies. And the thinking was no one wanted another Vietnam movie.

Do you think a great movie will ever be made about the war we’re in now?

Oh yeah, I think so. It’s not going to be a pretty movie. It’s a dirty business. I mean, the hunt for Osama Bin Laden? They’re going to end up glorifying all these guys again.

I heard that you wrote a very early draft of Platoon back in 1970 and sent it to Jim Morrison of The Doors?

That’s correct. In ’69 I wrote it. It was another version of it — a very mythic version. The character dies in Vietnam and goes to the Underworld. A lot of mythology. I couldn’t deal with Vietnam yet in a completely realistic way at that point. And I did send it to Morrison because it had a lot of Doors music in it. And he had it in his apartment in Paris when he died. It was returned to me in 199o when I made The Doors. Very bizarre.

That’s spooky.

Spooky, yeah. (Laughs)

Johnny Depp has a small part in the movie as one of the soldiers. What did you see in him 25 years ago?

Frankly, it’s going to sound cliche, but I clearly believed he was going to be a star. He was a great looking kid. He was considered for other roles, but I didn’t think he was quite ready at that time to play Charlie’s role. We got to know each other pretty well in the jungle and I really thought he was going places. He was shy. I think it was before Jump Street.

You shot in the Philippines during a very turbulent period there. What was your Coppola-Apocalypse Now moment during the shoot?

Well, we didn’t have all the money they had! It was very low-budget. And for me to finally get there after two close calls in making it in ’76 and ’84, was a real highlight. And then out of nowhere there was this people’s revolution. I mean, I was happy for the people in the Philippines, but it really threatened our shoot. We had made all of these deals with the military. And when the change came, we had to make new deals with the new military. You had to get a lot of permissions and bribe a new set of people. I remember the helicopters were pretty dangerous because they weren’t maintained well. But I ended up going back there three years later for Born on the Fourth of July.

Why did the two earlier versions fall through?

The ’76 version was just not considered upbeat enough. It was too realistic, which is why Sidney Lumet liked it. So who knows? And then I wrote Midnight Express, which was my big breakthrough in Hollywood. And at that point, Platoon was stashed away in a closet because no one wanted to make a realistic movie. And then you had films like Apocalypse Now and The Deer Hunter. And the feeling was our moment had passed. So I was sad about it — really heartbroken. I forgot about the script for a while, thinking it would never get made. And then Michael Cimino [who also directed The Deer Hunter] said I should bring Platoon back and he would produce it. This was in ’84. And I thought it was going to happen, but Dino DeLaurentiis f—ed us over, big time.

How so?

He was only willing to go so far. The script was mine and he hadn’t paid for it, really. He considered it his, but he hadn’t paid. We had to threaten to go to court to get the movie back. It’s a miracle it eventually got made. It’s also a miracle that it was received well because it was supposed to be past due. We’d had Rambo and a bunch of other Vietnam movies. And the thinking was no one wanted another Vietnam movie.

Do you think a great movie will ever be made about the war we’re in now?

Oh yeah, I think so. It’s not going to be a pretty movie. It’s a dirty business. I mean, the hunt for Osama Bin Laden? They’re going to end up glorifying all these guys again.

-Entertainment Weekly, May 24 2011 [x]

#oliver stone #platoon #entertainment weekly #blu-ray #anniversary #re-release #charlie sheen #Youtube

[nella09archive]

Marriage. 76

Chapter 76: Back to school

Today we go back to school, and I asked dad to take me. I was so happy that he agreed. As I got ready the night before, I was getting more and more excited. Not only was dad going to take me, we were taking the same route as Gohan. I always from it funny how we went to school in the same city, but didn’t cross paths. Gohan school was deeper in, compared to mines. And it was always mom who took me on nimbus, since Gohan started being a superhero. I wonder what will happen now that dad’s back. Would that mean mom is going to be home by herself?

As we sat for dinner, I couldn’t help think about how I get to tell my friends my dad came back. It’ll be so awesome. Then Gohan had to open his big mouth. “How in the world we’re going to avoid the media, and being question? Since, you know, the events at the tournament.” Great. Be the downer to my happy mood.

“Is big brother camera shy?” He gave me a mean look, and I went back to eating my food. “Why do you ask Videl how she handles being around cameras.”

“That’s it!” I was just about to make a break for it, when mom spoke up.

“Boys! No super sayian at the table! Now apologize!” Sure, when pigs fly.

“You can fly, and you’re a pig.” That’s it! I’m drawing in your in your textbooks. I was just about to leave the table, till I was pulled back by Gohan. I have half a mind to blast you. “Same squirt.”

“Boys!” That stopped us in our tracks. When mom says it, we know she means business. Yet sometimes we still continue arguing. But ever since dad came back, stuff been slightly different. For example, right now. The way he says it was very intimating, that it could even rival uncle Vegeta. And uncle Vegeta is always intimating. We ended up giving each other angry looks as we finished dinner. Tonight, was dad’s turn to tuck me in. “What was that about? You were in such a happy mood.”

“Gohan ruined it. He just had to open his big mouth.” I crossed my arms and pouted.

“Don’t let that get to you. He’s just worried is all. Besides, you still looking forward for when I take you to school?”

“Yeah! And maybe you could pick me up too!” That idea got me really excited again. Plus, dad agreed, and so, I went to sleep with a big smile.

…

After I tucked Goten to bed, and made sure Gohan was ok, did I finally go to our room. “Does the boys always make a big fuss like that?”

“Sometimes. You should see them when they’re really angry at each other.”

“Oh joy.” She giggled. “What?”

“Oh nothing. Just remembering a few times, I had to punish the boys for throwing ki blast at each other.”

“They did what?”

“Nothing too big. Usually it’s Gohan, when Goten tries to wake him up. It was very hard to clean up after that.” She was giving me an angry look, as if she was blaming me. What did I do? “You’re the reason they can do that easily. Because the last I check, I sure couldn’t do that.”

“Now that’s a lie.” I walked over to her, and placed my hands on her hips. “Last I check, a certain someone is able to use ki. But she doesn’t use it the way we do, at times. Because if I recall.” Pointing to myself for dramatic emphasis. “She not only kick me out of our room, the first night she had her period. But also, she threw a ki blast at me, for trying to get back in.” She was blushing at that. “So, don’t blame me for the boys throwing ki blast at each other. I will let you blame me for how strong the ki blast are.” She hits my chest, and turns to start heading to bed. Then an idea popped up. “Would you like me to teach you any of my special moves? You know, for fun, and maybe use it against me.”

“I’m your wife, I don’t need special moves to take you down.” Aw, that actually made me sad. “But. It would be a nice excuse to spend time with you.” Even though that made me a bit happier. I still wish she did it because she wanted to beat me. “Don’t give me that face. You just want me to beat you up, don’t you?” I nod my head. “You’re so silly, but fine. You can start tomorrow, once you drop off Goten.” I gave her a big kiss, and with that we went to sleep.

…

As we flew to Satan City, I changed into my custom. “But what’s the point if they already know?”

“I guess force of habit, little bro.” As we reached the halfway point, dad warned me to be prepared. When I asked why, he wouldn’t say. It was when we started seeing the edge of the city, did I come to realized why dad warned me. “How long you knew?” He didn’t answer, but just smiled. We stopped midflight, at the edge of the city. “Good morning Videl.” She just huff at me, and we continued flying. Dad and Goten parted, and left us alone. I tried saying good morning again, and this time I got an answer.

“Didn’t you say you’ll meet me at 7? What took so long? Making me wait 30 extra minutes!”

“Sorry, I over slept. Won’t happen again.”

“It better not. Besides, don’t you have a cell phone, so I could reach you?” I told her I didn’t and she was surprised. “Some teenager you are.” She started laughing.

“Hey. Not my fault.”

“How about after school, I’ll get you one.”

“No, it’s ok.”

“Too bad. I’m still going to do it.” Why when I could do this? “Hey! No fair!” You could do it to, if you tried. “But what if I don’t want to. And besides, it’s more fun to use a phone.” If you insist. “Nerd boy.” HEY! She started laughing, and tried to out speed me. I caught up to her, and flew backwards, so she can see me.

“You forget. I’m way faster.” I couldn’t help smirk at that. And she gave me an angry glare. “What you going to do? Hit me? As if you could, and you won’t be able to catch me either.” I flew at top speed to the school’s roof. Once there, I put my custom away, and just waited. When she landed, she walked right passed me. I couldn’t help smile at that. But the moment we open the door to the roof, we came face to face with our friends.

The rest of the morning was Sharpner, Mark, and Erasa asking me questions on what I could actually do. They just wouldn’t stop. It got to the point I wanted to scream. I even had to sit out P.E, since I would be a advantage to whatever team I was on. The only good thing about today, so far. I was even able to catch up on assignments that I missed. During lunch things finally got quiet. Quiet enough that I finish eating quickly, so I could continue working on assignments. Sharpner was trying to ask why do I even bother, since I can do so much more. Videl on the other hand was asking for my help with her assignments. “When did this happened? And why didn’t you tell me, Videl? I thought we were like sisters.” Erasa just had to ask that, now even Sharpner was asking. But we got saved by the bell.

After class we all to the nearby mall. There Videl how is it possible to be Bulma’s nephew, and not have all the coolest stuff. I tried explaining to her how I just didn’t feel I needed it. She ended up not only buying me a phone, but a laptop too. I really don’t know how to repay you. “You don’t have to. Now come on, let’s go to my place and set you up.” That’s when I started feeling nervous. This would be the first time I go to her house.

Her room smelled really nice. It actually made it hard to focus. Not only did she help me setup, we also did a few assignments. Once done, I had to rush home. We agreed that I be on time tomorrow, and that we should study together more often. On the way home I couldn’t stop smiling. I really couldn’t believe it. I was in Videl’s room! And she even asked to study together! I was so excited, that I couldn’t stop smiling. The moment I entered the house, dad just had to say something. It didn’t kill my mood, but it sure made me feel like I was on fire. “So, how was your little race?”

…

I can’t believe this! Not only is the class bully afraid of me, but so are my classmates. The only ones who talked to me were the ones I considered my friends. They were also the only ones who played with me during recuses. The teacher even seemed scared of me. And all I asked was for some more crayons. I now see why big brother was so worried. I won’t make fun of him ever again about this. Then when dad came to pick me up, he almost gave my class a heart attack. “Dad! You can’t do that.” He kept saying sorry, all the way till we got home.

Mom was acting funny when we came home. When I looked at dad, even he looked scared. As I told mom and dad about my day, we noticed Gohan wasn’t home yet. Looks like I get dibs on tv after dinner. When he did get home, he had the biggest smile ever. It probably had something to do with Videl. After dinner Gohan didn’t want to watch tv with us. Saying he had assignments to catch up. Well looks like cartoons till bedtime it is.

…

After I dropped off Goten, I instant transmission to Chichi. She was in the middle of putting the dishes away, when I popped behind her. Thank goodness I grabbed the dishes in time. Don’t want her yelling at me for that. She did yell at me for popping out of nowhere. Once she calm down, and finished cleaning the kitchen, did we talked about what she wanted me to teach her. I was excited by her choices.

The rest of the day went by well. Ok. Maybe I got a little handy with my teaching, but my wife is too irresistible. It took some explaining, and showing for her to see what I meant. When it came to testing it out, I was impressed she was able to do it right away. Than again, this is my wife, she can do anything. And when she tried the techniques on me, I actually felt pain. Yeah, this is definitely my wife. “You sure you’re not just letting me hurt you?”

“Letting you practice, yes. But you actually are hurting me. My strong little wife.” She was now blushing, and I couldn’t help smile even more. “If you keep this up, I might not be able to help myself.” She asked what I meant, and I pointed down. She then picked me up, and threw me. “What was that for?”

“Even being dead for years, you still haven’t learned!” What do you mean? “GOKU! I just love you! It’s almost time to start getting Goten, so put that away!” Why not help me? Cause your screaming is just making it worse. “GOKU!” Mm. Keep it up. She was blushing heavily as she storm inside. I counted to five, before I got up and walk to the house. She’s cooking our lunch. “Did you even learned how to deal with that?”

“It was hard, at first. Maybe took a couple of months. After the whole shock of being dead, and excitement, is when I started having problems. I tried to stay away from everyone. I needed time alone. Also, during that time, I deal with other things.”

“Oh, would you tell me about it?”

“Of course. Where should I begin?”

“Let’s keep that conversation, after the boys goes to bed.” Is there a reason why? “I want to give it my full attention.” OK. Love you. “Love you, too.”

-----

Ch75

[spiritcc]

#boris klyuev #what? sometimes there's just nothing else to say #bro why are you being like that on camera stop you're attracting the hoes #oh right he turned 76 today actually #wooo m8 a week or somethin apart with livanov

[bluejayblueskies]

Jonmartin with 20 or 76 for the kiss prompts!

kiss prompt list!

20 - surprised kiss | 76 - top of head kisses

this is both! ft. domestic married jmart in a no-supernatural au

.

A small mmrp! is the only warning Martin gets before something very fluffy and very orange jumps onto the kitchen counter beside him.

 “Hey, no,” Martin chides, scooping the as-yet-unnamed cat into his arms and lowering him gently to the ground. He points a stern finger at the small, curious face staring up at him and says, “I know you’re new here, but you’ll have to learn the house rules eventually. And I know I’ll have to be the one to enforce them, because the moment Jon sees your cute little face he’s going to just- just let you do whatever you please.”

 The cat lets out another mmrp before rubbing his face affectionately against Martin’s leg.

 “Right,” Martin says with a soft smile, crouching down and scratching underneath the cat’s chin. “You haven’t met him yet, but Jon’s going to love you. You’re just going to have to- to look at him and he’ll love you.” Quieter, to himself, Martin mumbles, “I hope he’ll love you.”

 A cat isn’t a typical anniversary gift, sure, but it’s not like they hadn’t been talking about it. They’d looked into a few shelters, made a list of the things they’d need to buy in order to make their flat pet-friendly, but Jon’s workload had increased drastically a few weeks ago and discussions had fallen to the wayside. Martin had spent a frankly ridiculous amount of time scanning through Jon’s meticulous notes about preferred breeds, ages, and dispositions before spending an even more ridiculous amount of time visiting every shelter within a 50-kilometer radius of them.

 He may also have two cardboard boxes full of cat toys, food, litter, and other items stowed away in the back of the linens closet. He’s nothing if not prepared.

The quiet thump of paws on marble drags Martin out of his thoughts, and he looks up to see the cat stood atop the counter again, tail swishing back and forth with excitement.

 “No,” Martin says, standing and lifting the cat carefully up so he can look him firmly in the eyes. “We do not jump on the counter. The counter is where we cook, and Jon stress-cleans enough as it is—we don’t need to give him the extra incentive.”

 The cat’s mouth stretches open in a wide yawn, revealing rows of sharp teeth, before blinking passively at him.

 “Right,” Martin says again with a resigned nod. He tucks the cat against his chest experimentally, feeling the rumbling purr against his skin, and presses his nose into the soft orange fur on the nape of the cat’s neck. “Did you know that Jon and I got married a year ago today? Oh, of course not, you're a cat. Well, we did. Honestly, though, it- it feels like yesterday. Things since then have just been… nice. Christ, so nice, and- and I love him, you know? You’re going to love him too—he’s got this, like, this thing where cats just adore him on sight. Tim likes to call him the ‘cat whisperer,’ and Jon pretends like it annoys him because, heh, you know, otherwise it would go right to Tim’s head, but Jon adores you guys. With your- your little paws, and your little ears, and your- ow, ow, your claws—"

 Martin gently, yet gracelessly, lets the cat spill free from his arms and onto the lino. He rubs at his arm, gives the cat a stern look, and says, “Is that any way to treat your father?”

 The cat looks up at him and meows loudly.

 “Don’t talk back,” Martin says with faux disappointment, crossing his arms across his chest. After a moment, his resolve breaks, and he bends down to scratch between the cat’s ears gently, a fond smile spreading across his face.

 Martin’s halfway back to standing when the doorknob rattles. His first thought is oh, Jon’s home early. Then: wait, Christ, nothing’s ready yet. Then: shit, the cat!

 Martin’s reflexes are, predictably, less acute than the fluffy apex predator who’s currently making his way to the front door at breakneck speed, meowing loudly enough that Martin’s sure Jon can already hear it through the still-closed door. Martin has just enough time to take a few, anxious steps toward the door before it swings open and Jon shoulders his way through, arms laden with stacks of folders and books and papers. Martin decides that he'll chide Jon for bringing work home on their anniversary later and instead prioritizes coming up with a speech he thought he still had several hours to prepare in approximately five seconds.

 “Oh, hello,” Jon says, kicking the door shut behind him and rearranging the pile of work in his hands so it doesn’t slip. “Elias let me go early—albeit with a mountain of paperwork, good Lord—so I thought I’d…”

 He trails off as a small, insistent mmrp! cuts through the air. Martin squeezes his eyes shut and says, quietly, “Ah, right. That’s… that’s nice of him?”

 “I… I suppose,” Jon says, sounding a bit lost. There’s a shuffling noise, and Martin opens his eyes a crack to see Jon depositing the stack of papers on the side table by the couch before turning, slowly, back to the cat. “Is… sorry, I- I’m not… is there meant to be a cat in our flat?”

 The cat meows, and Martin says weakly, “Happy anniversary?”

 “Oh,” Jon says. Then, after a moment, his mouth curves into a small smile, and he repeats, softly, “Oh.”

 Jon crouches down and shifts so he’s kneeling on the ground, sitting back on his heels that way Martin’s never been flexible enough to do. “Hello,” he says quietly, holding out a hand for the cat to sniff. “And who might you be?”

 “He doesn’t have a name yet,” Martin says, still reeling from the abruptness of the last thirty seconds. “I- I thought… you might like to name him?”

 Jon hums in thought, letting the cat push his head into his hand before beginning to scratch gently underneath his chin. “I… I don’t really know,” he says. “Georgie was always the one who was good at naming, I- I just sort of went along with it for the Admiral.”

 “Could always go generic,” Martin suggests, feeling his heart swell with affection as the cat yawns again and Jon’s face lights up. “You know, like- like Whiskers, or…”

 Jon gives Martin an unimpressed look. “Certainly not. That would be like naming our child… Leg, or something equally ridiculous.”

 Martin tries to ignore the way his heart stutters at the words our child and says, in a small voice, “Yeah, that… that would be silly.”

 Jon’s expression folds into something soft and fond, and he says, “I’ve… I’ve always been partial to Clarence, if… if that’s all right with you, I suppose.”

 Something must show on Martin’s face, because Jon quickly clarifies, “For- for the cat, that is, not, er- not for a… an actual child—”

 “Yeah, yeah, of course,” Martin says quickly, his cheeks growing hot.

 “—because- because Clarence isn’t really- well, it’s, it’s not bad, it’s just, I don’t—”

 “—absolutely, yes, I- I agree, one-hundred percent—”

 “—just, just for… for the cat.”

 “Mm-hmm,” Martin says in a high-pitched voice, fully giving up on pretending like his face isn’t flushed a bright red. His mouth twitches up into a smile, almost against his will, and he says, “For the cat. Of course.”

 “Of course,” Jon echoes. The moment of silence between them is broken by an accusatory meow, and Jon’s laugh at that is something that Martin wants to bottle up and treasure forever. “My apologies, Clarence,” he says, scooping the cat up in his arms and pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I wasn’t giving you nearly enough attention. A grievous error on my part.”

 “You’re going to spoil him,” Martin says teasingly. “He’ll be insufferable.”

 Clarence lets out a happy chirp of agreement.

 Carefully, Jon stands, Clarence still tucked securely in his arms, and steps closer so he can press a soft, lingering kiss to Martin’s lips. “Thank you,” he whispers, pulling back just enough that he can rest his forehead against Martin’s. “I love you.”

 “I love you too,” Martin says.

 There’s a disgruntled mmrp, and Jon’s mouth curves into an amused smile. “I love you as well,” he says, giving Clarence another kiss on the top of his head. Then, teasingly: “Maybe even a bit more than your father.”

 Martin lets out a long, exaggerated groan. “I can’t believe this. Less than five minutes in our home and you’re already stealing my husband from me.” He reaches over and scratches Clarence’s belly fondly. “Disrespectful. Utterly abhorrent.”

 Clarence makes a pleased little noise before starting to purr audibly.

 “We’ll need food,” Jon says absently, one hand scratching underneath Clarence’s chin. “Litter, bowls, toys…”

 Martin grins, a bit giddily. “Oh, way ahead of you.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #guinevere01 #my writing #my fic

[ifmywishescametrue]

Choosing which prompt to send you from list was an impossible task!! They’re just all that good🥺 but if u feel inspired, maybe 15 or 76 would be really cute for stevetony?

Also, hope you have the best and loveliest day, friend 💖💝

thank you for sending one!! for #76 - "thank you for making me smile" - here's 1.6k words of getting together and absolutely terrible jokes

also i hope you have the loveliest day too 🥺

"I'm never listening to your advice again," Steve says the second he walks in the door. He lets it slam shut behind him and stomps off to his bedroom with another rough bang.

Tony and Bucky exchange a look on the couch, and Tony pauses their video game.

"Me or you?"

"Probably you," Bucky says. "Your advice is usually shit."

Tony scoffs, "Please, I'm a genius for a reason. All of my advice is amazing. Or are you forgetting that I'm the reason that you have a boyfriend right now?"

"One time in the last three years and you won't let it go."

"It'd be you and your right hand for the rest of your life if it wasn't for me."

Bucky rolls his eyes, "I would have made it work with Sam on my own eventually. But that's besides the point. I haven't given Steve any advice lately, so it has to be you. And in case you forgot, I don't even live here. He didn't know I was here when he said it."

"You don't live here?" Tony says with mock surprise. "Wow, you eat an awful lot of our food then."

Bucky grins, "It's payback for all the times you did the same to me before I moved out. Now go fix Steve. We'll rematch tomorrow."

"I didn't break him," Tony argues, even as he sets his controller down and stands from the couch. "I am a beacon of wisdom."

"You started a fire in the microwave twice last week, beacon."

Tony flips him off on his way to Steve's bedroom. He knocks once and ignores it when Steve tells him to go away.

Steve is sitting at his desk with his back to the door and his sketchbook open in front of him. He has a pencil in his hand, but the page is untouched.

"So, uh, what's up with you?"

"Nothing."

Tony nods slowly, "Right, okay. Care to share what advice of mine went wrong exactly? Cause I gotta say I'm drawing a blank."

"I was talking to Buck."

"Oh," Tony says in relief, then he frowns. "How'd you even know he was here?"

"When isn't he here? Our fridge is always empty because of him."

Tony smiles and flops down on Steve's bed, propping himself up against the pillows with his arms folded behind his head. He pushes the back of Steve's chair with his foot, making it spin his way.

"So what did Bucky do?"

Steve looks like he's about to say, but then he bites his lip and shakes his head instead. "Really doesn't matter."

Tony looks at him for a long moment, taking in all those subtle tells of his. The slight downturn of the corners of his mouth and the crease between his brows, but they don't come with any tension in his jaw or shoulders, which means he's more disappointed than angry. His eyes never hide hurt, but there's none to be found in them. Whatever it was didn't crush him, and Tony knows just how to fix him when he's like this.

He pokes Steve's arm with his socked toes. "Hey, Steve, why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants?"

Steve sighs, but there's already a hint of a smile. Further evidence to support Tony's hypothesis.

"Why, Tony?"

"In case he got a hole in one."

Steve presses his lips together and shakes his head. "That's not very funny."

"Why do bees have sticky hair?"

The look Steve gives him is long-suffering.

"Because they use honeycombs," Tony grins, and Steve relaxes back into his chair a little. "What kind of music do planets like?"

"Neptunes," Steve says, smirking a little, and Tony pouts dramatically.

"Nooo, how did you know that?"

"Used it on me two months ago. Remember when you broke the sink and you didn't want me to be mad at you anymore?"

"I also remember fixing the sink in the same day, but fine dwell on the fact that I broke it in the first place."

Steve laughs, and Tony feels the knot in his own chest loosen. He hates it when Steve's upset. It throws him off his own axis, because his world revolves around Steve's sun.

He gets up from the desk chair, and Tony shifts over to make room for him on the bed. They reach for each other's hands at the same time, interlocking fingers in the small space between them.

It's moments like these when the longing hits him the most. When Steve is this close, but it doesn't mean nearly as much to him as it does to Tony.

Sometimes he pictures what it would be like if he leaned over a little more. If Steve's eyes would flicker down to his lips, then away quickly like he didn't want to be caught. He wonders what Steve's cheek would feel like under his hand as he pulls his attention back, silently telling him it's okay to look.

It always stops there in his mind, right before a first kiss that he just knows would change his life. Guilt creeps in, because he should be happy with what he has. Happy with all of the pieces Steve lets him have now. It's more than most people will ever get.

"Thank you," Steve says. "You're the only one who can ever get me to smile after a day like today."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tony asks, tilting his head to the side to look at him.

Steve bites his lip again, staring up at the ceiling. It takes a long moment for him to talk.

"There's somebody that I like, but they don't like me back. Not like that, anyway."

Tony's heart sinks, but he tries not to let it show. "You told them and they rejected you?"

Steve shakes his head, "No, I don't need to tell them to know how they feel. But Bucky said that I should find someone else to get over them, so I asked out that girl in my art history class."

"The one with the nose ring?"

"That's the one, yeah. We went for coffee this morning."

"How was it?" Tony asks, and more guilt accompanies the fact that he's actively and selfishly hoping Steve is about to say that it was awful.

Steve shrugs, "It was fine, technically. But then she tried to kiss me, and I sort of freaked out and ruined it. She looked at me like I was insane, and, god, it was so embarrassing, but I just couldn't do it when I know that I don't actually want anything like that from her. I didn't want to lead her on. It's not fair to her."

"Not fair to you either," Tony says softly. "You shouldn't force yourself to like someone you don't. And whoever the other person is, the one that doesn't want you back, they're missing out on someone really amazing, and they're stupid to let you go."

Steve smiles, but it's tinged with sadness as he turns his head to look at Tony. "I don't know about that. They can do better than me."

"Hey, no, don't say that. You're incredible. You're funny and smart and gorgeous, and I've never met anyone as kind as you in my entire life. There isn't anyone better than you, okay? And if they don't see that, then fuck them. Clearly, they're dumb as hell anyway," Tony rants, getting progressively louder as he goes and his free hand gesturing wildly.

"They're kind of a genius, actually."

Tony rolls his eyes, "Yeah, sure they are. Way to miss the point."

Steve's smile turns amused. "No, but they really are."

"What is this?" Tony asks with narrow eyes. "Are you trying to make me jealous by saying you know other geniuses? Cause I'm the only know-it-all in your life. I claimed the spot. It's mine."

"Definitely yours," Steve agrees, and he shifts a little to turn on his side. With his left hand, he tentatively reaches up towards Tony's face, and Tony's breath catches at the brush of fingertips against his cheek. "I think I might have been wrong, though, about how they feel about me."

It takes a few seconds for it to click in Tony's, but even when it does he doesn't believe it just yet.

"Why's that?"

"Apparently they think I'm incredible, and they get really angry when anybody else thinks otherwise."

Tony smiles softly, "Yeah, they really don't like that."

Steve's thumb strokes across his cheekbone, then his fingers drift back to run through his hair.

"They think I'm funny, too, but they've also got a terrible sense of humor, so I don't know how accurate that is."

Tony laughs, then says, "You know what I think?"

"What's that?"

"I think you should kiss them. Just go for it and see what happens."

Steve smiles, slowly leaning down, "You really think so? It could make things weird. We might not be able to be friends anymore."

Tony puts his hand on the nape of Steve's neck, drawing him further in until he's a scant inch away. "Trust me, they don't really want to be just a friend, anyway."

He finds out that Steve's skin is smooth and warm beneath his palms, and his lips are unexpectedly soft. His hands are constantly in motion, slowly mapping out Tony's hips and sides and back like he's memorizing the feeling. As if it's his one chance to learn what Tony feels like he won't let it get away from him. But it won't be the only one. There will be second, third, and hundredth kisses, because Tony knows better than to let someone like Steve slip away.

"Hey, Tony?" Steve whispers after.

"Yeah?"

"What's the best thing about Switzerland?"

Tony smiles, "What?"

"I don't know, but the flag is a big plus."

They stare at each other, and Steve is the first to crack, but his laugh makes Tony follow right behind him.

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #my writing #my fic #prompts #prompt fill

[divinesouldariax]

76 I named my little plant after you- keyleth maybe? Or Fearne

I chose Keyleth, 'cause I've been having some big feelings about her recently! Featuring her bestie Percival etc de Rolo III <3 Thank you for this prompt, it was so much fun!

Send me prompts? Or these ones? (pls specify!)

Alright, so Keyleth was maybe a little bit drunk. She had definitely earned it after all the work they’d been doing today to rebuild Whitestone. She and Grog had spent the entire day making a ruined farm functional again, and the farm’s owners had thanked them by opening a bottle of very strong alcohol they’d been saving for “the day the sun came out”. Now Keyleth was heading back into Percy’s castle, swaying a little while she walked.

It was late, and as she made her way through the halls towards where she thought the room she was staying in was located, she got a little turned around and ended up walking past the library. A set of double doors were propped open, looking in on an expansive room that, judging by the dozens of bookshelves stretching up to a high ceiling, once must have held an inordinate amount of books. But most of the shelves were empty now. Only a few books were actually where they belonged. Hundreds more were in stacks on the floor surrounding a large desk. There was a chair at the desk, and in the chair, his face resting on an open book and a pen having slipped out of his grasp, was Percy.

He was mumbling something in his sleep, his hand twitching. Keyleth hesitated, not sure if she should wake him--but that could not be good for his neck, and his glasses seemed to be pressing uncomfortably into the side of his nose in a way that would definitely leave a red mark, and…okay, also, she had no idea where her room was from here, because she hadn’t even seen the library before. She stepped quietly into the room, avoiding the piles of books, and looked over Percy’s shoulder curiously to see what the book was.

The right page was entirely blank, and the left was halfway filled with what looked like book titles, authors, and a corresponding number for each. She gathered, after looking between the page and the room a few times, that the numbers indicated what shelf the book had been put back on. He was organizing the library. That seemed like a very Percy thing to do, and she smiled.

Percy inhaled sharply. Still asleep, he whispered, “Stop…stop.”

Keyleth winced. She stopped hesitating, and reached out to pat his shoulder. “Percy?”

He gasped and sat up, blinking. His glasses were off-kilter, and as he reached up to adjust them, his hands were obviously shaking. “What?” He looked up at Keyleth, initially annoyed, but his expression quickly softened. “What is it?” he repeated.

“Hi! Is this your library? It’s really nice!” she said cheerfully.

Percy squinted at her, adjusted his glasses again, and said, “No, it isn’t. Isn’t nice, that is, it is certainly mine. Mine and Cassandra’s.”

“Oh, okay. Well! Um, is this where you’ve been all day? ‘Cause I looked for you earlier and I couldn’t find you, so we just kinda left without checking in. Are you doing okay?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ve been in here…since yesterday afternoon, I think.” Percy rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Like, ten?”

“Oh, gods, in the morning?!”

“No! Nooo, no, at night,” Keyleth assured him.

“Thank goodness.” He gave her a searching look. “That makes more sense as to why you’re drunk.”

“Only a little!”

“Mm. Did you need something?” Percy asked.

“Yeahhh, I got a little lost,” she confessed.

He nodded, standing up. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“Let’s--uh, get you to bed,” Keyleth protested half-heartedly as he linked his arm through hers and started walking with her towards the door.

“Mm-hmm.”

“You’re the one falling asleep at your desk!”

“You’re the one getting lost while drunk in the castle you’ve spent the last two weeks living in!” Percy retorted.

“Yeah, well, you’re--your face!” Keyleth said, and she reached up to poke the red line on his cheek where he’d been resting on the book.

“What?”

“I win!”

“Your only victory is deeply confusing me,” Percy told her.

She gasped. “Oh, that reminds me! I have something to show you in my room. Are you sure it’s down this hallway?”

“No, I’m just walking aimlessly until you pass out, at which point I’m going to carry you into the garden so everyone laughs at you tomorrow,” Percy said dryly.

“I actually wouldn’t mind camping in the garden!”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“Did you ever go camping as a kid?” Keyleth asked.

“No, I was a very sad indoor child.”

“Awww, that is sad. Will you go camping with me, Percy?” she requested.

“Not tonight. I’ve been camping with you, Keyleth,” he reminded her. “Several times on our way to Whitestone, in fact.”

“On-the-road camping is different from for-fun camping,” Keyleth said.

“Wonderful, good to know. Oh, look, it’s your room! You were two corridors to the south.” Percy gestured towards a familiar door.

Keyleth giggled. “Oops!”

“Get some sleep,” Percy sighed. “Drink some water, please. Goodnight.”

“Wait, waitwaitwait,” she yelped before he could walk away. “I was gonna show you Fredrickstem!"

"I--pardon?" sputtered Percy.

She nodded. "C'mon, let me introduce you!" Keyleth opened the door and pulled Percy inside and over to her bedside table, lighting one of the lanterns with her flame-hands on the way. She picked up the small ceramic pot on the table, which contained a few handfuls of damp soil and a tiny but flourishing plant. "I named my little plant after you," Keyleth said earnestly.

"Oh, that's...strangely very sweet," Percy said.

"We found him just kind of growing in a crack in the stone wall, and there was no way he would grow there for long, so I just scooped him up and put him in here and I've been taking care of him and he's doing so much better! Look, he's got a second set of leaves already!" she exclaimed.

Percy humored her, leaning in close to take a look at the plant. "And why did you name it after me, may I ask?"

"Well, it's a bit silly, but it was because you're starting to get better after being in a place you couldn't grow too," Keyleth replied. She gave Fredrickstem a very gentle pat with one finger and set the pot back down. "All he needed was a little space and some healthy soil and water and sunlight, and someone looking after him."

Percy laughed softly. "Are you going to pour dirt on me and stick me in the sun now?"

"I mean...getting some sun couldn't hurt," she teased, tossing him a smile. "You are the palest person I've ever met, and that includes the literal vampire. And maybe sticking your hands in the ground and planting something every once in a while would do you some good."

He put his hand up to his chest in a mock-offended way. "Are you suggesting that I, a de Rolo of Whitestone, get my hands dirty?"

Keyleth got a little bit of dirt onto her thumb and smudged it onto his nose before he could pull away.

"Goodnight," he said with another laugh, batting her hands away. "Absolutely ridiculous. I'll leave you to wander the castle next time without any help."

"Goodnight, no you won't!" she called after him as he left the room.

"Watch me!" he returned, but he sounded far too happy to have any intention of following through with the threat.

Grinning, Keyleth got ready for bed (making sure to drink an extra glass of water, like Percy suggested). She fell asleep gazing at the plant on her nightstand and plotting how to convince Percy to help her in the garden when they got back to Greyskull Keep.

#critical role fic #keyleth #percy de rolo #my writing

[marauder-exe]

Prompt List #2

Welcome to my biggest prompt list ever

if you wanna request something from this list, just use the character and ‘ prompt 34 from prompt list #2′ thank u!

Theres like 200 so be wary

Angst

“I love you ! Is that what you wanted to hear ?”

“I love him/her, and I know that I shouldn’t.”

“Can you just shut your mouth ?”

“wHY DO YOU KEEP LYING TO ME ?”

“We both know that I should walk away, but I can’t.”

“Wait, he/she has a girlfriend/boyfriend ?"

“I lo—-” “No, please… Don’t say that. You love her/him, not me.”

"Could you just take this pain away ? It hurts, so much… Help me.”

“You’re safe here, I got you.”

“Don’t ask her out again, please… You’re killing me, every single time you ask that.”

“Look, he/she wants you, just make him/her happy.”

“If you go, I’ll know that you never loved me.”

“We never were just friends, and you know it.” “I know it, but you deserve someone better than me.”

“SHE WAS CRYING BECAUSE OF YOU!!!”

“You love me like I’m the person who actually deserves your love.” “But you are the only one who deserves it.”

“I know for a fact that you’re not “fine”.”

“You’re looking at me like.. you’re disgusted. What did I do? Just tell me what I did, please!”

“What happened between us?”

“Nothing has changed!” “Yes it has, and you know it.”

“Love isn’t supposed to hurt this badly.”

“You said you needed space. You were 5,000 miles away for a year, and you’re still unsure. I’m starting to think that an entire universe apart wouldn’t be enough space for you.”

“I remember when he/she/they used to look at me that way”

“I want you to list every lie you ever told me. Then I’ll forgive you.”

“I don’t hate you. I hate that after all of this, you’re still trying to lie to me”

“I can’t keep this secret for you anymore.”

“I’m sorry I’m not what you signed up for.”

“Why she/her/them? It could have been anybody, and you chose to betray me with her/him/them.”

“This will be the last time you lie to me.”

“You never loved me, did you?”

“You made me miserable and I still loved you.”

“Everytime something goes well, I momentarily forget how much I despise you.”

“We’re never going to have a happy ending, just remember that.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not happy to see me like this.”

“Your mind must be a horrible place.”

“Hand me the gun and I’ll kill him myself.”

“And I thought you loved me."

" And I thought I loved you."

" Aren't you even going to cry?"

“I didn’t expect you to wait forever. I just hoped…”

“Did you always know that you were going to leave?”

“If you cry, I’ll stay, and if I stay that will just give you another reason to hate me.”

“I’m addicted and at this point I don’t think anything could make me stop.”

”If you wanna know, then ask.”

“You never asked because you knew I wouldn’t tell you what you wanted to hear.”

“We grew apart, and at this point I’m glad.”

“Find somebody else to kiss your ass.”

“When are you going to stop clawing for something that’s never going to happen?”

“What you’re doing is going to kill you one day.”

“It was easier to believe that the you I knew was dead than deal with the fact that I still have to see you every day.”

“What you’re doing is going to kill you one day.”

Fluff

51. “You’re hair is really soft after you wash it.”

52. “Ssh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.”

53. “You smell really nice.”

54. “Would it be all right if I borrowed your sweater? It smells like you.”

55. “I might have slept with your robe when you were gone.”

56. “If you steal the blankets, I am going to put my cold feet on you.”

57. “Here, let’s share the blanket.”

58. “You’re comfy.”

59.“You are very endearing when you are half-asleep.”

60.“But I want to hear you sing.”

61.“Don’t get up - I’ll do it.”

62.“Care to give me a back scratch?”

63.“I think I love you.”

64.“Your bed head is really cute.”

65.“How about a kiss?”

66.“You made this for me?”

67.Aw, you’re blushing.”

68. Uh oh, I know that look. What do you want?”

69. “Let me help you with that.”

70. “I don’t want to forget this moment.”

71.“Are you really flirting with me right now?”

72.“I like the way your hand fits in mine.”

73.“You have something in your hair, umm… Do you want me to get it out?”

74.“It’s nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.”

75.“This movie is really scary, but you’re into it so I’m trying not to cover my face the whole time, but- WHAT IS THAT?”

76.“Wait, don’t pull away… Not yet.”

77.“Half the time I get too embarrassed to say anything”

78.“No, it’s fine.  I can wait until you’re done talking to them.”

79.“No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

80.“You’re a big piece of inspiration for this, honestly.”

81.“I’ve been trying to get ready for like an hour and a half, because I know you’re going to look so good and I need to try and match up.”

82.“I wanted to say “I love you” for the first time without stuttering, but that failed.”

83.“My friends get so annoyed by how much I talk about how sometimes.”

84.“No, mom, don’t tell him/her I said that about him/her!”

85.“I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.”

86.“ You are so beautiful — So fucking beautiful. “

87.“And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?”

88.“Wow, you look even better in the daylight.”

89.“I don’t remember ever having this many hickeys. But I don’t mind.”

90.“We could order pizza and just stay like this all day.”

91.“It was always you.”

92.I love you in every possible way.”

93.“I didn’t mean to love you so much.”

94.“Don’t you hurt a single hair on his/her/their head.”

95.“Duck, you idiot!”

96.“Hey. Pal. I’ve got a wand and I’m not afraid to use it.”

97.“Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

98.“It’s not a double date. We’re just third and fourth wheeling.”

99.“Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone.”

100.“I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror..”

Sarcasm

101.“Define normal.” 

102.“Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?” 

103.“Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.” 

104.“Don’t look for any redeeming qualities. I don’t have any.” 

105.“It’s amazing how fast the world can go from bad to total shit storm.”

106.“I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.” 

107.“And you wonder why you’re still single.”

108.“Remind me to kill you. Please.” 

109.“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

110.“She’s crazy. And just when you think you’ve reached the bottom of her craziness, there’s a crazy underground garage.” 

111.“She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but I bet behind close doors she’s latex and whips.”

112.“If my day gets any worse, I’m asking hell if they’re having an exchange program.” 

113.“Sorry. I don’t speak skank.” 

114.“My middle finger salutes you.” 

115.“I don’t have enough middle fingers to let you know how I feel.” 

116.Somebody’s cranky.” “Somebody needs to shut up.” 

117.“Oh darling. Go buy a brain.” 

118.“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” 

119.“All due respect, but that’s a bunch of crap.” 

120.“I am one of the few people in the world who can murder you and leave no forensic evidence behind.”

121.“Excuse me. I have to go make a scene.” 

122.“What did I tell you about calling her/him the devil?” “That it’s offensive to the devil?” 

123.“I heard that!” “You were supposed to!” 

124.“I need therapy after this.” 

125.“You didn’t get in trouble for lying. You got in trouble for lying badly.” 

126.“I turned out liking you a lot more that I originally planned.” 

127.“I think you’re weird.” “I think you’re boring.” 

128.“I’m afraid I’ve been thinking…” “A dangerous pastime.”

129.“Wow, there’s a big surprise. I think I’m going to have a heart attack and die from surprise.” 

130.“I’m gonna hit you so hard, it’ll make you ancestors dizzy.” 

131.“Sarcasm is the body’s natural reaction to stupidity.” 

132.“Well, excuse me, psychic wonder!” 

133.“Don’t look in her eyes, she might steal your soul.” 

134.“She’s hot, but she’s evil.” 

135.“Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably.” 

136.“I already know that I’m going to hell. At this point it’s really go big or go home.” 

137.“I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m a damsel doing damage.” 

138.“So stick that in your juice box and suck it.” 

139.“Never take life seriously. No one ever comes out alive anyway.” 

140.“Sometimes I question my sanity. Occasionally it replies.”

141.“Why should we date?” “Because we are attracted to each other.” “I am attracted to pie, but I do not feel the need to date pie.” 

142.“Neither one us is drunk enough for this conversation.” 

143.“You’re questioning my methods.” “I’m not questioning it, I’m saying it’s stupid.” 

144.“Wow, somebody needs a Happy Meal.” 

145.“I didn’t do it!” “Then why are you laughing?” “Because whoever did it is a freaking genius.” 

146.“Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots.” 

147.“You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.

148.“Obviously you have mistaken me for somebody who gives a shit.” 

149.“Rule number one: don’t bother sucking up. I already hate you, that’s not going to change.” 

150.“You make no sense to me.” “Welcome to my life.” 

Drama

151.“Can you stop thinking about yourself for once?”

152.“Can you stop thinking about yourself for once?” 

153.“Don’t think I forgot about what you did last time.”

154.“I know you lied to me.”

155.“I’m not even sorry.”

156.“You backstabber!” 157.“I never want to see you again.” 158.“You never mattered to me.”

159.“I knew this was a bad idea.”

160.“Rot in hell.”

161.“It was supposed to be a secret!”

162.“No one loves me.” 163.“He/she/they is/are so petty…” 164.“You made me cry.” 165.“I don’t know who you are anymore.” 166.“How DARE you?!” 167.“I know you’re not talking to me…” 168.“I SAW you with him/her/them!”

169.“Just leave me alone.”

170.“What did you do?!” 171.“I told everyone that I didn’t want to talk but I’m actually dying for attention.”

172. “Just admit that was extra…”

173.“I forgive, but I don’t forget.” 174.“Did you see what he/she/they was/were wearing?” 175.“So what if I had sex with your ex?” 176.“There’s something I have to tell you…” 177.“I can’t do this anymore.” 178.“You weren’t there for me when I needed you the most.” 179.“I never loved you.” 180.“It’s too late.”

181.“Quit ignoring me.”

182. “Don’t you get it? It’s because I love you!”

183.“I love you. I’m sorry.”

184.“I don’t want to be friends.”

185.“Can we please pretend I never said that?”

186.“Friendzoned again.”

187.“You should’ve loved me when you had the chance.”

188.“Fuck you for toying with my emotions like that.”

189.“I was there for you when no one else was!”

190.“Alright – I can tell a ‘no’ when I hear it.”

191.“I’m sorry I acted so creepy.”

192.“Fuck. It’s like what they say – nice guys finish last…”

193.“I’m tired of keeping this secret. Even if you don’t love me back.”

194. “I knew that’d be your answer. That’s why I never told you before.”

195.“When I said I loved you, I meant it.”

196.“Is there any part of you, deep down, that might love me back?”

197.“You were the one that left all those notes for me?”

198.“You’re in a relationship with another person – you know this can’t end well.”

199.“We agreed this was just physical!”

200.“I love you. I know you don’t love me, so don’t say it back.”

Ahhh im sorry that was so long, but if you read all the way to here, your a real one.

Again i write for all Hp characters! Feel free to use these prompts as ur own

#harry potter x reader #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #ron weasley x reader #charlie weasley x reader #bill weasley x reader #ginny weasley x reader #draco malfoy x reader #blaise zabini x reader #cedric diggory x reader #oliver wood x reader #luna lovegood x reader #sirius black x reader #severus snape x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #regulus black x reader #prompt list #hermione granger x reader #lily evans x reader

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 1

Summary: Catherine Sinclair is the younger, estranged half-sister of renowned F1 driver James Hunt. Things get a bit complicated when she decides to reenter James’ life and ends up meeting his rival - Niki Lauda. Engines ignite as Catherine finds herself caught between her feelings for Niki and the rivalry that the two men share. Will she pump the brakes or let herself crash in the inferno?

Pairing: Niki Lauda (Rush 2013) x fem!OC Catherine Sinclair

Word Count: 1k

Rating: E for eventual smut

T/W: language, eventual smut, hot second of accidental implied incest (but there is none), rivalry, mentions of substance use, F1 racing, mentions of extramarital affairs & pregnancy

A/N: So while this is OC I’ve written it as minimalist as possible so it's virtually a niki x reader, also I’m unsure if the Nurburgring crash will occur in the story. My vibe is like mixing the ‘75 and ‘76 seasons so that James is McLaren but that Niki doesn’t have the accident/will win the season. We will see how it goes.

You made your way through the crowd of people looking for a quiet spot. The pit buzzed with excitement, each of the drivers and their crew preparing for today's race. Only those with passes were supposed to be in this section. No one paid you any mind as you wandered.

Originally you intended to find your estranged brother when you arrived. Now that you were here though you felt as though there was a rock in your stomach. You had snuck into the pit to find him and his tent was easy enough to spot, but nerves made you delay. I'll just find him after the race, you thought as you continued to watch the cars fly on the track.

The pleats in your skirt blew in the cool early spring breeze, dusting your calves. Oversized sun glasses perched on your nose, you took a minute to watch the bustle around you.

Some 30 meters away one of the drivers noticed you looking out of place. Usually when women entered the pit it was on the arm of a driver. There was something different about you. Confident stature, yet your face suggested you were unsure of yourself in the unfamiliar territory that was Formula 1. He wondered why you were alone. The man couldn't help but notice how naturally attractive you were. It was a kind of subtle beauty, rather than overemphasized like in the movies and magazines. You didn't look as though you were there to catch the eye of someone, unlike most. He turned away and resumed setting up the car.

"Hey Niki, there's gonna be a party at the Lotus hub later. You should come, have a little fun for once, " Clay offered.

"No, thank you."

"Aw come on, you always say no!"

"And yet you always ask," Niki shot back. He wanted to focus on the race and his strategy to beat Hunt.

"You need to make friends, Niki. Talk to some people. They all think you're an asshole."

"So what? Let them think I'm an asshole, I don't care."

Clay threw up his hands in defeat before leaving Niki to himself. Niki watched him walk back towards his own vehicle before beginning to turn back to his own. Looking to his left towards where you had been standing a minute before he noticed you had vanished.

Finally finding a bit of calm, you leaned against a trailer to watch the race. The drivers had all lined up in position. With a deafening blast the cars shot off along the track.

Time went rather quickly as you watched. James was neck and neck with another driver for most of it. You weren’t even in the race yet you felt alive with adrenaline. In the second to last lap you were sure James was going to place second, behind one of the Ferraris. Suddenly James pulled tight around a curve, whipping past the Ferrari by what looked like inches before settling in the lead.

The last lap blurred by with Hunt in first. He crossed the finish line mere seconds before the Ferrari. People screamed and cheered for Hunt; you yourself broke out into a grin. James celebrated at the podium with his bottle of champagne, the press eating up his theatrics.

You made your way closer to the track and your brother but stayed at a distance so as to not disturb the revelry.

"Can I help you?" came an accented gruff from behind you. Spinning, you saw one of the drivers standing there with his hands on his hips, sweaty with his red track suit partially unzipped. You hadn't realized how close you were standing to his car - the red Ferrari.

"Oh no I'm sorry - I didn't mean to be in the way…"

"You're not." He stared at you and pursed his lips. You shuffle your feet, unable to look away from his gaze. "Is this your first race?"

"How could you tell?"

"Why aren't you joining the party?" was his retort.

"I'm not really the type." He nodded once. "So that was you out there competing against the McLaren?" You weren’t quite ready to reveal that you knew James just yet.

"Yes." He really doesn't say much, does he?

Niki could sense the growing awkwardness between the two of you. "You need to be more friendly, people will think you're an asshole" Clay was always reminding him. He didn't know why but he felt he wanted to make an impression on you. Licking his lips he added "I often find myself competing with Hunt. He has talent. But he has no regard for risk. That curve was my line, I had it. He could've killed us both," Niki scowled.

Agreeing, you said "sounds about right for him. He made some ballsy moves today. It was thrilling watching the two of you compete. You're really talented."

"Thank you," his tone was cocky.

You continued to chat with the driver about the race. He explained how the points system worked to you, adding in that he and James had been neck and neck all season. Niki enjoyed your company. He found it refreshing that you actually wanted to know more about what it was he did, that you weren’t there seeking fame and attention. He was even more impressed that despite knowing very little about F1 you had some knowledge of cars. “My older brother really likes them,” you shrugged.

“Perhaps you will come to the next race?”

“It really depends on what I’ve got going on, I am a busy girl,” you laughed.

“Hopefully not too busy to come by the garage this week. I would like to hear your ideas about setting up the car.” Niki figured there wouldn’t be anything you could suggest that he hadn’t already thought of, but he liked talking with you. You seemed practical, and he was a practical guy himself.

“I don’t even know your name.”

He held out his hand for you to shake; “Niki Lauda.”

“Catherine Sinclair.”

Tags: @ay0nha

#niki lauda x reader #niki lauda fanfiction #niki lauda rush 2013 #daniel bruhl niki lauda #niki lauda x oc #rush 2013 #daniel bruhl fanfiction #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle #scuttle-buttle masterlist

[korstudying]

Conversation practice💬

Nothing is more annoying than feeling like you know a lot, but then a conversations happens and you end up having no idea how to actually speak. This is mostly because you learn grammar points and random vocabulary. Now it’s time to connect the two! How? Simple! Below are three English conversations, now it’s your turn to translate them. You can switch it up with other subjects, verbs, anything! 즐겁게 공부하세요!

Article #74 A New Baby

Mr Palmer: Well, hello, Mr Wallace. You seem unusually happy today. Mr Wallace: I just became a father! Mr Palmer: Congratulations. A boy or a girl? Mr Wallace: You never saw such a cute girl. Nine pounds, three ounces...and as cute as a button. Mr Palmer: Doesn't this call for cigars? Mr Wallace: Oh, yes. I forgot about the cigars. Here, have one. Mr Palmer: Thank you. How is your wife? Mr Wallace: She's just fine.

Article #75 Is English Difficult?

Nancy: Where are you going? Maggie: To Canada. Nancy: Why are you going there? Maggie: I'm going to learn English; there is a school there that has an excellent program. Nancy: Is learning English going to be difficult? Maggie: Yes. I have to study and practice a lot. Nancy: Where is your school? Maggie: It's in a town called St.Catharines. In Ontario. Nancy: I'm jealous, I'll bet you're excited. Maggie: Yes, but I'm also really nervous.

Article #76 Washing His Car

Debbie: Where's Kevin? Tania: He's in front of the house. Debbie: What is he doing? Tania: Washing his car. Debbie: Not again? Tania: Yes, he takes good care of his car. Debbie: But he never cleans his room. Tania: I know. It's always dirty. Debbie: And nothing is in order. Tania: You're right. His room is a mess. Debbie: Maybe he should move into his car!

#Korean #Studyblr #Study #Koreanblr #Langblr #Learn #Language #Learning #Studying #Language Learning #Practice #Conversations #Writing #Grammar #Vocabulary #Vocab #Words

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Alternate History: November 22, 1963

If John F. Kennedy survived his assassination attempt in 1963, he would almost certainly win re-election in 1964, so long as he kept Lyndon B. Johnson on as his VP. The Civil Rights Act would be stalled in Congress without Johnson as president to put pressure on conservative Democrats, but its still popular enough that it would become a campaign promise instead. Kennedy defeats Republican segregationist Barry Goldwater with a respectable majority, though not the 60-40 landslide of Johnson in our timeline. The Civil Rights Act passes in 1965 or 1966, and Kennedy commits fewer atrocities in Vietnam (his opponents call him soft or communism even though he was literally shot at by a communist sympathizer, he just doesn’t want to have another military failure like the Bay of Pigs in 62)

In 1968, the Democratic nomination is a two-way race between Lyndon B. Johnson and Kennedy’s own brother and Attorney General Bobby. Johnson and Bobby HATE each other, and they don’t pull any punches; Johnson had a history of opposing civil rights in the 50s, but he was instrumental in helping Kennedy secure the senate votes for filibuster cloture and passage in the 60s. Bobby Kennedy abused his post to act as his brothers personal lawyer, helping cover up some less than reputable decisions. It’s neck and neck going into the primaries. Johnson has more experience, but Bobby Kennedy is younger and more charismatic, and would have John’s endorsement. He would almost certainly be assassinated by Sirhan Sirhan, same as in our timeline, because of his support for Israel. Sirhan was an anti-Zionist Palestinian, and in our timeline he killed Bobby when he was a senator running for president in 1968. If JFK was never assassinated, Bobby would stay on in his cabinet as AG instead of becoming a senator in 64; as AG, he was his brothers main advisor for foreign and domestic policy, so he would be at the forefront of the American response to the Six Day War in 1967 in which the Arab states tried to push Israel into the sea. Sirhan would have even greater motivation to kill him in this timeline for supporting Israel in the war, so Johnson would probably become the Democratic nominee. He would probably still pick Hubert Humphrey as his VP, as he did in our 1964, because Humphrey was a liberal civil rights activist in the senate, also instrumental in passing the Civil Rights Act. Humphrey is closer in line to Bobby Kennedy, so Johnson is able to unite the party following his death.

The Republicans in 68 would be split between the moderates led by New York governor Nelson Rockefeller and the conservatives led by California governor Ronald Reagan. In our timeline, following the total repudiation of Goldwater conservatism in 64, the Republicans picked the middle-of-the-road Richard Nixon (he was their nominee in 1960 but lost to JFK, then lost the governorship of California in 1962, after which he promised to leave politics forever, but rescinded that promise when he saw he could run as the anti-Goldwater with his former boss Eisenhower’s endorsement). In this timeline, he would be considered a political laughingstock for his defeats; everyone would compare him to his very popular and successful opponent JFK, so he wouldn’t stand a chance against either his brother or his VP in 68. In our timeline, Reagan came in second in the Republican primaries, followed by Rockefeller at a distant third. In this timeline, Rockefeller would rocket into first without competition from Nixon. Rockefeller was a liberal Republican (sounds like an oxymoron today, but they used to exist), so he would probably pick Reagan as his VP to balance the ticket, holding onto conservative voters.

1968: Johnson/Humphrey vs Rockefeller/Reagan, it would be very close and would depend heavily on ultraconservative segregationist George Wallace, who ran as a spoiler in our 68, splitting the Democratic vote and giving the presidency to Nixon. Humphrey was a Midwestern Democrat, Wallace a southerner, so they represented two very different sides of the party. In this timeline, both Johnson and Wallace are southerners, so Wallace wouldn’t stand nearly as much a chance; our Johnson and this Kennedy lost the south to Goldwater in 64, but this Johnson would probably be able to crowd Wallace out of the race and run without intraparty opposition. In this case, I think Johnson/Humphrey would win.

1972, Johnson is in very poor health, but the last president to choose not to run for re-election was Rutherford B. Hayes (1877 - 1881). Johnson/Humphrey would run again, this time against Ronald Reagan at the top of the Republican ticket. Reagan didn’t run in our 72 because Nixon was a popular incumbent, but he ran in our 76 and nearly unseated incumbent Ford because he was unpopular for pardoning Nixon. If Reagan picked a moderate as his VP, as he did in our timeline with George Bush, he would probably pick George W. Romney, the outgoing governor of Michigan (and father of Mitt). The Johnson/Humphrey ticket would have a slight incumbency advantage over the Reagan/Romney ticket, but Reagan is still super popular, so there’s probably even odds he gets elected. To make it interesting, let’s say that he wins the popular vote and loses the electoral college; this has never happened to a Republican, they have always been the beneficiary of these loopholes

1824: Democratic-Republican turned National Republican John Quincy Adams loses the popular vote to Democrat Andrew Jackson, but wins the electoral college. I actually approve of this one because Jackson was a genocidal warmonger who inspired Hitler (that’s not hyperbole or Godwin’s law, it’s true, look it up). Jackson won the rematch in 1828

1876: Republican Rutherford B. Hayes lost the popular vote to Democrat Samuel Tilden, and some closed-doors corruption gave him the electoral college by exactly one vote, on the condition that he end Reconstruction and allow the south to rule itself without federal oversight. This created Jim Crow, which haunts us to this day.

1888: Republican Benjamin Harrison loses the popular vote to Democratic President Grover Cleveland, the first and so far only sitting president to lost in such a manner. Cleveland would win the rematch in 1892, again becoming the first and so far only president to win a non-consecutive second term. Cleveland won the popular vote three times in a row, a feat only surpassed by FDR’s four terms 40 years later.

2000: Republican George W. Bush lost the popular vote to Democrat Al Gore. Bush would have lost the electoral college too, but his brother Jeb was the governor of Florida and illegally ordered the state to stop the federally mandated recount. The state was too close to call, and later investigations show that if the recount had continued it would have gone for Gore, giving him the presidency, but Jeb and he 5-4 conservative Supreme Court gave it to George on a technicality; “oh, it’s too late to restart the recount, sorry, better luck next time.”

2016: Republican Donald Trump loses the popular vote to Democrat Hillary Clinton. Trump was divisive because he was an idiot racist sexual predator, and Clinton was divisive because she was a disingenuous career politician who a lot of people hated for a variety of valid but less substantial reasons (Banghazi wasn’t her fault, but she still acted as though she was entitled to the Democratic nomination, like it was her birthright, that anybody who dared challenge her was interfering in Herstory). She lost because of low voter turnout in the rust belt and disproportionate media attention paid to third party candidates; had Johnson and Stein not been taken seriously, she probably would have carried Wisconsin, Michigan, or Pennsylvania (at least one, maybe two or all three), possibly winning the presidency. Now, whether or not Russia interfered on Trumps behalf and changed votes in those states is unconfirmed; I believed it for a while, but then Biden won them all in 2020, which shows that Clinton was just a historically weak candidate. If Russia could change votes to give Trump a victory in 2016, they absolutely would have done it again in 2020.

In this timeline’s 1972, Democrat Lyndon B. Johnson lost the popular vote to Republican Ronald Reagan, but eked by with a slim electoral college victory. Now, our Johnson died on January 22, 1973 of a heart attack, which would be just two days into this Johnson’s second term, but I believe he would have survived slightly longer in this timeline. The presidency ages you; inheriting it in 63 and holding it until 69 definitely put more stress on him than if he had remained VP under Kennedy the whole time. This version of Johnson didn’t fumble Vietnam, so he isn’t despised by the public as he was in our 68 (he was eligible to run for a third term, but chose not to because he didn’t think he had enough support to win). This Johnson would probably survive well into 1973 or maybe even 1974 before dying, giving the presidency to Hubert Humphrey.

In 1976, the Midwestern Humphrey would run with a southerner as his VP. In our timeline, he ran in 1968 and chose northerner Edmund Muskie of Maine, and lost because of southern opposition from Wallace. To secure he south, he would NEED a southerner; if he was going for a moderate he’d pick Georgia governor Jimmy Carter, if he was going for a conservative he’s go with Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia (he would almost certainly pick Carter because Byrd led the filibuster opposition against the Civil Rights Act which Humphrey fought for, making them rivals on the matter). Because Reagan was so popular and got more votes in 72, he would probably become the Republican nominee again; it’s not unlike what the Democrats did in the 50s, running Adlai Stephenson against Dwight Eisenhower in both 1952 and 1956, or our timeline’s Republicans running Richard Nixon in 1960 and 1968. Reagan would pick a conservative as his running mate this time, probably Bob Dole; in our timeline, Gerald Ford picked fellow moderate Nelson Rockefeller as his VP in 74, but replaced him with Dole in 76 because he needed conservative support. I think that Reagan would shuck moderate support after losing in 68 and 72, in favor of a full conservative ticket. Reagan/Dole would defeat Humphrey/Carter in a landslide, ending 16 years of Democratic rule.

In 1980, Reagan/Dole would run for re-election against someone like Teddy Kennedy. In our timeline, Teddy challenged incumbent Carter in the primaries, and just barely lost. In this timeline, he would be he frontrunner, and would have his older brother’s endorsement. JFK would probably live into the early 1990s in this timeline; his sisters all lived to be in their 80s and 90s, but Teddy (his only surviving brother) died in his 70s. John was chronically unhealthy, suffering from Addison’s Disease, so he would probably die younger than Teddy, so 1994 at the latest. At this point, to see who wins we need to look at foreign policy; Vietnam is over, ended by Johnson or Humphrey, both of whom would be likely to reach detente with the Soviets and establish relations with the Chinese as our Nixon had. These are major achievements, but the election would come down to Iran; our Carter lost because he fumbled three Iranian crises in quick succession;

The Revolution: in the 1950s, Iran had a functioning democracy, and as an independent state it decided to distance itself from western powers to preserve Persian interests in the Middle East. Eisenhower overthrew the democracy and installed a pro-America puppet monarchy led by the Shah, who was in turn overthrown by religious extremists in 1979, installing the theocracy we know today run by the Ayatollah. Eisenhower destroyed Iran, and everyone up to and including Carter were complicit.

The Oil Shock: the new Islamic Republic of Iran decided it didn’t want to continue giving away oil to the United States as the puppet government had, so exports dried up, exacerbated by a war with Iraq the following year. Oil prices skyrocketed, and we were hit with a global recession.

The Hostage Crisis: a group of pro-revolutionary students took over the US Embassy in late 1979, holding 52 Americans hostage for over a year and a half. Carter eventually negotiated their release, but Reagan got all the credit because they weren’t let go until January 20, 1981, Reagan’s first day in office, making him look like he solved it all by himself.

Reagan was a warmonger who wanted to heat up the Cold War, and it was only because of his VP George Bush that we avoided the apocalypse. Bush specialized in foreign policy, and helped ease tensions with the USSR when he became president himself in our 1988, working with Mikhail Gorbachev to end the Cold War. In this timeline, no Bush means no detente, means we very likely would go to war with Iran over oil, becoming this timelines equivalent to the first Gulf War. Reagan would fight hard to restore the Shah, probably triggering a second revolution and an Iranian Civil War. This very same year, the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan to try and inch its way closer to the warm water ports of the Indian Ocean, which is an entirely new crisis for him to deal with. In our timeline, he responded to the Soviet invasion by giving money and weapons to the Mujahideen, an anti-communist militia led by none other than Osama Bin Laden. Bid Laden would turn against the US government in the 80s and 90s, bombing and eventually knocking down the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. If Eisenhower destroyed Iran, Reagan destroyed Afghanistan.

BUT, here’s the thing; Iran was our sworn enemy in the 1980s, but our Reagan decided they were a necessary evil in order for him to push his conservative agenda overseas. In 1985, Reagan decided he wanted to overthrow the left wing government of Nicaragua by funding the Contras, a right wing rebel group, but Congress told him he wasn’t allowed to do that. Instead of accepting it, he decided to fund them under the table, selling weapons to Iran to raise the money in secret. This was textbook Treason with a capital T, again literally, not hyperbole. Providing aid to our enemies is the definition of treason, a word that gets thrown around so often that people forget how serious a charge it is. By giving Iran weapons just a few years after the revolution and hostage crisis, Reagan could have gone to jail for life or been executed, but he shifted blame onto some underlings and covered it up, narrowly avoiding impeachment; he and VP Bush would go on to pardon their co-conspirators, so everyone got off scot free.

So, imagine Reagan in this 1980 gaming both sides of the Iran War; propping up a puppet monarchy AND selling weapons to the religious extremists AND sending money to Osama Bin Laden in Afghanistan in place of the Nicaraguan Contras. In this timeline, we didn’t have a Nixon presidency, so there was no Watergate Scandal. Whatever Reagan gets into in 1980 would become this timeline’s equivalent, only worse because he wasn’t able to learn from Nixon’s mistakes and cover it all up as thoroughly. If this didn’t tank his re-election chances, he would almost certainly be impeached at the start of his second term. Dole was just some schmuck from Kansas, not the head of he CIA like Bush, so he wouldn’t be able to help Reagan out of this mess. If Reagan resigned like Nixon, Dole would pardon him like Ford, though I suspect Reagan would try to ride out impeachment because he’d rather be acquitted than quit. Our Nixon lost all support from even his own party after Watergate, so it’s likely that this Reagan would have the same disadvantage; our Reagan was beloved by Republicans, and still is to this day (they think he can do no wrong, even though he nuked the middle class and let the obscenely rich take control of every aspect of our lives, socially and economically), so maybe he would still have support, but not as much because in this timeline he would become Nixon. Nixon won in 1972 with a 49 state landslide, but resigned in shame just 2 years later; it’s very likely that his Reagan would follow suit, losing all credibility regardless of how much support he has at the start. It would depend on whether or not the Democrats had the balls to investigate him until they struck oil.

All this time I’ve been assuming that Congress would remain the same throughout this timeline, with longstanding Democratic majorities in both houses, but I failed to account for how vulnerable seats would change in the alternate 1972 and 1982 reapportionments. After 16 years of Democratic rule from 1961 to 1977, Congressional Republicans would likely gain support from the public, maybe even pushing the Republican Revolution of the 90s ahead by a decade or two. Johnson/Humphrey would become Bill Clinton, competent and popular, but the perfect boogeymen for the Republicans to rise up against.

I’ll continue this scenario tomorrow after doing more research to see what the alternate Congress would look like. Going forward from here depends heavily on which party is in power when Reagan goes for a second term during the Iran Crises.

#alternate history #alt history #alternate universe #au #ah #jfk #John f Kennedy #LBJ #Richard Nixon #Ronald Reagan #Kennedy #Johnson #Nixon #Reagan #1964 #1968 #1972 #1976 #1980 #politics #political #essay #sotu #state of the union #Iran

[supermanshield]

Naps are overrated, anyway

~~~

There is a picture in the watchtower cafeteria of Superman and Batman, asleep on the Javelin. 

This is the story of how it came to be, and why Batman let it be.

~~~

Words: 4,092

Relationship: Clark/Bruce

A/N: I had the idea for this story a year ago. For the longest time, the summary you see right now was all I had typed out. Only now, after reading a bunch of JLA vol. 1 did I finally find the right characters, the right feeling and overall vibe, and wrote this in the past three days. 

It doesn’t completely comply with continuity, because while I imagine this set somewhere in the 1997-2006 JLA run, Bruce mentions 6 kids (he would have only had 2 at the time + a dead Jason), although they don’t make an appearance. And I'm actually not sure if the Javelin is a thing in that run, maybe that's just a DCAU thing. Just go with it.

Also, Bruce is a bit of a boomer in this. idk, I had fun writing him. 

Read on AO3

______________________________________________

Batman doesn’t nap.

.

However, that is not to say that Bruce doesn't. He's nearing 45 years of age, not a grey hair on his head, but if he were to grow a beard now, or a moustache like his father, it would show a mix of salt and pepper, so he shaves it off, vigorously and every day. Moustache and beard, those are the first things to turn grey. Then the eyebrows. When that happens, Bruce will lose. He will give in to his age and keep his beard. Not yet. If Clark ever walks in on him during his morning ritual (probably soon), he will look at him with that forgiving smile. He will say what he thinks of it, because that's what he does. (Keep it, I like it, Bruce hopes secretively, but there is a sadness present in Clark's eyes that he will never completely understand, and that's exactly why he shaves).

Clark has seen it already though, he's sure. His 5 o'clock shadow must look like a foggy forest to Clark’s microscopic vision, and even worse in the morning, right before his shave. Clark hasn't mentioned it. A conversation for another day.

If his children ever found out about this particular insecurity, all 6 of them would laugh.

 Bruce never really napped, or took time out of the day to simply rest, but now, Clark is there. To pull him onto the couch in the study when he's on his way to his desk. To keep him in bed after sex and before patrol. To fly through his window at WE at 50 floors up and pat next to himself on the couch in Bruce's office, door locked, and red cape hung up in the corner.

"It's time," he says. Every time. "You need one."

Bruce will raise his eyebrows. "Already, hmm?" he asks, almost every time.

He's made the mistake of sending him away before. (He won't do that again). Clark is the most stubborn man Bruce knows. He will say the same thing about Bruce, but that's beside the point. And It's not as if Clark distracts him from a case or work; he knows exactly when he has some time and is unable to make excuses.

Bruce is used to taking 20-minute power naps in uncomfortable positions on his desk chair, at the kitchen table behind the newspaper, with his feet up in the batmobile.

Clark sets the alarm for one hour. He pulls Bruce into a horizontal position against that broad chest, either spooning him or facing him, encasing him in his large arms (there are still 76 ways out of his hold, but Bruce can't think of a single one worth a try). They sleep.

Apparently Clark needs naps too, even though he doesn’t need sleep. Bruce has been meaning to ask him about that, wonders if it's a mental thing, a kind of meditation. Therapy.

His naps are dreamless. Afterwards, his return to consciousness is quick, he reorients on the surroundings, on Clark. Kissing him is a good strategy for grounding, Bruce has found. And just like that, they get on with their day again, because there is no time for dwelling, for another moment together. Nevertheless, Bruce is happy with what he does get. It’s more of Clark - and more time with him - than he deserves already.

 So, Bruce naps.

 ---

 After a long mission off-world, the league is on their way home towards the watchtower in the javelin. Diana is flying, with J’onn at her side in the co-pilot chair. The rest of them are hauled up in the back of the vehicle, they’re tired, exhausted, just trying to get some rest. Even Wally sits still. Only Batman is pacing up and down, his mind already on Gotham, on home, the cases that were open, the ones that he was *this* close to cracking. Batman doesn’t nap.

His mind is wandering, going at a speed that would make even Clark dizzy, but the puzzle pieces don’t make sense. Yet. His heavy boots are silent on the metal floor of the javelin, his cape a mere whisper of wind behind him as he turns to pace the other way again.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Hawkgirl’s voice cuts through the relative silence of flying through space (beeping, machinery, turbines, the jet - there’s a lot). She holds up one of her large wings, cutting Batman off from his path. “Sit down.”

He does. Next to Superman. A big mistake, although he doesn’t realize it until much later. No need to upset his teammates. He can meditate instead, stay awake. The noise of the jet doesn’t make it easy, but it can be done. Clark smiles calmly at him.

He sits straight, eyes open, breathing focused, and the turmoil in his brains slows down. Soon, they’ll reach Earth’s solar system and he’ll have access to the batcomputer. Not soon enough. Next to him, Superman is a steady support of a brick wall, but his shoulder feels warm and soft against Bruce’s, even through the suit. Underneath the cape and hidden from view, Clark’s thumb rubs circles into his side, lower back. He knows exactly what he’s doing. A Pavlovian effect has Bruce relaxing his shoulders, if only slightly. None of his teachers ever taught him how to deal with a superman when trying to meditate. His superman. His annoyingly super man.

His last thought is of Clark, and that it must be irritating to have a bat ear poking into his cheek. But then again, rarely anything physical ever annoys the Man of Steel. Then, finally, he dozes off, the roar of the jet diminished to a distant snoring.

 ---

 Bruce is proud of the watchtower. His watchtower. It stands erect on the bright side of the moon, pointing towards earth. Always looking out. Within such an enormous structure however, some simple rules are needed. There is a long list next to the fridge in the break room, and one in the meeting room. No running unless there is an emergency. Masks on outside of one’s own room. Food is to stay in the cafeteria (he’s found everyone and Clark with various wrappers and chips bags in the monitor room, so he gave up on that – it’s crossed out). Training gear stays in the gym. The coffee machine has to be cleaned once every 2 days - the stuff isn’t that good, not what Bruce is used to, but it has helped him through several meetings and dull monitor duties in the past.

. 

A couple days after returning from their outer space mission on the javelin, Bruce returns to the watchtower. There are several new members to have a meeting about. He has made up his mind on all of them already, the meeting is merely a formality.

Connor Hawke runs past – one of the new proposed members, codename Green Arrow after his father – and Supergirl flies over his head. “No running.” He stops them both with one move of his arm and a line on a batarang.

Kara turns towards him and slips out of his trap easily. “I wasn’t even running, B,” she says while she floats down. Connor has crossed his arms and looks out the window, Batman’s line still taut around his upper arms.

“There are rules. If you want to be in the Justice League, behave like it.” He reminds her of the proper use of code names too, for good measure, and unties Connor.

With a sigh, both young heroes are off, making their way towards the break room. Bruce follows them and finds Wally and Kyle already inside, but as soon as they see Batman turn the corner they scurry out through the door on the other side.  

It’s the first clue that something is amiss. The newer heroes standing around the fridge and chuckling, the second. Bruce lays eyes on the offending appliance and feels his body tense. If smoke could come out of his ears, it would.

“Flash!”

 ---

 The standard size piece of paper lies on one of the metal surfaces in the computer area of the cave. Bruce tries to ignore it while he works, but the primary colours of Superman’s suit in the image are a thorn in his peripheral vision. With a swift move and a smack, he turns it around, and gets back to his files. He has sent his notes for the meeting to the watchtower, reported that he’s too busy to attend.

He works on some of his own active cases, gathering data and looking at evidence. Most of it is paperwork, boring but necessary. He slowly makes his way through every file, meticulously and efficiently. Everything gets reported and written down in case a pattern reveals itself later. The puzzling can be done when he’s more focused. Meanwhile, the cases that are solved and closed get a little custom-made bat-stamp on the front of their manila folder before they get filed away. Alfred brings down coffee, the good kind. Time passes quickly and he’s still busy when Clark flies in.

“Hey,” he walks up to Bruce and bends down for a quick kiss. “I thought you’d be at the meeting today. Diana said you were busy.”

Bruce points to the piece of paper in explanation, Clark turns to grab it. “Wally happened. And I’m always busy.”

“I see. He seemed almost unnaturally giddy today. Oh hey, look.” Clark holds up the picture of Batman and Superman, asleep on the javelin. In it, Clark’s face is peaceful, his mouth open, despite one of the ears on the cowl that is indeed poking his cheek. “We look cute.”

“Batman doesn’t do cute, Clark.”

Clark sighs. But you do, his eyes seem to say. No, I don’t, Bruce replies with his. “Where’d you get this, anyway?”

“Wally put it up on the fridge in the watchtower cafeteria. You didn’t notice him taking it last week?”

“Clearly,” Clark points to the Clark in the picture. “I fell asleep.”

“And here I thought you always listened to your surroundings.”

“We were in space. Not exactly much I can hear out there.”

Bruce gets up from his chair. Having a Superman has once again proven useless. Only Clark can do something so silly and time-wasting as sleeping, on purpose. Naps are overrated, anyway. They’ve had this discussion many times, Bruce knows the outcome. *Always* be on high alert, he will say. Clark will push back, it’s not that simple, he will say. Everyone needs sleep, his eyes pleading, apologetically somehow. They do.  But it has taken Bruce obtaining Clark’s powers in a freak magic accident and chasing after the sun and every criminal on the planet for 72 hours straight to realise that. Now he knows the desperation, the feeling that it will never end, the knowledge that in the end, not everyone can be saved, even if you try.

Everyone needs sleep, even Superman.

Clark watches him milling through these thoughts, it must be written on his face, and holds out his hand when Bruce’s features finally relax. He’ll just have a stern talking-to with Wally and Kyle next time he’s on the watchtower.

 .

 If only it were so simple. The next time he’s on the watchtower, the picture is back on the fridge. And in the main hallway. And in the transporter room, the trophy room, and the ground level bathroom. Bruce groans, suppresses the urge to face-palm. He takes the things down one by one, systematically going through the entire watchtower. Then, he has that talk with Wally. And with Kyle. Best to keep them separated. They snicker that it wasn’t them *this* time, and don’t seem scared of him at all.  

He’s either gone too soft in his old (not old, mature) age, or he should have designed the watchtower with a lot more corners for menacing shadows.

Wally and Kyle are both telling the truth, Bruce finds out in the next couple of days when more pictures return while Kyle is off in space and Wally is busy on earth. This time, it’s not just the one of them sleeping on the Javelin. A bunch of pictures have been put up in the break room. There’s one of Clark, asleep on monitor duty with his feet on the console (Bruce makes a mental note to talk to him about that). There, right there, that’s the reason why there always have to be two leaguers watching the screens. J’onn looking desperately at a small pile of Oreo crumbles on the floor of the meeting room. Diana vigorously devouring a tub of chocolate ice cream. And Batman, pointing at the camera, the other hand on his hip.

He has no idea who took it, but it has to be one of the speedsters. All he knows is that this has to stop. No matter if one finds this kind of thing funny, there are rules, privacy issues, secret identities and all that.

The security footage that Bruce watches back in the cave that night reveal some of the newer, younger members of the league sneaking around the watchtower with a roll of tape. They don’t know where all the cameras are, clearly. They don’t know the rules, clearly. Wally and Kyle have to have set them up to do this, clearly.

Clark watches with him over his shoulder. He chuckled when Bruce showed him the evidence earlier, but now his face is serious. He mouths an Oh. “This is getting out of hand. I’ll organize a meeting tomorrow.”

---

 The next day, in the biggest meeting hall on the watchtower, over 30 faces stare at them from across the large round table. Diana and J’onn are seated on their side, for good measure. They’re victims in this too. It’s intimidating to be called to the watchtower by Superman and Batman for a meeting on professional conduct, and even more intimidating to sit across four of the original members, especially for the new ones in the crowd. Good, Bruce thinks. He stands up, and so does Clark.

“Welcome, everyone,” Clark starts, the warm and commanding baritone all Superman. “We’re glad you could all make it on such short notice…” While Clark talks, Bruce regards the crowd of heroes standing nervously, or sitting on the few available chairs. Firestorm’s flame burns smaller than normal, the new Green Arrow has his bow clamped between both hands, and even Plastic Man seems to genuinely pay attention to Superman. Wally has his chin in his hands on the table, pretending to be interested, and Kyle only seems to pay attention to a scratch on the table’s surface. “…today is not an emergency, but it is important nonetheless…” Get to the point, Clark. “It seems that whilst we acquire more and more members for the JL, some of you think this is some sort of club and not an international organization to protect the earth,” he drones on. Arthur sighs, and for once, Bruce agrees with him.  

“I will not tolerate this any longer,” Bruce cuts Superman off brusquely, in his most serious bat-voice. “Take all pictures down. And if I see another one…”

Wally huffs, interrupting him. “No fun allowed on this godforsaken rock.”

Before Bruce can retort, Clark puts a hand on his tense shoulder. “What Batman is trying to say, is we can’t do this. Even if it seems harmless. Because if we get careless about the little things, we get sloppy, and if we get sloppy, the wrong information might fall into the wrong hands.”

“You’re just as paranoid as he is,” Plastic man points at Batman. “It’s a couple of harmless images.”

“And what did I just say?”

“You’re saying no fun allowed,” Kyle supplies this time. Once again, Bruce takes tremendous effort to suppress a face-palm, and crosses his arms instead. He grunts. Really, they have 37 children here. Not just the 6 back home – a rookie number. 37, except maybe not Diana. Maybe. “Man, we bust our butts for you guys. I’m behind at work, barely get any sleep or free time and you’re getting on our case for something as dumb as this!” Kyle throws his arms up in anger. Behind him, Connor tries to shush him.

“This is work just as much as your civilian job. And more important on top of that. If you want to slack off, you can do that back home. Not here.”

“Grumpy much, bats? Someone missed their morning coffee today…” Wally mumbles.

They continue staring at each other, but it’s Superman who breaks first, uncrosses his arms and sighs. “You can have a couch in the break room… and a tv.” he looks at Bruce. At his expense, of course. “That’s it. No more images of JL members. Leave your personal lives at home.”

“Fine,” Wally sits up. “We’ll take them down.”

 ---

 A couple days later, Bruce is back on the watchtower. No weird pictures greet him this time. Much cleaner. He steadily makes his way to the break room to grab a coffee before the current meeting, but only because he didn’t have time to wait for Alfred’s Italian brew anymore. Clark is with him, already more cheerful because of Bruce’s relatively better mood.

The cafeteria is still empty, the little kitchen still clean. Save for the fridge. There, prominently in the middle of the door, the original picture of Batman and Superman on the Javelin stares him squarely in the face. It’s held up by a pair of small Wonder Woman magnets this time. Clark says something behind him, but Bruce isn’t paying attention. As he gets closer, he can tell it’s different. The paper is thicker, a nicer quality. The image is not a print, but hand-drawn in a mix of coloured chalk and high-quality pencil. The lighting, especially, is magnificent. Kyle Rayner. A new addition is the caption in curly handwriting underneath the image:

 Even the world’s finest heroes need to sleep

 Now, Bruce face-palms. Hard. Clark mutters a fuck, but regains control quickly. “I’ve got to hand it to them; they have nerve.” Bruce ignores him as he opens the fridge to grab the milk for Clark’s coffee. “It’s a good quality to have.”

“Or a bad one.”

Clark shrugs. His face breaks out into a grin. “And, I have them on my side now.”

Oh, no. Bruce whips his head up from the coffee machine to look at Clark. “Batman doesn’t nap.”

Clark inclines his head, raises an eyebrow. But *you* do. It’s so goddamn frustrating when he’s right.

“Hn. You already have Alfred on your side, that’s enough. And I’ve been good about it.”

“According to your standards, sure. Don’t you think it’s time for one later today? After the meeting?”

“Not here,” Bruce whispers.

“Back home.”

Home. It’s a good thing the security cameras don’t record sound. “Okay,” he mumbles. “I’ve got some time before patrol.”

Clark’s grin turns victorious, and Bruce burns his tongue on the coffee while he tries to hide a smile himself. He’ll decide what to do about Kyle’s art project later. Right now, they have a meeting to attend to.

 ---

 The next morning, Bruce wakes up to Clark kissing his jaw, his mouth. He tastes like Alfred’s coffee. Too early, as always. Not early enough, as always, because Clark is already getting up for work. He considers pulling him back into bed and just straight up explaining to Perry that Clark is late again because he’s fucking the owner, but then he remembers yesterday’s incident. He’ll have to do something about it, obviously, but he’s not looking forward to acknowledging the whole thing yet again, maybe even admitting that the younger members are right, if only a little bit. Stupid watchtower clubhouse. His foul mood must be showing on his face, because all he gets is a “Let it go, Bruce” before Clark disappears into the bathroom. He comes back out in record time, fastening his tie. “Just, let it go. Let them have a little bit of fun. They’re young.”

But not doing anything about it is not an option. Not for Batman, and not for Bruce. “If I don’t retort, they’ll keep going. This won’t die out.” He sits up in bed. At the foot end, Clark is putting on his shoes. 

“It will. You can’t fight fire with fire, sweetheart.” He walks over to Bruce and kisses his cheek. That’s it.

“That’s it. I’m going to fight fire with fire.” Get down to their level. He has kids, knows what teenagers and twenty-something year olds think like.

“No,” Clark groans. It turns into a sigh. “I’m going to be late.”

Bruce gets up. “Then go. Have a good day at work, honey.” 

Clark clenches his jaw, and swings his messenger bag over his shoulder, giving up. “I’ll meet you for lunch,” he says, already halfway out the window.

Bruce closes it behind him, and then quickly makes his way down to the cave. He lets Alfred know he’ll have breakfast on the watchtower, dons the batsuit, makes a quick stop at his desk in the cave, and beams up to the watchtower. 9 am. He’s still on time.

---  

 At lunch time, the cafeteria is buzzing with excitement, more and more heroes gathering around the fridge as they point and whisper Really? And Do you even think it was him? And Wally, this must be another prank of yours. Bruce hears shushing and He’s right there while he drinks his coffee on the other side of the room. Finally, Clark walks in and takes a second to behold the spectacle, his brow furrowed, listening in. He clearly gives up on going to the fridge to get food, and instead makes a beeline to where Batman is sitting at one of the tables. “What’s going on? Did you remove it?” he asks as he sits down across from Bruce.

“I did not.”

Wally sticks his head out of the crowd and looks at the two of them. “Hey Bats! Does this mean we can keep it?”

Calmly, Bruce sips his coffee, pointedly ignoring the younglings and the little victory he supplied for them. But of course, and without skipping a beat, Clark notices his smug mood. He leans closer across the metal table. “What, did you put your bat-stamp of approval on it?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Clark looks back over at the fridge with his spectacular vision to see what Bruce has done earlier, before anyone else was in the vicinity; his bat-symbol stamped onto the lower right corner of the caption. Later, he’ll add a rule to his original list next to the fridge. Only approved art and trophies allowed on the watchtower.

“I also hacked their phones and made sure there are no digital copies anymore,” he explains. “That should teach them to think twice next time.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Bruce shrugs. After all, he’s heard it all before. Only this time, Clark is unable to suppress a smile, he puts a hand over his, and adds “I love you.” Even that is nothing new, he knows it already, but it hasn’t happened on the watchtower yet. He allows a smile to form on his face while Clark holds his gloved hand. The rest of the league is too busy with the commotion around the fridge, anyway.  

A few days later, he finds a copy of the drawing in the cave, this one with a small Superman stamp in the lower-right corner. It may just be exactly what he needs to see after a long night of patrol. Alfred seems happy about it too, and not just about the two people in it. He now simply points to the text with a stern face instead of obnoxiously and repeatedly clearing his throat whenever Bruce comes back from patrol battered and bruised or refuses to go up to the house and his bed.

There is another one in the fortress, although Clark doesn’t spend much time there. Bruce figures he can use the reminder whenever he does go there, so far away from humanity, to work on a case. And in Blüdhaven, Dick has one on his bedside table. The last time he visited Titans tower he noticed one in the hallway. Both of those not Bruce’s doing. He lets it slide, right of his cape and cowl and cool exterior. He just hopes everyone can keep it within their inner circles and that Batman and Superman won’t get turned into one of those ‘memes’.  

#superbat #write write #humor #jla